A/N: An extended omake of original idea that I came up with. The initial story was going to have Mordred with the Grand Order from the beginning, i.e. since Singularity F but after playing the Camelot Singularity and watching it, it moved me so much that I simply had to make a story about it with Mordred. Anyway, enjoy!


They had come so close to peace. Mordred had proved he had been an effective ruler in his father's steed and Northern half of the kingdom was to be his. Father would rule the South as being ruling the cold North meant facing down the threats that the Scots and bandits that hid in the mountains. The Roman Wall would have been garrisoned and restored to its glorious state as father wielded Clarent's peace. His hands felt sullied using the dull blade of peace, yet he had no choice but to. The fools had cut their way through his army to reach them, empowered by magical means. Clarent was shattered by Gawain and its broken haft was all that remained. The surprise that Gawain wore had been enough for Mordred to slip under his blade, stabbing him with the ruined blade.

It was an apt metaphor. Peace was simply not meant to co-exist with knights, what use was skill when it would be never used? All the friendly sparring between the Round Table was put to the test. Father's knights still fought as they did, tainted by fury. Strength in exchange for coolness was weakness and Mordred was forced to ruthlessly exploit it to put down his comrades.

He only killed in self-defense yet so many were willing to throw themselves at the apparent traitor lord. One last idiot tried to put his body between his Father and Mordred.

Mordred recognised the colours as a knight of the Lesser Table. Nothing that could match his talent. Indeed, as the knight tried to an overhead cut, Mordred slammed Rhongomyniad into his chest before flinging away the dying man.

Peerless blades, the finest in the kingdom, littered the hill. It was the same for the slain knights. Thousands had died here in the name of the king, all because of jealous supernatural creatures that wore the guises of humans. Mordred was not blind but the truth had been revealed too soon.

The Heir climbed up the hill, using dead as footholds.

Mordred wept bitterly. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was meant to be the Heir to the throne, relieving his father of the burden that weighed down his shoulders daily. Mordred would reign, maintaining his father's golden dream and glory. It was not supposed to be a succession by bloodshed. It was supposed to be a peaceful process, father handing down the crown when he was too old. Father would live the rest of his life in peace, wallowing in measureless content at the fruits of his reign.

Yet that would never come by. No, Camelot would never recover from the grievous blow of betrayal.

Mordred had been unwilling to take up the throne initially. The remaining knights of the Round Table, who had been left behind Arther whilst he campaigned against Lancelot, had pressured him into the action. Perhaps they were bitter that their liege had left them behind, Mordred didn't know and ceased to care. So, he had taken the throne and proved to be a just ruler, earning the undying loyalty of his subjects. That was why so many bodies littered the ground, making the soil slick with English blood. It pooled and stained around his feet, a physical reminder of his actions.

So, when he was informed that a revenant wearing the face of his father returned, Mordred could not ignore the undead threat to the kingdom that his father left behind. He had gathered those loyal to his banner and marched. Only to be met with his very much alive father.

Mordred rejoiced and led a party for a parley, but suspicions were high. Both sides watched the other carefully for treachery whilst Mordred greeted his father. He allayed the fears that he had forcibly usurped the crown and promise the return of the throne to its rightful lord. To his happiness, father recognised his efforts and awarded him half of the Kingdom.

Alas, Samuel intervened and the hope for utopia perished at the edge of naked steel.

Clarent dangled in its scabbard, clanking every step as Mordred rushed to up to his father. Treachery. He had been forced to portray treachery and betrayal by those who conspired against the kingdom. There could only be one victor here. Too much was riding out the outcome of the battle, swords layered the fields, used against oath-sworn brothers. Mordred could no longer back down with the blood of innocents on his hands.

Father awaited him, Excalibur in hand. Its twin, Caliburn, was Father's gift to Mordred upon his ascension to the Round Table. It refused to leave its sheath for this battle, almost as if it already knew the outcome. Mordred despaired. He had brought Clarent as a peace offering to Father but it was broken, now all he had left was Father's spear.

"Father, I have come for you!"

It jaded him that he was using his Father's gifts against him but he had no choice. Perhaps Merlin was right, this was fate. After all, Merlin had warned Father about Mordred, the moment he took the mantle of the Round Table, Camelot would fall. His Father scoffed at the notion and still took him, this was the rewards for his trust in his son.

"My son. I see you have taken my lance to kill me."

"No, Father." Mordred's voice wavered at the calm resignation of his Father. "Please, understand! I did this for you! I am your most loyal knight. Just lay down Excalibur and allow us to talk. Camelot does not have to fall today!"

Father sighed, staggering Mordred. His Father looked at him in sorrow, none of the rage that so many embraced. Excalibur was raised against Mordred.

