For It Is In Passing That We Achieve Immortality - SomeRandomsh*ttyRambler (2024)

Chapter 1: Prattling Prologues

Chapter Text

Jaune Arc groaned as he became aware of the light seeping in through the cracks between his eyelids, and twisted away from it even as he tried waving his hand in its general direction, hoping to get back to the comfort of slumber for a few more minutes.

The movement generated a dull ache in his sore arms, and idly a small part of him wondered why he hadapparentlydecided to have a practice spar with Pyrrha after going through one of Nora Valkyrie'sspecialworkouts.

It was the only reason his bleary mind could think of to explain why his body felt like a herd of Goliaths had used it as a dance floor during a particularly lively rave, but at the same time it just didn't add up.

After all, why would he ever willingly undergothatexperience again, especially when yesterday had been the day of the Vytal Festival Grand Finals, and Pyrrha and Penny had been-

The slight breeze gently caressing him suddenly felt chilling, as disorganized memories from the previous day began flashing through his mind.

The Vytal Festival!

Penny!

The White Fang!

Grimm!

Atlas's robots!

Ozpin!

That fire witch and the Grimm Dragon...

Pyrrha...

Ruby...

Jaune ignored his body's protests as his eyes burst open, and his torso shot up off of the ground as his mind began rapidly piecing together what it could.

The White Fang had attacked Amity Colosseum just as Pyrrha had (for some reason) torn Penny to shreds (and revealed that she was a robot, but that really hadn't mattered considering the events of the day), and hijacked Bullheads carrying Grimm had begun landing throughout Vale and Amity even as the Atlesian Knights (there ostensibly to provide security) had suddenly turned on them, and Atlas's Navy had torn itself apart.

And then, in all the chaos around them, Headmaster Ozpin had suddenly called Pyrrha away.

He'd snuck away to follow them, worried about his partner's recent uncharacteristic behaviour, to find some pods under the school, one of which had been occupied by a comatose lady.

He hadn't been able to learn just what was going on, or who she was, before she'd been unceremoniously killed by a sudden glass arrow to the chest.

And then...

His eyes began watering, as he recalled the final events of the night.

Ozpin had stayed behind to hold the intruder off, while they'd tried to escape.

They'd made it out just in time to see the intruderflyingup the elevator shaft of Beacon's Clock Tower, unopposed by their Headmaster.

After that, as the Grimm Dragon had joined the intruder at the top of the tower, he'd sent his partner away to get help (and for her safety; she may have been some big-shot champion, but that woman had taken down theHeadmaster) while he'd stayed behind to delay her (between her flying powers, ability to defeat Ozpin, and seemingly-obedient Grimm Dragon... he couldn't let her get to the evacuation Bullheads. Also, Ozpin had said something about making sure the tower didn't fall, but he didn't really understand that).

That... had gone as well as could have been expected, but he'd managed to survive long enough for Pyrrha to show up with Ruby and Weiss.

And then...

Jaune's breath hitched in his throat, and he began frantically running his hands up and down his torso even as he gave himself a quick once-over.

His eyes and fingers didn't lie.

The jagged holes punched through his bloodied breastplate spoke for themselves.

Towards the end, the witch had sent a wave of glass shards flying throughout the room.

Ruby had been too distracted (by him, no less!) to notice until it had been too late.

But he hadn't.

His body had moved instinctively, and before he knew it he was on the ground in front of Ruby, his worn-down Aura finally shattered, leaving his unprotected body to absorb the full force of the attack.

The last thing he remembered was his partner calling out his name while his first friend in Beacon stared at his prone form in horror, all while he'd tried to get up, to reassure them that it was alright, that he was fine, before a silver light had suddenly flooded his vision.

...

Had... had he...?

Sucking in a deep breath, he pressed a trembling finger through the largest hole in his armor, before almost collapsing in relief as he felt not a bloody wound, but his still-intact chest.

Heknewhe'd been hurtbadly, but by the look (or thefeel, if he wanted to make his fellow blonde in Team RWBY laugh while everybody else groaned) of things, he'd survived long enough for his Aura to recover and heal him.

Which probably meant that his friends had either won that fight, or at least managed to get him away from it.

... he honestly found the latter option the most likely; his friends were strong, sure, but whoever their enemy was, she'd killedOzpin!

And that wasbeforeshe'd gotten a pet Grimm Dragon!

Jaune paused for a moment, as his thoughts turned to Beacon's eccentric Headmaster.

He hadn't really known him well, not like Ruby or Pyrrha probably had (his friends having been scouted by him personally and all), but Ozpin had always seemed like a wise and reliable man, young enough at heart to understand his students while also being old and experienced enough to properly guide and advise them.

It was...difficult, to imagine Beacon as he'd been through it, without Ozpin.

The old man had definitely deserved better.

Jaune closed his eyes for a moment, before shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

No matter what he felt...

... especially after what had just happened throughout the Kingdom...

...

... hehadto be strong, if only for his friends and his team.

Theyneededhim to be there for them; he couldn't let himself fall apart while there were still pieces to pick up, and rebuilding to be done.

He would not let them down again.

And hey, that was what heroes were supposed to be, right? Strong, stalwart, and dependable?

...

... hereallyhad his work cut out for him, didn't he?

EvenPyrrhawould find it difficult to applyanyof those to him (though he knew his partner would still try, Oum bless the best partner he could have ever asked for)!

... well, just like his transcripts, he'd just have to fake it, and hope he eventually figured out how to make it somewhere down the line...

Taking another deep breath, he slowly exhaled, before opening his eyes and taking his first good look at his surroundings.

Instead of sterile walls and bright lights (or even the thin fabric of a tent), he found himself staring at a bright blue sky, and a forest full of tall and thick trees.

Jaune blinked.

This... wasn't a hospital.

...

In fact, this wasn't even Beacon at all.

...

... where was he?

The Emerald Forest?

No, if it were he should have been able to spot Beacon in the distance...

And all he saw around him was forest.

And where was everyone, anyway?

"... Pyr?" Jaune softly called out even as he quickly pushed himself off the ground and reached for his weapon (remembering Beacon's survival rules that Glynda Goodwitch had drilled into him). "Ruby? Ren? Nora?"

A complete lack of any response greeted him, as did a lack of a sword when he grabbed his shield-sheath.

Jaune blinked, and looked back down at the empty sheath, before remembering how that last fight had gone.

...

No friends, no sword, no Scroll, and absolutely no idea where he was.

...

Jaune couldn't help but quietly gulp as he found himself hoping that wherever he was wasn't swarming with Grimm.

-ROYAL STABLES, CAMELOT, AT ROUGHLY THE SAME TIME-

Mordred quietly hummed to herself behind her helmet even as she enthusiastically loaded supplies onto the saddle bags of her horse, and mentally ran through the details of her plan once again.

Sure, getting sent to Camelot and being made a Knight of the Round Table... having her abilities acknowledged by the Perfect King... was the best thing to have ever happened to her (if only because she was finally free from that bitch that she was forced to call "mother")...

But life in Camelot... wasn't as simple as she'd expected.

The other Knights didn't magically respect her, just because she was a fellow member of the Round Table.

The servants and guards in the castle still gave her a wide berth when she passed, and whispered in her wake.

She didn't magically make new friendships, gain new companions.

Not that she cared, of course; she just wanted to serve the King, and even her current situation was leagues ahead ofanythingshe'd ever experienced.

And she most definitely wasnotenvious, seeing the way her older siblings were treated compared to her!

Especially Gareth, who didn't even have to hide her face!

She was twice the fighter Gareth would ever be, and yet Garethalreadyhad a seat numberdespitestill being Lancelot's squire!

And the way everyone else seemed to agree that Gareth would someday be the greatest of the Knights of the Round Table...

Hello? She was so awesome she'd skipped evenbeinga squire!

(The fact that this wasn't in any way Gareth's fault was known to (and ignored by) Mordred. Only Agravain knew Mordred was their half-sibling; Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth had been deemed too soft and compassionate by Morgan, and she'd decided to keep them in the dark. In any case, Mordred's blunt attitude hadn't exactly won her any favors to begin with.)

Of course, it wasn't like shecaredabout receiving respect from the others.

Of course, it wasn't like sheneededapproval from the others.

Of course, it wasn't like shewantedto be treated like how the others treated her older siblings.

Oh, no.

She was merely gearing up and preparing to ride to Snowdonia because she'd overheard Sir Bors and Sir Percival discussing how the Addanc that the King had dragged out of Llyn Barfog was preying on unwary travelers once more, and she wanted to be of service to the Perfect King of Knights!

... and if she managed to earn a merit and impress the others with this (just like in the picture books she'd grown up with), well, that would just be a totally-unfortunate-and-unintended side effect, now wouldn't it?

"Sir Mordred?"

A sudden voice from behind her almost made her jump, and she turned around to find Agravain studying her with stern eyes.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Agravain!" Mordred complained, pouting at her half-brother under her helmet.

Agravain fought the urge to roll his eyes, knowing his youngest sibling well enough to make an educated guess as to her expression under her helmet (Morgan had sent him regular reports about Mordred, having intended for him to be Mordred's handler for her usual treacherous schemes), and instead decided to save his breath and cut to the chase: "What are you doing, Mordred?"

"What does it look like, Agravain?" Mordred didn't bother hiding the bitter sarcasm in her voice, not having forgiven Agravain yet.

"It looks like you're preparing for a trip...despitewhat was discussed in the previous meeting." Agravain drily observed, before his eyes narrowed. "Mordred..."

"It'll be fine!" Mordred quickly reassured Agravain, not wanting to admit that she may not have been paying attention during the meeting (since it had been Lancelot speaking, and not King Arthur).

"Mordred..." Agravain pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"It'll just be a short trip to Snowdonia and back!" Mordred pressed on. "No one will even notice that I'm gone!"

"That's not the-" Agravain began, before his mind processed her destination, and recalled one of the more recent reports he'd received about it. "Wait, is this about that water demon?!"

Mordred began slowly backing up towards her horse even as she quickly explained: "Yeah... you know... dealing with monsters and protecting the people are what knights are supposed to do, right?"

"What knights are supposed to- is this about what Sir Lancelot said?!" Agravain groaned, as he finally put two and two together, and it was with a deep and quiet sigh that he tried to talk her out of it: "Mordred..."

Unfortunately for him, while he'd been speaking, Mordred had managed to grab the reins of her horse, and it was with a swift and fluid motion that she leapt up, pulling herself onto her horse, even as she shouted a command at the warhorse, who immediately began galloping out of the stables (and forcing Agravain to dive out of the way lest he be trampled).

"Don't worry, Agravain!" Mordred's voice sailed back as her figure disappeared over the horizon. "I'll be back before you know it!"

"DAMN IT, MORDRED!"

Chapter 2: Boring Beginnings

Chapter Text

A trail of smoke slowly rose up towards the sky, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air, catching his attention.

Immediately, Jaune turned back down, and quickly yanked the skewers of fish from the fire, before cursing as he inspected his meal, and assessed the damages.

Damn it...

Four hours of work down the drain, just because he'd started thinking about his situation, and taken his eyes off of his cooking.

Then again, he doubted anyone would have really blamed him.

It had been approximately two and a half days (give or take a few hours; he was only keeping track of time by looking at the sun) since he'd woken up in this forest, and he hadn't really had a moment to properly relax until just then.

The first few hours of his arrival had been spent cautiously studying his immediately surroundings, making sure there weren't any Grimm that were about to kill him, before he'd come to a surprising conclusion.

For some reason, as far as he could tell, the massive stretch of land he'd woken up on hadn't hadanyGrimm on it.

Not that he was complaining, of course, but seeing as how Grimm infested well-over three quarters of the planet, and most of the Kingdom of Vale...

Regardless, with his immediately safety secured, he'd turned his attention to his next pressing concerns - shelter, water, and food.

Fortunately, between his camping experience, Beacon's training and field trips, and Lie Ren's lessons, he'd managed to secure the first two before the first day had ended.

Unfortunately, however, food had been a bit of an issue.

Despite his passable survival skills (he'd gotten a C+ from Glynda Goodwitch), he hadn't been able to identify any of the plants around him, to say nothing of finding anything he knew was definitely edible.

Sure, he'd been taught a few tricks for testing if something waspoisonous, but just because it wouldn'tkillhim (did Aura protect him from food poisoning? He honestly didn't know...) didn't mean he could actuallydigestit.

He'd finally lucked out earlier that day, though, and come across a sizeable lake near his makeshift shelter.

Better yet, he'd spotted both fish swimming idly within it,andtracks in the dirt near the edge of the water.

Source of food - found, though notsecured.

Immediately, he'd worked to rectify that, breaking off a few nearby branches and sharpening them with the edge of his shield, before setting a few simple traps (he made sure to carve a simplified danger symbol next to it, of course; while he hadn't run into anybody yet, heknewhis friends would have . It would have been justembarrassingif he ended up accidentally injuring any would-be rescuers...) and trying his luck spearfishing.

He'd never caught anything when he'd been on those family camping trips all those years ago, but as it turned out Aura-enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes, as well as a few semesters at Beacon, more than made up for it.

...

Jaune let loose a forlorn sigh, and shook his head.

No matter how good his intentions had been, no matter how much he'd gained since he'd come to Beacon...

It didn't change what he'd done to his family.

... well, at least they didn't know he'd gone to Beacon (since, if they had, they'd have probably already shown up to drag him back).

He didn't even want to begin to imagine their faces if they found out he was involved in the White Fang attack on Amity Colosseum...

Sighing again, Jaune turned to his piece of charred fish and took a tentative bite, before pulling a face.

Well... at least it was edible...

... to use the term loosely...

...

As he forced the filleted fish down his throat, he quietly swore to begin experimenting with the local flora, in hopes of findingsomethingto improve the taste of his meals.

After all, it wasn't like he had much else to do, honestly.

...

Okay, that technically wasn't accurate.

Even if he wasn't going to be busy just surviving, he'd still be keeping up with his daily drills and training, as well as looking for a way out of there.

But hey, at least this way he had a hobby... something to keep him sane and grounded...

... to keep him from worrying about his friends, about Beacon, while he was stuck here...

Jaune shook his head for a third time and tossed his empty skewer onto the fire.

Logically, he knew he was the weakest student in the history of Beacon, to say nothing of his friends and teammates...

But at the same time...

As the leader of Team JNPR, and as a friend of Team RWBY (mostly Ruby), he still couldn't help but worry about them, especially whenever he remembered the absolute chaos that had been the attack at the floating arena...

No, no use dwelling on it now.

He had to stay focused.

They could take care of themselves.

Grabbing his sheath and a sharpened stick, Jaune decided to clear his head by jogging back down to the lake, both to check on his traps and to get some simple training in.

-TWO MILES AWAY, ROUGHLY THE SAME TIME-

Mordred quietly swallowed a gulp, as she looked between her broken sword and the beast from the lake, and for the first time in her short life wondered if maybe, just maybe, she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

And it had all been going so well, too...

She'd made it to Snowdonia in record time, and after a few pointed questions and showing off of the sword she'd been given when she'd joined the Round Table, she'd been pointed in the direction of Llyn Cwmffynnon, a small lake within a quiet forest.

Even when she'd managed to make it to the lake, and successfully called forth the furred crocodilian demon from the depths of the lake King Arthur had dragged it to, she'd still been confident.

After all, King Arthur had subdued the beastbeforehe'd even become a King, and the Perfect King of Knights had acknowledged her swordsmanship!

And then her sword had simply slid off the creatures thick hide upon her first swing, unable to find purchase, before the creature had countered by swinging its massive and girthy tail at her, shattering her blade as she'd made to block the blow.

To her credit, Mordred didn't simply stare at the blade with dumb shock; her "mother" had trained her too well for that.

But even as her body moved instinctively, jumping back to create some distance, her mind was filled with mortification.

That sword... the symbol of her station... the blade the Perfect King had given her to signify her swordsmanship...

An odd wet sound filled the air, and her conscious mind turned back to her foe to find it warbling with sad*stic laughter at her.

That... that...

The f*cking bastard was mocking her!

Gritting her teeth under her helmet, she clenched her fist tightly around the hilt of her broken sword even as she snapped out of it, and swore she'd make the monster pay for the perceived slight.

As the Addanc lunged forward, she roared defiantly, and deftly ducked under a swipe of its claws before throwing a punch at the tree-like appendage.

A smirk worked its way up her face as her actions elicited a hiss of pain from it.

She couldhurtit!

And that meant she could (probably)killit!

As she dodged another swipe of its claws, however, its thick tail suddenly came at her from the side, smashing her left arm and knocking her into a nearby tree.

Picking herself up and easily dodging the follow-up attack before it took her head off, she quickly spared a glance at her left arm, and fought down a wince as she saw the twisted and mangled metal.

If this had been a test from Mother, she'd have probably been beaten half to death and starved for a week (at least) for the sheer sloppiness she'd just displayed.

Suppressing a shudder at the thought, she quickly ripped off the metal biting into her swollen arm, and ignored the pain in favor of glaring back at the Addanc, and taking up her stance once more.

And then a voice suddenly cut in, interrupting the tense stand-off between her and the water demon.

"Hello, is somebody- holy crap, what the-"

Immediately she turned towards the source of the voice, and found a tall blonde man in a ragged breastplate burst out of the forest behind the Addanc.

Mordred couldn't help but curse mentally as soon as she saw the new arrival.

Sure, she may have held a mixture of envy and disdain for the common folk, but as a Knight it was her duty to protect them (they were subjects of the King, after all).

And yet, she'd already been having a hard-enough time fighting off the Addanc! How was she supposed to beat it if shealsohad to babysit a beat-up... was that awooden stickin his hand?!

... oh, Lord, this was not going to end well, was it?

While Mordred had been cursing her luck and trying to desperately think of a way to turn things around, however, the Addanc narrowed its eyes at the newcomer. Even though its new prey seemed weak, there was something about it that seemed... different.

Off, somehow.

Deciding that the unknown newcomer was a bigger potential threat than the disarmed knight before it, it roared and galloped towards it, its tail helping to counter-balance its weight.

"Look out!" Mordred shouted in concern, even as she began sprinting towards the surprised man, who let out a yelp of shock.

Unfortunately, the monster had a head start over her, and she swore mentally even as she saw the man in ragged armor take a step back, and clumsily get into an amateur guard position with his sheath and his stick as the demon bore down on him...

