Chapter 12 - Fanciful Festivities
Throngs of cheering people crowded both sides of the road around them, as they triumphantly marched in parade formation towards the castle.
The figure at the head of the formation couldn't help but let the beginnings of a soft smile creep through the cracks as she observed the smiles on their faces, the intensity of their cheers, the fullness of their cheeks and belies (a complete reversal from how things had been before she'd drawn that sword), before she ruthlessly crushed it back down under the mask of regal nobility.
The perfect King had to always be kingly, after all.
Despite her expressionless visage, though, she couldn't stop all the emotions that stirred within her breast.
Satisfaction, at seeing how her people at been uplifted.
Pride, at seeing all that her knights had accomplished.
Relief, at finally being back home after another season of brutal campaigning.
She ignored all of them with well-practiced ease, and instead absent-mindedly stroked Dun Stallion's mane comfortingly even as she cast her gaze towards the crowds, eliciting another wave of adulation.
As she noticed armored figures ahead of the procession maintaining order (making sure people didn't block the road, mainly), she had to fight to suppress a sigh.
Honestly, while her youngest nephew's sharp mind deserved recognition (more than his older brothers, at the very least), there were times he bordered on paranoid...
Then again, considering who had raised him, she supposed she really couldn't blame him for being suspicious of every shadow.
After all, there was no way she'd ever forget how her sister had caused her to lose Caliburn.
A hint of irritation threatened to creep past her mask as she recalled that day in Listenoise, before she brutally suppressed it.
This procession was both a celebration to the people of Camelot and a reminder that they were safe, guarded as they were by the military might of Camelot as on display.
As the people's liege, it was her duty to stand on ceremony, and so she maintained her dignified expression at the head of the procession as they continued their journey towards the castle, only finally allowing herself to relax once the entire column had passed into the walls of the castle proper, where they were met by the members of her court that she'd entrusted Camelot to in her absence.
In particular, as the chosen few of her Order and her wife approached her, a sincere smile graced her lips.
"Your Majesty," Lancelot greeted her as he genuflected in front of her, followed as he was by the rest of her Knights. "It is pleasing to witness your safe return."
"And it is good to see that you all remain in good health," Artoria returned the greeting, before gesturing with her hands for them all to rise. As the Knights got to their feet, and a page came to take the reins of Dun Stallion from her and lead him into the stables, she inquired: "And how has the realm fared in my absence? Is there any pressing news to report?"
"There is nothing worth mentioning regarding the affairs of state, Your Majesty," Sir Agravain informed her first.
"..." Sir Lancelot, for his part, briefly considered giving King Arthur a quick rundown of what had transpired while he'd been gone, but one look at the King's face convinced him to put it aside for the time being.
Even if he hadn't been working with him long enough to notice the barest signs of stress and fatigue on his liege's unaging features, he'd heard about how some of the border clashes had went.
"Nothing that cannot be discussed during the feast, my King," Lancelot bowed his head.
"Then, once more, you have my gratitude for managing Camelot in my absence," Artoria nodded at them again, before another smile disguised the weariness from her features as she added: "And speaking of the feast, I hope you've paid the cooks well; I know Gawain plans on at least a week of non-stop eating and drinking."
Honestly, she'd have much rather just skipped the dinner entirely, and instead retired for the evening to be with her Queen (there may have been no romantic feelings between them, but Artoria considered Guinevere a close confidant and good friend, and more importantly she knew her secret. At the very least, she didn't have to be King Arthur around her), but the men deserved their celebration.
She would not disappoint the efforts they'd put in for her by not being present at the feast celebrating their victories.
Fortunately, Avalon was able to sustain her physically as she retired to her quarters, removed her armor, and fought down the urge to simply melt away in the bath of scented hot water the servants had drawn for her, and soon enough she was in her more-formal furs, raising a toast to the heroes of the hour, signaling the start of the feast.
As cheers filled the air, and the hall broke into boisterous brags and swapped stories, Artoria looked around with approval, before sitting down and turning to the knight on her left: "Now, Lancelot, you said you had some news for me?"
"So that's the King?" Jaune meanwhile whispered to Mordred as the pair sat side by side in front of a roasted boar and observed the emerald-eyed blonde at the center of the table overlooking the entire room, having been unable to catch a glimpse of him earlier in the day (Jaune hadn't wanted to push his way through the crowds).
