Altria paced with purpose, her mind as set as the firm line of her mouth. It has been long enough since she entertains an assembly with her knights on the Round Table.

And yet she walks anew, head raise high and spirit arise with vigor, as the news of Mordred pulling Clarent on the stone seems to change the scents of the knights; rabid wolves of prey uneasy and innately repulsed to find the divine sword's judgement lacking to take Mordred as its new master. While Clarent's origin was not publicly known, the knights she garnered with immeasurable strength and expertise in both physical and magical are well acquainted to the divine origin of the reforge sword. Their befuddlement is justified, unable to stomach that the sword of selection, have chosen an unwanted bastard child to continue Camelot's prosperity.

She has been surprised, Altria will not lie. While accepting that her heiress will take the throne one day, Altria is not about to give Mordred the crown just because it is her birthright. Mordred is still susceptible, like Altria back when she is about her age until the hardships tramples childish marvel and warfare and treachery took all the faith cherished. Her daughter is still a lamb, knowing war can occur and deaths are prominent in dire situations; but is Mordred prepared to take a life away as she spoke of when is but a child? Or order the men to their own demises? Or find herself taking a village to burn and killing hundreds for the sake of thousands of her own people? Altria feared it is those reasons that will rob those beautiful smile on her daughter's lips and end the flame illuminating Mordred's spirit. Occasionally Altria wondered if it is truly fine to have Mordred take the chains upon her neck. Whatever her mind mulls, Altria is still set to teach the child herself when she is a little older- but these news spreading like fire across the field of different nations have change her plan to act upon it immediately.

Caliburn's judgement is absolute. To hear one has claimed the sword once again will bring dire situations unto their shores. Unfortunately, she learned too late and have not restricted the information to pass to different tongues. And now, as the crisis of many impersonating her daughter will surely challenge her authority, did her knights ferociously blamed the child whom merely wanted to return the sword by her side.

Truthfully, she is livid; but not to her daughter. The situation she is put under in such a young age is dire and of political ploys Mordred is sheltered from due to her knights' obvious discomfort and trivial complains. Altria was quite unaccustomed for a very long time to bask in the presence of her knights without their eyes awaiting to make a fool of herself. Altria did not lack attention to find the disparity on her table unlike the popular belief; instead she has forgiven their trespasses for talking upon her back and hating her for what is worth, simply ignoring it in favor of waiting for their behavior to retain its maturity amidst their childish vileness and mockery of her mistakes. And yet, years went and Altria have become quite irritated, as the mask of chivalry breaks down unto their greed and personal affairs, not minding that they have sat themselves into the higher mantle of order, the immaculate definition of knighthood, the round table.

Furthermore, she has become quite isolated to her companions, full of thoughts directly contradicting her knight's best behaviors, seeing the ugliness within their shining armors. But she had mind her tongue and now look where it leads to? Altria might be a great king, but her communicative skills are lacking.

Her senses sharpened, the stubborn hair atop her head swaying in an unnatural order. She stopped on her walk and let the body swerve her head on instinct stopping upon the window straight to one of the towering structure, designated as the court mage's tower. Her irritation is apparent as it seems Merlin's out for another bout of dillydally before the meeting begins. The annoyance turns mystified however, as she spied the mage's clothing being thrown out of the single window, scattered across the roofs and the ground below the tower. Just what is Merlin up to?

As if her mind were granted a boon, a rope suddenly was toss and the person emerges on the arc. Well, persons as the King realized in surprised. Altria have known her daughter is called one of the Jesters, as they affectionately called her vengeance towards anyone whom harm her people, but this is a momentous occasion for the King, to see her child with her colleagues preparing to enact their trouble.

"What are you up to now, child?" exasperated, the King could only chuckle as she saw Dinadan went first before stopping just about the sill and a little girl with ash-colored hair positioned unto his lap, a precious cargo on her hand. After that, the two went down silently and Altria's eyes turns towards her child.

Mordred is grinning, securing the blade Altria has gifted unto her back with such care before taking their escape route, holding the position just like Dinadan, cradling her friend on her lap and slowly, albeit moving with precision. Altria wondered how they have access the tower without entrance and laden with protections that Merlin will definitely know of their actions when she saw Vivian of all people helping the children below, gathering the scattered loot and taking the small chest on the youngest' hands.

