Familia Myth: Heroes
Rated: Mature
Summary: The gears of Fate, the threads of destiny, have shifted with incredible force. This alteration would be a cascade of events that will undoubtedly shape the future of mortals and deities, but more so onto the Heroes that have yet to touch or glimpse at their Fate. Until it is altered or twisted by their choices or unbendable forces... their world.
Interlude: Bud Slowly, Knight
Insight inveterated in her narrowing gaze, the Queen Of Winter beamed at her disciple proudly. Blowing out a resonant breath of relief, unexpectedly sensing a dose of surprise when witnessing the young girl managing to set in motion her offensive.
"Haah!!"
The girl felt a tremor in her throat, concrete anticipation as she expressed a bellow, briefly drowning out the sound of metals colliding against one another in the air around her. Her gaze sharpened and focused on the jumbled dance of strikes within her headspace, determined to manifest.
The disciple of the Queen Of Winter, governor of Camelot— a distant kingdom nestled in the northern landscapes of the world— and sister to the Knight King is a girl no older than sixteen.
A youthful teenager caught at the fragile intersection of innocence and developing adulthood.
On no occasion should a knight upskill their experience and talents independently. It is a well-known convention not only for cadets but also for those of higher ranks. The Knights Of The Roundtable, howbeit, operated outside of these strictures. That sole benefit itself, one of many, offered a level of autonomy that the younger aspirants could dream of.
Why?
"Ack!"
"Don't concentrate too much on my movements. Understand that I, too, can adjust and learn, little sister."
An opportunity came across the girl's concept, her peripheral view forming the painting, the movement of her weapon changing courses towards the mark, her inking cut short when a spark of orange and red flashed across her eyes. Blinded and briefly overpowered by awe, Gareth's approach is hindered by acuity.
—If not enhancing their art in complete isolation, the knights among the Roundtable would seek their comrades in the group of their echelon.
That included the very Knight King himself— the hero of their nation. An auspicious experience in itself, unlike the other knights, albeit they are as imposing.
Gareth, although a knight of the Roundtable, is young. Much younger than any of her peers and even her own siblings.
Consequently, whether she liked it or not, it meant the half-human relative inexperience starkly contrasted with the well-versed prowess of the arresting Knight Of The Lake and others entrusted with perilous assignments.
Wert I to be moe forthright… the shortcoming doth seem more favorable than the scholars yet to join.
Morgan, an unrelenting noblewoman with a rather humorless disposition, acknowledged the urgent necessity for her pupil to be acquainted with the rigors and responsibilities associated with the life of a knight of the Roundtable. It is a validity painfully required to improve.
"…Thy enhancements go regarded. Yet thou art aware that this opulence shall not endure further."
Morgan's delighted sentiment soured as the unrefined reminders of her slip-ups intruded into her observation, words escaping from her mind. The corner of her lips tugged down as her brows knit, a discord reiterating mistakes and oversights she had made in her conceptualization.
"Haaaa… Haaaa…"
"The next time I drill the students and cadets, your group, or class— whatever your decision is to be. It'll be the first to jog down the practice fields, so you won't easily get dead on your feet. Understand, little sister?"
"Y…Yes, sir..!"
Cold sweat trickled down the nape of Gareth's neck, inhaling and exhaling erroneous and forced, consciously wrestling with the pressure in her chest. From her bones, a struggle with exhaustion, she felt them becoming numb; the weight of the weapon she clutched grew heavier with each passing second, twisting to be a burden for her.
As plain as the sun sinking west— pallums are the number one distinguishable race in the world wholly, with elves coming in second and third on various opinions.
Be as it may, in a world with many ethnicities, humans were not inconsequential in terms of "purposeless." On the contrary, they are elevated considerably commendable and meritorious to an extent than presumed throughout history.
Whether it was the deities or merely Fate toying with them infinitely, pallums are considered the weakest and discarding entities amidst the social stratum.
Their plight raises profound inquiries: how does such a race, endowed with nuances and a myriad of ancestral advantages, attract so little admiration or affection amidst the backdrop of an entire world on the verge of collapsing? With unbelievable monsters and malevolent devils ravaging lands and draining the essence of life from all they encounter.
The answer is… frivolous.
"Then why… why choose her? If you don't mind me asking."