"That's right!" Mordred nodded happily, admiring the figure she looked up to the most. "So, what do you think? He's so regal and noble, right?"
"... he looks so young..." Jaune couldn't help but note as he watched the face of the person who would evaluate him later.
"Well, yeah..." Mordred blinked and looked back at Jaune in surprise. "Didn't I tell you?"
"Tell me what?" Jaune asked.
"When King Arthur drew the Sword from the Stone, he stopped aging," Mordred enthusiastically explained even as she began carving pieces of meat from the pig's flank. "A gift from God, or something like that..."
"... oh..." Jaune took a moment to remind himself that this world (most likely) had magic, and he really shouldn't have been surprised. As he joined his mentor in serving himself some food, he asked conversationally: "And how old was he then?"
"Eh, about fifteen," Mordred answered easily between bites.
"And how long ago was that?" Jaune pressed curiously.
"Mmm..." Mordred swallowed her food and took a moment to think about it. "Should have been Christmas, almost twenty years ago."
"..." Jaune could only let loose an impressed low whistle, as he tried to imagine both taking on such a heavy task as being royalty at the age of fifteen and being fifteen for twenty years.
Oum, considering how much of an idiot he'd been at fifteen, he definitely couldn't say the idea of being fifteen forever appealed to him...
"Mmmhmm," Mordred hummed noncommittally before the pair lapsed into a companionable silence, with Jaune observing his surroundings curiously and Mordred focused on both enjoying her meal and sneaking glances at the figure she admired the most.
Then Jaune noticed something, and spoke up: "By the way, Sir Mordred?"
"What is it, squire?" Mordred looked up from the leg she was gnawing on.
"If you don't mind me asking... shouldn't you be up there with the other Knights of the Round Table?" Jaune inquired. "I mean, that special table's meant for the Knights of the Round Table, right?"
"Mmm, well... that is..." Mordred stuttered for a moment, before quickly explaining: "Well, conversation up there can get a bit formal at times... at least down here, I can talk freely like a normal person..."
"... yeah, I can see that," Jaune conceded, understanding his mentor's point. As much as they knew how to speak formally and carry themselves with decorum and dignity, neither of them necessarily enjoyed it.
"Hey, I can always leave you to eat by yourself right now, squire!" Mordred huffed as she looked away.
"Yeah, yeah, thanks for keeping your poor squire company," Jaune rolled his eyes good-naturedly, playing along. "Truly, with Gareth busy up there serving Sir Lancelot and her brothers, I would be all alone if not for your kindness."
"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue in annoyance at the mention of her sister, before grumbling under her breath: "Yeah, you'd better remember that..."
"... you know, I'm sure you and Gareth would get along if you just gave her a chance..." Jaune idly observed, having heard Mordred.
"Hmph!" Mordred turned her nose up at her squire's words, before picking up a nearby turkey leg and waving it around to emphasize her words: "Maybe I don't want to give her a chance. Stupid perfect older sister..."
"..." Jaune could only sigh at his mentor's behavior, before he decided to do the sensible thing for once and change the subject: "So... are you ready for our private meeting with the King tonight?"
"... I was trying not to think about it..." Mordred reluctantly admitted, as her mind automatically began thinking about all the ways it could go wrong.
"Don't worry, Mordred," Jaune bumped his shoulder against hers comfortingly. "I'm sure you'll be fine."
"..." Mordred couldn't help the smile that appeared under her helmet, but she quickly shook it off and returned the favor with more force as she shot back: "Just don't embarrass me in front of His Majesty, squire!"
Before either of them could continue their conversation, however, a man suddenly approached them and addressed Jaune: "Excuse me, good sir! I do believe this is the first time-"
"What do you want, knight?" Mordred cut in with a bored tone, glaring at the sudden interruption.
"I just wanted to know who the stranger seated next to you was, along with his relationship to you, Sir Mordred!" Sir Lionel quickly explained himself, even as a small part of him marveled at the fact that Sir Mordred had actually responded to his attempts at conversation (instead of merely glaring at him and brushing him off like he normally would have). Perhaps there had been something to the rumors he'd heard from the others when he'd returned with the army...