Mordred inspects their surrounding searching for witness in the shadows as the sun were still slumbering from the mountains. She froze when she meets Altria's eyes, focused and unreadable, before half- heartedly waving one hand, an uncertain smile on face, apologetic.

Altria merely smiled, crossing her arms on her chest and arching one brow. Her silhouette must be intimidating for others as they took aback when they realized they were caught.

' But Mordred…' Altria's heart warms. Mordred grins with joy, placing one finger on her lips as if asking for her silence, while maintaining a semblance of control on her untamed braid.

Altria nodded, pointing two fingers on her eyes then towards the child. Altria recalls raising her hand to hurt when Mordred is but a babe, and she vowed not to take Mordred's precious innocence again, even if she were to be the butt of their jest.

"I merely hoped it won't disrupt the meeting…" she murmured, sauntering towards her office chamber, off to prepare the time with her knights.

"Is that a pass?" Dinadan asked Mordred who still watched her father's shadow before it succumbs to the inner part of the halls.

"Correct," Mordred replied, turning towards the eldest witch, smirking at their reciprocal grins and silent cheer. "Now, the stage is set. First portion completed. Anyone wishes a meal before the amusement commences? I'm famished!"

"If I am put on the brunt of His Majesty's ire after this, I will end you…" Weiss responds, staring at Vivian who scowled but finds the side of her mouth stretching from one side in deviousness, pocketing the small empty bottles Jill has expertly emptied on the slumbering wizard's mouth.

"Pft, as if father won't enjoy it. Who do you think I took my playful tendencies for?"

"It feels so wrong to even desire seeing our King acting like you…" Dinadan murmured, unable to imagine the King with Mordred's posture; wide grin, boisterous mouth, prideful gait and unruly hair.

"What are the potions for, big bro?" Jill pulled Mordred's lapel, curiosity leading into joyful laughter as the blonde swoops down and place Jill unto her back.

"You just have to wait and see. Now, I require your assistance on phase two Jill. This is what you are going to do…"

CHAPTER XXVII: JESTERS' REVENGE

Merlin feels unusually tired waking up with a bad taste on the mouth and the cold stone's trapping the cold within his workshop. He wondered what he is thinking by setting his workshop close to the clouds. He loved to fly, yes, but he is the Mage of Flowers, shouldn't he be close to the ground? He sat, stretching his numb limbs straining in protest. That's what he gets from sleeping spread wide in the ground. Merlin roamed his eyes unto the ceiling, recalling he is to meet with the Knights amidst the arguments Mordred have taken with. Frowning with a slight resentment towards the person that should not be for ruining his time.

He could still feel Altria's harsh punches and the few bones that have cracked, fortunately away from his marbles. Magic is beautiful, but sometimes humans needs to learn pain, and pain did he endured like a man beaten by a woman. In short, he was stumped, moping like a child. Merlin have gone back towards his memories and asked where it all goes wrong, on when the little blonde rascal he conditioned to be a man fit to the throne have become quite a rebel to a fault. Moreover, Merlin wondered where it all goes right when Camelot's fate has been forever changed.

He admits that he is responsible for causing such drastic measures to pushed the King away. He raised her unmoved through ideals, bearing the title of the chosen one, burdened and prophesized to watched her kingdom fall in front of her eyes, killed by her own blood and ending the ruin of once great kingdom. He groomed her with her unyielding selflessness and sacrifice, until she rebels within reason, as selfish as a human through her desires. It all changes to Altria; not in a way Merlin expected or in any way he wanted to reveal lest he was banished away, and this time, forever.

Altria's definition of kingdom was altered and Camelot will rise to see the age where countries all over the land will unite and find their peace… for a price greater than the King would have accepted, if Merlin were to speak to her of the end.

Fire.

The red sky. Burning like the dried fields bathed with blood rain.

Mountains of corpses. Littering the lands like ants. Numerous. Unprecedented.

Thousand losses. Thousand lives. Hundreds of houses eradicated. Legions of monsters turned to distasteful dusts. Humans and monsters combine. Dimming silvers and steel and dark colors splattering a horrific sight.

The land is wet. Blood nurturing the trampled grasses. Fortifying the soil down to the very roots.

The king is atop the hill, yelling to the clouds, shouting to the heavens with all her pain and suffering. Incoherent. Voice raw.

A mangled figure on the side, stuck with three swords and a divine lance. Unidentifiable. Oozing black blood on empty heart.