"This is destiny, Mordred. I was never meant to last. All I could do was provide a brief light of hope in the darkness. From the moment I was conceived, my death was foretold. Nothing can change it, not even you Mordred. I will die by your blade, and it cannot be another way lest we risk changing the future."

"Why?" Tears threatened Mordred's vision as he cried out, "We exist now, as flesh and blood. Why can't we have what we have earned? Have we not bled for it? The ideals that you stood for inspired us all, yet you give up now. You are not my Father that welcomed me to Camelot."

"Aye," Father nodded, "Now come to me and fulfil your purpose, my son."

His limbs felt weighted with every step he rose to meet his Father. Fate had a cruel sense of irony. Camelot had been born in blood against the usurper of Grandfather and it would collapse in the same way. Everything had led to this, the Quests, the Holy Grail and Lancelot's betrayal. Apparently, he was supposed to accept it and kill his father?

In that one wavering moment, Rhongomyniad slipped before it entered its former master.

The spear punched through plate and flesh, missing its intended target. His father drove onwards, allowing Rhongomyniad deeper into his gut as he drew in Mordred for a lethal embrace. Mordred dropped the spear and allowed his tears to flow freely. Excalibur flashed down, the radiant light of inevitable victory. His father would die but he would not die without giving his last words.

He wasn't supposed to be a traitor, but history was not written by the losers.


Mordred woke up from a hateful sleep. He felt strange, peaceful even after the nightmare. He looked at his hands, they were armed in black that was slick with blood. Had he fallen asleep on a battlefield? Shame, the others would rib him endlessly for this transgression to his duty. Mordred pushed himself off the floor, then he remembered.

Mordred quickly tore off his helmet before vomiting.

No! It was impossible! Camelot was supposed to last for eons! He refused to believe that he had done what he done. It was impossible. Father was the Perfect King, the one who could provide the rulings for a utopia. Mordred was his most loyal knight, his son in fact. Was family not the strongest bonds that one could have?

If he had only been asked to lay down his life for his king, Mordred would have happily done so. Why? What had he done so wrong to betray his father? The bitter taste was very real, but it felt worse.

How! He didn't understand. What happened? Mordred spat on the flowers. Flowers?

He looked around. It was a fae land, undoubtably. He cursed vilely; he hated the fae. They were the scum of the earth with no regard for social norms, no restraint in their action. If they had the slightest reason to take a disliking, they would kill him without any hesitation. Their trickery was infamous.

Mordred reached for Caliburn before hesitating. He doubted the blade would accept him, after all, he had killed his father. Still, he had to try. Rhongomyniad was slung on his back, he didn't dare to use it, in case he had slaid his father. Clarent also hanged off his belt. He was probably the most armed knight, two swords and a spear. A smirk brushed on his face before he crushed it with despair. Rhongomyniad it was.

A light pressure on his shoulder and he immediately pivoted to lay the tip under the throat of a certain mage.

"Merlin."

Mordred scowled at the smile before withdrawing the spear. Merlin rubbed his throat nervously.

"What do you want, foul Incubus."

"I see you still haven't learnt to temper your patience."

"Cease your mutterings and explain. The last I heard of you was that you were seduced by a temptress and had your arts stolen. I offer no goodwill to one that abandoned their liege for sake of a maiden. Duty comes before family."

"Those are some fine words for a traitor," Merlin fired back with that irritating grin. "Besides, I am here to save humanity."

Mordred gagged, "The skirt chaser wishes to save humanity? I must be dreaming. In fact, no. even in my dreams I would dare to think of such an event."

"Damn you, do you really think so lowly of me?" Merlin whined at Mordred's resolute nod. "Ach, trust me this time, okay?"

"Trust is earned, not gifted." Said Mordred, "Where are we?"

"Avalon."

"Ava-. No! You lie! Curse you! "

Merlin laughed at Mordred's growl of disbelief.

"It is the truth. In fact, if you are going to act so childishly, I am not going to answer any more of your questions and you can die with knowledge that your task is unfulfilled."

"What task! Speak in truths than in riddles!"

"You failed to kill your father. He still lives."

"Again, lies. Rhongomyniad impaled him, he would have died out of blood loss. He does not have Excalibur's sheath to save him."

"Well, technically, it wasn't your father per say but rather a different timeline's version of King Arther. He has risen again to establish Camelot."

"Then I do not see why I should intervene," Mordred folded his arms. If the king still lived, he rejoiced. The possibility of Camelot enduring no longer seemed as distant as it was. "I applaud my father for his endurance."

Merlin grimaced.