"Well, why didn't you just say so?" Mordred rolled her eyes impatiently, before wrapping an arm around Jaune and pulling him close as she introduced him: "This is Jaune, who I picked up after he helped me slay the Addanc! He's going to be my new squire!"
"Wait, so the rumors were really true?!" Sir Lionel couldn't hide his shock.
"I told you Sir Mordred had picked up a squire!" Sir Bors exclaimed excitedly as he popped up next to his fellow knight, having been one of those who'd remained in Camelot.
"The Addanc... that was the Water Demon of Snowdonia, right?!" Another voice called out, as the crowd around them slowly grew.
"How did the two of you slay the Addanc?"
"Forget that, how did he survive being Mordred's squire?!"
"I heard Agravain banned them from ever having practice spars within the castle's grounds!"
"Oi, who said that, huh?!" Mordred snapped, looking around furiously at the knights around her.
"Now, now, Sir Mordred..." Jaune placed a placating hand on Mordred's arm and lowered it as the knights all took a step back. Then he looked around at the people surrounding him, and fought the urge to gulp. Oum, he really hated being at the center of attention...
But hey, strangers were just friends he hadn't met yet, right?
Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he helped his mentor explain: "We're not really banned... we just need to get Agravain's permission if we want to, that's all."
Immediately, Jaune knew he'd said the wrong thing as the murmuring of the crowd swelled in intensity.
"So it really is true!"
"Did you really destroy an entire training field, too?!"
"I heard the half the budget for the feast went to replacing all the training weapons they destroyed..."
"Oh, come on!" Mordred whined. "That was just one time! One time!"
"Uh..." Jaune laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond (at least, not without either lying or pissing off Sir Mordred even more).
"Back me up here, squire!" Mordred demanded impatiently, not liking his lack of response.
Unfortunately for Jaune, before he could do so, someone in the crowd shouted a different question: "Hey, hey, is it also true you're also Gareth's secret lover, Squire Jaune?"
"Right, I always see them together during meal times!"
"I heard he's in a love triangle with Sir Lancelot over Gareth's affections!"
"... wait, what?"
"Oh-hoh? This is the first time I'm hearing about this..."
"It certainly looks lively over there," Artoria observed idly, comparing the Sir Mordred down there interacting with his fellow knights like any other person (albeit perhaps more boisterously) to the Sir Mordred of her memories.
From the beginning, Sir Mordred had been an enigma to the realm of Camelot, having suddenly shown up one day with a letter of introduction from Morgan.
That alone would have been more than enough to make her wary of Sir Mordred, but despite that questionable backing, no mention of any performed feats, and a suspicious aversion to discussing his parentage, Sir Agravain had insisted that Sir Mordred be allowed to give a demonstration of his prowess.
His superb prowess, and blunt but unyielding mental chivalry, had been enough to impress most of the Knights of the Round, and had that been all Artoria personally felt that most of the Knights would have eventually been able to see beyond Sir Mordred's troublingly non-existent past.
Unfortunately, for all his prowess, and for all his convictions... Sir Mordred was, to put it bluntly, horribly lacking in social skills.
He was diligent and unwavering, but he could also be brash, impetuous, impulsive, and competitive, and after the fifth time he'd sent a fellow knight to the healer over some minor and possibly-imagined slight, most of the occupants of the castle were content with giving the newest member of the Round Table a wide berth (not that Sir Mordred had ever seemed to notice).
Or at least, that was the Sir Mordred she remembered, from before she'd left to protect the borders of Logres.
But now?
"Like I told you, Your Majesty," Lancelot smiled. "I believe his new squire's presence has been nothing but a positive influence on Sir Mordred."
"I'll say!" Gawain exclaimed with a laugh. "I don't think I've seen Mordred actually get involved in a discussion like that before! So, who's his squire-to-be again?"
"His name is Jaune of Arc, Gawain," Gareth informed him coldly as she returned with a new platter of food for them, eyeing the food he'd sprayed all over the table with his outburst. "And his tale is a tragic one, which you would remember if you'd been paying attention."
"Oh, lighten up, little sister!" Gawain raised his flagon of wine to her. "It's a feast!"
"She certainly has a better idea than you, Gawain," Agravain sniped, rolling his eyes.
"I agree with them too, Gawain," Gaheris added lazily.