Cradled in the King's arms is a small form, bloodied, armored. Unruly hair caked with dirt and dried blood. Lax fingers lovingly guided to pressed desperately to Altria's own wet cheek.

The King sways to rock the form. She remains shouting. She remains pleading. Don't take the light away. 'I beg you!', she shouted, over and over again.

Her sanity left her, the same time the small form left the realm of living.

He snaps out of his thoughts, relieving the dreadful miasma he could taste upon his vision. He could not look Altria in the eye and say she have succeeded; not when Altria will fall deeper in despair and roams the world searching for the light that left, hoping to glimpse into it once again.

He loved her dearly, like a father to a child. Merlin will take the blame for anything, call him traitor if they liked, but Camelot's fall will be easier to swallow than her own blood will be, not after she have loved so much, not after she have learned to be human. That is why Merlin is on all odds against Altria's bastard, much as Mordred have worm her shiny little ass on his beating heart.

"What am I thinking, melancholic first thing in the morning…" he complains, shrugging the excessive lump of his tresses before completely putting the future at the back of his head. He would've started his day, arms raised sideways and let the magic do its bidding, changing his clothes and dressing him…

Well, that should be the case.

"… What?" Merlin uttered, baffled. He tried again, summoning the magic at the back of his head to no avail. Slowly expressing discomfort crawling unto his spine, Merlin once again repeated the notion, this time one palm on his front, palm raised up as if beckoning the garments on the chest.

Nothing.

"Oy, oy, I'm not on that time of the month! I barely even took any on my reserves!" Merlin panicked, as he realizes his dimmed senses and the magic within the air muted to a degree. How did he not notice it before? Is he that retarded already as the others have pointed out many times before? He quickly run to his chest, opening it to dress himself before addressing his lack of magic… To find another problem to be bewildered about.

"My clothes…" Merlin puts his hands on his hair in distress, looking at his empty chest. "My tomes… my rare ingredients… Altria's baby scribbles, my treasured stolen undergarments, all gone!" he yelled, looking this way and that and saw to his horror the emptied shelves and the clean table where he enacts all of his wizarding potions. "My staff… my lovely cane- staff!" he could not help but let down a few tears before his despair turns into molten irritation. Just who dared stole from him with such amount without him knowing!? The tower has no stairs to be trespassed with, nor it is even possible to find their way in beneath his tower; the people straying close of finding will be nauseated and will lost sense of direction.

Merlin huff as he saw the open window, the only thing that could possibly be the route of the thief. Which should be impossible, as the tower is quite tall and birds are the only thing that can fly about in these heights. Then, he saw a sickle buried on his inner wall, hanging unto it is a rope used for wall climbing. He stared at it, then the footprints on the sill, then back at the rope again. Like lightning, it all seems to click and a pompous smirking blonde have shoveled her way into the forefront of his mind.

"Are they making fun of me!?" he shouts in anger, humiliated. They know he have no choice but to climb down as teleporting himself or taking the form of a bird is out of the question, with no magic to cushion his safety and to show off his sleeping clothes and just about his thin undergarments for all the commoners to see his shining marbles. Well, he is quite alright of public viewing, but he does not like climbing down so high! "If I could get my hands on you, Mordred!" he curses, bravely taking the rope and pulling one leg outside.

He will climb down, he truly did! But seeing just about every damsels and servants looking up unto him as if waiting for his descend pushes his bravery away. He gawked as the Queen passed by, stopped for a moment to regard him, and gave such sinister smile did Merlin is not assured the queen is behind the spectators lounging afoot his tower. She then spoke loudly, barely reaching him but aware the people below heard it loud and clear, reminding him with sarcasm before sauntering away. "My husband is expecting you, Court Mage. Kindly make it in time and not make him wait, will you? You are aware how will it turn out for you~."

"Shite…" he whimpers, swallowing his pride as he heard the damsels laughing at his plight. He ignores them, barely managing to catch his weight before slowly descending, his feet sweating buckets, making it harder for him to grasp sensibility unto the smooth wall.

He smiles fretfully, sweat rolling down his strained muscles when he finds he is closing near a roof. He already stretches out one leg to relieve his body-

"No!"

-when a stray dagger flies through just about his undergarment, ripping it apart.

Merlin gasped in hysteric, loosing marbles as his manliness were threatened. "Are you mad!? I will die before you could hurt my prize possession!"

Everyone gasped in mortification, their jaws came off their hinges as they saw something they should not be staring at for too long.