Simple and heart-rending— her presence has been an affliction on her core for as long as she lived.
"I wish not for her to tread upon the ways of the Fairy Knights, my king."
As the externship approached a conclusion, Morgan stepped out of the protective shades of ancient oak wood trees, seeking refuge from the glaring sun, albeit the rays dulling while her beautiful pale skin was caressed by the cool, refreshing breezes flowing in from the east. Burst of leaves would periodically soar in the air as propelled by the gentle hands of winds.
With deliberate slowness, unhurriedly, she ambled toward the knight who lay "defeated" yet comforted by the bonds of camaraderie.
"I… I'm sorry… to have… I'm sorry..!"
Had the Queen Of Snow been near, she would have slapped the girl atop the head within forthwith. Undoubtedly, she would mandate the girl to haul her steel and inaugurate a "unique" methodology of knighthood. One which stirs her brother to tremble in aversion.
Howbeit—
"You did good, Gareth." The knight made a reply to his little sister's evident shame, a chuckle fleeting from his throat at how much the girl reminded him of former times. "Just focus on your fuel, eat a little more, and you'll be okay. Soon, you'll be the one to push me to the ground and advise me."
"You… think so..?"
"Yes."
Gareth's gaze narrowed at her older brother, admiration and faith reflecting on her precious emerald irises. Doubt verbalized with fragile force.
A smile pulled his lips, a comforting presence amidst the practice they faced.
Blonde dishwater hair danced in the brisk wind. Widely hailed as the white knight of the Roundtable— Knight Of The Sun— Gawain, one of Gareth's older brothers, stood tall with an air of noble strength. His gentle, aquatic eyes regarded his sister with a mixture of warmth and concern.
"Mmmm..!" Gareth vent out a frustrated sound, her body trembling as she tried to rise.
The weight of her day-to-day training pressed down on her. Reminding her of the limitations of her body when she fell back to the ground with a soft thud.
The simple act of trying to rise felt insurmountable.
"Take it easy."
Gawain murmured, tone soothing, a protective balm to her struggles. Lowering himself onto one knee, he rested a hand warmly on her shoulder, correspondingly preventing any recklessness movements that would worsen her sore muscles.
"Hahaha!" Gareth laughed dryly, squeezing her eyelids shut in mixed embarrassment and fatigue. "I wish I was like you and the others. Agravain and Gaheris are so strong and tall! They can move as fast as our king!! I, on the other hand…"
Gawain countered instantly, his voice firm and resolute, "You are tall. Strong. And fast."
His authoritative tone silenced his sister's self-doubt.
At that moment, gazing at his sister's shamed facade, the older brother recalled whispers from the previous days, words uttered with envy.
"…Is this about what those students said?"
He asked his sister gently, breaking the silence.
"……"
Howbeit, that quietness happened to stretch and hang between them like a thick fog. Gareth's lack of response spoke volumes.
I figured.
Gawain failed to suppress his weighty sigh, reeling his sister's "response" as confirmation of his suspicion.
—Typically, she would wake up with the epitome of energy and vigorousness; there was not a day or moment where she would appear yawning or even somnolent after a sparring session— may it be a knight of the Roundtable or someone beneath those ranks.
Indisputably, there are times when the girl is overwhelmed, drained by endless hours of practice and upskilling her techniques.
In one instance, she nearly lost her consciousness and burned in the glaring sun… A day when it was estimated no wind would be present to cool anyone.
—Yet, despite her dubbed "drawbacks," she found methods to overcome them without the help of her peers and siblings.
Thus, the young girl's sudden changed timetable caused Gawain and his brothers to ponder, but a recent event uncovered the odd puzzle.
"Lancelot had talked with those disrespectful bunch. "We didn't mean anything by it!" he relayed. Besides, once they're in your position. They'll quickly understand."
Gareth's voice was barely above a whisper, laced with doubt and sorrow. "They're not wrong though, are they?"
Their pupils locked onto each other, hues of aqua irises meeting emerald, reflecting an interconnected pain and frustration.
"The only reason we're here is because of Lady Morgan. If her Fairy Knights hadn't found us…"
The First Fairy Knight.
Mighty Black Knight.
Fairy Knight Wryneck.
Fairy Knight Black Dog Duchess.
The Enigmatic Grimr.