And then the sheath suddenly transformed into a sturdy shield on the man's arm before her very eyes, and the man braced his legs as the Addanc's head slammed down upon him.

Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from the pair, followed by a loud booming sound.

Mordred slowly blinked the spots out of her vision and turned back to the Addanc and the newcomer, before her squinted eyes widened under her helmet.

The ground under the point of impact had been cracked.

The trees in the immediate vicinity had been flattened.

And yet, where there should have been little more than a crushed and mangled corpse...

The ragged man still stood, glowing brightly, resolutely withstanding the weight of the Addanc.

Jaune Arc, for his part, felt his heart going a mile a minute as he peeked past his shield and stared at the beaver-crocodile Grimm that had suddenly tried to (and still was trying to) crush him.

How on Remnant had he missed something likethis?

What evenwasthis Grimm? He hadn't heard about anything like it!

Even as his mind raced, however, his muscle memory kicked in.

There was a threat that was being blocked by his shield.

Automatically, he ducked forward, and swung his weapon upwards in a wide arc at the creature's exposed neck, channeling all the Aura he could into it.

The creature roared in pain, as Jaune realized his mistake.

Instead of having the family sword in his hand, he simply had a sharpened wooden stick.

Idiot!

He should have stabbed instead of slashed!

Jaune immediately jumped back as a tree trunk-like-appendage came down on the spot where he'd been, before an armored figure suddenly leapt in from the side, and delivered a punch with a satisfyingly brutal-sounding "crunch".

He didn't have time to thank his apparent ally, as even the cursory glance he spared the armored figure showed just how dire their situation was.

Indeed, the both of them were basically unarmed, and he didn't want to see whether their Aura levels would outlast this massive Grimm.

Instead, as his eyes caught sight of one of the traps he'd set up at the lake just a few hours earlier, his mind began to race.

"Psst, hey!" Jaune hissed at the armored Huntsman next to him, even as they raised two arms in a simple brawler's stance.

"What?!" The impatient voice that came out was gruff and distorted, and Jaune couldn't tell if it was male or female.

Then again, it wasn't like that mattered in that situation.

"Follow me!" Jaune shouted, as he jerked his head towards the marked tree.

"O-oi! Are you planning on running away?!" Mordred's hissed back in disbelief, keeping an eye on the Addanc as it thrashed around in pain. "No Knight of the Round Table would ever back down from such a danger to the realm!"

Jaune could honestly say he had no idea what any of those things they'd mentioned were, but he knew better than to argue. Instead, he quickly explained: "Trust me! I have a plan!"

Mordred could safely say shedidn'ttrust the man next to her.

Sure, it was pretty amazing that he'd taken a hit from the Addanc without so much as a scratch, and the fact that he'd then smacked it with a stick (that somehow hadn't broken) was definitely amusing, but Mother had raised her to be paranoid (often by example).

Also, she didn't even know who the guy was, while she was a Knight of the Round Table, one of King Arthur's finest!

But the fact was, her sword was broken, and she had an innocent to protect (and he had helped her...), and a demon to slay.

As the Addanc shook off the pain and turned a hateful glare at them, she made a decision.

Ignoring every instinct in her body, she turned to the young man next to her, and nodded slightly.

Jaune let loose a sigh of relief, before sprinting towards the marked tree, with the armored Huntsman and the beaver-crocodile Grimm right behind him.

Seconds ticked by, with the monsterslowlygaining ground on the huntsman and the homunculus, before he finally reached the spot he'd remembered.

"Alright, stop here." Jaune whispered, coming to an abrupt stop as he pretended to pant heavily.

"Hey... are you alright?" Mordred hissed back at him, as she halted next to him, eyeing the Addanc warily as she prepared to drag him off of the road. "What about your plan?"

"Thisispart of the plan." Jaune answered quietly, looking urgently at the monster as it burst forward, seeing that its quarry was exhausted.

There would be no more playing around; it did not know how the weird human had withstood its weight, but next time it would simply crush it between its powerful jaws!

And then the ground suddenly gave way under one of its legs.

The sharpened stick at the bottom of the trapping pit Jaune had dug to catch deer shattered into splinters against its weight, as the Addanc realized what had just happened.

But in that brief moment, it had been distracted by the sudden fall.

And Jaune didn't miss his chance.

Even as its head fell down, Jaune lunged forward, and thrust his spear at its neck.

Between gravity, his Aura-enhanced strength, and his Aura reinforcing his makeshift spear, he managed to successfully stab the beast, driving the tip of the wood into its neck even as he shouted: "NOW!"

Mordred eagerly charged forward, driving the jagged edges of her broken sword into the wound, bypassing its thick hide.

Jaune had just enough time to register that the Grimm was bleeding (since when did Grimm bleed?) before the armored Huntsman roared in furious triumph, and began hacking away at the wound with all the strength her adrenaline-fueled inhuman form could muster.

Which was a lot.

Jaune could only stare dumbly in confusion as fluids and more... solid bits, began to rain down all around him, occasionally smacking him in the face.

Had... had the creature they'd fought not been a Grimm?

It was definitely dead by now (or so he hoped), but it wasn't dissolving away, and he was pretty sure that was blood...

Mordred delivered a final blow, before jumping off of the Addanc with a satisfied sigh, and taking a moment to admire her handiwork.

Then, it set in.

She'd done it.

She'd slain the Addanc.

Pride and elation swelled within her heart.

God, she could only imagine the looks on their faces when she announced her triumph!

And look at the size of the demon!

Even Gawain and Lancelot would have had a hard time with this thing!

And of course, as any true Knight was, she would be magnanimous in her triumph.

Cheerfully turning to the man next to her, she carelessly slugged him on the shoulder even as she expressed her gratitude: "Good plan-"

Unfortunately for her, between the smell of blood and gore and rotting flesh and stagnant water that had emerged from the Addanc's corpse, and vibrations caused by the impact of Mordred's superhuman strength, Jaune's stomach couldn't take it anymore, and he violently threw up on her shiny armored boots.

Chapter 3: Insipid Introductions

Chapter Text

"I am so, so, so sorry!" Jaune wailed in mortification for the umpteenth time, even as he furiously scrubbed at the stained boot with an oversized leaf.

"Hmph." Mordred merely growled in response, quietly reminding herself that noble Knights were supposed to be magnanimous and forgiving.

She knew some in Camelot called her a third-rate knight; she wasn't going to prove them right by lashing out.

And theyhadslain the Addanc together...

Sighing, she finally turned to him, and deigned a response: "Well... at least it can't be worst than Addanc guts..."

Jaune mentally breathed a sigh of relief at the unknown Huntsman's words, and mentally filed away the information that the creature (that probably wasn't a Grimm) was called an "Addanc", if only so he could look it up once they'd returned.

"Anyway, Vomit Guy..."

Hey, she may have been magnanimous and forgiving, but that didn't mean she was going to justforgetabout it.

Jaune couldn't help the groan that escaped his mouth, and he looked up from the armored boot to pout at the still-covered Huntsman.

Mordred simply snickered under helmet, not feeling the least bit intimidated by the young man as she continued on: "What were you even doing in this forest, and why do you look like you ran into a Saxon raiding party? What was with the light show earlier? And how'd you withstand the Addanc's blows like that?"

Jaune opened his mouth to answer, before blinking as his mind processed the words he'd just heard.

What kind of questions were those?

What was a Saxon raiding party?

As he tried to think about what he'd been asked, his gaze fell upon the Huntsman's exposed slender left arm, still bruised and covered in gashes.

A nagging sense of unease began to tickle Jaune's mind, but he shrugged it off in favor of concernedly asking the Huntsman: "Um, aren't you going to take care of that?"

"Ah, this?" Mordred looked back at her left arm. "Don't worry about it; I left a few salves on my horse."

Salves?

Horse?

Jaune shook his head, and tried to clarify: "No, I meant... with your Aura?"

"Huh?" This time, it was Mordred's turn to blink in confusion. "My... what?"

A sense of uneasy familiarity filled Jaune, but he repeated himself: "You know... Aura?"

Mordred studied the young man and wondered if he was just messing with her or if it was something sheshouldknow about.

He just seemed so earnest and genuinely confused, however, that after a moment she settled on the latter, and haughtily scoffed: "Psch.Of courseI know Aura. Doyouknow Aura?"

Jaune's eye twitched.

The person in front of himdefinitelyhad no idea what Aura was.

Which meant...

"Wait, you'renota Huntsman?" Jaune yelped in shocked realization.

"A huntsman?" Mordred echoed incredulously, before her eyes narrowed. "Of course I'm not just a simple huntsman!"

Jaune couldn't believe his ears. The not-Huntsman in front of him, who'd hit the creatureat leastas hard as Ruby's sister... hadn't even had Aura?!

And what did they mean, a "simple huntsman"?!

Ignoring the confusion on his face, Mordred continued on in an prideful tone: "I am Sir Mordred, a full-fledged Knight of the Round Table! Loyal servant of the King and his Kingdom!"

Knight?

Round Table?

Jaune could feel his confusion only increasing as he heard more words he didn't understand, and so he desperately seized on to the terms he did: "Wait, what Kingdom are we in?"

"You... don't even knowwhereyou are?" Mordred raised an eyebrow suspiciously, and even though Jaune couldn't see it under his helmet he could certainlyfeelit burning a hole in him.

"Not a clue." Jaune shook his head frantically. "I just woke up here about three days ago, and I've been trying to get out of this forest ever since! Anyway, what Kingdom are we in? Mistral? Vacuo? Atlas? Menagerie?"

"... what kind of Kingdoms are those?" Mordred co*cked her head in confusion, before shaking it. "This is the Kingdom of Logres, in the land of England."

"... England?" Jaune blinked, as his mind began to race (he was by no means a good student in Beacon, but even he knew basic geography).

Judging by the fact he wasn't in a frozen wasteland, he doubted he was anywhere near Solitas.

Was he near Anima then? Sanus?

But when he'd looked up at the full moon, it had been so distant! Typically, when one looked at the moon in Sanus or Anima, the moon was close enough that one could see the cracked fragments!

Maybe... he'd been blown away to another Kingdom?

One that didn't appear on any maps that he knew of... and that apparently didn't have any Grimm, or any concept of Aura?

Was there even a place on Remnant that didn't have Grimm?

Before Jaune could give himself a headache trying to figure out exactly what his situation was, Mordred impatiently cut in: "Hey, now it'syourturn!"

"Huh?" Jaune blinked as his attention was brought back to the mysterious armored Knight in front of him.

"I told you my name, so who are you?" Mordred forcefully pressed. "Where are you from? What were you doing before you woke up here? And what's Au- I mean, what do you know about Aura?"

"..." Jaune pinched the bridge of his nose, and held up a hand to stall any further questions as he tried to figure out how to answer Sir Mordred. Fortunately, between his seven sisters, Ruby, and Nora, he was more than used to dealing with rapid-fire questioning, and it only took him a few moments to finally answer: "Okay, in order... I'm Jaune Arc... of, uh... Beacon, I guess-"

"Youguess?" Mordred's eyebrow rose again.

"It's... complicated..." Jaune looked away, unwilling to explain his hesitance. "Anyway, I was training to be a Huntsman, but then we were attacked, and..."

And then I got stomped on by a dragon before getting shot in the chest by a fire witch.

Even in his head it sounded ridiculous.

Then again, they had fought that "Addanc" thing...

"Um..." Jaune tentatively continued, as Mordred began expectantly drumming her fingers on the log she was sitting on. "Well... have you ever heard of dragons?"

"Of course I have-" Mordred scoffed dismissively, before doing an incredulous double-take. "What, are you saying youfought a dragon?"

"Well... "fought" is such a strong word..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "More like I distracted it long enough for my friends to come and help me..."

"Okay, I can believethatmuch..." Mordred conceded, giving Jaune another once over even as she recalled how the man in front of her had withstood a blow from the Addanc. Certainly, judging by the sad state his breastplate was in, she could believe he'd been in a great and terrible battle...

... but at the same time...

"How come you don't even have a scratch on you?" Mordred's eyes narrowed as she pointed out the obvious inconsistency in his story.

Sure, she was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, since he'd helped her with the Addanc, but at the same time her mother had drilled it into her just what kind of people existed in the world. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he'd just found a ruined breastplate and made up that story about fighting a dragon, and considering she hadn't heard about any of the Kingdoms he'd mentioned, or a placed called "Beacon", or...

"Aura." Jaune simply replied, as if that explained everything. "It's... well... Pyr, my partner... she told me it was supposed to be the manifestation of our souls or something. I... don't really know how it works, but it heals us, shields us, and we can channel it into other things, too. It's something that all Huntsmen aresupposedto have-"

"Okay, now Iknowyou're sh*tting me." Mordred rolled her eyes from behind her helmet. She hadn't heard about anything like that from Mother (or while she'd been Camelot), and now he was saying it was something that all hunters supposedly had?

"..." For a moment, Jaune couldn't help but recall his time in an unfamiliar forest with an armored badass he'd just met.

... howhadPyrrha convinced him again?

... right, he'd simply deferred to her clearly-superior experience and skill after she'd saved him from that tree he'd gotten stuck in.

Something told him that probably wasn't going to fly with Sir Mordred here.

And then she'd unlocked his Aura...

... yeah, that wasn't going to work either.

To put it bluntly, he had absolutely no idea how to actually unlock someone else's Aura.

... maybe if he justusedit in front of Sir Mordred?

As Jaune quietly wondered how best to demonstrate Aura (besides the obvious answer of telling the Knight,who could punch harder than Ruby's sister, to hit him as hard as he could), his gaze once again fell upon his injured arm.

Hmmm...

He hadn't really ever thought about it, since everyone in Beacon had Aura, but whatwouldhappen if he channeled his Aura into an injured person?

After all, Aura could be channeled into basically anything, right?

(The Beacon Food Fight had become an infamous legend amongst the students from the other schools, as even Professor Goodwitch's Semblance hadn't been able to repair the holes in the floor caused by the leeks Ren had thrown at Yang, or the hole in the ceiling caused by Yang after Nora had smashed her with a watermelon...)

"What if I could prove it?" Jaune challenged, raising an empty hand slowly.

"Oh?" Mordred raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "You intend on proving that you can...manifest your soulin such a way that it can heal and protect you?"

"... yeah, I guess it does sound kind of far-fetched..." Jaune conceded, though he didn't lower his hand. "But I'd like to try something. Could I see your arm for a bit?"

"What are you planning on doing?" Mordred inquired apprehensively, even as she watched Jaune's hand slowly lower towards her injured arm.

"I'm going to try and channel my Aura into your arm." Jaune explained, before grudgingly admitting: "I... don't know how well this will work, though, so if it doesn't you could always try just hitting me?"

"Wait, what?" Mordred blinked, wondering if her ears had failed her for a moment.

And then, just as his hand gently brushed against her exposed skin, Jaune suddenly began to glow, a brilliant blindingly-bright light that caused Mordred to flinch away and shield her eyes.

Before she could wonder if she'd been intentionally blinded, however, a gentle comforting warmth began to radiate from the point of contact between them, and she couldn't help but subconsciously relax for a moment as it enveloped her.

Then, just as her conscious mind registered the sensations running through her (and she instinctively stiffened in response), the warmth and light faded, leaving behind just a regular-looking Jaune looking at her triumphantly.

"Wha-" Mordred stuttered for a moment as she struggled to find her voice.

"So, do you believe me now?" Jaune asked innocently.

"What the hell was that?!" Mordred demanded as she finally found her voice, before shaking her head and folding her arms. "And what does alight showprove?!"

"Well, your arm's all fixed..." Jaune pointed out.

"..." Mordred blinked again, and looked down at her injured arm to find it bearing no trace of her earlier battle,.

She hadn't even noticed that the pain had faded away, having been so used to simply blocking out pain signals.

"But... how...?" Mordred tested it incredulously, flexing her fingers and gingerly prodding the formerly-bruised spots.

Nope, it was as if it hadn't ever even been touched!

Not even the foul-tasting concoctions Mother forced down her throat during her childhood werethateffective!

"Like I said...Aura." Jaune declared, deciding to temporarily forget that he'd admitted he hadn't known thatthatwould happen. "Heals us, shields us, and can be channeled into other things. So, do you believe me now?"

"..." Mordred could only nod dumbly even as she reflected that, if he'd been telling the truth about Aura, then he'd probably been telling the truth about everything else.

Then a thought struck her, and she immediately demanded: "Hey, teach me how to do that Aura thing too!"

"... pardon?" Jaune blinked.

"Help me get Aura too." Mordred repeated simply. "You said it was somethingallhunters had, right? So it should be easy enough to pass on to others?"

"Uh..." Jaune desperately tried to rack his brains to figure out justwherethe miscommunication had occurred.

"Come on, Vomit Guy, don't tell me it's some hunter's secret or something!" Mordred pressed on, refusing to give up on the perceived chance to better serve King Arthur. "Think about how much more useful it'll be on a Knight of the Realm, rather than being used to hunt deer and rabbits!'

-ONE BRIEF EXPLANATION LATER-

"... so, let me get this straight, Vomit Guy..." Mordred would have pinched the bridge of her nose, but her helmet prevented her from doing that, and so she instead settled for giving the sheepish-looking "Huntsman-in-Training" behind her a look of utter disbelief. "When you said that allHuntsmenhad Aura, you didn'tactuallymean people thathunt for food, butinsteadyou were referring to some mythical order of warriors that huntmonsters?"

"Uh, yeah, pretty much..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck even as he looked around at his campsite, and made sure he'd gotten everything important.

"Well, why didn't you just saythatfrom the beginning?" Mordred grumbled, feeling embarrassed that she'd even entertained the thought that all the hunters of the land had secret super powers.

"Uh, well... where I come from,everyoneknows that Huntsmen and Huntresses are heroes." Jaune explained awkwardly, holding out a skewer of grilled fish as a peace offering even as he shrugged. "I just... didn't think I needed to say it, you know?"

"Yeah, well..." Mordred began to retort even as she accepted the food and raised her visor just high enough to slip the meat into her mouth, before her voice trailed off into unintelligible gibberish as she stuffed her mouth furiously.

Jaune couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination as Sir Mordred all but inhaled the stick, wondering why he kept his helmet on while eating.

