Lancelot is sitting on his lonesome. Gazing out towards the horizon - where the ice meets the sea. He took this habit of his a few months into his summoning, when he was called to serve once more under a woman he could follow to the depths of hell with. It was… calming. For a knight such as he, this kind of solace was enough. No vice would ever relieve him of the stress than the biting cold of the South.
Though for a normal servant, this would be punishment. As much as they want to set themselves apart from the living mortal employees that still dot around Chaldea, Servants can bleed. They too are susceptible to the elements. They can feel, get hurt, and suffer like the living. Just… to a lesser degree. And to Lancelot, that was enough. Not like he's in the mood for complaining anyways.
"Lancelot? Is that you?"
The Knight of the Lake turned around in surprise. There stood Mordred. At least, the kingly one. What is she doing here?
"My King," Lancelot deftly rose up. "What brings you here?"
The reply he got was a small smile that told him that he was fooling no one. She stepped forward and raised a dismissive hand in reply.
"You and I both know that you are not my Knight. And my father's still alive! You can't serve two Kings at the same time. No, just call me your Prince or Mordred. Whatever's fine with me." The Red Prince then walked past the Knight to see the view behind him.
"So this is what you've been doing lately… being alone." Mordred sat down by the cliffside. "Why do you go out of your way to have such a painful way of recluse?"
"No one is here to tell me otherwise, Your Highness." Lancelot chuckled as he returned to his seat beside the Prince. "I use this time to recollect my thoughts. To ease the burdens that plague my mind whenever they arise."
"I can see why you do it, I guess." Mordred mumbled as she rolled into a ball. "I should've brought a heavier coat, though."
They stayed silent for a moment. Lancelot knew that the Prince was here for something. Maybe she wanted to get a chance to get to know him better. To see if he was similar to the man she once knew. If that is the case, then he will have no choice but to disappoint the poor girl. He will not tolerate it. Nothing good will come from playing pretend with Mordred's feelings. Plus, it's small compared to the cruelty of playing along the Prince's fancy.
"This is yours, by the way." The Prince's mumbles amidst the cold winds.
"What is mine?" Lancelot asked confusedly.
"The Armour I'm wearing." Mordred turned as she pointed at her chestplate. "It's the last thing you gave me before you… Well, you were old and lived a long life by the time you parted with it. You didn't miss it or anything."
Lancelot regarded the Prince with apprehension. Why would she talk about his counterpart now? What is the whole point of this conversation? Does he even want to entertain her by taking part in it? He wants to say no, but something about the sincerity behind those emerald eyes was telling him that rejecting her was a bad idea. So with a heavy sigh, he bit into Mordred's lure and asked.
"Who was I to you, your Highness?" he asked softly as he took off his fur coat. "And don't leave anything out. I would like to know." Lancelot then covered her without leaving any space out for the cold to sleep in. He can handle the cold for a while. He's used to it.
"Pretty sure I explained how you were closer to a father than Father ever was." Mordred grinned. "You loved Mother steadfastly, but never went too far as to stain her honour in any way. Father knew about your bond with Mother, but he helped in covering it up. She was a King through and through, so she didn't want to go out of her way to woo the Queen or whatever."
"You were also the greatest General Camelot could have ever asked for." She smiled softly, "40 odd years you served my Father and I. I don't remember much after that, but the last thing I can clearly recall is the last time we met. It was the year 550 at Camelot. You were breaking past 60 by that time. Galahad brought you in and explained that you would renounce your oaths to me and live out the rest of your days as a monk. Of course, I damn well said no to that! We were still at war with a rebellious Brittany at that time, so I needed all the help I could get. You would have said yes whenever I asked for your aid, but that time was the first and only time you said no. To this day, I still don't know why…"
"Anyways, you gave me your armor and Arondight. Galahad wanted nothing to do with war - not after that bloodbath in the Summer Wars - so your heirlooms defaulted to your next of kin: King and Country. I already had Father's heirlooms, so I couldn't use it as often as I wanted. I just gave Arondight to Garoult. He's not gonna get shit cuz he's a second son. Plus, he's a budding Knight of the Round at that point. So, what's the harm?"
"Maybe I left because I knew when my time was finished, my Prince." Lancelot suggested, but inside his head he wondered who this Garoult is. He might not get the answer to that soon, however.
"I can't think like that!" Mordred whined. "And neither can you. You gotta treat yourself better than this, y'know. What would mother do with your defeatist attitude?"
"Your mother and the woman I loved would definitely share the sentiment." Lancelot laughed quietly. "Wait… your mother… when the King passed… Did she take another man?"