Gareth's words hint she reminiscences the shadows of their past, where memories of loss and fear intertwined with gratefulness for their late saviors.
Gawain felt a pang of sorrow but quickly steeled himself. "Indeed. We owe our survival to our king and governor; we must never forget to mourn for the former Fairy Knights, especially for the only one who retired. Many of our brethren fell, and there was nothing we could've done to change that." His tone turned grim, yet he continued as recollections flashed across his view, "But remember, without us— those who escaped would not have made it out of there alive."
"…Don't you mean, without y'all— AH!!"
Before Gareth could voice her doubt— the cold, blunt pommel of a spear struck her forehead, jolting her to spring upright from her grassy bed. Her hands flew up instinctively to cradle the spot where the pain throbbed, fingers gently rubbing the skin, stunned belief painting her features.
Followed by a dry sigh, Gawain rose from his kneeling position and bowed respectfully before the regal woman.
Moments prior to Gareth growing tired, he noticed the woman from afar, shaded beneath the sprawling branches of a tree.
Worried, while sparring with his sister, he intended to excuse himself and allow master and student to converse with one another when the very woman gave a silent sign to him.
"Press on, or submit to mine own instruction."
—Gawain swore her eyes could send messages on their own without her having to verbalize them. Nevertheless, he continued to guide his younger sister.
Morgan remained briefly silent, her gaze honed in on Gareth— her back dappled with patches of grass and soil. And with a mere flick of her wrist, her weapon was dismissed in thin air and used to bring the girl back to reality.
Mellifluous, soft yet commanding, Morgan verbalized her honest sentiment. Unapologetic for the firmness she had exhibited earlier.
"Verily, good noble Gareth. Though Sir Gawain and his brothers possess the strength of their mortal lineage o'er the other half, it doth not render the lesser worth. How oft must I exhort thee on this matter?"
The mere sound of the Queen Of Snow's voice immobilized Gareth.
"…Ah! Lady Morgan!"
Recognizing the familiar cadence more elegant than any person she is acquainted with, delicate and rare archaic tongue, she spun around in surprise, wide eyes betraying her awe.
Within forthwith, the young knight hastily bowed before her revered governor, scrambling on the ground, heart pounding against her chest in a mixture of respect and humility.
Just before the older brother departed, the younger sibling caught a fleeting whisper of "Good luck," his voice barely above a whisper, and quickly swallowed by his retreating footsteps.
"…Pallums are weak?" Morgan queried— her curt tone contrasting with the pupil's inner turmoil.
Defensiveness rising in her voice, Gareth stammered through her response. "N-No!"
"Pray tell, why dost thou act in accordance with thine uncertainty?"
Morgan's unsympathetic nature loomed large, her raw honesty radiating an air of sovereignty that made it unimaginable for Gareth to overlook.
This quality— the lack of fear or excessive affection— was precisely why Hera had recommended Morgan for numerous motives.
She wore her title as armor, almost like an adventurer, projecting a reasonable quantity of emotions necessary to be a remarkable governor and an indispensable second to the king.
A moment of stillness stretched between them.
The young knight's chest pounded fiercely, a storm of emotions swirling around her core as she braced herself to share her innermost thoughts.
Her throat felt tight, a painful pang, weighed down by the gravity of her confession.
"…Well, ever since Zeus and Hera's "banishment," I've been open to question how I could do better."
Gareth drew in a sharp breath, her chest heaving as she locked eyes with her teacher, a recognition of determination igniting in her emerald gaze.
"My king… aspired to be like them," a bittersweet blend of envy and sympathy laced her words. "He swore, with a fierce resolve, to dedicate himself not only as king of our nation but as headteacher for the School District, despite the daunting enormity of the task for someone important and busy like him."
Even now, he's handling problems alone. Dragons proven to be spotted, he was the first to go before Lancelot and the others.
The governor observed silently, her features expressionless, as tears hanker to fall like tiny stars from the corner of her pupil's eyes. Yet, as the girl pushed forward, betraying none of the turmoil that had seized her body, her voice remained steady.
"Each active person among the Roundtable pledged to the cause, even you, Lady Morgan..!" Gareth recalled with a wry smile, the memory sparking a glimmer of hope in her present sorrow.