"Ah, that hit the spot." Mordred sighed a few seconds later, spitting out the clean stick and lowering her visor once more, before she continued: "Anyway, that kind of sounds like a Knight of the Round Table, now that I think about it..."

"It kind of does, huh?" Jaune mused out loud, as Mordred began to lead them back towards Snowdonia. Unfortunately, his next thoughts were accidentally voiced out loud as well: "... I think I prefer being a Huntsman, though..."

"Hey, being a Knight of the Round Table is the coolest thing ever!" Mordred hotly defended her chosen profession. "We go on cool adventures, fight monsters, help people,andwe get to personally work for King Arthur!"

"... you really respect your King, don't you?" Jaune observed simply, deciding to be the mature one and not take the bait (for once).

"Of course I do!" Mordred nodded enthusiastically. "Everybody here loves King Arthur!"

Except for the Saxons and Mother, of course, but that was besides the point.

"He's thePerfectKing." Mordred continued gushing, happy to preach about the person she admired the most. "In just the past two decades, King Arthur pushed back the Saxon invaders, slew the White Dragon, and raised the Kingdom of Logres to levels of prosperity not seen since the height of the Empire!"

"I... guess that sounds really impressive?" Jaune offered weakly, unwilling to admit that he had no idea what any of those were.

"I'm sure you'd understand if you saw Camelot." Mordred snorted haughtily, before remembering something. "Hey, you said you were from a Kingdom, right? How was your King? I mean, of course there's no way they could compare to King Arthur, but if your Kingdom was producing Huntsmen then the King had to be doingsomethingright, right?"

"Uh..." Jaune scratched his cheek awkwardly. "We... don't have a King..."

"..." Mordred blinked.

"..." Jaune found a particularly-interesting cloud to look at.

As the pair strolled along the path in an increasingly-oppressive silence, Mordred finally found her voice: "What do you mean, you don't have a King?"

"Exactly what I said." Jaune shrugged. "The Kingdoms of Vale, Mistral, Vacuo, and Atlas haven't had Kings since my grandfather's time."

"But..." Mordred struggled to point out the obvious problem with that statement. "... how can you have Kingdoms without Kings? Who leads your people, then?"

"Well... if I remember correctly... the people choose their representatives, and the representatives form a council." Jaune explained, basing it on what he'd heard his family mention about politics (he'd never had an interest in politics, between his earlier days as a farmhand on the family fields and his recent career as the weakest student in Beacon). Deciding to cut his losses before he could embarrass himself (any further), he changed the subject: "Anyway, what about King Arthur? How was he chosen?"

Falling for it hook, line, and sinker, Mordred eagerly seized the chance to tell one of her personal favorite stories: "Okay, so a few decades ago, the previous High King, Uther Pendragon, died fighting the Usurper King Vortigern. To prevent the land from collapsing upon itself with infighting, and to maintain hope among the people, the Court Wizard Merlin planted a holy sword into a stone outside a church, and delivered a prophecy. "Whosoe'er pulleth out this sword of this stone is rightwise king of all England", that was both what he said, and what was inscribed upon the sword Caliburn.

"For ten years, many tried to lift the Sword of Selection, and all failed. As the situation got more dire, the Knights and Nobles of the land came to an agreement - if none still could lift the sword, then they would hold a jousting tournament, and the winner would be given the right to lead the Britons against the Saxons.

"Of course, on the day of the tournament, none of the gathered drew the sword, and so the tournament began.

"During the tournament, one of the newest and most promising Knights, Sir Kay, realized his sword was missing, and so instructed his squire to fetch his sword.

"As he set about to fulfil his given task, the young boy stumbled upon an abandoned field by a decrepit church, one containing a sword in a stone. Deciding that an old sword was better than no sword, he drew it, and ran back to the tournament..."

Jaune's eye twitched as he tried to process everything Sir Mordred had just told him, even as Mordred continued telling his tale.

What on Remnant had he just heard?

Wizards?

Prophecies?

Holy swords?

... what was this, a comic book?

Did Sir Mordred really believe magic existed?

And so King Arthur had been selected because he could draw a sword from a stone?

What the Dust kind of Kingdom was this?!

... wait, no, maybe the sword just responded to a hereditary Semblance? After all, Weiss had said something about all Schnees being able to use Glyphs, right? Yeah, that made more sense...

"And then, King Arthur and Gawai- oh, we're here, Vomit Guy!" Mordred called back, as the pair finally emerged from the forest.

"Already?" Jaune's thoughts turned away from trying to figure out how Mordred's story made sense, and he instead turned his attention toward the small village they were approaching.

"That's right." Mordred nodded. "Welcome to Snowdonia, Vomit Guy!"

"... thanks for getting me out of that forest, Sir Mordred." Jaune nodded his gratitude to the armored knight even as a part of him quickly studied the village in front of him, and tried comparing the architecture to anything he'd previously encountered.

"Hey, you helped me with the Addanc, and you healed my arm." Mordred rolled her eyes good-naturedly even as she held a fist out towards him. "I mean, not that I needed it or anything, but still..."

"It really wasn't anything..." Jaune began to shake his head modestly, before realizing that Mordred was still giving him a very expectant look.

Finally, Mordred groaned in exasperation, and whined: "Come on, don't leave me hanging, Vomit Guy-"

"Sir Mordred, you're back!"

A voice interrupted her, and she immediately turned to find the village elder who'd pointed her in the direction of Llyn Cwmffynnon running towards her.

"Heya, gramps!" Mordred called back triumphantly. "You won't have to worry about that Addanc anymore, because- geh!"

"Good afternoon, Sir Mordred." Sir Lancelot courteously greeted the shocked Knight of the Round Table as he emerged from the village elder's house, with Squire Gareth following meekly behind him. "Sir Agravain asked me to come and make sure you didn't do anything... reckless."

Chapter 4: Snowdonian Stories

Chapter Text

The village of Snowdonia was livelier than usual that day, and even in the fields the farmers were excitedly chattering, as they discussed the events going on in their usually-quiet hamlet.

Earlier that morning, an actual, honest-to-God, fully-fledged Knight of the Round Table had briefly dropped by and talked to the unofficial leader of the village, before charging head-first into the Cursed Woods, the domain of the Water Demon that the King had contained all those years ago.

That by itself would have been more than enough to cause an upheaval in their ordinary everyday lives, but then, later in the day, as the sound of thunder had begun to ring out from the depths of the forest, two more members of the Round Table had shown up as well, before the first Knight had returned, along with a new warrior, the scars their armor bore a testament to the ferocity of their battle.

Even as the Knights of the Round Table had sequestered themselves for a private discussion, and the unknown warrior had went to ask the elder a few questions, the villagers couldn't help but talk among themselves.

The Addanc had been slain; while the younger ones speculated on just how it had happened (and would go on to incorporate them into their future games of Knights and Monsters), the older villagers couldn't help but wonder if the death of the Addanc meant that it would be safe to finally enter the woods once again.

While they could certainly survive on what they grew alone (unless disaster struck the land, which was unlikely considering King Arthur ruled it), being able to harvest herbs and gather timber, fish, and meat would definitely not hurt their livelihood.

Of course, while that was the main topic of discussion, other unrelated questions circulated around the village as well.

Who was the unknown warrior?

If the Squire Sir Gareth was here, did that mean that the Knight accompanying her was the legendary Sir Lancelot or Sir Gawain?

And just what were the living heroes of Camelot discussing, in the privacy of the elder's house?

While many children (and no small number of adults) were tempted to eavesdrop (or even justcoincidentallyfind duties to perform near the house), ultimately, the villagers would not dare to break the trust their honorable and chivalrous guardians had bestowed upon them.

(Also, there was a lot of work to do before harvesting season came.)

And so it was that, fortunately for Sir Mordred, none of the peasants were around to overhear Sir Lancelot's...conversationwith her.

"So, Sir Mordred..." Lancelot finally began, staring intensely at his fellow knight's visor as he put his flask down. "Would you care to explain your actions?"

"What's there to explain, Lancelot?" Mordred grumbled, though she still insistently refused to meet Lancelot's eyes.

"Well, the most important thing to explain would be why you left Camelot and travelled to Snowdonia without telling anybody, let alone seeking permission." Lancelot calmly pointed out as Sir Gareth gingerly placed a metal cup in front of Mordred, and filled it with the contents of her flask with a strained attempt at a smile for her nominal superior.

"Now, hold on a minute!" Mordred protested immediately, grabbing the proffered cup even as she pointedly refused to give Squire Gareth anything more than a slight nod of acknowledgement. "I told Sir Agravain about my quest!"

"... Sir Mordred..." Lancelot sighed, fighting to keep his voice level as both he and Gareth remembered Agravain'sstrong reactionto Mordred's departure. "I do not believe that what you did qualifies."

"It doesn't?" Mordred blinked in surprise.

"No." Lancelot bluntly answered. "Shouting out your plans as you jumped on a horse and left Camelot doesnotcount as advance notice, Sir Mordred."

"... tch." Mordred clicked her tongue and glared, before defending herself: "What does it matter, Lancelot? I thought the Knights of the Round Table go on quests all the time!"

"... Sir Mordred." Lancelot took a deep breath, and Gareth hid her wince by refilling Mordred's cup. "Do you remember what was discussed in thelastmeeting?"

"..." Mordred looked away shiftily, still unwilling to admit that she maynothave been paying attention during the meeting (since it had been Lancelot speaking, and not King Arthur).

"Sir Mordred, I'm sure you recall Sir Lancelot explaining that the King and a full half of the Round Table would be on campaign at our borders?" Gareth interjected quickly, trying to throw Mordred a lifeline. "Because the Saxons, the Picts, and even the remnants of the former Empire have been worryingly active?"

"Oh-of course I remember that!" Mordred quickly nodded along, though it still chafed at her that she was accepting help from her older sister (who wasstilla squire).

"Thenwhydid you leave likethat, Sir Mordred?" Lancelot's inquired sternly, causing even Mordred to almost jump. "Knowing that the heart of the Kingdom is the most defenseless it's been since the White Dragon was slain, knowing that even us Knights of the Round Table would also have to do patrol shifts like the regular Knights... what on earth possessed you to suddenly take off like that,insteadof talking to Sir Agravain or I?"

"... what would it have mattered anyway?" Mordred finally growled, unable to meet Lancelot's eyes.

"If you had warned us of your plans in advance, we could have adjusted the schedules to accommodate you, Sir Mordred." Lancelot explained with as much patience as he could still muster. "Or at the very least, we could have made sure you didn't face a demon as fearsome as the Addanc by yourself."

"..." For a moment, Mordred found herself at a loss for words, unsure of how to react to Lancelot's chastisem*nt.

Then her ingrained response kicked in, and she scowled as she retorted: "What, you think I couldn't handle the damned Addanc by myself? I would've taken it by myself, no problem!"

That wastechnicallytrue; she was more than certain that she could've easily killed the Addanc in the first few moments if she'd actually tapped into her magic core.

(Of course, with that said, while she was prepared to use itifthe situation was ever dire enough to call for it, the simple fact of the matter was that she had been, and still was, far more interested in proving herselfsolelywith the swordsmanship the King himself had acknowledged, rather than tapping into the magic core that her mother and unknown, never-present father had left her.)

"... clearly." Lancelot responded drily, subtly eyeing the state of Sir Mordred's armor even as he once again thanked God that his squire was nowhere near as brash or impetuous as Sir Mordred.

"..." Mordred's teeth ground together in annoyance, before she snapped: "Okay, so I found alittlehelp in the forest... but I didn'tneedit, alright? And what does it matter anyway? The Addanc's dead, the village is safe, and nobody got seriously hurt! Isn't that we're supposed to do as Knights of the Round Table?"

"Yes, I can certainly commend your results, Sir Mordred-" Lancelot began.

"Then why am I getting a damn lecture?!" Mordred complained in exasperation.

"But what I cannot praise are your methods." Lancelot continued on as if Mordred hadn't even spoken. "What if the enemies of the realm had attacked while you were gone, infiltrated the castle during your patrol shift? What if you had fallen in your quest, and the Addanc went on a rampage?"

"What does any of that matter?" Mordred rolled her eyes. "Everything turned out fine in the end, alright?"

"And what if it does not next time?" Lancelot challenged. "Sir Mordred, as a Knight of the Round Table, you have responsibilities, and-"

Mordred bit down yet another sigh as it threatened to escape her lips, and quietly tuned Lancelot's words out with another roll of her eyes, having heard his speech about them having duties and responsibilities many times before.

Honestly, she still just didn't get what the big deal was. After all, she'd done her duty, right? Hadn't that been what Lancelot had been talking her head off about thelasttime he'd done this?

And what did he mean, he could commend her but he couldn't at the same time? So was what she did right or not?

Honestly, sometimes interacting with the older members of the Round Table felt like she was back in Mother's workshop; no matter what she did, she was always in the wrong somehow.

... okay, her head was starting to hurt now.

Probably best to focus on something else.

"... and while I shall not pry into the exact relationship between you and Sir Agravain, I will at least remind you that he bears an extraordinary amount of concern for your well-being, Sir Mordred." Mordred brought her attention back to Lancelot just in time to hear him wrap up his lecture, and pull out a quill and a parchment. "Now, Sir Mordred, if you wouldn't mind giving an account of your battle with the Addanc? I understand you must be tired, but it-"

"Of course I- ahem, I mean, I'm only going to say it once, so you'd better listen up, alright?" Mordred excitedly answered, before clearing her throat and launching into a mildly-embellished retelling of her tale.

Throughout it all, Sir Gareth fervently watched as her mentor Sir Lancelot dutifully transcribed Mordred's words (including the added sound effects for good measure), only interrupting to check on the parts pertaining to Mordred's well-being (namely the broken sword, the twisted and torn-off armor, and especially the lack of physical wounds present on Mordred's flesh).

Finally, after minutes of enthusiastic hand gestures and story-telling, as Mordred concluded her accounting of the battle (and took a deep breath), Lancelot took the time to speak up: "So, if I may double-check, Sir Mordred... after your sword broke against the Addanc, and it got a lucky hit on you, the nameless warrior you were with appeared on the scene, successfully distracted the water demon with a wooden spear, and together the two of you lured it into a trap and felled it, correct?"

"Isn't that what I just said, Lancelot?" Mordred confirmed.

"..." Lancelot could only pinch the bridge of his nose as he felt his temples begin to throb.

Sir Agravain wasdefinitelygoing to owe him for this one...

Fortunately for him, Gareth took over, and leaned forward expectantly as she excitedly asked: "And who is this nameless warrior, Sir Mordred? How did he fend off the Addanc with a wooden stick where your sword was broken? And how is it you are physically unharmed despite the Addanc's blow tearing off your armor?"

"Oh, Vomit Guy?" Mordred chuckled warmly, her good mood from recounting her tale temporarily overpowering her general disdain for her elder sister.

"... I'm sorry?" Gareth blinked as Lancelot calmly took a sip from his flask, surprised by both Sir Mordred's name for his fellow warriorandhis uncharacteristic tone.

"Ah, that's just what I call him after he threw up on my boots." Mordred explained easily, shaking her head in amusem*nt. "For a Huntsman he sure couldn't handle Addanc guts... anyway, hesaidhis name was Jaune Arc, and he was training to be a warrior of some sort called a Huntsman, before..."

"... before?" Gareth co*cked her head as Mordred's voice suddenly trailed off.

"... I... well, according to him, he was holding off a dragon after his order was attacked, waiting for reinforcements... and then he woke up in the forest." Mordred explained, knowingjusthow unbelievable it might have sounded. Folding her arms, she hastily defended: "Hey, you all saw the state of his armor,andhe managed to help me against the Addanc, so I figure there's some truth to the story..."

"Warriors called "Huntsmen"?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow as he quietly gave it some thought. "... I'm afraid I do not know of any such group, but if they are anything like the man you describe then they must be noble warriors, men of quality."

"Yeah, the way he described them, it sounded like he was describing a Knight of the Round Table!" Mordred nodded vigorously, before snapping her fingers as she remembered something else. "Right, he also said that something else that they all had was some weird soul-magic-thing called "Aura"! Apparently, they can use it to reinforce their weapons and armor, as well as protect them from harm and heal them from injuries. I didn't believe him at first, but then he healed all the injuries I got from the Addanc with just a touch!"

"Thatiscertainly impressive." Lancelot murmured with a nod.

"Have you ever heard of something like this, Sir Lancelot?" Gareth turned to her mentor.

"Of healing with a touch, certainly Merlin could do it." Lancelot's brow furrowed. "But I know not of any suchsoul magiccalled "Aura" that could perform such a feat. Perhaps Merlin, Vivian, or even your mother might know of such a thing, though..."

"... he must have certainly come from a faraway land, if you know nothing of his people or abilities, Sir Lancelot..." Gareth couldn't help but remark.

"Veryfar." Mordred emphasized. "He hadn't even heard of King Arthur or Camelot before, let alone knowing where he was"

"... so, if I may confirm..." Lancelot inquired as his eyebrow rose again. "This Jaune Arc, despite waking up in an unknown land after fighting a dragon thatmighthave destroyed his order, still chose to rush into battle against a water demon with just a wooden stick in order to help an unknown stranger when he stumbled across your battle with the Addanc?"

"That's... pretty much it, yeah..." Mordred nodded uncertainly.

"... Sir Mordred, would you please introduce me to this Sir Jaune Arc?" Lancelot requested frankly as he rose from the table. "I would like to see the character of this man for myself."

"... huh?" Mordred blinked in confusion even as she jumped out of her seat and shot Gareth a questioning look (which she merely responded to with a shrug).

"Was there anything odd about my request?" Lancelot asked as he opened the door, before suddenly freezing.

"No, but... why are you so... interested..." Mordred began to protest as she rushed after him, before coming to a stop next to him as she saw what had shocked him.

Jaune, for his part, looked up from the field he'd been ploughing to see a familiar suit of armor staring at him, and grinned and waved as he shouted: "Hey, Sir Mordred, you finally done with your meeting?"

""...""

"... Jaune... whatareyou doing?" Mordred couldn't help but ask. "I thought you wanted to ask the village elder a few questions."

"Well... I did..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and looked at the farmers around him as he wondered how best to explain things.

