Legacy of The Saber King Chapter 1: Prologue, a fate/stay night fanfic

I have been out of fanfiction writing for a long time as you can tell by my other stories. I have been out of it. But I saw something not too long ago and I felt my fire stirring again. I felt a stirring to try my hand again at writing. This idea was inspired by a "what if" I saw on the Amino App for Fate Stay/Night, where instead of rage driving Mordred away from Artoria, it was grief instead. Furthermore, this is a different take on the Arthurian mythos, but I will be drawing some inspiration from the various tales.

Disclaimer; The fanfiction is a fan-based writing. All written in here are owned by Kiniko Nasu, Type-Moon, etc., and the ideas written herein are not owned by me in any way shape, form, or concept. Please support the official release and a great thanks to the author "Progenitor of Uruk (Logan)" for the idea.

Further gratitude is given to Cornova and Agent_Of_Chaos for proof-reading.

For context, I will be referring to Saber as Artoria as that is the feminine equivalent of "Artorius" aka "Arthur". But when she acting as a king, she will be referred to by male pronouns and as "King Arthur". Otherwise, Artoria will be referred to by her true feminine pronouns.

Legacy of the Saber King

Prologue

Morgan le Fay

Day changed to night as the sun set over Britain, the forests taking on a subdued hue as shadows began to lengthen. Only a village remotely at the edge was near this forest and all but the bravest inhabitants even dared to venture in to try to hunt game, yet even the bravest and most skilled woodsman did not dare to venture in when the sun went down. King Arthur had authorized this particular village to would be allowed to hunt as this was their main source of income to supplement their farming and any other duties that were owed to the crown. Though there was some grumbling at the taxes and duty owed, the inhabitants were more or less content. Their land was fertile, the stream running through the forest was cool and clear. Logging, when the seasons allowed for it were plentiful and profitable. Indeed, these inhabitants were amongst the more fortunate inhabitants of King Arthur's realm and they were at ease with their lot in life.

Save for one thing.

There were rumors that a witch lived in the forest and any things that went wrong were always attributed to some kind of wickedness on her part. But for a very long time the inhabitants had not been particularly troubled, and parents used the threat of sending their children to the witch if they misbehaved or that the witch would get them if they stood out too late. But it was only rumor and an old wife's tale and had remained so for a long time. But recently these tales and rumors had been brought up again because of a new development that nobody could truly explain.

Recently, there were woodsman who claimed that they had heard the wailing of an infant from the depths that chilled them to their very core and more often than not they would drop whatever they were doing just to get away from the sound. Despite how infrequent this was, it still was potent enough to frighten even experienced huntsman who had brought down wolves simply because of the terrible sense of uncertainty, of wrongness.

They were not wrong that there was indeed wailing from the depths of the forest and the cries were a lot closer than they would think. It came from an isolated cottage very well-hidden by the trees and by magic.

It was only accessible if Morgan Le Faye chose to allow you into the glade where it stood. Otherwise you would be lost and disoriented and die from eventual starvation or thirst, never to return. The paths would twist and lead to nowhere or bad ends, and the trees would block out the sun with their thick, jagged branches. But even so, sound could still echo throughout the woods and in this, there was indeed wailing that reached only one particular ears.

On this particular day, Morgan had been out gathering the necessary ingredients for her potions. It was still in the development stage and needed a particular elixir to stabilize its current form. Morgan Le Faye had spent the better part of the day hearing reports, whispers, and rumors from her spies in Camelot, and waiting as patient as always. This was her greatest strength. Patience. Despite the deep, black hatred that Morgan le Faye held for Artoria Pendragon, her sister who had risen to become the King of the Britons after Uther Pendragon despite Morgan being firstborn, her need for revenge had been tempered and sharpened into a diamond-hard focus. The ground on which she walked was as smooth and straightforward as the ground turned from rough, uneven ground, into smooth, polished stone as her path was guided back to her lodging due to the very earth shaping itself beneath her feet.

The sound of wailing had grown more audible as she approached the glade and the trees parted to allow her passage before they bent backwards to block the path. She looked at the home made from hardened mud, leaves, branches, and anything else that nature could provide for her. With but a single spell, she could compress it and return it to nature, only to have it rise again provide she had the resources. But for now, there was no need to move again. She had sought this place out because of its isolation and with how well the land responded to her commands. As she opened the door, she could hear the wailing from the babe and she set her basket aside on the wooden table. It was crying again as if it were a normal human baby.

Morgan le Faye recalled with an almost clinical distaste of a healer who worked with a particularly diseased patience of how she had stolen the seed of her sister when Merlin, that accursed court mage, had turned Artoria into a pseudo-male. This was intended to secure an heir to the throne, but Morgan had caught wind of the plot and decided to act first. Agravain, one of her children had informed Morgan of the details and with careful maneuvering, she had directed Guinevere away and took her place with a spell of enchantment. She ignored the wailing as she retrieved water from the nearby well to fill her iron cauldron. She rarely did manual labor herself, preferring to leave it to golems, but with certain tasks she trusted nobody else but herself to do it. Morgan continued to ignore the wailing and with a whisper, she lit a fire, poured the water into the cauldron, and retrieved her ingredients. With a well-practiced hand, she retrieved her ingredients, chopped, ground, skinned, and sorted. As she worked, Morgan began to let her mind recall the events leading up to the birth of the infant wailing.