Mordred blink before turning away bashfully. It seemed to be a sensitive topic for her. Lancelot felt dread crawl up the back of his neck. Did he say something wrong?
"She wanted to." Mordred turned around again, this time staring straight towards the horizon. "By God she tried. However politics - the damned bastard it was - did not allow for such. It would not look good in the eyes of the people and the noblemen if the King's own mother was married off to some random King from across the Channel. War hero you may be, you still were the son of a Frankish Lord."
"So our bond remained…" Lancelot exhaled. It felt as if he was holding his breath until now.
"Sort of…" Mordred looked away. "She… devoted herself to Nunnery at the new Church at Camelot. Her letters said that you visit. That is all I can tell you."
"At least she lived happily." he smiled genuinely. "Do you want to ask anything of me?"
"Eh?" Mordred blinked in confusion.
"You came here to ask me something, no?" Lancelot crossed his arms. "Well, ask away. I will try my best in answering whatever question you have for me."
"I'm not that kind of girl, Lancelot. Sometimes I just, y'know, talk for its own sake… Damn it, I'm curious. How did you meet my other self?" Mordred huffed.
"We met her in a losing battle that turned around because of her." Lancelot answered, "We did not know what he looked like for years, but appearances can be deceiving. So we did not hesitate to promote her as a Knight of the Round Table. For years, she served with clear distinction. She was driven, ambitious, and very very loyal to the King. She did not know this, but during this point of time the King remarked to me in confidence that, 'if I did not exist, Sir Mordred would have been [her] Right Hand Man'. Shortly after that, however, Sir Mordred's attitude and personality started to shift in a darker path. It may have been in part due to Morgan le Fay stoking the fires of arrogance and ambition within her. It may have been because of the increasing sense of self entitlement. Whatever that may have been, Sir Mordred gradually became the very opposite of what she once was."
"Do you remember what happened when she rebelled against Father?" Prince Mordred asked curiously.
"I do. I was there." Lancelot answered in shame. "I know that you have had this experience with the King as well - fortunately, to a lesser degree - but our King felt it necessary to abandon her emotions in exchange for 'perfection'. For the Kingdom deserved nothing but a Perfect King. Of course, not everyone agreed with the King. It's one of the primary reasons why the Round Table broke apart. But to tell the truth? I believe that it was my fault the Kingdom fell. Sir Mordred, for all the damage and death she caused, was a pawn in Morgan's game at the end of the day. Agravain too, he was just manipulated. Everything I did was out of my selfish desire to run away with Guinevere. It was I who killed Gareth and Gaheris to save her. It was I who splintered the realm and weakened it just enough for Mordred to fan the flames of rebellion. I… I caused the Fall of Camelot. And that is something I can never forgive myself for."
They stayed silent after that. The weight of the Knight's confession made the air even more unbearable. The winds are more unforgiving. Lancelot did not expect the Prince to give anything more than silent sympathy. But to his surprise, a gloved hand found its way towards his left. It consoled him in its soft grip. Hesitant, but unyielding.
To his greater surprise… Lancelot found himself accepting the offer by clutching it tightly.
"I know I am not her. And I definitely am aware that you are not the man I once knew." Mordred looked up. Her eyes shined with compassion and care. "But let me tell you this: it wasn't your fault. Sometimes people do the wrong things because they think it's right. Love does that to a man and woman. Maybe Merlin's prophecies do come true. That no matter what we did, Camelot would still fall one way or another. I guess the only difference our timelines had was yours was part of the real timeline, while my own… my own became an offshoot."
"My Prince," Lancelot looked aghast. "What are you saying?"
"Come on, Lancelot. Be real." Mordred laughed as she got up from her seat. "We're fighting to fix the true timeline, not to save the branches. Besides, I've accepted it already since I came here."
"You are rather… cynical in your view of our mission, my Prince." Lancelot muttered as he too got up. "I would advise you to refrain from such speech with the young master. Children of that age are far too impressionable than most would think."
"Nah, I won't. She's too bright and kind for me to do that to her." Mordred said as she started walking back to the facility entrance. "You are the only one I can trust with my thoughts right now, so please bear them with that knowledge. It's hard enough when the only person I know in Chaldea - who is from my own timeline - is myself."
"I will try my best." Lancelot frowned. "But do take into consideration that I am… rather different from the Lancelot you once knew. I might not act the same way."
"Long as you love Galahad with all your heart, then nothing you tell me will change the way I treat you." Mordred turned around to return the Knight's coat.
"And why is that?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow.
"It's simple, really." Mordred smiled brightly. "He's my husband after all."