Originally, he'd only made up the excuse of seeing if the village elder had ways of communicating with other kingdoms because hecouldread the atmosphere between Sir Mordred and the other two knights (growing up with seven sisters had its perks), and decided hereallydidn't want anything to do with it, and Sir Mordred coulddefinitelyhandle himself.

But even he wasn't in some unknown Kingdom (that wasdefinitelynot in CCT range), the village was so primitive it made Higanbana look like Vale, and a cursory glance made it clear why.

Then again, seeing as how he was on a continent without Aura, Jaune felt like he really shouldn't have been surprised by the sight of a pre-Dust society...

As soon as he'd realized that, a mild curiosity had welled up within him.

After all, while he'd seen a fair few villages on Anima and Vale, he'd never seen one that had operated completely without Dust.

And they were even a farming community, too!

He had only beenhalf-joking when he'd told Pyrrha on that rooftop that if being a Huntsman didn't work out he could always become a farmer...

A few minutes of observation (and wondering why they were still using painfully-inefficient methods) later, however, he couldn't help but feel intrusive and awkward, just standing around watching idly as people worked around him, occasionally giving him a side glance and murmuring about him.

Afterthat, it had been an easy decision to go back to the elder, and offer (insist) to help out with anything he could think of. After all, he'd become a Huntsman to help people; even if people here didn't know what a Huntsman was, and even if he wasn't helping them the way Beacon had taught him...

"But I got bored of just waiting around, and I didn't really have any plans, so I offered to just help out for a bit, you know?" Jaune finally tried.

"... of course I get that." Mordred nodded in understanding (though her helmet hid her eyes as they looked away guiltily). "That's what any Knight of the Round Table would do as well, helping people."

"Indeed, Sir Mordred." Lancelot nodded in agreement, before turning to address the blonde warrior. "Sir Jaune, please allow me to express my gratitude to you, both for assisting Sir Mordred in his battle against the Addanc, and for your service to the people of my liege's land."

"Hey, there's no need for any of that." Jaune quickly waved his hands furiously as the gazes and murmurs around him intensified. "It's no big deal, alright? I just happened to be in the area, I saw strangers in trouble, and well... as my mom always says, strangers are just friends you haven't met yet."

""...""

"... did I say something weird?" Jaune looked around his suddenly-silent surroundings in confusion.

"What a beautiful saying..." Squire Gareth finally sobbed, moved to tears by such a simple yet profound sentiment.

"Uh... wha-?"

"I concur, Sir Gareth." Lancelot nodded in agreement with his squire, the naive yet earnest words appealing to his sense of idealism and romanticism.

As he looked over the young warrior with a newfound respect, his sense of chivalry decided it had seen enough of Jaune's character, and compelled him to make an offer, one that would have unintended consequence in the near-future.

Chapter 5: Campfire Chats

Chapter Text

Jaune quietly fed another stick into the campfire, before looking at the fancy tent Sir Lancelot had retired to for the night and sighing to himself as his mind once gain replayed the events of the day, and he tried to make sense of just what in Oum's name had happened.

Let's see, he'd stumbled across Sir Mordred fighting an Addanc, helped kill... whatever it was, learned that his Aura could heal people, learned that there was apparently a whole other continent that knew nothing of Aura (or Huntsmen, or Dust), and, thanks to Sir Mordred's very enthusiastic explanation, learned about the Knights of the Round Table before he'd finally been led out of the forest he'd been lost in for almost three days.

So, far he could still understand all of that.

But how on Remnant had that translated to him getting an invitation by Sir Lancelot (who, based on what he'd deduced so far, was the equivalent of a Huntsman Academy Headmaster if Sir Mordred was the equivalent of a regular Huntsman) to join them as an apprentice (unofficially, pending the King's approval upon his return) in Camelot?

Oum, he could only imagine his friend's reactions when they found out. Nora would probably bruise his back slapping it in congratulations, Ren would probably just give his usual wise-sounding platitudes, Pyrrha would be torn between concern and praise, and Ruby...

...

Well, Ruby had joined Beacon two years early because of Ozpin's recommendation, so there was definitely nothing she could really say that he couldn't turn around on her...

"Hello there!"

A sudden voice next to his ear jolted Jaune out of his thoughts, and he spun around to find the young armored short-haired blonde girl that had been with Sir Mordred and Sir Lancelot leaning down towards him, giving him what he could only assume was a polite and friendly smile.

Jaune smiled back even as he took a moment to search his memories: "Hey... you're... Sir Gareth, right?"

"Please, just call me Gareth." Gareth's grin grew. "It's a bit too early to call me "sir", since I'm still a squire. Anyway, just wanted to properly introduce myself to you, Sir Jaune!"

"Well, it's nice to meet you then, Gareth." Jaune smiled back as he offered a hand to the girl. "And there's no need to call me "sir" either... I was only a Huntsman-in-Training..."

"So I've heard." Gareth nodded as she shook Jaune's hand, and sat down next to him. "Sir Mordred told us about you... truthfully, I believe hearing about your plight is one of the reasons why my mentor has such an interest in you."

"... wait, isthatwhy he asked if I wanted to become an apprentice?" Jaune blinked as he finally put two and two together. Groaning, he quickly explained: "Look, like I told you guys earlier, I didn't mean to get anyone's attention! I just... I just saw someone who needed help, and-"

"And that isexactlyit, Jaune." Gareth nodded, smiling with approval. "What the King values above all else, and what the Round Table thus looks for the most, is a heart full of nobility and chivalry. Even in this era of relative prosperity, it is not common that one meets a warrior stranded in a foreign land who still offers such charity to another."

"..." Jaune's smile faltered as he was reminded of his situation, and he looked away as he admitted: "... look, if I'm going to be honest... I still don't know if I can accept Sir Lancelot's offer, As I'm sure you already know... I'm not exactly from around here. And I was trained to be aHuntsman; I don't know the first thing about being aKnight, let alone being a Knight of the Round Table."

"That won't be an issue." Gareth reassured him easily. "Sir Palamedes hails from the other end of the former empire, and many among the ranks are Kings and Lords in their own right, all with their own domains to care for; as long as one's interests do not conflict, they are generally overlooked. In fact... joining our ranks might even help you find your homeland, between the wealth of knowledge within the archives of Camelot, and the access to foreign dignitaries..."

"And I guess whatever I learn about being a Knight will probably help me be a Huntsman?" Jaune asked wryly, before holding up his hands in surrender as Gareth only grinned and nodded. "You know, you're really selling me on this... did Sir Lancelot ask you to do this?"

"Honestly, no." Gareth shook her head. "Sir Lancelot wouldneveract so under-handed; he would have spoken to you personally if he wished to give you further encouragement. But I trust Sir Lancelot's judgement, and based on Sir Mordred's account of your battle with the Addanc, I would definitely feel honored to fight alongside you one day."

"Uh..." Jaune looked away and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he remembered how he'd fared in Beacon for the past few semesters. Even with Pyrrha's teaching him how to fight, Ren helping tutor him, and Norahelpinghim with his workouts, he was only confident in fighting Beowolves by himself, or maybe Ursai, Nevermore, and Deathstalkers with his team backing him up.

"Or perhaps we could have a practice bout together?" Gareth continued to suggest excitedly. "Do you know how to joust? I heard from Sir Mordred that you used a wooden stick against the Addanc; are you proficient in lances and spears, Jaune?"

"Um... not really..." Jaune tried to explain as soon as Gareth paused for breath. "It just happened to be the only thing I had on hand..."

"Oh." Gareth's expression didn't outwardly change, but for some reason Jaune swore the brown bangs sticking out of the side of her blonde hair seemed to droop. "Then what kind of weapons are you familiar with, Jaune?"

"... uh... well... I used to train with my great-great-grandfather's sword. but I lost it before I came here..." Jaune admitted dejectedly even as he quietly pulled out his scabbard. "This thing's all I've got left."

"... I'm sorry for your loss, Jaune." Gareth murmured as she leaned forward and quietly inspected the empty sheath. "... if it is of any comfort, this is certainly an impressive scabbard. I have not seen many scabbards made out of only metal..."

"Well, it turns into a shield too." Jaune replied off-handedly, still imagining his family's reaction if they ever found out. After all, it was bad enough that he'd run away from home with the family sword, but now he'd gotten it broken, too?!

"... I'm sorry, I'm afraid I must have misheard you..." Gareth blinked.

"Huh?" Jaune simply flicked the scabbard into a sheath, and slid it down onto his forearm in demonstration. "No, see?"

"... how?" Gareth couldn't help but ask as she poked at it. "I mean, I've heard that the royal armory holds a ship that doubles as a shield, but I've never seen a scabbard that could do the same!"

"... you're kidding me, right?" Jaune turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm serious!" Gareth protested with a laugh. "My brother, Sir Gawain, he told me the King has a ship called the Prydwen, that can also function as a shield!"

"... but... how?" Jaune tried to imagine it.

"Hey, you're the one with a shield-scabbard; you tell me!" Gareth continued to prod at the shield in amazement.

"I don't know how it works myself, Gareth!" Jaune raised a hand in surrender even as he flicked it back into a sheath. "I just got it from my great-great grandfather.Anyway, what about you? What've you got?"

"Nothing as impressive as a shield-scabbard, I can assure you." Gareth rolled her eyes modestly as she took the bait and reached for her own equipment. "While my shield is tempered steel, it doesn't transform. My lance, on the other hand..."

Jaune quietly swallowed a gulp as he observed the massive spear, easily taller than he was and thicker than his arms.

... was it just his imagination, or did the lance have amagazine, like Crescent Rose had?

"Uh, Gareth?" Jaune pointed to the part that caught his eye. "Is that...?"

"Ah, I see you've noticed what makesIra Lupusso special!" Gareth preened. "In truth, this is no mere lance! Lord Merlin helped me design and create it with his magic, allowing it to fire potent bursts of energy from a distance! I believe he called it a... gun-lance?"

"..." Jaune suddenly felt the urge to make sure her and Ruby Rosenevermet.

Or maybe heshouldintroduce the two...

Ruby could have definitely used more friends, and Gareth definitely seemed to be interested in weapons...

"By the way, Jaune..." Gareth spoke up hesitantly, as a thought occurred to her. "Would you happen to know about guns? So far no one I've talked has even heard of them before, but, since you've come from a faraway place..."

"Uh... I guess I know a thing or two about guns..." Jaune admitted with a shrug, before he quickly added: "Not that much, though, I was always more of a "classics" kind of guy, but one of my best friends loved weapons and had a scythe that turned into a gun, so..."

"A gun-scythe?" Gareth couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. "How does that even work?!"

"Well, if I remember correctly..." Jaune grabbed a stick and sketched out what he could remember from Ruby's excited ramblings into the dirt. "The pole also serves as the barrel, so she buried the blade of the scythe into the ground to stabilize it when firing. Sometimes, when she was swinging the scythe, she'd also fire the gun part to give the scythe more force too..."

"..." Gareth studied his drawings and looked down at Ira Lupus, before turning to Jaune and requesting: "Please help me re-design Ira Lupus."

"Um, I'm really only repeating what my friend told me..." Jaune tried to ward off her enthusiasm as she did her best impression of any one of his many elder sisters when they wanted something from him. "What about that Merlin? Why don't you ask him to help you?"

"Well... I'm... honestly not too fond of Lord Merlin..." Gareth bashfully admitted, her foot fidgeting. "Don't get me wrong, I respect his deeds and appreciate his help! But... I really don't know why, but I find him a bit scary... ah, but please don't tell anyone I said that!"

"Said what?" Mordred's voice caused the two of them to jump, and they turned to see a familiar petite armored form stroll up towards the campfire.

"Sir Mordred!" Gareth squeaked. "N-nothing! Nobody said anything!"

"... tch." Mordred couldn't help but click her tongue as she watched the un-Knight-like behavior of her elder sister, and she bluntly jerked her thumb in the direction she came from as she said: "Then it's your turn to take watch, Squire Gareth."

"Right away then, Sir Mordred." Gareth nodded even as she hastily jumped up and went to her assigned post.

"Ugh, that was boring as hell..." Mordred whined as she slumped against a log near the fire. "This forest's too quiet... if only something like another Addanc would pop out..."

"Um, please remember I still don't have a weapon, Sir Mordred..." Jaune reminded him with a lazy wave of his empty scabbard. "And most of us probably can't beat an Addanc to death with our bare hands..."

"Oh, please." Mordred rolled her eyes at his modesty. "You and I kicked Addanc butt just now, and we didn't have two other members of the Round Table with us! An army of Addancs could come, and we'd turn them all into hides!"

"... please don't tempt fate like that, Sir Mordred." Jaune half-joked, as a small part of him remembered just how Initiation had gone.

"Aw, where's your sense of adventure and excitement, Jaune?" Mordred grumbled before changing the subject. "Anyway, what were you and Gareth talking about?"

"Eh, nothing much..." Jaune shrugged as he leaned back, and stretched out his arms. "We were just discussing weapons, and before that she was trying to convince me to accept Lancelot's offer-"

"Wait, you needed convincing?" Mordred blinked in shock. "Even after how I told you being a Knight of the Round Table was the best thing ever?!"

"I know, I know..." Jaune held up his hands before she could begin to proselytize again. "It's just... my friends and family must be worried about me..."

"..." Even Mordred could see the concern reflected in Jaune's blue eyes as he stared wistfully down at the fire, and while she personally couldn't really understand that (maybe except for Agravain nagging at her)...

... well, like she'd told him, a Knight of the Round Tablehelped people.

And hehadhelped her with the Addanc, and healed her arm...

Not that she needed help, of course. She didn't owe him anything.

"Hey." Mordred spoke softly as she placed an arm on his shoulder, and as he looked up she grinned behind her helmet, even if he couldn't see it. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll see them again."

"... thanks." Jaune smiled back at Mordred. "I can't wait to tell them all about the awesome Knights of the Round Table and my time with them."

"So you'll be accepting Lancelot's offer?" Mordred pressed.

"Well, Gareth said that it's probably my best bet at finding out where my home is." Jaune explained. "And, of course, learning from a Knight will only help me be a better Huntsman in the future."

"Hah! By the time we're done you won't evenwantto leave!" Mordred declared pridefully. "And wait until you meet King Arthur, too! ... I still can't believe you have Kingdoms without Kings..."

"Yeah... I honestly don't know why they're called Kingdoms, either..." Jaune admitted with a wry smile, having already had this discussion with the small and excitable knight earlier in the day.

As he shifted and stretched his back, however, a yawn escaped his lips, and Jaune suddenly realized just how tired he was.

Then again, for the first time since he'd woken up in this strange land, he didn't actually have anything to worry about.

He'd been fed and watered, he wasn't in any immediate danger, and he finally had an idea of where he was going and what he was doing.

For the first time since he'd woken up here, he could actually allow himself to relax and feel exhausted.

"Hey, maybe you should get some rest before it's your turn to keep watch." Mordred suggested as she watched him.

"Nah, I'm good, I'm-" Jaune tried to reassure her, before another yawn escaped his lips. Once he'd let it fully loose, however, he quickly continued explaining: "Used to do this all the time, during Beacon's survival lessons with my team. At least this forest isn't full of bears and wolves..."

"I wish! It would have certainly made my shift a lot more interesting." Mordred retorted with a chuckle.

Jaune just rolled his eyes even as he looked up to the night sky, and quietly muse about the strange land he'd found himself in, and especially the people he'd met- wait, what?

"Hey, is it just me, or is there something weird about the moon?" Jaune couldn't help but wonder as he focused his eyes upon it.

"What do you mean?" Mordred followed his gaze, and stared. "It's the same as always, isn't it?"

"Huh? But it isn't broken or anything!"

"... are yousureyou don't need some rest?"

Chapter 6: Damning Decisions

Chapter Text

The moon was still shining when Jaune Arc stirred from his restless sleep.

As he opened his eyes and looked out of the open window, he couldn't help the forlorn sigh escaped his lips.

Quietly shaking his head, he forced himself to look away from the distant moon, before another sigh escaped his lips as he instead took in the details of his room, barely distinguishable in the faint moonlight.

Where he'd have seen a wall of painted plaster and a Dust-powered lamp on a simple table, an ornate silver candlestand housed three half-melted candles on what could charitably be described as a thick wooden slab, greeting him along with a wall of dull cobblestone.

"... it really wasn't a dream, huh?" Jaune murmured to himself in a hollow voice as he forced himself to sit up, and took a moment to once again try and process justwhatin Oum's name had happened to him.

His last definitive memory of Remnant had been the attack at Amity, Beacon, and Vale, the death of that woman in the pod and Ozpin, and his desperate delaying action at the top of Beacon's clocktower.

After that...

... after the dragon had stomped on him...

... after half a dozen glass shards had punched through his abused Aura, and he'd fallen...

... after his vision had begun to dim, and his consciousness had slipped away in a flash of silver light,..

After all of that, he'd woken up in a strange and unfamiliar world, less than a week ago.

One that knew nothing of Aura, Dust, or the Grimm.

One that had monsters he'd never heard of, heroes he'd never heard of, and Kingdoms he'd never heard of (ruled by actual Kings, no less).

One that had a distant, unbroken moon gracing its night sky.

... the only explanation Jaune could come up with so far, was that hehaddied... and somehow been either sent to a different world,orsent so far back in time to Remnant's past that the moon hadn't even been broken yet, and Dust and the Grimm hadn't been discovered yet.

... which would have put him in a timelongbefore the dawn of recorded human civilization on Remnant, based on what little he could remember from Dr. Oobleck's lessons.

... which meant that it may as well have been a different world, for all intents and purposes.

Jaune groaned and buried his head in his hands, as he desperately tried to think of a different explanation, one that didn't sound like it came straight out of a Mistralian comic book.

After all, he didn'tfeeldead... not that he knew what death actually felt like, of course.

But he still felt hunger, thirst, tiredness, and pain (which also helped rule out it just being a very elaborate dream).

If this was life after death, it sucked worse than Cardin.

But at the same time, the more he thought about it, the more he found himself at least conceding that he hadprobablydied at the tower.

While the wounds he'd sustained didn'thaveto be fatal... the fact that he'd woken up without his friends around him said enough.

Ruby and Pyr wouldneverhave abandoned him.

A pang of worry shot through him as he thought about his friends once again, and he found himself desperately hoping that they'd at least made it out safe and sound.