Merlin swivels around, pushing his legs together and is reassured to find his manliness intact. Looking where the dagger has been thrown, Merlin whimpers as he saw the little girl trailing the blonde brat with a dozen daggers on her hands, ready to be directed at his person, hiding on the roof, the spectators unaware. They lock eyes as if longtime foes, both judging in two different terms. Merlin wished for all the heavens that the child will not do what she is about to do.

"You! No, pretty girl! Please, I beseech you! Hit me wherever, but not there! Please!" Merlin begs, unable to defend himself, shaking his head. As if the shadows ate her goodness, the ash- colored haired terror narrowed her eyes as if offended, smirking all the while. Merlin remains in his position, tangling in the air when the girl let one dagger flew towards him. Then another. And another. And another.

"What is your deal!? I never wrong you!" he asked, doing acrobatics in the air, his tiredness forgotten, heart hammering in survival.

Jill points to her mouth and imitate a grin of the bane of Merlin's existence. If Merlin could spare a moment to be angry then he would run wild of obscenities. Unfortunately, he is not permitted those moments as a valley of attack occur once more.

The great wizard of all screamed for all the whole spectator to see, voice high as his tower, barely managing to swerve in different directions when his grip loosens along with the rope, watching in horror as a dagger cut his only support, before he fell down the thorny bushes, face first and legs spread atop of him.

While he rests and sluggishly falls down his back, and gradually regulates his breathe did he fault to relax. When he realized the unnerving silence, did he tried to sit up.

Everyone is looking at him that is unquestionable, but their eyes do not meet his as he anticipated. Instead….

"…. What a small little thing…." Merlin stated, voice toneless, eyes devoid of any emotion as any other in the vicinity. Merlin's mind fluctuates in muted reboot, looking upon his spread legs with his undergarments absolutely ruined, his precious jewel in display. At least, if he were to define it as something which is connected to his body. "Wait…" All this explanation started his mind to think again, realizing the problem.

"Oh, it is mine… h-hol- it's mine!?" Merlin's breathing increases its intake, as if being chased by a dragon with how absolutely horrified he is. Merlin wheezed disagreement like a maniac, cupping his jewels, eyes so wide his irises are like pinpricks, as if he puts one foot on insanity, making his presence volatile and ready to explode. "What on my nonexistent beard happened!? Why am I so small!?" he urgently hides into his shaking hands, holding his manliness. Merlin's pinky is bigger than it, with barely a girth to call it penis! Just what happened!? He could barely fit to anyone, now why is he not even big enough to rival his own nostrils!?

A snicker falls down the silence and Merlin stands up with vigor, his state of nudeness ultimately ignored.

"Mordreeed! You scum!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, pointing an accusing finger to the princess wearing his own clothes! Laid back on to the beacon as if they did not make a show of him! "Thief! What have you done to me!?"

"Uh, nothing? Mayhap you were to inquire…" Mordred grins, pulling small empty bottles on her person, waving it like prices to Merlin's deranged eyes. The people around them gasped, looking at the reclusive princess out in the open; challenging the greatest wizard with just her presence. "… what these little things have done to you?"

"Y-you!" Merlin salivate on the mouth, teeth gnash so tight his gums bleed in his self- discipline to preserve some dignity amidst the princess' humiliation.

"Of course, I have the cure for your dilemmas!" she raised another bottle and Merlin yelps as he sees his own creation, its legitimacy confirmed. "If you can catch me, that is."

"Give it to me, Mordred! I have been shamed, this is enough!" Merlin demanded, in haste to reached the blonde. However, Mordred fizzles in existence before his hands could graze her outstretch hand, red sparks shocking his fingers.

"Enough?" a scoff made Merlin turned to the damsels, astonished to see the princess behind them. They parts ways when they realized, their murmurs doubling in volume. An angry scowl is written on Mordred's face, eyes stoic like her father's, oozing authority demanding to be heard. "Enough to atone your malicious harassment to every woman you find interest? Humiliating them by taking their chastity? For giving them children? By seducing them into their sleep? Enough to forgive you for hurting me? For repeatedly trying to attack me and my family? No, I think not incubus."

"You are not a Law bringer, Mordred. Do you think your immature theatres are just? Don't make me laugh, girl. You are still wet behind the ears; you know nothing of judgment."