"So how has the young man been progressing?" Percival asked next to them, having been sent to patrol the countryside a few days after Jaune had arrived. "Have they destroyed any more grounds, Agravain?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Gawain blinked, and even Artoria had to admit to raising an eyebrow at that statement.
"I still can't believe I missed that fight..." Gareth grumbled. "But still, having sparred with him myself, I can believe that Jaune was able to endure half an hour of single combat with Mordred."
"Oh?" Gawain's voice was dangerously low. "Does my littlest sister have something she wishes to share with me?"
"Gawain!" Gareth's face flushed furiously.
"The two of them often dine together, and Squire Jaune and her discuss fighting tips and weaponsmithing," Lancelot explained casually, unwittingly adding fuel to the fire. "By the way, how is Ira Lupus progressing, Squire Gareth?"
"It's going great, Sir Lancelot!" Gareth quickly seized the lifeline, ignoring the furiously-inquisitive gaze Gawain was levelling at her. "I still can't believe he hails from a kingdom that actually understands the concept of guns!"
"Wait, I thought guns were a magical weapon devised by Merlin?" Gaheris cocked his head in confusion.
Artoria felt a pang of envy stab her heart, as she watched Gareth, Gawain, and Lancelot light-heartedly interacting, along with everyone else in the room.
As much as she tried, she could never fully kill the last bit of humanity within her... the last bit of the little girl she'd been before she'd drawn Caliburn.
For a moment, a flight of fancy seized hold of her, and she wondered just what things would be like, if she could be both a King and a woman.
The moment passed, and she buried it back down with the ease of nearly two decades of practice.
Her people had needed their King.
Her wishes, her dreams, her life, could never compare to the lives of her people, her Kingdom, of England itself.
In the end, pretending to be a man had simply been the most effective way to build support for her rule.
And looking around, at the smiling, laughing, and cheering knights that swore their loyalties to her, she once again affirmed her oath to her people, and considered her sacrifice worthwhile.
"Merlin devised the concept with his Clairvoyance," Artoria gently added, finally joining in the conversation again. "He did not come up with it using his own imagination. But that means the lands that Jaune of Arc hails from are likely very advanced... and you told me he no longer wishes to return to them?"
"That is correct, Your Majesty," Lancelot confirmed. "He says he tried doing some research in the archives, and came to the conclusion that the lands of his birth are simply too far away to risk sending an expedition to."
"... then how did he get here, again?" Gawain asked suspiciously.
"He says he woke up in the forest of Snowdonia after fighting a dragon and a witch," Gareth informed him.
"A dragon and a witch?!" Gawain echoed incredulously, but before he could continue his interrogation, Sir Tristan suddenly slammed his flagon against his table, and had a massive emotional outburst that killed off any ongoing discussion in the hall.
-ONE RANT LATER-
It was in a daze that Artoria aimlessly wandered the moonlit halls of Camelot, unable to take her mind off of what had happened during the feast earlier, and especially what it had resulted in.
Oh, she had known that, like many of her Knights, Sir Tristan had grievances with her actions.
After all, it was precisely that compassion, that nobility, that sense of justice, that desire to help others, that chivalric spirit, that she'd selected them for.
And even among the Round Table, Sir Tristan was renowned for being the most compassionate.
But that same compassion was a double-edged sword.
War demanded sacrifice.
Artoria knew many of her knights had difficulty accepting that; they were strong beyond compare and stubborn to a fault, as befitted heroes of the realm.
And that was why she forced herself to accept it.
As their King, as their liege, it was her duty to bear their sins without complaint.
She would do what was necessary for her people, for her Kingdom, and for her Knights.
But she also knew how short of a step it could be, from that to being a cold-hearted tyrant.
In fact, such a tyranny would be all the more oppressive than even the barbaric Saxons; at least the Saxons would never delude themselves into thinking that they were oppressing their enemies for their own good.
That was exactly why she had so valued Tristan's company; his humanity (the archer even cried for those he shot down) helped preserve hers, and she could rest assured that she would never be allowed to fall into such depravity.
Unfortunately, the grievances he had publicly aired were not of that sort.
In the end, Sir Tristan, the Knight of Lamentation, who despaired over friend and foe alike, had simply reached his limits, unable to follow a King who could order thousands to their death without even batting an eye.