Then he shook his head again, as the moment passed.

After all, he'd survived by himself for, what, five minutes?

If that was the kind of enemy they were up against, there was no way Ruby, Weiss,andPyr together could have lost.

... though shehadkilled Ozpin...

...

Jaune forced that concerning thought out of his head.

After all... wherever or whenever he was... all he could do for his friends, was have faith in them.

Right now, more pressingly, he had to figure out just whathewas supposed to do about his situation.

... honestly, was there actually anything hecoulddo?

Evenifhe'd figured out what had happened (big "if"), he still had no ideahowhe'd ended up here (the Mistralian comics always just handwaved it with "Semblances", but even if Jaune did have such a Semblance (another big "if"), he had no idea how to even trigger it, let alone control its destination), or what he was supposed to donext.

... well, that wasn't completely accurate.

Of course, when he'd realized he wasn't on Remnant anymore, his initial thoughts (after blind panic and freaking out, of course) had been to try and figure out a way back home. But it had only taken a few minutes of proper consideration to rule that out as a realistic outcome.

Sure, this world had magic (if he took the stories the Knights of the Round Table told him at face value, at least), but their tales of King Arthur's Court Wizard (who was apparently a really big deal) had more to do prophecies and dreams than travelling to different worlds (or time travel).

And considering this world hadn't even discovered central heating and indoor plumbing, he wasn't crossing his fingers for a scientific solution to his problems.

So... if his return was off the table... what was he supposed to do now?

Whatcouldhe even do?

...

Jaune slowly exhaled as he got out of bed, before slapping himself on the cheeks to psych himself up (an action with zero physical effect, thanks to Aura).

Ironically, the situation hadn't really changed since he'd gotten out of the forest.

After all, he was lost, and had nothing to his name, nor friends to call his own.

... okay, the last one wasn't completely true, but there was no way he could just impose on the Knights of the Round Table like that!

Especially notnow, when they were apparently dealing with both border clashes and invaders from across the sea.

... but at the same time, could hereallyafford to turn down any help he could get?

Besides being a Huntsman-in-Training, the only experience he could really claim to have was working on the family farm, and he'd run away from home for a reason!

Was hereallygoing to spend his afterlife doing what he'd run away from during his first life?

Thoughts of the knights he'd spent the past few days travelling with came to the forefront of his mind, and a small smile graced his lips as he came to a decision.

As Sir Mordred had said, being a Huntsmandidsound an awful lot like being a Knight of the Round Table...

And hehadagreed to help Gareth with her weird gun-lance. Just because he was dead didn't mean he wasn't an Arc!

Worst come to worst, he'd fail to live up to Sir Lancelot's expectations and leave. Wouldn't be thefirsttime he'd felt like that...

At the very least, though, he'd have to figure out a way to tell Sir Lancelot not to bother helping him figure out where he came from; no point in wasting the man's time looking for a Kingdom that didn't even exist here.

But it wasn't like he could just tell them: "Hey, sorry to waste your time, but I just realized I came from a completely different world and/or timeline! Don't bother looking into my story; the stuff I mentioned don't even exist (yet?)!"

Even in his head it sounded ridiculous.

As Jaune tried to figure out a plausible reason that would get Sir Lancelot and the Knights to stop investigating his story, however, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

As it soon morphed into a pounding, Jaune quietly sighed to himself, and moved to open the door and see just who wanted to see him this early in the morning.

To his surprise, a familiar petite suit of armor was waiting impatiently outside the door.

Jaune blinked before finally finding his voice: "... Sir Mordred?"

"Heya, Vomit Guy!" Mordred greeted him familiarly, before tossing him a cloth sack.

Jaune grunted at the unexpected weight as he caught it, and unfortunately for him, that wasn't the last surprise of the morning.

Opening the sack revealed pieces of metal armor, causing his eyes to go wide.

Mordred took the opportunity to nudge him in the side with her elbow, before triumphantly demanding: "Hurry up and suit up, Squire! We're wasting precious time!"

-THE PREVIOUS EVENING-

"I must admit my surprise, Lancelot." Percival couldn't help but remark, as he poured himself a goblet of wine. "When you accepted Agravain's request to come back with Mordred, even I couldn't have foreseen that you'd come back with a new apprentice-"

"Hey!" Mordred hotly interjected from where she sat, still sulking about the fuss Agravain had raised over her little quest. "I'mthe one who found him!"

"Of course, Sir Mordred." Percival quickly held up a hand to forestall him, knowingjustenough of the brash young knight to know that he would escalate the situation if he didn't clarify his words. "I in no way mean to overlook your achievements; were not our current situation as serious as it currently is, I dare say even the King would raise a toast to your victory over the Addanc. My point, however, was that when we heard you had set off to slay a demon, I feel confident in speaking for us all when I say that none of us expected you to come back withanotherperson..."

"Indeed, I was also surprised when Sir Mordred walked out of the forest with company." Lancelot answered truthfully, as Gareth poured water into his goblet and Mordred huffed in approval and relaxed, mollified by Percival's words. "To say nothing of when Sir Mordred relayed the youth's extraordinary circ*mstances to me."

"..." Percival quietly recalled the state the youth had been in, when he'd been welcomed into Camelot, and when he'd allowed himself to be led away by young Bors to a guest room. After a moment, he gave voice to his concerns: "Lancelot... if I may ask? Is the boy alright?"

"... physically speaking, Sir Mordred can testify that the Addanc failed to cause any wound to Jaune during their battle." Lancelot replied slowly.

"So the damage his armor sustained wasn't caused by the demon?" Percival blinked.

"Well, of course." Mordred scoffed, rolling her eyes. "What kind of Knight would let an unrelated innocent bystander get harmed likethat?"

"You speak the truth, Sir Mordred." Lancelot gave the young knight a rare approving nod (while Gareth surreptitiously gave Mordred a look of shock), before continuing on: "But I believe Sir Percival would like to also know the cause of his injuries."

"Like I told you, he was like that already when I met him." Mordred shrugged, before retelling her account for Percival's benefit: "According to Jaune, the last thing he remembers before waking up in that forest was fighting against a dragon and a witch."

"A dragon and a witch?!" Percival's voice was full of shock as he looked worriedly at Lancelot. "Are you sure?"

"I sensed no trace of a lie from him when he told me his story." Lancelot answered confidently.

"In that case, then we need to send word to the King at once!" Percival insisted in alarm, jumping up from his seat.

"Peace, Sir Percival." Lancelot quickly held up a hand to calm the white-haired knight down. "As far as we can tell, the foes Jaune faced are not a threat to His Majesty's lands."

"Jaune fought the dragon and the witch in the Kingdom he hails from." Mordred clarified. "And he comes from some weird Kingdomreallyfar away. He'd never even heard of Camelot, and the Kingdoms he does know don't even have Kings!"

"Just to be sure, we asked the surrounding villages." Gareth added from behind Lancelot. "None can recall seeing a dragon or a witch recently."

Percival breathed a sigh of relief, before his eyes narrowed in understanding. "... isthatwhy you specified "physically", Lancelot?"

"It is." Lancelot nodded and sighed, recalling how distracted and distant Jaune had been when they'd entered Camelot. "I believe he is currently in a state of shock."

"But he was fine before we got here!" Mordred pointed out with a frown, shifting uneasily as she recalled how she'd tried (and apparently failed) to reassure him.

"Sir Mordred..." Lancelot paused for a moment, as he thought about how best to get his point across. "Jaune simply didn't have the luxury of thinking about his situation until after he joined us, nor did he realize just how far from home until he spoke with us."

"So what, it's my fault for picking him up?" Mordred's tone took on a defensive edge.

"Of course not." Lancelot answered immediately. "While far from ideal, I'm sure even he would agree his current situation is a vast improvement over being alone and lost in a forest, waiting for countrymen who would never come. I feel he simply needs time, time to adjust to the reality of his situation, and perhaps something to keep his mind occupied."

"Wouldn't it be better to just get him back home as soon as possible, though?" Mordred spoke up again.

"It would, Sir Mordred." Lancelot conceded, before countering: "Unfortunately, that isn't a realistic option right now."

"Even Palamedes knew nothing of such Kingdoms as "Vale" or "Atlas", Mordred." Percival chimed in. "With Merlin still uncontactable, our best bet at actually coming into contact with Jaune's homeland is to go questing for lands beyond the great seas to the West, or the great deserts and mountains of the South and East, far beyond even the extent of the old Empire or Alexander the Great. Such an undertaking, while honorable, is simply not feasible with our current situation."

"... hmmm..." Mordred's frown deepened behind her helmet, as she quietly considered their words and reflected that the situation might have been a bit more complicated than how those picture books made things seem.

"In the meantime, based on the stories Jaune shared, being trained as a squire should be similar enough to his time as a Huntsman-in-Training for him to adapt, while being sufficiently different enough to help distract him." Lancelot concluded.

"But... Sir Lancelot... who will train Jaune?" Gareth quietly asked from behind her mentor. "Are there any full Knights of the Round Table currently in Camelot who can take on a new squire? I know Agravain doesn't currently have a squire, but the duties of his station leave him too busy to properly take on an apprentice..."

""...""

A silence fell over the room, as they contemplated Gareth's point.

And then Lancelot finally answered: "Squire Gareth... I was hoping that you could help train Jaune for the time being."

"Me?!" Gareth couldn't hide her shock.

"Indeed." Lancelot nodded confidently. "You may still be a squire, but you have already earned a numbered seat on the Round Table, and I believe helping train another potential squire will serve as valuable experience for you in the future, when you are a Knight of the Round Table and have your own squire. Rest assured, though; I am still your mentor, and I will provide assistance for you should you need it."

"I-I-I'm honored by your words, Sir Lancelot!" Gareth squeaked nervously, before shaking her head. "And I mean no disrespect, but I do not feel as if I am ready yet! Furthermore, I am barely older than Jaune! How could I possibly serve as his mentor?!"

"I believe that the lack of an age gap will only help you relate to him, Gareth." Lancelot tried to comfort his squire with a smile that would have made her swoon if she wasn't too busy panicking. "But if you have a better alternative, feel free to share it."

"Bors definitely isn't ready to take on a squire yet." Percival added simply as Gareth turned to him in desperation. While Bors may have been older and more experienced than Gareth, it was a simple matter of fact that Gareth, like her brothers Gawain and Agravain, was extremely talented; with a single lance she'd defeated numerous prodigious knights and kings to protect the honor of her friend, and even the King agreed that she could easily be the greatest of them all in time.

Mordred, for her part, simply studied her sister with a vague feeling of irritation, though she kept her peace

Ultimately, she felt a degree of responsibility for Jaune, since, as far as she was concerned, she'd been the one to both find him, and help convince him to come to Camelot. And while she may not have had the best relationship with the other Knights of Camelot, she would at least concede that she was still young and inexperienced; being unable to refute their points, she would trust that the men King Arthur and Agravain had selected and fought alongside were acting with her charge's best interests in mind.

But at the same time... did itreallyhave to be Gareth?

Why did Squire Gareth the Ever-Perfect always seem to get everything?!

It was as she chewed on those envious thoughts that she saw it.

Gareth glanced at her for a moment, before hastily averting her gaze.

Her irritation grew as she perceived the act as her Elder-Sister-Who-Was-Still-A-Squire slighting her, and so she snarled: "Hey, aren't you forgetting that I'm a Knight of the Round Table too?!"

Chapter 7: Extraneous Education

Chapter Text

As Jaune quietly tested the straps on the armor Mordred had given him, making sure he'd properly fitted the metal plate around his body, a small part of quietly marveled at the similarities (and differences) between the armor he now wore and the one he'd bought at a discount shop in Vale before he'd gone to Beacon.

Just a small part, though.

Ren or Dr. Oobleck would've definitely been able to appreciate it a lot more than he did.

As he moved to wriggling his fingers under his new gauntlets, trying to get a feel for his new range of motion in them, a bigger part of him was busy trying to figure out how on Remnant Cardin could have moved in his full plate armor.

Of course, there was also the question ofwhyin Oum's name Cardin had even worn a set of full plate armor during Huntsman training. Sure, Jaune and Pyrrha had armor too, but the only reason Jaune had even gotten the discount breastplate in the first place was because he'd thought it'd help him fit in around Primary Combat School graduates (also, he hadn't known that Aura had existed), while in Pyrrha's case she'd told him that it had been designed to evoke the image of a strong and confident warrior (for the sake of her fans), rather than with any sort of protection in mind (he still remembered that discussionverywell, considering she'd made her point by emphasizing her semi-exposed cleavage and the amount of skin her "armor" showed, along with the discovery that the only reason she could actually pull off the ridiculous flips that she did without snapping her heels or twisting her ankles was because of her Semblance manipulating the metal in her heels and Aura reinforcing her feet).

So why had Cardin, who had been to a combat prep schoolandhad his Aura already unlocked, insisted on fighting in such a clunky and restricting suit of armor?

Of course, his biggest question, the most pressing issue on his mind, was wondering why Mordred had suddenly barged in, declared they were wasting time, and demanded he put it on.

"Oh, good, you've already changed." Mordred spoke up as she joined him in the empty courtyard, enthusiastically stretching her limbs as she walked. "Are you ready to begin, then?"

"Uh, Sir Mordred?" Jaune sheepishly raised his hand. "What exactly am I supposed to be readyfor?"

"What, don't you remember?" Mordred blinked in surprise, pausing her movements.

You only told me that we were wasting time and I needed to suit up..." Jaune pointed out.

"... oh." Mordred's voice was curt, and she quickly cleared her throat before explaining: "It's simple, really. You agreed to be an apprentice here, right?"

"... yes...?" Jaune nodded as his thoughts once again turned to his current situation, and especially how he really didn't have any other options.

"Well, as an apprentice, you needed a mentor, and I justhappenedto be available." Mordred crowed modestly, before slapping him on the back with a grin. "By the time I'm done with you, Squire, you'll be able to kill a dragon with your bare hands!"

"..." Jaune wordlessly glanced down at Mordred's petite armored hands, and remembered seeing the Knight of the Round Table tearing that Addanc apart with just a broken sword. "... uh, let's hope Ineverhave to test that out. Anyway, where do we begin?"

"With the basics, of course!" Mordred announced enthusiastically. "I know you're pretty strong and tough, and you havesometraining... but I still don't really have a grasp on the full extent of your abilities yet! So let's start with a light warm-up! Give me ten rounds around the castle!"

"T-the entire castle?!" Jaune's eyes widened in horror, as he remembered the sheer scale of Camelot (it madeBeaconlook small, though to be fair Camelot was the heart of a Kingdom while Beacon was just a school, and Beaconwastaller).

"Hmmm..." Mordred thought about it for a second. "Yeah, that's probablytoolight for you. Let's make it a dozen rounds along the outer walls of Camelot!"

Jaune's eye twitched, but before he could curse overzealous trainers and his big mouth, Mordredreassuredhim: "Don't worry; this is just to prepare you for all thefunandexcitingstufflater, Squire!"

"Oh boy... I can... hardly contain myself." Jaune forced a grin onto his face, before sprinting away from Sir Mordred as fast as he could (he'd learnedthatlesson well, having barely survived Nora Valkyrie's workout sessions).

Mordred's gaze lingered on her newest (and first) student's energetically-retreating form, before she finally relaxed as soon as he was out of sight. Taking a moment to ensure that her surroundings were clear, she surreptitiously pulling out a piece of parchment, and began discreetly reading from it even as she reflected that things were going about as well as could have been expected, considering the utter impulsiveness of her decision.

Oh, she felt absolutely no regret about having pushed Jaune Arc into becoming a provisional member of the Round Table (only King Arthur had the authority to make the final decision regarding his membership); the King wouldsurelybe pleased with the talent she'd scouted (considering even Stuck-Up Lancelot had praised him), this trulywasthe best way to help him (at least, that's what Agravain had told her, though she hadn't really paid attention to the details), and she was definitely more than enthusiastic about the prospect of no longer being the most junior Knight of the Round Table (especially if the newcomer was someone she couldactuallyget along with).

And of course, him being in Camelot would give them more time to experiment with whatever soul magic "Aura" was...

But shedefinitelyhadn't had any intentions of becoming his mentor!

After all, even she knew she was far from a first-rate knight, for God's sake!

But when her Elder-Sister-Who-Was-Still-A-Squire had not only been considered a potential candidate in training Jaune over her (a fully-fledged Knight), but hadalso(seemingly) dismissedheras a possible candidate...

Well, shemayhave lost her temper, and decided to seize the chance to prove herself (especially after seeing the looks of alarm on Percival's and Lancelot's faces)...

Unfortunately, she knew absolutely nothing aboutbeinga squire, let alone turning a squire into a full-fledged knight (one of the drawbacks of having skipped being a squire herself).

And she definitely couldn't have asked Lancelot or Percival (or Gareth) for advice, not after how she'd fought to convince them to pick her over Gareth in the first place...

... and so she'dasked(pestered) Agravain for some tips.

Although...

"... the hell's got "court etiquette" and "music and dancing" have to do with being a knight?" Mordred couldn't help but wonder out loud, as she finished reading the first sentence.

Wasthiswhat Lancelot wasted Gareth's time with?

Maybe she'd judged her elder sister too harshly...

For a moment, she considered simply tossing Agravain's list and instead going with her own personal experience, but she quickly decided against it.

After all, she may not have been human, but she also wasn't unnecessarily cruel or sad*stic; the only part of Morgan's training she'd be using was establishing her subject's... student's current "baseline capabilities", so that she could track how much he improved and how fast (alas, she didn't know any Lightning spells, so she couldn't do the same in-depth tests Mother had always performed on her).

Instead, she decided to simply skip over the topics she had no interest (or experience) in, and ask Agravain about them next time.

Just as her eyes dropped back down to the parchment, however, her ears picked up the sounds of heavy metallic footsteps drawing nearer to her, and she hastily stowed it away just as a heavily-breathing Jaune returned to the castle's courtyard.

"Done with a dozen rounds already?" Mordred couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as her new squire came to a halt in front of her.

"Somehow..." Jaune groaned, before shaking his head as he reflected that hereallyshould have foreseen metallurgy in this world being less-developed than Remnant's; the plate armor Mordred had given him wasmuchheavier than the one he'd originally bought in Remnant (or was that just because Huntsmen had Aura, and thus relied less on actual armor?), to say nothing of running in metal boots (the sensation of which he could only describe as "loose cement shoes").