"I just want you to taste your own medicine, to be the one chastened even once. Who says it is for judgment?" Mordred tilts her head to the side, wondering before challenging him with a grin, like a handsome boy knowing she wins. "This is my revenge, moron." Mordred laughs, tossing the cure on the air, sinking her words on Merlin's mind like claws, luring him in successfully. "Come and get me, fool!"

Like thunder clap his mind shuts down. Merlin roars as he charges at the laughing princess, mind focused on the cure on her hands. "Mordred! You pompous arse! I will kill you!"

Of course, he was too engrossed to the chase to remember he were naked from the bottom, as the princess led him across the halls. She laughed as she watched her pursuer.

"Can't wait for phase three…" she cackles, speeding towards the tri- section, towards the countless peoples littering the halls.

If a man wanted something, he will take it with every fiber of his being. Fatigue be damned. Humility kicked to the side. Selfishness roars. Strength everlasting.

Weiss thought of it as a mantra as she gave her legs reinforcement, tucking down below the bush and sliding towards the opening she had made for this occasion. Of course, respite is still quite far, but the cause is worth the exhaustion, seeing a pack of servants just about the doors leading into the kitchen. Merlin roared behind her and Weiss is pleased she have stayed ahead for long.

It was just any other of their scheme; aggressive, chaotic and downright dance of outrunning the person using any skills on their arsenal, honorable or not. But unlike in Mordruide, the playing ground is far larger, and the nooks and crannies were far more sophisticated than the crack roofs, and dirty alleyways of the growing village. In Camelot, they have to refurbished small patches to secret lairs, mapped out different spots for respite, locations to hide and bases to conclude their plans. It is quite large, advantageously effective when in pursuit. And while they were secluded into the castle, it is far more complex and distinctive for anyone if they were to have someone quite educated in the layout of the castle. So they have modified it to a degree, using the walls to create illusions as if there is nothing, ropes hidden in different iron knight structures and cupboards purposely created to disillusioned observant eyes. And while quite draining, mingling with people and using them as a barricade or an immediate obstacle to the pursuer, Weiss have done it with enough agility to passed them by, diving atop their working tables with a reinforced jump and taking an immeasurable pleasure to see Merlin razing towards the screaming cooks, eyes focused on her hand, where the cure is handled with care.

The plan is quite simple, albeit scandalous. They were to humiliate Merlin, as he deserves for the repeated occurrences the King have hidden his demonic seduction, cleaning his name again and again. And when Mordred have heard of this, she was outrage; of her father for being so lenient and for the worm of a man to be always treated as a child, with a slight slap on the wrist before he once again did a terrible deed, dirtying her father's name. And so the heiress plot, mulling options, asking guidance to those who seek vengeance from. Thinking for hours, eyes steeled without mercy, perfecting the mixture of humiliations that will scar Merlin's fabled pride over his anatomy, never to be taken seriously once again.

First, they have to take all of his possessions, down to the very ingredients thrown aside and to the very clothes he wears. They never know how vast the wizard's wisdom can go, if they left something for him to revise the potions Vivian concocted. They wait for days, observing his actions, watching his shifts and trails, before they struck when he slept atop his tower just as they planned, with magical transportation the only way to carry his deceiving bodice. They have gain Vivian's support brewing their needed mixtures, dropping a dozing potion into Merlin's cup at his dinner to secure his slumber, to not wake up while Vivian breaks down his alarms, and guiding the wind to secure the sickle with a rope unto his wall.

And when they are atop that they; Mordred, Weiss and Dinadan plundered his workshop, dropping items and knowing Vivian were to hide it to a safe place Merlin will have a difficult time to find. While Jill, the little assassin with barely a presence if she wanted, tempt the wizard's mouth with drops of five potions, his throat unconsciously swallowing the liquid.

The first one is to temporarily lock his magic, as if it is coaching his magical core to slumber, numbing his powers. The second is to drop unto a part of the body to minimize its size, usually brewed for swelling, but is renewed into a curse. Jill have done it, accidentally ( not really) pouring all of its content unto his waist, and were fascinate as his prized possession shrunk.

Weiss is certain it is not accidental, but it is not her business so she won't deny its effectiveness, unconcern. It's the only curse Mordred have guiltily approved to prepare a cure for, even if Dinadan have tried numerous times to spare Merlin a lesser punishment. Mordred and Weiss cannot understand Dinadan's winced when they both refused; must be a men thing for them to not understand. The third, while unusually a bit crueler than the rest as Weiss would define, is something which a man like Merlin would surely notice, is the Curse of Lust.