"Your father has changed; he is no longer the just king he used to be. He has become justice's executioner, ignorant to emotions or to hope. He kills many to save the few innocents. Is that not a violation of your chivalry? Your honour? Apparently not. Morality is not honour. Is it wrong to wish someone to happy? Wrong to save someone who has done wrong? Is it wrong to offer hope to the downtrodden when they have nothing left? Is holding back the truth as bad as killing someone? Your honour would say yes, lies can be worse than killing but knights should not just be of war but off humanity. Yes, fight to save others but also fight to understand. Mordred-"

"Shut up! You court fool should not be capable of such deep thoughts," Mordred despaired, collapsing as doubt assailed his mind. "Very well, I shall take up your quest. Just cease your badgering."

Merlin chuckled fondly as he handed over a fragment, something that glowed with a pure aura of hope. Mordred drew a breath.

"Excalibur."

"Indeed, imbed this in Caliburn and hand this to Arthur."

"Stop asking me of these illogical tasks, you can't simply slap…" Mordred watched in morbid fascination as Merlin simply did slap the fragment onto Caliburn's scabbard. "What?"

"Any more excuses? No, I thought so. Now off you go!"

The knight spluttered in outrage and lunged at the mage, only to be blinded by a mere cheap underhand trick of sudden light.

"Oh, enjoy meeting your counterparts!"

"I hate you so much!" screamed Mordred as he felt his body fading. He tried to lash out with a fist but all he heard was mockery.


Mordred hated sand. The bastard had not been gentle in his introduction, and he had fallen several metres into the dunes. Of course, it was just his luck that he rolled down the slope at high speeds, each jarring impact caused his weapons to smash into him.

Sand was a horrible experience. Even on the beaches, Mordred disliked it. It entered every crevice and caused the joints to crunch as he walked. Yet it was his only companion in the featureless landscape. There was little sense of time, only that that the sun rose and disappeared over the horizon. Each passing day, he scratched a tally on his pauldrons with Caliburn. It wasn't accurate, some days he forgot and others he added it twice.

As a knight and Heir, Mordred ordered his facts together and removed any distractions. Even with his voice hoarse, he gave his defiance to the wind every day.

"I am Mordred, knight of the Round Table, Heir to the Camelot's Throne, loyal to the King and I am unbroken."

There were dead littered amongst the sands along with ruins of settlements. The sand had scoured the flesh off the bones whilst the lack of moisture preserved them. His nature as a Servant prevented him from dying of thirst or hunger but he still felt the pangs of human weakness. All he needed was mana and there was plenty to feed off the land. Something about leylines but Mordred wasn't interested.

Rhongomyniad carved a single line in each skull, silent acknowledgement that they had died and Mordred's method of honouring them.

Every day, he swelted in his armour in the unforgiving sun. Was this Hell? No, Merlin would never do such a thing to him. At least that was the thought that Mordred allowed himself to delude himself with. After all, there was a subconscious tugging on his soul that guided. The Sun came and went but Mordred marched on. He didn't need sleep though it became hard to tell if he was. Sometimes, Mordred closed his eyes, allowing his memory to guide him whilst he dreamt lucidly. The members of the Round Tables visited him.

Each one cursed him for his actions yet he ignored their words. Only Father acknowledged him, and it made his heart swell every time.

It was endless, he had walked for time unthinkable to normal humans. He surveyed every inch of the boundless wasteland. This was humanity's failure. No matter how hard it tried, it could only settle where nature allowed it. Here, life was fatally alien to humans. They would never truly conqueror the desert.

He was tired. He carved things into his armour to amuse himself though he was writing over the same scratches over and over again. It was akin to the concept of infinity. His mind simply failed to comprehend it, yet he continued to walk.

Honour drove him, or was it guilt? Father would know, Father was the reason for his existence after all. He longed to talk to Father once more, but the Father never talked.

Some days he managed to forget his crimes but other days he screamed and lashed out to the sand. He never wanted this, yet he had been forced to kill the others when they tried to kill him. Why could no one understand that he never intended to betray Father.

"I am," He said once, when his resolve faltered, "Mordred. Heir to the Throne."

Mordred shuffled now. All he had to do was move. He was very tired, so very tired. Nothing seemed to be better than to lie down on the hot, cold sand and close his eyes. Perhaps even wake up in Camelot to find this all as a dream. But no. He took an oath, they all had. To always obey the king. He would not so brazenly discard it.

He didn't know when he entered the city, but he did notice the glances that were thrown at him. Fear etched in their miserable faces as if he would suddenly draw his blade against them. They were downtrodden refugees, grasping at anything to alleviate their suffering. An emboldened few tried to ask for gifts from him with outstretched palms. Mordred patted his belt for his money pouch and handed out a few silvers. It wasn't much but only a fool would carry his monies to the battlefield.

Mordred didn't know much about desert civilisations, but he was certain that there wasn't supposed to be this many desolate people.

A clang echoed in the streets.