"Huh..." Mordred blinked, before mentally raising her assessment of Jaune's speed and stamina a few more notches.

Then a grin came over her face, as she realized that she wouldn't have to hold back nearly as much as she'd initially thought (which was good, since holding back wasboring, and also shereallywasn't any good at it).

Jaune couldn't help but gulp as Mordred cracked her knuckles and moved over to a nearby rack of training weapons, before tossing him a wooden blade as she enthusiastically declared: "Alright, now it's time for us to see how you fare in combat against arealKnight!"

-THIRTY MINUTES LATER-

"Lancelot, about your decision last night..." Percival began, as the pair of senior knights casually made their way to the dining hall.

"You doubt it, Percival?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow as he came to a stop, his voice holding no trace of defensiveness or malice but instead only curiosity at the sincere knight's uncharacteristic words.

"Your judgement has never been proven wrong, Lancelot." Percival prefaced, not wanting his friend to take offense. "But your sudden change of heart last night... I wish to understand the wisdom behind it, old friend."

"I had no reason to oppose Sir Mordred's show of initiative, Sir Percival." Lancelot explained simply. "After all, as he said, he is a fully-fledged Knight of the Round Table, by the will of His Majesty. He has every right to choose to take a squire under his wing."

"And what of Jaune?" Percival fussed. "You know our liege; compassionate and honorable as he is, he willalwaysprioritize the well-being of the realm over all else. The only way we can convince King Arthur to launch an expedition in search of the lands Jaune hails from during this time is thatheproves the worth of his people, just as Palamedes proved the worth of the Saracen. With all due respect, I believe your first choice of Gareth would have been far more suitable option."

"Perhaps, but this is one of the rare times I have witnessed Sir Mordred being proactive, and perhaps the only time he has chosen to take responsibility for another, Sir Percival." Lancelot defended, shaking his head. "And Sir Mordred's chivalry has never once been called into question."

"That... is true..." Percival slowly conceded as a bird landed on his shoulder, before chirping once at him. As he reflexively pulled out some seeds for the little creature, he admitted: "But I am still worried for Mordred. Full knight though he may be, he has still spent less time in Camelot than even Gareth; is this not too heavy of a burden, that he has suddenly thrust upon himself?'

"I agree, Sir Percival, and that isexactlywhy I feel Sir Mordred's first squire should be Jaune." Lancelot countered with a nod.

"... I'm afraid I don't follow, old friend." Percival reluctantly admitted.

"Did I tell you what he said, when I thanked him for aiding Sir Mordred?" Lancelot asked rhetorically, a small smile gracing his face. "He told me, "strangers are just friends you haven't met yet". Can you imagine that? Waking up in an unfamiliar land after a disastrous battle, coming across a duel between a demon and a lone wounded knight, and actively choosing to intervene while armed with only a stick and a shield?"

"..." Percival found himself rendered speechless, not only because of the sheer idealism behind such a saying, but because hecouldimagine such a situation. "When you put it that way, he almost reminds me ofyou, Lancelot..."

"You flatter me, Sir Percival." Lancelot began, before the sound of heavy footfalls caught both of their attention. Turning in its direction, they found armored knights sprinting across the corridor. The two senior knights immediately tensed up, and Lancelot stepped forward and demanded: "Knights! What is the hurry?"

"Ah, Sir Lancelot, Sir Percival!" The addressed soldiers immediately halted, and the one leading their group gulped. "Forgive us for not showing proper decorum-:

"It's fine, it's fine." Percival stepped in to reassure them. Just to be sure, they took a surreptitious glance at the First of the Knights of the Round Table, before relaxing at the lack of an impending chastening. "We merely want to know what the rush is, this early in the morning."

"Is there an emergency or something that requires our attention?" Lancelot asked, his hand already resting on the pommel of Arondight.

"Oh, nothing of the sort, Sirs." The knight hastily answered. "We just heard Sir Mordred got a new squire and was training him! Word is, they've been training since before daybreak, so we're going to watch!"

"We've all heard of Sir Mordred's legendary swordsmanship, but none of us have ever witnessed it before!" A second added.

"I'm more curious to see what poor soul ended up with Sir Mordred as a mentor..." The third murmured under his breath.

"Dismissed." Lancelot reflexively nodded to them, before turning to Percival and exchanging apprehensive looks.

"... this I have to see." Percival finally declared, before taking off after them.

Lancelot couldn't help but sigh, and hope he hadn't just made a big mistake as he joined Percival.

The scene that greeted them, as they reached the crowded corridors overlooking the castle's training grounds, was one of absurdity and destruction; Lancelot, veteran of many ferocious battles, managed to maintain his composure, but the younger knights around him couldn't help their hanging jaws.

Meanwhile, below them, at ground zero, a panting Jaune took a quick moment to catch his breath even as he kept an eye on Mordred, and mentally revised his assessment of his new trainer.

Sure, Sir Mordred may not have been quite as agile as Pyrrha (if Sir Mordred could pull off half the flips and twists Pyr had in his full suit of armor, Jaune would have called him a monster), but he was certainly as fast as her (at least), and he had an unholy combination of Nora's strength and Yang's ferocity (at least).

The only reason Jaune (with his zero wins in Glynda Goodwitch's Combat Classes) had even lastedthislong was because he'd completely abandoned offense in favor of dodging and running for his life; counter-attacking was completely out of the question.

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to just give up; hedidhave his pride as Pyr's student, as a Huntsman-in-Training, and as the leader of Team JNPR (also, judging by the way the sparring session had gone, his instincts told him Mordred wasn't going to accept a surrender).

Mordred, for her part, was also panting heavily under her helmet even as she glared at her squire, pleased by his spirit.

Not a whisper of complaint or any indication of surrender after all this time, and no matter how many blows she landed on him he'd always manage to pull himself back up!

Truly, she'd never had such a satisfying sparring partner before (to be fair, the only person she actually dared to ask to spar with her was Agravain, who always rejected her for obvious reasons).

Tightening her grip on her latest training sword, she roared before once again kicking off towards him, creating yet another furrow in the ground.

Jaune gulped and immediately rolled to the side, before instinctively raising his sword just in time to intercept Mordred's own as she easily kicked off the ground towards him.

As soon as the two blades made contact, Jaune immediately poured his strength into his arms, focusing purely on parrying the blade to the side (if he hadn't known beforehand that locking blades with someone who made Nora Valkyrie look like Ruby Rose was a bad idea, he'd definitely learned it repeatedly a few dozen minutes ago).

And, of course, just like the past few hundred times this had happened, Mordred didn't let such a cheap trick let her become overbalanced, but instead followed her momentum to step into his guard, and rammed her shoulder into his gut.

This time, however, Jaune had been expecting it, and managed to grab her shoulder even as he tried to (finally) return the favor and thrust the hilt of his sword into her face.

"Nice try!" Mordred laughed wildly even as she ducked under the blow, having instinctively kept track of his hand as soon as he'd deflected her strike, and Jaune had barely enough time to gulp in apprehension before she butted her head into his gut like a bull, sending him flying away.

Even as her squire bounced off of the stone walls of Camelot with a loud thud, Mordred was already launching herself towards him, swinging her wooden blade at his falling form.

"Oh you'vegotto be kidding me..." Jaune couldn't help but groan, as he spotted the human missile flying towards him. Unable to manoeuver himself in mid-air, unwilling to let himself get smashed into the ground, Jaune could do little more than tighten his grip around his blade, grit his teeth, and meet her blow directly.

A loud cracking sound rang out across the field as the two blades met, and a gust of wind swept across the abused grounds, as Mordred's blow pushed Jaune back towards the wall.

And then, as his feet made contact with the stone surface, and he braced himself, Mordred's wooden training blade shattered into splinters against Jaune's Aura-reinforced one, splinters that fell to the floor and joined the other remnants of training blades that littered the grounds.

"Tch!" Mordred clicked her tongue in annoyance as the two of them landed on the floor, and Jaune quietly breathed a sigh of relief as Mordred pulled away and callously tossed the broken hilt onto the floor, before stalking off to the weapon rack to grab yet another one, neither of them taking their eyes off of the other.

Then Jaune blinked in surprise, and as Mordred carelessly reached for another training blade, Jaune spoke up: "Uh... Sir Mordred?"

"What is it, squire?" Mordred allowed, still not taking her eyes off of him.

"There's no more training weapons." Jaune informed her, as her hand closed around empty air.

"This time, it was Mordred's turn to blink, and she looked at the weapon rack to find that it was, indeed, empty.

Huh.

Just how many swordshadthey gone through already?

"So... does this mean we're done?" Jaune inquired hopefully.

"... just because there's no more swords doesn't mean there's no more weapons, squire!" Mordred called back, shattering Jaune's hopes, as she gripped the rack with one hand and raised it like a club, grinning ferally the whole time.

Sure, what she was doing now wasfarfrom the superb and sophisticated swordsmanship that King Arthur had praised, but the King wasn't watching, and this wasn't an actual fight against enemies of the realm!

This wastraining.

After all, there weremanyenemies who wouldn't surrender just because they were disarmed!

She was just doing herjobas Jaune's mentor!

Also, this was the mostfunshe'd had in sparring with a person, and she wasnotgoing to lose to her squire!

Jaune groaned again, before gulping as he saw Mordred's grip tighten in anticipation.

And then, just before she could launch herself at him and resume their bout, Agravain's stern voice rang out: "What in the Lord's name has happened here?!"

Chapter 8: Arduous Aftermath

Chapter Text

"Stupid, stuck-up, nagging..." Mordred grumbled under her breath even as she sulkily swept up the debris that littered the training field.

"Well... to be fair... Sir Agravaindidhave a point..." Jaune defended with a strained smile even as he continued shoveling soil into a nearby crater, grateful to Sir Agravain for intervening just before his Aura had finally run out (even if he had stuck him with clean-up duty).

"Hey, whose side are you on?!" Mordred immediately stopped her steady stream of insults in favor of glaring at her squire.

"Nobody's!" Jaune immediately answered, raising his hands placatingly as he felt Mordred's glare intensify on him. "I'm just saying, we did probably go alittle bitoverboard..."

"Overboard?This?!" Mordred thundered, before turning back to the grounds. "We were just getting started! Br-Agravainneeds to spend less time with his scrolls and more time with his swords, if you ask me..."

Jaune couldfeelhis entire body aching as he followed Mordred's gaze, and for a moment he couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the right decision by accepting Lancelot's offer (as opposed to, say, running for the hills screaming).

After all, even Nora Valkyrie's warm-ups hadn't beenthatintense...

"... this...isnormal, right?" Mordred couldn't help but ask unconfidently as the silence stretched on, and she mentally compared the damages to the training session Mother had forced her to go through.

Sure, even she knew her mother hadn't bothered with meaningless concepts like mercy, moderation, or restraint, but at the same time they hadn't even broken down any walls!

"..." Jaune sucked in a quick breath through his teeth as he gave the grounds another once-over, and quietly wondered if a Dust missile could have caused as much damage as their "spar".

... but then again...

"... it's... not theworstI've seen..." Jaune finally reassured Mordred, technically telling truth.

After all, at least they hadn't collapsed any pillars, broken any ceilings, or caused any whirlwinds with their fight.

"Though weshouldhave probably spared a thought for anyone else who wanted to use it..." Jaune quickly added as he filled in another crater, not wanting Sir Mordred to take that as a sign that their future sessions should be just as intense.

"Tch." Mordred clicked her tongue in irritation, remembering Agravain's earlier lecture. As she recalled the numerous foes the Perfect King and his Knights had triumphed over, she couldn't help but rant: "If you ask me, Agravain's spent too long administrating Camelot, and needs a good adventure! After all, as your mentor I'm supposed to be preparing you to be a Knight, notcoddlingyou!"

"C-coddling?" Jaune couldn't help but choke out incredulously, wondering which part of that had been a coddling.

"That's right." Mordred nodded smugly, before repeating an impressive line from a book she'd read: "Our foes have no mercy to spare; how can I prepare you to face them by showing you any?"

"..." Jaune's arms paused as he chewed on Sir Mordred's words. It sounded like something Glynda Goodwitch had told them at the start of the year, and itwastrue that the Grimm were mindlessly aggressive (if one was lucky), to say nothing of the White Fang, or that student from Haven who'd killed Ozpin.

But at the same time...

"What?" Mordred glanced at him uneasily as the silence stretched on to awkward levels. "Did I say something weird?"

"Uh, no, that's not it." Jaune quickly shook his head and waved his hands placatingly, though he couldn't help but remember how he'd been taught. "I mean... I guess it makes sense..."

"It does, right?" Mordred nodded smugly.

"It's just that..." Jaune continued on, as memories of his time in Beacon reared their head, especially the ones involving secret nighttime rendezvous on a quiet rooftop with a green-eyed redhead. "... while I don't think I was coddled, I've never been pushedthathard during training before..."

"Well, welcome to the Knights of the Round Table." Mordred crowed, before clapping him on the back and reassuring him: "Besides, I'm sure you can take it! After all, you didn't dotoobad of a job just now!"

"Really?" Jaune wondered out loud, remembering how it'd been all he could do just to survive.

"Well, you could probably do with being more aggressive..." Mordred conceded with a shrug, recalling how her first training session had felt like a game of catch. Then she grinned at him under her helmet, and encouraged him: "But that was just yourfirsttraining session as a Knight of the Round Table! You've got plenty of time to catch up!"

Jaune couldn't help but gulp as his body began aching in sympathy, but he forced a grin on his face as he replied: "I can't wait."

"That's the spirit, squire!" Mordred enthusiastically answered, and for a moment, Jaune found his smile not quite so forced. "You'll be up to snuff in no time at all!"

He couldn't help himself; as harsh as Sir Mordred's training may have been, the man possessed an energy that was almost infectious.

Then he looked back at the shovel in his hand, and he quickly reminded Mordred: "Though, maybe we should make sure our next training sessions are approved by Sir Agravain..."

"Oh, come on!" Mordred immediately deflated, and she pouted at Jaune under her helmet as she once again grumbled: "Who does he think I'm training, Bedivere?! I swear, next time Saxons invade, I'll make sure to tell Mo-hismother that he's gettingsoft."

"... are the Saxons reallythatbad?" Jaune quietly inquired, reflecting that he'd heard more flattering things about theGrimm. "I mean, you've talked about them a few times, and you said the King and most of the Knights were out dealing with another invasion of them, but..."

"... well, I haven'tactually fought them before..." Mordred reluctantly admitted, before shaking her head. After all, Mother had drilled the tales of King Arthur and his legendary Knights into her in her youth, if only to emphasize just how much stronger she needed to be if she were to usurp the King of Knights and take the throne (why Morgan had been so obsessed with her taking the throne was still beyond her, and even if Mordred had been interested in fulfilling that particular destiny, her mother was hardly the most welcoming of questions), and she quickly scrambled to defend her dignity in front of her squire: "But it doesn't matter. Even if they aren't, we're expected to inhuman foes! Remember the Addanc? And the King and Gawain had to face down the White Dragon by themselves, during the Reclamation of Londinium!"

"Oh, the King's fought a dragon too?" Jaune co*cked his head in surprise, wondering ifthatwas why they'd believed his story about the dragon so easily.

"Right inthatvery castle, in fact!" Mordred gushed, using her broom to point back to Camelot. "The city of Camelot used to be the Imperial city of Londinium, before it fell into ruin when the Empire collapsed! When the Usurper King Vortigern summoned the Saxons to Britain and killed the previous High King, he turned the city into his stronghold, and it was only after Arthur slew him with the holy lance Rhongomyniad that he was finally crowned the High King of the Britons!"

"... so, Vortigern had a pet dragon?" Jaune wondered if he'd missed something, unable to see where the White Dragon fit into the story.

"Oh, no, Vortigernturnedinto a dragon!" Mordred corrected him with a grin. "And according to Gawain, he destroyed the castle just by growing in size! Can you imagine that?!"

"..." Jaune looked up at the castle and gulped quietly as he mentally compared it to the Grimm Dragon he'd fought (barely survived).

"God, I wish I could have been there..." Mordred sighed wistfully, before noticing her squire's expression. Clapping him on the back again, she snorted: "What's up with that reaction?! You've faced the Addanc and a dragon already!"

Jaune merely responded by rolling his eyes at his mentor, though his lips twitched slightly at Sir Mordred's antics. While he'd only known the Knight for a few days (and he'd only been in this new land for about a week), he felt relatively confident that he had enough of a grasp of Sir Mordred's character to know that Mordred was being genuinely earnest and well-meaning with his questions.

Though, like Ruby, he couldhaveprobably learned how to phrase his words abitmore carefully...

... then again, considering this was a different world, it was also entirely possible that Mordred's way of speaking was normal. After all, Jaune had only really talked to him, Gareth, and Lancelot, and he'd never exactly been the most skilled at social interactions on Remnant anyway...

Jaune sighed and shook his head as the topic grew far more complicated than he was really willing to consider. Interacting with other people his age had already been hard enough in Beacon; considering the intricacies of communicating with people from a completely different time and place, with a different lifestyle and culture, was utterly beyond him. Looking back at Sir Mordred, he began to retort, before a rumbling sound filled the air between them.

"..."

"..."

"..." Jaune fought to keep his face from spontaneously combusting as his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since the day before.

-ONE RUSHED CLEAN-UP LATER-

"..." Jaune's face was stiff as he looked around the packed dining hall for a place to sit and did his best to ignore the stares being levelled his way.

Seriously, it was already bad enough that half of Camelot had seen him getting his ass handed to him by Sir Mordred before they'd gotten lectured by Sir Agravain; he didn't want to embarrass himself (or Sir Lancelot, Gareth, and Sir Mordred by extension) any further by being making it obvious just how socially awkward he was as well!

As the murmuring and gazes around him slowly intensified, however, Jaune couldn't help but fix his gaze upon the meaty gruel he'd been given even as he tried to block it all out and get to the least-crowded corner of the room as quickly as was socially acceptable.

As he stared at the stew in his hands, however, and the smell hit his nose, he found himself torn between salivating and gagging.

On one hand, he could easily make something more delicious than... whatever it was he was carrying.

But on the other, it had been maybe eighteen hours since his last meal, and he'd burned a lot of calories that morning.