The situation had only escalated as she'd forced herself to bear his complaints with a stoic silence (it was her duty, after all, to bear it all for them), allowing him to continue uninterrupted; he had only been incensed further, as he saw the emotionless King fail to react to all the venom he'd been spitting at her, and treated it as proof of her inability to feel.
In the end, he'd stormed out of the feast, and departed from her services, with a single sorrowful mutter.
"The King does not understand the hearts of men."
Even now, she couldn't stop thinking about those words.
Could it really be, that her subjects didn't believe she understood them?
The looks on the faces of her knights had answered that question.
That hadn't been what had hurt the most, though.
It had been what she'd overheard Sir Agravain tell Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot, when they had expressed concern over what had happened.
"I ask you not to seek the same values as ours from one possessing magic like the gods."
Even the people who supported her didn't think she still had a human heart.
What was she supposed to do?
What could she do?
For the first time in a long while, her Instincts failed her.
Merlin was still only God-Knows-Where.
Sir Kay was still visiting Sir Ector, assisting their father in his advanced age.
And Queen Guinevere...
She had actually been on her way back to her chambers, to ask her closest confidant for advice, but as she'd turned the corner she'd caught sight of a distracted Lancelot entering her wife's chambers, a look of desperate helplessness on his face.
Immediately, she'd decided to go for an impromptu moonlight stroll, guessing that Lancelot was feeling conflicted about the disastrous feast and would thusly not want to hear her voice at that moment.
(As for the potential scandalous nature of an unwed man visiting the bedchambers of a married woman, Artoria paid it little heed. Guinevere was a good friend, and Sir Lancelot was a peerless knight of renown, whose name was sung throughout the land for his virtues. Artoria would never insult the First of her Knights by entertaining such foolish notions.)
So lost was she in her thoughts, that she almost turned the corner before she heard a familiar voice throwing a tantrum: "Seriously... what was up with that good-for-nothing archer?! Going on and on about how the King is too perfect... tch, just saying it out loud makes my blood boil. He's lucky he left when he did! If he hadn't, I'd have thrown him out myself!"
Jaune, for his part, simply looked down at his sheath, and wondered why there had been something about those green orbs that were just bugging him.
Mordred frowned at him under her helmet, and gently nudged him in the side with her elbow to get his attention as she asked: "... hey, squire."
"Hmmm?" Jaune looked up from his sheath to see Mordred staring intently at him.
"... I really don't understand people sometimes." Mordred admitted reluctantly with a sigh. "Seriously, what kind of a complaint is that? If the King is perfect, then why did Tristan have any complaints about him?"
Jaune hummed thoughtfully as he chewed it over, before he recalled a dance, a moonlit night, and those same green eyes.
Right.
That'd been when he'd seen them before.
"Sir Mordred..." Jaune began philosophically, looking away from the figure slumped against the wall next to him in favor of the night sky. "Do you think humans are perfect?"
"Huh?" Mordred blinked, caught off-guard by his sudden question. "What kind of a question is that? Of course they're not."
"And do you think King Arthur is human?" Jaune continued, as his gaze fell upon the moon, an hed remembered its broken counterpart.
"Of course he is!" Mordred nodded vigorously.
"Then why do you think King Arthur is perfect?" Jaune challenged quietly.
"But... that's..." Mordred blinked, as she realized just what she'd said. For a moment, she was tempted to roar at him, chastise him for making her insult His Majesty's good name.
But they were friends, and she had asked for his candid opinion.
What kind of a mentor would she be, if she rebuked him for honestly answering a question that she'd asked?
Instead, vigorously racking her brains, she attempted to defend the person she admired the most: "I mean... look at everything he's accomplished! Look at how much his people adore him! Hell, look at how he was able to maintain his composure, even when Tristan was insulting him so harshly!"
"Maintain his composure...?" Jaune quietly repeated, shaking his head in sympathy. "Sir Mordred... didn't you see his eyes?"
"King Arthur's eyes?" Mordred blinked again.
"He was hurt and heartbroken, Sir Mordred." Jaune explained his mentor, closing his eyes as he remembered the other time he'd seen eyes like those. Unable to forget the sheer loneliness in her eyes and the forced matter-of-fact tone with which she had used to explain her circumstances (like it was normal, expected even), he couldn't help himself as he continued: "The accusations that he didn't understand the hearts of his subjects..."