In one swift motion, Mordred levelled Rhongomyniad against a child's shoulder. The offender paused in mid throw, startled by Mordred's sudden actions as he hopefully contemplated whether to throw another stone. The people around them held their breaths, silent save for the wind brushing on the sand.

"Why have you thrown that stone, boy."

The boy burst into tears, forcing Mordred to wait for the words in hiccupping sobs.

"Papa...went to….Holy City…" Again, Mordred's ears were filled with the child's wailing. Had he been truly unyielding, he would have beheaded the boy for wasting his time and offending his honour. However, Mordred was certainly human with his own doubts and fears that anchored his morality. "He… never came back!"

Mordred lowered and grounded the spear into the street. The helmet dehumanised him, not a single shed of skin to show the person underneath. A single sigh of amusement slipped from his grille.

"I slew mine."

The boy trembled before Mordred's gaze.

"Leave me, I have better things to do than fight against little boys today."

Mordred looked away from the boy's stumbling run, a woman rushed out to arrest the boy's collapse. He didn't understand why he made that comment, it wasn't exactly chivalrous thing to do but it was the most obvious thing that had come up in his mind. It wasn't even humorous, just a vague comment parents. Scowling, Mordred tried to distract himself by wrapping up Rhongomyniad in its shroud.

He did not expect himself to be pulled away by a cloaked figure into a darkened alleyway.

"Bedivere?"

The man cocked a brow at Mordred's stunned tone, even if the helmet concealed his expression, Bedivere definitely knew his mouth was gaping.

"I don't recognise you, but I recognise your heraldry, Mordred, isn't it?"

"Aye," Mordred muttered, "I certainly did not expect to see yourself here."

Bedivere tilted his head, allowing his chalky hair to dangle over his face, "You aren't the Mordred I know yet I still welcome you none of the less. I can see that you did not side with King Arthur."

"Father…" Mordred snorted, "Camelot must fall, it has been foretold since the moment Uther decided to allow his lust to overtake his reason. It is the will of the heavens and those who conspire against humanity's very existence."

"I was not expecting you to be so deep, Mordred," Bedivere grinned. "I am here to bequeath our liege with Excalibur."

"Shut up," Mordred spat, "I am not here to resign my duties to my liege. Even if I must die allow fate's due path, I still have my honour. I am here to bequeath my own gift to Father or die trying."

"There it is," Bedivere nodded sagely, "Your stubbornness still shines through, no matter the timeline."

"What, how do you not expect me as I am? What is different?"

"First of all, I know you as woman."

Mordred doubled over and choked as Bedivere patted his back.

"By the Lord, surely you jest?"

"No, Mordred," Bedivere offered a canteen that Mordred took hesitantly. He lifted the face plate and took a sip. Water. Blessed water that quenched his illusionary thirst. Mordred took sparing sips, bathing in the pleasure from drinking. He wiped his lips with his gauntlets before handing it back to Bedivere. He left his visor open to truly look Bedivere's eyes.

"Secondly, you do not wield Rhongomyniad, Caliburn and Clarent at that same time."

"I can explain," Mordred waved at Caliburn, "This was my gift upon my rise to a Knight of the Round Table. Clarent was supposed to be a peace offering to Father whilst Rhongomyniad was the weapon I wielded against the barbarians that threatened our lands in Father's distant campaign."

"Did you not slay the King with Clarent?"

"No, Rhongomyniad has that guilt."

"May I hold it?"

"Rhongomyniad? Of course." Mordred tore off the shroud to reveal Rhongomyniad in its dark glory. It appeared to be a simple black spear with a steel haft. It was anything but ordinary. A bloody crystal tipped its top, pulsing sanguine veins enraptured Bedivere's attention as he hesitantly touched it with his gauntlet. A spark of energy rose in answer to lick his fingers. Mordred gasped, Bedivere flinched.

"My apologies, I didn't-"

"It's fine," Bedivere waved off Mordred's concern. "The spear showed me your King Arthur's death."

Mordred bowed his head as he covered up Rhongomyniad once more. To see Bedivere in pain, hurt far more than any other of the deaths of the Round Table. Bedivere was an ideal knight, pure of heart yet worldly. Mordred admired the knight's resolve and sense of justice, trying to emulate that same character as a king that served the people had been his goal in Father's absence. It was far easier than to copy Father's perfection.

"What is our course of action, Bedivere?"

"To gather information about this Holy City. I suspect that is where our liege resides, but I need to be certain. I am going to ask around at the wine-places around here."

"A wise decision, Bedivere, I thank you for your wisdom."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"It was not." Mordred paused at Bedivere's disapproving stare and guiltily closed his visor. "Yes, it was. I am sorry."

"That is how I know you are not my Mordred."


A/N: I would love some feedback out this OC. I am still quite new to Fate so I don't fully understand some concepts, if there are flaws, please do point them out! Cheers!