If in a way his body reacts sinfully into what he saw, his member will pulse in pain, stopping his lustful thoughts to dampened the merciless agony on his loin. Weiss is quite positive Mordred have ruined Merlin with just that potion, add to the fact that it is permanent. The fourth brew is passive, to deny reversal of the third. In result, Merlin might regain his magical powers and act to reverse the potion. But the greater he persists his perversity, the greater the cursed will etch and remain on his skin.

So Weiss concludes it will be a hard way for Merlin and Mordred to see eye to eye after this debacle, especially with Merlin as he is stripped off his sanity, his security and his choices, as the last potion, Mad Enhancement while temporary and were difficult to activate, is a beast in the making, unaware what he was doing, unknowingly being played and forced to run around the castle, judged and laughed at by the people he played the lives in misery before. Of course, there are limits to the temporary potions, far shorter than they would have liked, but is enough to put their plan across. And so Weiss did her best in Mordred's behest, cradling the fake cure on her hand to let Merlin remain on the chase with a goal.

Putting his clothes to use, they wore it to disguise themselves to trick Merlin to think he is chasing one person, not three. If they have taken corners, they release themselves off of the pursuit to passed the run into the awaiting person in line. With that said, when Weiss turned corner, she grabbed the tangling rope poise on the narrow slot between the iron knight and the castle's support, pulling it with viciousness before she was pulled up by the forced at the end of the rope, the stone falling silently outside her perched.

When Merlin run passed Weiss, Dinadan came at the end of the entrance, leading the berserk wizard naked into another bout of field full of squires and soldiers practicing their swordsmanship. The wizard still remains unaware, but is slowly regaining his senses, seeing the swords in the rack, pulling it and throwing it at Dinadan's behind.

The knight, while the brunt of the knights' jeers and mockery, felt his instinctual survival kick in and release a short sword on his waist, deflecting the sailing weapons, minding to not let the cloak fly away out his covered head.

They resumed, across the left bailey to right, to the inner walls climbing ladders and leaping out of it, Dinadan releasing his hidden knives to bat whatever Merlin throws on his way. The people laughed at his misfortune and Dinadan basked in Merlin's mortification, realizing the wizard have regained a part of his consciousness as he swiftly took a rag to hide his small marbles when they passed by the section where servants washed their clothes.

"Mordred! Come back, you little tyke!" it seems he regains his speech as well, slurred but angry, his face no longer that of a primal beast, but a cold sense of fury.

Dinadan quickly stopped turning as Merlin unceremoniously skid in surprise, unable to cover as the knight spun and slapped the flat side of his weapon to Merlin's face, downing him for a moment. The knight quickly exits the premises, and Mordred took her time walking unto the tower's edge, coughing when Merlin swerves this way and that.

"Looking for something?" Mordred laughed, deciding many have witnessed his body enough to spread across Camelot, stepping aback as she toss the cure on to his direction and shredding his clothes out of her form. The wizard desperately caught it, the boulder on his shoulders were lifted as relief floods his eyes to tears. "Alright, go in your merry way now! Just make sure to think before you act again, alright? Father might be soft with you, but I am not!"

"You. Are. The. Worst!" Merlin roared, seeing his member painstakingly growing, but his ire did not leave just as easily. Pumping the small trickle of reserves on his legs, he leapt at the roof containing the blonde, her back containing her favored sword, drifting away.

Mordred have sense his ill intent but have not moved just to amused herself with a sudden brawl with the wizard.

Merlin pounced on her, the blonde quickly turning to meet the punch with an open palm, securing the fist. They were connected in seconds, body strung to compete-

But neither expected the roof to give out.

Altria massaged her head to relieve the pulsing vein on her forehead, silent like a looming figure on the shadows, observing her knights rant and argue to themselves. Ninety knights, including the inner table sure is a chaos for someone's ears. They have waited for the court mage for a long time to commence the meeting, but decided to not waste time in utter rubbish. Altria demanded the state of affairs inside her kingdom, letting their words flow inside her head, while her wife cradles one palm unto her soft lap, drawing circles calming the King.

Altria looked at each one of her knights in the inner circle, each accepting criticism and listening to her questions, answering in return, explaining the objectives and goals which increase the betterment of the food available to Camelot. She would have listened for more, but the knights suddenly turned towards each other and Altria cannot find the energy to intervene or add her opinion, not when she was soothed by Guinevere's slow massage on her hand.