She found it slightly convenient how she— an individual who was not even meant to be there, "saved" everyone by attending the seminar when it was about to reach no compact on either side.
"Someone who is…"
Gareth paused, searching for the right words to convey her words without harm.
"……"
"…If my words cause you pain, then I implore you to punish me for what you see fit." She reaffirmed, her gaze unwavering. "But to put it bluntly, for someone who lost everything since dragons started surfacing more. I found your commitment more worthy than our king's speech to the public."
Unbridled by emotions, once more, a chuckle escaped Gareth, memories intertwining her thoughts.
"Ahaha! His words encouraged our people and coaxed many to lend aid in the construction of the Hringhorni. Artemis Familia being a considerable force in our efforts."
Declaring that the Maritime Academic Institutions Special District— shortened to School District— turned out to be one of the world's most ambitious global projects ever attempted would be a heavy understatement for the Knights Of The Roundtable.
To simplify the vast undertaking, taxing and laborious, and albeit their illness, Silence and Gluttony pitched in to help transport the peculiar yet magnificent drop item: the enormous fins of the Leviathan.
The scales themselves were so massive they could shade a district wholly.
"Everyone found their niche and stuck with it without complaints… Sir Lancelot included…"
Gareth's resolve began to waver as the recollections threatened to crush her.
She bit her bottom lip, determined to maintain her composure, refusing to appear more vulnerable than she already seemed.
"…Yet me… my contributions… they feel insignificant compared to everyone's efforts."
"I see."
Morgan responded with a measured calmness, nodding, her solemn expression revealing the tension beneath the surface as her eyes narrowed slightly with scrutiny.
If Gareth looked at her teacher, the girl's gaze falling amid her innermost confession, she would understand that it was a look conveyed with depths of understanding— the kind borne from past experiences.
The familiar state of someone in this state, a lost and hollow shell, tugged at Morgan's remembrances.
This was a feeling she had once witnessed in another, years before Fate twisted their paths into the present, where the noble Knights Of The Roundtable now thrived.
An individual who held the jagged fragments of her heart— someone evermore entwined in the very essence of who she was, shaping her identity wholly.
A watchful, attentive governor.
A prudent growing teacher.
A caring sister.
Many times has she mourned for her… Their stark absence often haunts her.
Where grief was on a day-to-day basis, Morgan had confided her exposure only to her brother.
Under different circumstances, she would have left Gareth behind, allowing the knight to face the tumult raved within her alone.
…But the youthful… hath…
Revived her spirits, was left unsaid.
It pained her deeply to admit that the lives she now leads— exceptionally toward the one tended by her remaining Fairy Knight in her current absence, could never substitute the one she held dear.
Yet, amidst that abiding turmoil, where a moment in a nearby forest had introduced her to an unexpected crying innocence, profoundly altered a few of her perceptions and justifications.
—A completely distinct experience she had with the former youth.
Thus, her immediate response emerged, sturdy yet detached.
"What of it?"
Morgan's voice cut the air, sharp and unyielding; a reminder of her usual demeanor was icy as snow clung to her palace.
The stark contrast between stoicism and fevered passion could not have been more pronounced.
"H-Huh?" Her voice caught in her throat; Gareth evidently conveyed her stupor.
Her neck popped aloud as she turned to face her teacher, caught off guard by the brusqueness.
"What of it?"
Morgan restated, her tone unbending as she began to step closer, bridging the physical and emotional distance that had sprung between them.
"Argonaut was a knave, one who did proclaim, "I'll dance naked as a distraction from the guards to save you, princess."
Heat rushed to Gareth's cheeks as her remembrance surfaced that pivotal moment in the tale of Argonaut— Hero Of The Beginning.
"Verily, that same knave doth be a valorous hero. Like Arthur."
"M-Master?!" Gareth's voice trembled, a mixture of confusion and desperation spilling forth.
Cold, pale hands rested reassuringly on the girl's shoulders, grounding the trembling form. The governor knelt down graciously until she was at eye level with the half-human girl.
The intensity of Morgan's enchanting irises seemed to penetrate Gareth's very core. Forcing her to confront her own chaotic feelings.
—If the Queen Of Snow were indeed a goddess, Charm would be one of her greatest assets, captivating those who dared to meet her eyes.