Thinking of the past helped her focus and kept her proficient at her hatred. It used to be where her hatred was raw fire, but as she refined her talents at magic, the fire cooled into an ice-cold abhorrence.

She stood before the bedchamber door, with Agravain who had conveniently drawn the watch that night and he stared straight ahead. He was called the Iron Knight for his resolve, merciless tenacity, for never being wounded in a battle, and his inability to let any of the other Knights of the Round Table close to him. Perhaps this was a way for him to act in the best interest of the kingdom, maintain his loyalty to Arthur, and at the same time act as her spy. He had been sent as an assassin, but he had failed this completely because he found a purpose; to help his king build the perfect kingdom, so Morgan changed his role from assassin to spy. It was such that Morgan sometimes wondered if he forgot what his role was, but it seemed that Agravain loved King Arthur as much as any of the other knights, perhaps moreso. But this night, he stared straight ahead and did not so much as glance at the illusion of Guinevere. Not even when Morgan temporarily let down the glamor to allow her own face to be revealed, so much like Artoria's, did Agravain even glance at her. Chords on his neck stood out like iron, but his face did not change at all.

Morgan proceeded into the bedchamber and saw Artoria inside. She was wearing no clothing as she sat on the edge of the bed with her back turned. Her entire body was filled with resolve as if she were ready for war.

"Arthur."

"Guenivere."

All they said were each other's names, but Morgan had placed a calming spell on herself prior to entering. Artoria's sense of intuition was so strong that even the tone of voice could warn her enough of an attack or intent of harm. She sat next to Artoria and played the role of Guinevere calm purity as was befitting of the perfect queen to the perfect king. She even idly wondered if Artoria would say some words of comfort to Guinevere to help ease her into her duty or if Guenivere would simply do what was needed as was her obligation.

"I… realize this may be hard for you. But Merlin assures me this will succeed. We will have a child of our own, an heir to the kingdom. Let us begin."

"Yes. Let us begin.", she said before she stood up and she reached up and undid her slip, letting her silk clothing drop to the floor. Artoria did not move and Morgan couldn't help but shiver slightly. Was it from the cold or disgust at what she was about to do? She heard Artoria adjust as if to help his queen get into the mood when Morgan crossed over and kissed Artoria on the lips. There was hunger in it, a desire, and a curse. Artoria's eyes widened in surprise as she felt the unmistakable feeling of magic course through her veins like a mix of a fever and a chill all at the same time. The kiss lingered and Morgan could feel Artoria's male part stiffen against her body.

Artoria's hands clasped her arms, but Morgan did not stop her kiss. She felt Artoria's strength failing and she pushed the king to the bed. She wiped her mouth, the lipstick smearing off, the lust and silence encancement was enough to permanently incapacitate any normal human, but at best for King Arthur, she had only a night. Her sister's magic resistance was too strong for her to actually be incapacitated, but in a way this would be fine as well. When all was said and done, Artoria would remember would be laying with his Queen, of whom would recall nothing, save a night of passion with a very different person.

Artoria began to sweat and pant as her vision fogged up, as if she were fighting sleep, but she could not pass out and she could not move. Suddenly, she felt a body on top of her, with one hand on her throat and another on her member. But even worse was that it was not the voice of Guinevere she heard speaking, but one she had almost forgotten.

"It feels as though you are wasting away from sickness. You will not die. But I will hurt you. I will give you an agony you have never felt before. I will rob you of your kingdom, of your queen, and finally when you lay before me, choking on your blood and feeling your life slip, you will hear my laughter as your child raises their blade to finish you.

'Morgan…?', was all she could think before she felt something hot and wet smother her member. Another hand gripped her own and pressed something hot and soft into her hand and the other gripped her throat tighter. For a moment, the vision cleared and to Artoria's horror, she saw that she held Morgan's breast in her hand. She saw the red tattoos on her sister's body as the smiling, triumphant face of her sister, Morgan le Faye she out the sounds when a woman couples with a man for the first time in her life. Artoria's lips were sealed by another deep and lingering kiss, her breath cut off as she felt Morgan's enchantment send a fresh wave of painful lust through her body.

And then the rape began.

How long did that go on? Morgan wasn't quite sure. The physical pleasure she had received from violating her sister was eclipsed by the sheer knowledge of victory that she achieved over Artoria. Merlin had apparently done fairly well with the size and shape of Artoria's member since it had done its duty and then some. Morgan sat on the edge of the royal bed, her glamour completely faded away as she saw the night getting on and the coming of dawn. She glanced over at her sister to take in her handiwork.

There were marks on her throat, nail gouges on her shoulders, and bite marks. They marred the skin of Artoria on her neck, shoulders, lips, and even on her breasts. Artoria looked lifeless, save for the very slight rise and fall of her chest as her eyes stared out blankly at the roof of her large four poster bed. Morgan noticed with a half-interested glance that Merlin's magic had been undone and that Artoria had returned to her natural form.