Her eyes spared the one vacant seat on the inner table and cannot help but feel a small sadness trickle on her gaze. She has been informed that Sir Percival have things to do on a distant land, but have promised to return to his King's side when his adventures are due. Altria have witnesses when her mighty friend announced to the crowd of his departure, and have cursed his seat on the table; that whoever will successfully take the Holy Grail will be the worthy person to take the seat from him. They felt the power of his words, when the seat has grown such existence as if sentient, divine and powerful, suffocating the weak. Some have make fun of it as a jest, but as Sir Percival announces, the seat was truly enchanted, effectively killing thirteen arrogant knights, unwilling to accept his warning, meeting their demise.

Everyone grew wary, even the King, dubbing the seat as the Siege Perilous, that even the popular Knights of the Round Table feared.

Mulling about the dear friend on his travels, Altria abruptly jolts when chunk of wood suddenly fell on her face. She swats another bigger piece away from her queen's head before the roof cave in and Altria carries her wife to safety, away from the falling debris and the heavy loads shouting obscenities towards each other.

Confused and rattled, the king frowns at the destroyed roof, before she looked upon her downed child and her barely clothed rival. Unfortunately, they witness the wizard out of his mind, kicking Altria's child on the face, throwing her balance away and falling down an empty seat.

Vast blue sky…

Dark enchanting battlefield…

Enormous glowing cube…

Infinite times…

Monsters roam the sites…

One person decides to live….

"I don't one to die…" she cries…

Her heart yells for help…

Asking of assistance…

She begs to live…

She pleads to be saved…

And so I answer…

And fight by your side…

And saw your pain…

And what you gain…

A hundred and twenty-eight…

Noble titles…

Seven Seas…

Treasured friendships…

We won the war…

We defeat a God…

We fall in love…

Rulers, we are proclaimed…

All because you ask of me…

All because I ask of you…

"MORDRED!" Guinevere yelled, bothered and petrified.

Altria do not think, merely acts.

Time seems to slow down, but the King have break out of her fright and race to pull her daughter's shirt towards her, away from the cursed throne.

But tried as the King did, Mordred have touched the seat, one arm braced on the seating, the other holding her father's wrist.

Altria's heart crumbles, threatening to burst. Her throat burns in effort to hide the shout tethering close to her mouth, fear, terror and agony quickly joining in as she quivers on her foot, waiting, torturing herself to look on her daughter's eyes, hoping to not see the life quench away.

Unhindered by her plight, the daughter bravely meets her father's eyes in confusion, dazed. Ignorant of the cause of the silence, she bewilderedly blinks upon her father's anguish gaze.

"Are you my Master?" like a droplet on a river, it ripples and change the course of the atmosphere of the room. Mordred have asked such ridiculous question that broke the despair on everyone witnessing her rare continued existence, jaws dropped to the ground.

"No…" Altria breathes out an incredulous scoff, wide eyes and eyebrows hiding into her fringes, looking at her dazed child. Quickly tucking her hands to Mordred's armpit and pulling her away from the seat, the King deposits her child unto the table, unhindered by the eyes witnessing her concern.

"Are you alright? Are you injured? Do you feel faint?"

"Uh…. I'm alive?"

It remains like that, seconds upon minutes Altria and Guinevere fret unto their daughter's side, asking her questions, reiterating their inquiry again and again.

Everyone could only look at the seat as if in tranced.

The suffocating divine miasma surrounding the chair vanished, as if satisfied with its choosing.

Indeed.

It chosen its champion.

And Mordred is the only one unaware.

Meanwhile, at the shadowy parts of the conference room, Merlin hides. He repurposes his time hiding into the crowd, but find the event to be complicating his plans towards Mordred.

First Caliburn chose her as its wielder, and now, she is valued as worthy to find the Holy Grail? What's next? The Lady of the Lake visiting her?

"What am I, a chopped liver?" Merlin whispers, crying to himself.

" Saber …"

"Do you say something, daughter?"

"No, mother…" Weiss denied, pinching her nose to take the pain off, the rushed of vision of otherworldly fields of ones and circles, sky as deep as the blue sea graze her mind like an arrow piercing her between the eyes. "… just a headache."

She stands strong…

Silver and red…

Determined gaze…

A lovely grin…

Radiant sword…

'… Mordred?'