"Epimetheus beheld as naught but a failure, yet the common folk dost find inspirations in his tales of yore."
Morgan remarked on the past hero, a mystique swirling within her words. She allowed a pregnant pause, enhancing her words in the brief quietness with the weight they carried.
"Verily, he is a hero of noble heart. Like Arthur." With a deliberate shake of her head, almost luminescent hair swaying captivatingly, Morgan rejected any notion that Gareth, like herself, should succumb to self-loathing or doubt.
"Much like thee, fair Fianna wandered 'mongst her kindred. The pallum didst traverse far and wide with her brethren, and when she met her fateful end, 'twas ne'er made plain whether she grasped her station in this realm."
The reminder of Fianna— a legendary figure whose Fate was shrouded with bloodshed— hung heavily in the air. Without her leadership, a court of knights, and a fleet of courageous warriors, the brave pallum would never have assembled the path for what is Orario.
"…And yet, she became a hero. Like our king."
"Pray tell, noble Gareth," the dissipated to reveal an iron resolve, her piercing blue eyes demanding. "What dost thou perceive as the chasm 'twixt thyself and yonder folk? Thy plight and theirs?"
Gareth's response was immediate, raw determination igniting within her as she blinked rapidly to alleviate her tear glands.
"Turn them into falsehood!"
Morgan let out a deep sigh, unsure how long she held in, her warm breath brushing against the girl's face, tickling her. A small comfort amidst the tumult.
Relief flooded within her that Gareth had managed to maintain her balance, avoiding the precarious pitfall of doubt in her core.
Morgan is in an intermediate stage of life— not categorized as old, nowhere near those ages, but not in the prime of youth. She consciously strives to sustain composure, resisting the temptations of stress and pressure.
Demise by anxiety is not the route she wants.
I do mine utmost… Hm.
A notion whispered in her ears, the voices cackling as she settled with the idea.
"…Hark… thine reckoning hath come forth."
A rare smile graced Morgan's lips, a fleeting expression— seldom witnessed even by those closest to her… except for perhaps her brother and "son."
Howbeit, when she does, the Queen Of Snow relishes the brief moment, no matter how small.
Gareth's complexion paled as the gravity of the situation struck her, emerald eyes widening.
—Her brother's words echoed endlessly in her headspace.
"Good luck."
I lost.
Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Gareth steeled herself, forcing her nerves down as she spoke in a tremulous, barely audible whisper, "A-And what may th-that be, La-Lady Morgan…?!"
A soft chuckle escaped the Queen Of Snow, provoking a shiver down her student's spine.
The amusement elicited a genuine response from Morgan, who, albeit the discomfort it caused her, delivered her message with a mask of "normality," as if the utterances were not spoken with perilous.
"You're… changing… Bell's diaper…"
Gareth immediately protested, flush creeping across her cheeks.
While the infant is small, cute, and outright a pure being in a cruel world—
"N-No!"
—She knew better when it came to defeat and humiliation.
"Oh yes."
Morgan replied, the laughter dancing in her eyes, enjoying the moment entirely.
"B-B-B-B-B-B-But..! Melu-ko said she would watch over him!?"
"Too bad."
"Mmmm..!"
"…Furthermore, I doth harbor concern that she shall instruct mine son in the art of wielding a sword. I desire for him to remain untainted, not mad."
Authors Note:
Short chapter for y'all. :)
As I wrote in the previous author's note, there are bits of lore here and there (from Fate, Danmachi and Danmachi Memoria Freese, and of course made-up shit). Hope you enjoy it, if not— oops.
Initially, as the last chapter, this was meant to be long and focus on Orario's situation with Zeus and Hera. Obviously we know what happens, but the way I would've done it would be my interpretation of Zeus and Hera fighting Loki and Freya— as that is what actually happened in Danmachi.
This chapter is entirely inspired by Wernher von Braun's fanfic, "Is It Wrong To Go To The Dungeon With Your Wife." Wholesome story.
And yeah, instead of Aria being Bell's "mother," this time it'll be Morgan if not already stated enough. Unlike in Dragon Hero.
Unless y'all don't want to see my interpretation of Loki and Freya Familia leveling up from "defeating" Zeus and Hera remnants— a certain court of magus will take the next chapter!
As always, stay safe and enjoy life to the fullest..!