As he sat himself at a relatively-empty table and poked at it with a wooden spoon, a small part of him couldn't help but wonder how his friends would feel, if they found out he was having a meal in a different world.

He couldn't help the slight grin that crossed his features, before his face fell as he once again thought about his friends, his family, his life.

He just couldn't help himself; his entire life (afterlife?) had been turned upside down in the past week or so, after all, and he hadn't really had much time to process it yet.

But at the same time...

Jaune quietly forced himself to take a deep breath, before taking a tentative scoop of the gruel.

"Jaune, everybody needs a little push from time to time."

He knew his friends were stronger than him.

He knew his friends were smarter than him.

He knew his friends were more experienced than him.

"It doesn't make you any different from the rest of us."

He knew his friends werebetterthan him.

"Come on, I know you get frustrated, but you must keep trying."

And heknewthey wouldn't want him to wallow in self-pity.

He'd already accepted there was basically no way home.

He was still... well, perhaps "alive" wasn't the best word for it, but he still existed.

Ruby would want him to learn all about their weapons (especially that "gun-lance" Gareth had mentioned), Nora would probably want to know if there were pancakes, Ren would have been more interested in herbs and tea, and Pyrrha...

Well, Pyrrha would probably be just be happy if he did his best (she really was a bit soft on him, come to think of it), but as her student and partner he wasn't going to embarrass himself in front of the Knights of Camelot (any further, at least)!

...

... honestly, she'd probably already be proud that he was accepting help from Sir Mordred and Sir Lancelot instead of trying to stubbornly do everything on his own!

Sighing, Jaune tentatively lifted the spoon to his mouth.

He knew his friends would be fine, even without him.

All he could do now, was continue on.

The gruel entered his mouth.

Immediately, Jaune recoiled and pulled a face, wondering whether the food was over-boiled or over-flavored.

One thing was for sure, it was certainly a... unique flavor.

But it was still nutritious protein, and definitely the best he could hope to get in this place, so he cautiously took another scoop.

As he swallowed he sensed a figure approaching him, and he looked up in time to see a petite blonde lady taking a seat in front of him, who immediately excitedly greeted him: "Good afternoon, Jaune! I'm honestly surprised to see you here!"

"Hey, Gareth," Jaune managed a smile for his new friend, before his face morphed into one of confusion. "... did you think I'd forget where the dining hall was? I mean, you gave me the tour just yesterday..."

"No, no, that's not it!" Gareth shook her head. "The entire castle's buzzing with news about what you did in the morning! Is it true?"

"Is it true?" Jaune echoed, before dropping his spoon back into his bowl and groaning. "What, you mean the part where we wrecked the training grounds and got scolded by your brother for an hour?"

"What, no!" Gareth exclaimed. "I'm talking about the part where you went toe-to-toe with Sir Mordred!"

"Is that what they're saying?" Jaune blinked, before it was his turn to shake his head. "That's... definitely stretching it a bit..."

"But it is true you had a bout with Sir Mordred, right?" Gareth pressed eagerly.

"I think you mean, Isurviveda bout with Sir Mordred," Jaune corrected Gareth with an awkward laugh.

"So itistrue!" Gareth announced triumphantly.

"All I did was run around trying not to get utterly annihilated by him," Jaune pointed out wryly.

"That's still amazing!" Gareth immediately replied. "Most knights in Camelot would not last five minutes against him, to say nothing of a simple squire!"

"He's that good?" Jaune blinked.

"By skill of sword alone, Sir Mordred is easily among the top of the Round Table, to say nothing of his prodigious strength.' Gareth informed him, before sighing forlornly. "I can't believe I missed your training session with him..."

"Yeah, and I don't think Sir Agravain will allow Sir Mordred to conduct any more lessons like that." Jaune groaned, quietly thankful for his Aura having already healed up most of his bruises and aches.

"..." Gareth's eyes widened in shock, and as Jaune nodded in response she quickly reconducted herself: "... well, I suppose my brother must have a good reason for it..."

"The cost of fixing up the training grounds, mostly," Jaune helpfully informed her. "I think we went through almost a dozen racks of training swords."

"..." Gareth was dignified enough to maintain her composure even as she quietly bemoaned not having even been able to see the aftermath.

Then she recalled something, and spoke up: "Speaking of weapons... do you recall our discussion about Ira Lupus, on the way back to Camelot?"

"Yeah..." Jaune hummed as he raised an eyebrow. "You were talking about re-designing your gun-lance, right?"

"That is correct," Gareth nodded. "Would you mind sparing me some of your time later in the evening? As a fellow squire I would request both combat pointers from you and to discuss my weapon."

"... well, if Sir Mordred doesn't have anything else for me, I guess it's fine." Jaune shrugged. "Just... don't expect too much from me, alright? And share some of your experience with me, too!"

"Very well, then." Gareth smiled at him. "While I doubt it, I hope my experience will have some value to you."

"I'm sure it will," Jaune murmured, deciding not to mention his complete lack of experience.

-MORDRED'S ROOM, LATER THAT DAY-

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune's voice called out along with a sudden knock on the door, and a startled Mordred immediately called her helmet back up as her squire continued: "May I ask you a question?"

"Uh, of course, go ahead!" Mordred shouted back through the closed door even as she hastily stowed away the parchment in her hand.

"I was wondering if you had any plans for me for the evening, Sir Mordred," Jaune inquired. "If there were none, I will be training with Gareth."

"Uh..." Mordred looked back at where she'd kept the parchment. "... nope, I've got nothing for you tonight! Make sure you show her how much you've learned today, squire!"

"Thanks, Sir Mordred!" Jaune called back, before his footsteps began to trail off.

Mordred waited a few more minutes, before dismissing her helmet and pulling the crumpled piece of paper back out, all the while musing that her squire certainly had a commendable level of initiative and dedication to self-improvement.

It was the least she could do, as his Knight-Mentor and a Knight of the Round Table, to not disappoint his efforts.

"What else did Agravain say I should teach my squire, besides all that weird fancy manners stuff? Let's see... weapon maintenance... horseback riding... swordplay... wait, didn't he say I needed permission for any future training sessions? Ugh, I really don't want to have to see him right now..."

Chapter 9: Reminding Routines

Chapter Text

"Wake up, squire! Come on, we're burning daylight!"

As the familiar voice of Sir Mordred called out through the thick doors, Jaune found himself slowly roused from his sleep. As it was quickly followed up with a heavy pounding against the door, Jaune couldn't help but sigh even as he looked out of the window towards the moonlit night sky and quietly ticked yet another day off of his mental calendar.

This marked what? Twenty? Twenty one days, since he'd first woken up in that forest?

Jaune had begun to lost count; he couldn't help it, he'd fallen into something of a routine since coming to Camelot, and the days had just kind of blended together (and wasn'tthata funny way to describe his afterlife, that it had becomeroutine).

In the mornings (long before the sun had even risen, despite what his over-enthusiastic trainer would always say), he'd almost always find himself being woken up by Sir Mordred, before being dragged out of Camelot in order to continue their training (presumably, Sir Mordred still couldn't get permission from Sir Agravain).

Fortunately for him, though, Sir Mordred didn't seem to see the need to beat him half to death anymore, and instead of his mornings being spent fighting for his afterlife, his mentor was more than content to actuallyteachhim.

Of course, Sir Mordred could certainly be strict and demanding, especially when it came to practical demonstrations.

For example, where Pyr would have gently corrected his stances or his grip if he found himself making a mistake, Sir Mordred would demonstrate exactlywhywhat he was doing was abadidea.

On him.

Repeatedly.

And that wasn't even getting into whenever Sir Mordred decided to test his defenses or reflexes...

...

...anyway, after Sir Mordred concluded ended his daily b̶e̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ training sessions with a quick review session (and his Aura had healed him enough for him to catch his breath), the pair would part ways, with Mordred going to take care of some "super-secret Round Table stuff" (Jaune figured he had to reassure Sir Agravain that they weren't destroying any more things) and Jaune heading to grab some breakfast (even if it was usually closer to lunch time).

Meal times were still a mixed bag, though.

On one hand the food wasn't exactly getting any more palatable or edible, and Jaune was seriously beginning to consider whether it would just be better if he made his own meals (he would've certainly done it if he actually had the time or energy to do so)...

But on the other hand, at least things weren't nearly as awkward as they'd first been. The other residents were starting to find him old news (it was helped by the fact that they hadn't broken any more fields or been scolded by Sir Agravain since then), he had plenty of experience when it came to being stared at (that tended to happen a lot when one was simultaneously the leader of a team withNora Valkyrieon it, the partner of theFour-Time Champion of Mistral, the best friend of the youngest student in the history of Beacon,andtheworststudent in the history of Beacon), and he usually ate with Gareth whenever they could arrange it.

He still didn'tliketo be stared at and murmured about, of course, but it was much easier to ignore when he was starving and had someone to talk to.

And speaking of his occasional conversation partner, Jaune felt like he could safely say he'd been right.

Gareth and Ruby would'vedefinitelyhit it off.

Honestly, Garethreallyreminded him of a more outgoing Ruby Rose (especially when she started discussingIra Lupus), and more than once Jaune had almost called his fellow squire by the wrong name before managing to catch himself.

... well, putting aside unimportant and complicated matters, Jaune felt confident in saying that without Gareth, he probably wouldn't have been adapting to his time here nearly as quickly as he was.

Sure, he owed his mentor his afterlife for getting him out of the forest and teaching him how to be a knight, but his mentor was often busy with his duties, and it was hanging out with someone his age and having casual chats that helped him torelax, to feel almostnormalabout his entire situation.

... although he really didn't know how to feel about finding it normal to discuss weapons, especially when he still didn't know how to use anything more complicated than a sword and could only really get by thanks to regurgitating whatever he'd been able to absorb from Beacon, his Scroll, and Ruby Rose...

Well, at least his first friend would have been proud of him.

After meal time, and for the rest of the day, Jaune would typically find his afternoons occupied by further training and studies. The type of training differed depending on who he was spending the afternoon with; sometimes Sir Mordred would suddenly decide that he needed to know something new (recently he'dfinallygotten used to properly sharpening asword; sure, he could sharpen a wooden stick and a kitchen knife, but he'd never learned (or needed to learn) about sharpening the family sword before), sometimes he and Gareth would stick together after lunch and the two would continue discussing whatever they'd been talking about earlier (be it how Jaune was finding Camelot, how his training was progressing, or even what Gareth wanted to improve about Ira Lupus next and how they could achieve it), and sometimes, when no one was free, he'd simply do stuff on his own, from practicing his sword swings and form to jogging around the grounds for a few hours to even spending time in the castle's library to read up more about the world he found himself in.

His teammates would have been so proud of that last part, if they didn't all have heart attacks...

"... squire? You okay, squire?"

Sir Mordred's uncharacteristically-concerned tone cut through Jaune's thoughts, and he looked up from his reveries to see Sir Mordred's signature helmet looking down at him.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" Jaune asked politely, knowing there was no way he could pretend he'd been paying attention.

"I was just... it's nothing," Mordred huffed, looking away crossly. After a moment, though, Mordred peeked back in Jaune's direction and asked: "You just seemed distracted during today's training, squire."

"Oh... sorry." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"..." Mordred studied her squire for a moment as she wondered just what she wassupposedto do now. After all, there'd been nothing in Agravain's notes about what to do if her squire was distracted, and she'd never asked since she'd never seen her squire like this before (also, shestilldidn't want to speak to her brother after he'd scolded her likethat).

And while she knew exactly what Mother would do if it were her in that position... she didn't really want to smack her squire's head a few dozen times while yelling at him for messing up.

Ugh, why was this so difficult?

Whose idea had it even been to make him her squire, anyway?!

As she desperately tried to recall what the knights in her picture books would do in situations like this, Jaune reluctantly admitted: "I guess... I was just... thinking..."

"Oh?" Mordred quickly pounced on the conversational lifeline. "Thinking, huh?"

"Yeah, thinking..." Jaune sighed.

"Thinking about what?" Mordred inquired, sitting down next to him.

"Just... you know..." Jaune hummed noncommittally as he looked up at the sky. As an awkward silence descended upon the pair, and Mordred began to fidget impatiently, Jaune finally sighed: "It's nothing major, Sir Mordred. Just... can't believe I've been in Camelot for, what, two weeks already?"

"It'sonlybeen two weeks?!" Mordred couldn't help but blink incredulously.

"Yeah, I can't believe it either," Jaune laughed. "Feels like it was just yesterday I was still in Beacon..."

"That's the place that trained you, right?" Mordred asked, before snapping her fingers as she finally recalled a similar story she'd once read. "Do you miss it?"

"I-I... of course I do..." Jaune conceded before shaking his head. "But that's not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about how this place reminds me a lot of Beacon."

"Oh... that's good, right?" Mordred pressed curiously and carelessly. "I mean, if it reminds you of home, then you'd miss it less, right?"

"... I don't know..." Jaune shrugged uncertainly, before forcing a smile on his face as he looked up at Sir Mordred's expressionless helmet. "But at least, it's helped me get used to my time here."

Honestly, that was probably an understatement; if Jaune closed his eyes, he could almost begin to pretend he wasstillin Beacon.

Almost.

But even if he didn't have to eat Camelot's food or take a crap in a society that hadn't even invented toilet paper, let alone indoor plumbing... he just couldn't do it.

He just couldn't delude himself.

His mentor wasn't Pyrrha or Nora, his weapon-enthusiastic friend wasn't Ruby Rose, and this wasn't even Remnant, let alone Beacon. He'dalreadyaccepted that; pretending otherwise was just doing a disservice to himself and his friends, both the ones he'd lost and the ones he'd made.

"That's good to hear!" Mordred cheerfully clapped him on the back, completely unaware of his inner thoughts, before laughing as his back glowed brightly in response. "Ah, by the way, about your "Aura"..."

"I've told you a thousand times already, Sir Mordred, it's not happening" Jaune rolled his eyes in good-natured exasperation, even though he was privately thankful for the change in subject.

"Aw, come on!" Mordred whined.

"I barely know anything about Aura myself, Sir Mordred; there's no way I'm going to mess around with your soul to try and get it to manifest!" Jaune refused to budge.

"Even if I ordered you to do it as your mentor?" Mordred challenged.

"Nope," Jaune firmly stated, before quickly adding as he sensed Mordred's scowl: "Besides, you don't need it anyway, Sir. If anything, Sir Agravain might kick me out if I make you any stronger!"

"Hah! True!" Mordred roared with laughter, easily mollified by her squire's shameless flattery. The mention of her brother reminded her that she'd been purposely avoiding the one person in Camelot who was actually helping her with being a Knight Mentor, though, and after a moment of contemplation (or as close as the five-year-old could get to it) she got up, brushed the dirt from her armor, and murmured: "And speaking of Agravain..."

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune looked up at his mentor questioningly.

"I just remembered, I've got something I need to discuss with him later, squire!" Mordred made up an excuse on the spot, before declaring: "So let's end the session here for today! See you around, squire!"

Jaune could only sigh as he watched his mentor dash off, and hope that Sir Mordred wasn't about to get in trouble with Sir Agravain for whatever urgent matter the two apparently needed to discuss.

Truly, his mentor could be...eccentric, at times.

And even he'd noticed that Sir Mordred was hardly the most experienced teacher in Camelot (he just needed to listen to Gareth describing her lessons to see the difference).

... but at the same time, Jaune had to admit, he was definitely seeing himself improve at a much faster rate than back in Beacon.

That wasn't to say that Pyr was aworseteacher, of course; without her, he wouldn't even have made it past Initiation, let alone passed his combat classes (or known how to stand and how to swing a sword without falling over and which end of the sword was which)!

And hedefinitelystill didn't think Pyrrha had beencoddlinghim!

But maybe Sir Mordredhadbeen on to something, pushing him hard, confident that he could take it...

Or maybe it was just because he was onlynowseeing his growth; Pyr had always told him when he'd been discouraged that the fundamentals, while important, didn't always show obvious results so quickly.

... oh well, it didn't matter.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, right?

-AGRAVAIN'S CHAMBERS, LATER-

"Heya, Agravain!" Mordred's voice, coupled with the door suddenly being kicked open, made Agravain jump in his seat. "It's been a while!"

"... Sir Mordred," Agravain breathed as he quickly recomposed himself, refusing to give his smirking younger sister anything more than a dirty look, let alone the satisfaction of having surprised him. "This is...unexpected."

"Is it really so unexpected for me to see my brother?" Mordred asked innocently.

"When you've been avoiding me for a fortnight, yes," Agravain sarcastically retorted.

"I haven't beenavoidingyou-" Mordred began to defend herself.

"Of course you haven't," Agravain rolled his eyes, before sighing and changing the topic: "Anyway, before you tell me what you need from me, I need to ask you some questions involving your squire."

"Oh come on!" Mordred immediately whined. "For the last time, that wasnotgoing overboard! And even if it was, my squire can take it! ... not that we've been wrecking any more fields or anything..."

Agravain took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before slowly exhaling as he reminded himself that he had an important duty that day. "This isn't about that, Mordred. I just want to ask for an update regarding your squire's progress."

"Oh?" Mordred blinked, taken off-guard by the request. Then she puffed up her chest and crowed: "Well, if you must know, he's coming along very well, if I do say so myself! He can sharpen my sword without any problem now-"

"He couldn't sharpen a sword before this?" Agravain interrupted.

"Apparently he never learnt it before I taught it to him," Mordred shrugged, before explaining: "His soul-magic thingy protects the edge of the blade too. It's absolute bullsh*t, I tell you... but yeah, when I first handed him my sword, he tried to sharpen it like a kitchen knife! A kitchen knife!"

Agravain could feel a sense of foreboding descending upon him, but he forced it down as he focused on the bright side: "But he can now?"

"Yeah, he's gotten the hang of it," Mordred confirmed. "Let's see, what else was there... he's getting really good at fighting. Still got a long way to go before he can lay a finger on me, of course, but I'd wager on him over most regular Knights in Camelot. Hell, I might even put money on him kicking Gareth's butt in a month's time!"

"That's good..." Agravain murmured, feeling reassured by Mordred's words and confidence. But of course, it wasn't his job to be complacent. "And what about the other topics I told you to teach him?"