"When you're placed on a pedestal like that for so long, you become separated from the people that put you there in the first place."
"What do you mean, squire?" Mordred's voice was low and serious.
"Sir Mordred... isn't King Arthur being forced to bear too much of a burden?" Jaune asked quietly, only able to see his partner's face at that moment. "The King is human, and humans aren't perfect... and yet, because the people expect him to be perfect, he's forced to live up to their unrealistic expectations."
"Everyone assumes I'm too good for them - that I'm on a level that they simply can't attain."
"And by living up to them... by being the perfect King his subjects force him to be... people begin to believe the King has lost touch with them. After all, people can't understand perfection, and perfection can't understand people, because people aren't perfect."
"It's become impossible to form any sort of meaningful relationship with people"
"It's not that the King doesn't understand the hearts of his people, Sir Mordred; it is that the people can't understand the heart of their King." Jaune concluded, belatedly realizing that his fist was clenched tightly. "I just... I just feel sorry for the King."
A tense silence followed, as Mordred digested his words.
A part of her wanted to immediately deny it, point out that the King wasn't bearing such a heavy burden because of their expectations, since the King was perfection personified.
Another part of her quietly pointed out that that was exactly what Jaune had just warned her about.
"... do you really believe this, squire?" Mordred finally asked.
"... I could just be mistaken, of course." Jaune conceded, realizing he'd more than overstepped his bounds.
He didn't even know King Arthur, after all; he could have just been projecting Pyrrha's green eyes onto the King's, he had no experience with kings, and he still didn't know much about this world.
For all he knew, considering the King hadn't aged in two decades, it was completely possible that this world had a special magic that really did allow him to be inhumanly perfect, or maybe the King really wasn't fully human.
"After all... you know I'm not from around here, and that was the first time I've seen King Arthur." Jaune pointed out.
"... right... that's true..." Mordred nodded hopefully. Then she sighed dejectedly, and quietly asked: "But... what if you're not? Squire... even if His Majesty isn't perfect... I will always admire the King of Knights. How could I help lessen his burden?"
"I..." Jaune paused, unsure of how to answer.
"You treated me like anyone else."
"Someone who just saw me for me."
He doubted Pyrrha's words would apply here; Arthur was a King, after all, and Mordred was one of his Knights.
Even if Mordred didn't worship the King, he doubted they could ever have a relationship like the one he and Pyrrha used to have.
Instead, he simply looked away, ignoring Mordred's expectant gaze as he murmured: "I guess... maybe you could go and ask Agravain about it? I mean, he's the Secretary of the Round Table and he's been serving the King for quite a while, so he'll definitely have a better idea than either of us..."
"... that sounds like a good idea, squire!" Mordred cheerfully clapped his back, spirits buoyed by the prospect of actually being able to do something. "We'll go seem him first thing in the morning! Now, let's burn off that feast, Jaune!"
Jaune sighed, but his smile was full of fond exasperation as Mordred jumped up and began dragging him off.
Meanwhile, around the corner, out of view of the knight and the squire, a very human heart furiously pounded, as its owner tried to process the words she'd just heard.
Author's Notes: ... okay, I know what I said but in my defense, most of this chapter is basically the feast scene from SCENARIO: SABER OF RED, which is why it came out so quickly.
Future chapters won't be anywhere near so frequent, and the Rambler will definitely never be on a roll like ATDITW.
Seriously, I still have no idea how I released over 70 chapters in 4 months (Chapters 17 to 89 were released between May 15th 2021 and September 15th 2021), but I'm damn sure I'm never going to hit that kind of stride again...
Well, referenced insanity aside, I homestly considered splitting this chapter into two parts, but I realized that the post-feast scene was almost identical to the original, which is why I decided to bundle it together with the feast as ome longer chapters.
On the other hand, though, now that I'm at the point where the original ended, I actually need to come up with new material.
Also any Gareth and Jaune shipping is just scuttlebutt from curious knights, magnified because it was never addressed all this time. Seriously, bored soliders are one of the greatest contributors to the rumor mills.
Something something P*treon and ko-fi something something donations go to my retirement fund something something don't expect the next chapter anytime soon something something.