Morgan leaned over to look directly into the practically dead eyes of Artoria, caressing her sister's small breast with one hand. Then with the other she trailed downward to the junction of her legs. Then with her fingers in a final act of spite, took another irreplaceable thing from Artoria. A small cry of pain escaped Artoria's lips as her sister drew her fingers back, with a slight hint of blood on them.

With the softness of a lover and the malice of a rapist, Morgan kissed Artoria one last time, "Thank you, Artoria. Fear not. Your son will be an even greater legend than you. This I promise. You and Guinevere, will NEVER have a child between you.". Then she closed Artoria's eyes as though she were truly dead, cast a spell to heal all external wounds, and a further memory altering spell. Artoria's resistance to magic was too strong to prevent an actual change to her memory, much to Morgan's frustration, but with this, Artoria would simply have bits and pieces that she will recall with her queen, and that Merlin's magic had failed, that the act was so revolting that Artoria would never consent to try again.

Morgan Le Faye changed her glamour back to that of Queen Guinevere, dressed herself, threw on a hooded black cloak, and in an act of malign grace, pulled the blankets over Artoria who lay there as if deep in sleep.

She did not once glance backwards at Artoria as she left the bedchamber, opening the doors to find Agravain standing there with the true Guinevere in his arms, asleep like a doll. Agravain's eyes were shaded, his jaw clenched, and the look of shame on his face was plain for his mother to see. Morgan did not smile but merely laid a hand on her womb as if to confirm and once more the chords on Agravain's face stood out. Agravain clenched his jaw and his teeth ground as Morgan saw a single tear drop from the shaded eyes and he pushed past her to lay the king and queen together in their bed.

He would never forgive her or himself for this, but that didn't matter. Let him stew in his own hate for her and for himself. Because however much Agravain would hate Morgan for this deed, she knew he would hate himself more, and he would become tempered like true iron until the day came in which he would finally break.

Morgan calmly and without meeting anyone else, walked out of Camelot, her hand on her womb the whole time as if to guard the treasure she now carried. It wasn't until she left the city that the sun finally rose, but Morgan le Faye stood in the shadows of Camelot, and into the shadows she vanished like the moon fleeing the night.

Morgan le Faye opened her eyes she sat in her rocking chair with the babe in her arms.

'I must be more tired than I thought.', mused the witch as she held the homunculus in her arms, as if she really were a true parent. The elixir had been finished and she had submerged the infant in it as if she were bathing the child, letting the elixir combined with her spells do its work. Time would tell if the spell went as planned, to have the homunculus develop faster than any normal human, yet still leave her mind young and malleable to Morgan's designs. Morgan le Faye had been disgusted and enraged when the child she had given birth to had not been a male as she had hoped, but a female instead. This was frustrating, but Morgan le Faye had survived this long by being able to revise her plans and change them accordingly. She had lain many spells and many enchantments over the child while she was growing in her womb until she had robbed the infant of her very humanity, turning her into a homunculus.

It would be inconvenient to refer to the homunculus as "it" as "you", so she had named the homunculus, "Mordred", which was based on another term, "controlled". Yes, Mordred would be controlled to Morgan's desires and though it would take many years, Morgan would continue to be patient. For now, she was playing the role of, "caretaker" and she would fill this role as much as she had to. Mordred had begun to cry again and Morgan looked coldly down at the thing in her arms, rocking back and forth to soothe it back to sleep. Morgan knew she could never love the thing in her arms. Gawain, Gareth, and Gaheris wanted nothing to do with her and would turn on her if they ever saw her again. Gawain would absolutely try to kill her the second he saw her again more than either Gareth or Gaheris. Even Agravain would not go further beyond being a spy for her unless she forced him with magic, but that would deprive her of an important tool at Artoria's court.

As she looked at Mordred, Morgan reminded herself that a certain amount of… consideration was required in order to avoid her previous mistakes with her other children. With Mordred, she would be more… considerate of its condition and development. She would feed it so it wouldn't starve. She would teach it lessons to ensure she wasn't an imbecile. She would train its body so it could achieve the mission it would carry out. She may even deign it to show some measure of affection if it did well.

But love? Kindness? Warmth? Never.

Mordred began to sob as if she already sensed that Morgan would never raise her as a mother would and Morgan le Faye quieted the annoyance in her. So she hummed and rocked the chair to soothe the homunculus back to sleep. Then she cast a spell of Calm to quiet the sobs of Mordred, but it wasn't enough. The magic resistance she had implanted was already strong enough to dull the enchantment. Further encouragement was required, but how? Morgan thought for a while as she saw the moon rise, creeping shadows into the cottage and she was inspired. As if with a voice that wasn't her own, Morgan le Faye began to sing.

(Listen to Mordred's Lullaby from here on by Heather Dale. This will give the much needed emotional impact.)

Morgan le Fay continued her humming, watching the shadows as they creeped up to the pair.

Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep
Child, the darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep

Guileless Son, I'll shape your belief
And you'll always know that your father's a thief
And you won't understand the cause of your grief
But you'll always follow the voices beneath