"Other topics?" Mordred repeated blankly, before realizing what he was talking about: "What, you mean court etiquette and music and dancing and all that fancy crap?"

"Yes, those topics," Agravain confirmed, breathing a sigh of relief that his meat-headed sister hadn't simply forgotten his list.

Unfortunately for him, Mordred's next words shattered his hopes: "Why do I need to teach him all that useless stuff? Actually, the hell's all those things got to do with being a Knight, anyway? Mother never taught me about anything like that!"

Agravain suddenly felt torn between the urge to curse his bitch of a mother for raising a weapon instead of a proper knight, and the urge to simply bury his face into his hands and weep.

-PATH BACK TO CAMELOT, AROUND THE SAME TIME-

As Jaune slowly strolled back up the familiar path to the castle, he spotted two familiar figures approaching him., and it was with no small confusion that he greeted them: "Morning, Gareth, Sir Lancelot."

"Hail, Squire Jaune," Lancelot easily returned the greeting, nodding towards the blonde boy.

"Morning, Jaune!" Gareth enthusiastically waved at her fellow squire. "Did you hear the news?"

"Sorry, I was busy training all morning," Jaune shook his head. "Did something happen?"

"A runner just arrived with a message: the campaign at the borders have been concluded," Lancelot explained patiently. "The King and his army are making preparations to return to Camelot as we speak."

"Oh, that's great!" Jaune could see why the pair seemed so energized now; if there wasonething he'd observed during his time here, it was that King Arthur seemed to be universally beloved in Camelot.

"It certainly is!" Gareth nodded, before asking: "So, are you ready to plead your case to the King?"

"... eh?" Jaune blinked, caught completely off-guard.

"Fear not, Squire Jaune," Lancelot reassured Jaune, misunderstanding his reaction. "The King is just and fair, perform in front of him as you have in front of me and Sir Mordred, and I'm certain your worth will be sufficiently demonstrated."

"..." Jaune could only stare in mortification at the pair, as he finally remembered that he'd completely forgotten to tell them not to bother wasting their time trying to find his home all this time.

Chapter 10: Combative Confrontations

Chapter Text

If anybody had been asked what kind of day it was, they would have said that it was a bright, sunny, and cheerful day. made all the happier for the news that the King's campaigns at the borders of Logres had been successful, and their brothers-in-arms were returning to Camelot.

The key word, of course, beingwas.

As the armored figure stormed down the passages from the living quarters, oppressively radiating negativity, even the hardened men of Camelot quickly found reasons (or invented excuses) to make themselves absent, none of them wanting to attract the ire of a pissed-off Sir Mordred.

For her part, though, Mordred didn't even register that she was being intentionally avoided, busy as she was with sulking furiously under her breath: "sh*t... damn Agravain... did he really have to chew me out like that again? It's notmyfault I didn't know that all that stuffy noble crap was actually useful..."

And to be fair, even Agravain hadn't been able to deny that!

... but even so, even if it was completely Mother's fault that she'd never been taught in the ways of nobility (despite it beingherwho'd always gone about how the throne was rightfully hers!), it didn't change the fact that things like court etiquette and social graces were still important things for knights to know.

A sigh escaped from Mordred's unseen lips as she finally paused in her ranting to catch her breath, and her thoughts turned from how Agravain had scolded her towhathe'd said.

He really hadn't needed to spend a whole hour explaining exactly why each and every item on the list he'd given her had been necessary for a knight to know (and in exceptional detail no less).

Even she'd gotten the message after the first ten minutes.

Sure,shehadn't needed to know it, between Mother's recommendation and her awesome swordsmanship (though she'd never advance any further as a Knight of the Round Table unless she could prove she was more than a mere brute), buther squire wasn't her.

Hell, as she'd been reminded, her squire hadn't even officially become a squire yet!

Agravain's and Lancelot's plans had been to privately introduce Jaune to the King and explain his circ*mstances once he'd returned (ideally during the feast to celebrate his great victory at the border), as only the King held the power to formally receive the oaths of a new prospective, to induct them into the ranks of Camelot.

Which meant that her squire had to at least be able to conduct himself in front of royalty by the time the King returned, lest he embarrass himself and ruin his chances of impressing the King and producing a compelling case (a task which he would have had no prior experience with, having hailed from a Kingless Kingdom).

And if he failed...

Mordred couldn't help but gulp, as she recalled exactly what was at stake for her squire.

... but it didn't matter, right?

Her squire had said he'd been getting used to life in Camelot, right?

And even if the King didn't launch an expedition to search for the lands of Remnant, there was no way the King would be cruel enough to banish Jaune from the castle!

... but what if she was wrong, like she'd been about the importance of all those other lessons?

After all, hehadsaid he'd missed his home...

And what was shesupposedto do?

They had anywhere between two weeks to a month before the King returned.

Was that enough time for him to learn everything he needed?

Hell, was that enough time forherto learn everything she needed to teach him?

... ugh, why did being a mentor and having a squire have to be so damn difficult?!

As her mind kept going in circles, she absent-mindedly turned a corner, before pausing as she heard Lancelot's voice in front of her: "Are you quite sure about this?"

Mordred reflexively clicked her tongue in annoyance. Personally, even she knew she was just being petty, but she just couldn't help herself at the moment. After all, Sir Lancelot was the epitome of a Knight of the Round Table; his presence right then did little more than remind Mordred of how much she was lacking.

And then she froze, as her squire's voice replied: "I'm sure, Sir Lancelot."

"But... what about your home?" Gareth inquired with an emotional tone as Sir Mordred ducked back behind the corner. "Your friends and family?"

"Squire Gareth, that's enough!" Lancelot's warning tone cut Gareth's words short. Then he sighed, and wearily explained: "Squire Jaune has made up his mind; to doubt his decision any further would be to insult his resolve."

"It's fine, it's fine," Jaune quickly waved it away. "I'm sure Gareth was just concerned and wanted to make sure I wouldn't regret it, right? After all, that's why I wanted to be a squire."

As Gareth nodded both appreciatively and in affirmation, Jaune took a deep breath and ran through what he'd hastily thought up, before speaking: "But... the thing is... I did some reading up in the castle's library... and there's nothing. It's just too far; it'd take at least a lifetime to get there."

Literally.

"Oum, its basically off the entire map," Jaune shook his head, before concluding: "I don't know how that fight with the dragon brought me here... but I can't in good conscience ask you guys to spend any more resources on this, not after everything you've done for me, and not after I now know it's impossible. I'm...it'snot worth the effort."

""...""

Even Lancelot found himself moved by the boy's melancholic words, but he quickly recomposed himself and nodded before continuing on: "I see. Then, what will you do now?"

"What do you mean?" Jaune blinked.

"If you no longer wish to search for a way home, what will your next course of action be?" Lancelot elaborated.

"Oh..." Jaune nodded in understanding, before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he answered: "Well... I was thinking I could keep doing what I've been doing here..."

"Oh?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I mean, I don't really know enough about this place to anything else, you know?" Jaune explained quickly, before quietly admitting: "And... well... I became a Huntsman because I wanted to be a hero, tohelppeople. Being a Knight's close enough to being a Huntsman that I figure I can still do it..."

"... for what it's worth, Squire Jaune, I do believe you will be a fine addition to our ranks," Lancelot smiled gently while Gareth nodded her assent behind him, before recalling the original topic. "But still, to be formally inducted into our ranks requires you to meet with the King, receive his approval, and swear your vows to him. So, as I asked before, how has your training under Sir Mordred been progressing?"

"It's... I guess it's going pretty well?" Jaune shrugged.

"That... is good, to hear," Lancelot answered uncertainly, exchanging an uneasy look with his squire. After all, he'd been present for what was now known in Camelot as the legendary "Mordred's Training", to say nothing of what Gareth shared with him from her conversations with her fellow squire.

Jaune picked up on his hesitation, however, and quickly came to his mentor's defense: "Look, I know he's not the most experienced mentor in Camelot, but he's really taught me a lot, and my swordsmanship has definitely improved by leaps and bounds since he became my teacher!"

A smile crossed Lancelot's lips as he saw the young man's loyalty, and so he chose to have faith in his fellow Knight of the Round Table and his initial decision. Clapping Jaune's shoulder, he earnestly replied: "Then, on behalf of Sir Mordred, I'd like to thank you for being his squire, young Jaune."

"Thankme?" Jaune echoed incredulously.

"Indeed," Lancelot nodded in affirmation. "I genuinely believe his role as your mentor is as much to his benefit as it is to yours."

"Really?" Jaune blinked, completely nonplussed.

"Yes, really," Lancelot answered easily. "Sir Mordred hasalwayshad the potential to be agreatknight, and I truly believe he always means well... but he is still young, and before your arrival he has had little chance to demonstrate an aptitude for the aspects of Knighthood beyond combat. As your mentor, however, he has shown a willingness to display initiative, restraint, and temperance... or so I've been told.

"Anyway," Lancelot continued, as Gareth and Jaune exchanged brief looks of disbelief. "If you wish to continue serving in Camelot, I only wish that you and Sir Mordred will continue to be positive influences on one another."

"... I'll do my best," Jaune promised, seeing that Lancelot was serious. "Arc's word."

"I have no doubt you will," Lancelot nodded confidently, before making to leave. "And I look forward to seeing Sir Mordred present you to the King, squire."

"Ah... right..." Jaune laughed nervously as he waved at the pair, before his shoulders slumped once they were out of view, and he began walking in the opposite direction from them.

Honestly, he'd almost forgotten that he'd actually need to meet with the legendary King Arthur in order to be formally accepted.

... he was going to meet with actual, honest-to-Oum royalty.

Oh, he was so going to mess this up, wasn't he?

So preoccupied was Jaune in freaking out at the prospect of meeting the King that, as he absent-mindedly turned a corner, he found himself tripping over an armored leg.

"Oh, sorry about that!" Jaune reflexively began to apologize as he caught himself, before blinking as he slowly recognized the figure. "... Sir Mordred?"

"..." Mordred simply continued looking down, her expressionless helmet betraying nothing as her mind rapidly processed everything she'd overheard with her inhuman senses, everything she'd learned that day.

Warning bells began ringing instinctively in Jaune's head at his mentor's uncharacteristic silence, and he leaned forward in concern as he tentatively asked: "Is... is everything okay, Sir Mordred?"

"Hey..." Mordred's voice was quiet and shaky as she finally responded. "Am I a good teacher?"

"... huh?" Jaune blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden line of questioning.

"Answer the question, damn it." Mordred growled firmly.

"I... I guess so?" Jaune scratched the back of his ear in confusion. "Sir Mordred, where's this coming from?"

"How?" Mordred ignored his questions as she looked up at him. "Howam I a good teacher?"

"I mean... you've taught me so much!" Jaune pointed out, repeating what he'd told Lancelot just a few minutes earlier. "Especially with using a sword; I think I could even give my old partner a run for her money-"

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue in annoyance, cutting off Jaune, and he immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Nothing about court etiquette, manners during a grand feast, or carrying yourself in front of royalty... nothing about being anactual knight. Brother was right..."

"Brother?" Jaune echoed dumbly. "Wha-"

"Listen up,Jaune," Mordred snapped, interrupting Jaune again. "From now on... you're not my squire any longer."

"..." Jaune could only blink in confusion, before he finished processing what Sir Mordred had said. "Wait, what-?"

"I'm doing you a damn favor, alright?!" Mordred growled furiously as she got up. "I wasn't even supposed to be your mentor! Gareth was supposed to do it! ... god, Lancelot wasright..."

And that was probably the most painful part of the day.

She was used to being overshadowed by her Elder-Sister-Who-Was-Still-A-Squire.

She was used to being chewed out by Agravain over some petty matter or another.

But the last time Lancelot had rebuked her for improper conduct (just before she'd gone to kill the Addanc), he'd called her impetuous and brash.

And if he'd said that about her to her squire... toJaune, she might have been able to shrug it off as usual.

But hearing him insteadpraiseher in private, when he didn't know she'd been listening? To learn that he believed she had potential, that he believed she meant well, that he believed she could be a great knight?

To learn that she'd been wrong about the stuck-up straight-laced First Knight of the Round Table?

All she could think, when she'd heard all that, was thatshe wasn't one yet.

And that stung,almostas much as the knowledge that she'd basically ruined her squire's chances of ever returning home, all because of apetty,childish,one-sided grudge.

"Hey, wait, where's all this coming from?" Jaune spoke up, utterly lost.

"... it doesn't matter," Mordred shook her head in self-loathing as she turned to walk away. "From now on, you should go and find Gareth for your training; she'll definitely do a much better job than this third-rate knight..."

To her surprise, however, Jaune placed a hand on her shoulder, firmly keeping her in place as he said: "No, no, no. Where's all this suddenly coming from?"

"Let go of me, squire," Mordred growled, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword warningly.

"Then tell me what's wrong," Jaune pressed, unwilling to simply abandon somebody he considered a friend.

"Final warning," Mordred drew her sword.

Jaune didn't let go.

-OUTSKIRTS OF CAMELOT, FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER-

"Are you finally willing to talk, Sir Mordred?" Jaune casually asked between pants as the pair sat next to each other, slumped against the scarred and shattered stump of an oak tree.

"Tch." Mordred looked away. "You've certainly grown co*cky, Jaune."

"I had a good teacher." Jaune smirked at her, before his face became serious: "Look... I know I'm just a squire, and you're a full knight... but... well... something's clearly bothering you, and I'd like to think we're friends, so..."

"Friends, huh..." Mordred murmured thoughtfully, looking up at her squire. Even she knew she didn't exactly have many (any) friends in Camelot.

Were they friends?

...

What evenwasa friend, anyway?

"... do you remember how I ended our training early this morning, to go and look for Agravain?" Mordred finally spoke, and as Jaune nodded she reluctantly admitted: "Well... I actually wanted to ask him for some advice on training you. Turns out, there's way more to being a Knight than just teaching you to fight! Did you know that? Because I didn't..."

Jaune didn't know how to answer that, so he elected to simply hum noncommittally, and wait for her to continue.

"Even sis- I mean, Gareth, who's still a squire, could teach you more about etiquette and diplomacy than me..." Mordred laughed self-deprecatingly, before looking down and sighing. "This was all a big mistake... what on earth was I ever thinking?! I should never have insisted on being your mentor over Gareth..."

Jaune's ears perked up at the familiar words, the familiar tone of voice, and he couldn't help but ask: "Whydidyou want me to beyoursquire?"

"Why do you think?" Mordred released another bark of harsh laughter, much to Jaune's displeasure. Then she looked down again, and quietly admitted: "I just... I just wanted to get one over my stupid perfect sister... just wanted to prove myself... prove that I was a proper knight too..."

Jaune sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, as the pieces fell into place.

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune tentatively began, trying to recall howthatconversation had went. "Remember how I was telling you about Huntsmen?"

"Your order of monster-slaying warriors with soul magic that's a lot like us Knights, right?" Mordred played along, wondering what this had to do with anything and why Jaune had brought it up.

If it was out of pity or something she was going to bereallypissed.

"Mmmhmm," Jaune hummed in confirmation. "Did I ever tell you how we were trained?"

"Not really," Mordred shrugged, still not seeing the point. "I only know you were coddled by your former trainer..."

"To become a Huntsman, most people start training from their childhoods," Jaune sighed, not even bothering to rebut Mordred's words. "I always wanted to be one..."

"So, what, you've got lots of experience?" Mordred rolled her eyes in irritation. After all,everyoneon the Round Table had more experience than her, even Gareth; she was onlyfive! "I mean, if you're trying to tell me that you never actually needed me to prepare you for being a good knight..."

"It's the opposite, actually," Jaune looked away and took a deep breath. Once he'd mentally steeled himself, he finally admitted: "I was never actually allowed to get any training."

Mordred's helmet snapped back towards him immediately.

"My parents never wanted me to become a Huntsman," Jaune continued to explain. "I have more experience plowing a field than swinging a sword. In fact, I had to actually run away from home and lie and trick my way into finally getting Huntsman training at Beacon last year, and I was theworsttrainee in the entire school. All because I wanted to be a hero, even though I was never good enough..."

Jaune could feel the gaze boring into him intensify, and he decided to try again.

"Look, what I'm trying to get at is... your desire to prove yourself... to show everyone you can do it... I completely understand it," Jaune's voice was full of empathy. "So..."

"Then, let me help you!"

"... so, that's why I'm not letting you get away from being my mentor, Sir Mordred," Jaune concluded, smiling gently at his newest mentor.

If not for her helmet, a bird might have flown right into Mordred's mouth.

Eventually, though, she found her voice, and incredulously demanded: "Are youinsane?! You're telling me you've actually gotlesstraining than what you should, and you'restillpassing up the chance to get a proper knight as your mentor?!"

"Yup."

"You'reactuallyinsane!" Mordred threw her hands up in frustration even as she looked at her squire in a new light. God, it was just her luck, wasn't it? That the warrior she'd picked up was actually a farmboy who'd run away from home and lied his way into learning how to fight monsters?!

"... maybe..." Jaune conceded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "But, Sir Mordred? You're forgetting something..."

"And what would that be?" Mordred sulked.

"Youarea proper knight, Sir Mordred," Jaune pointed out reassuringly, placing a hand on Mordred's shoulder (or pauldron, at least). "Sure, you may be... lacking... in some departments... but nobody's perfect, right? It doesn't make you any different from anyone else! In fact, the Kingstillrecognized you as a fully-fledged Knight of the Round Table! That speaks volumes of just what you're capable of!"

"..." Mordred could only stare speechlessly at Jaune.

"And most of all, Sir Mordred..." Jaune still wasn't done. "Most of all, you're myfriend. So what if you don't know the rest of the stuff you're supposed to teach me? We'll figure them all out,together. What do you say?"

Mordred dumbly stared at the hand Jaune was offering to her as her confused mind raced.

There was that word again,friend.

Wasthiswhat friends were?

Insane, irrational idiots who, despite all logic, didn't give up on each other, who supported one another, whobelievedin one another?

She still didn't know...

... but a part of her wanted to find out.

A small, tiny, miniscule, completely insignificant part, that of course played absolutely no part in her final response.

"... fine, do what you want," Mordred finally relented with a huff, though she seized the proffered hand tightly. As Jaune beamed down at her, she quickly snapped: "But don't blame me if anything goes wrong...squire."

Chapter 11: Frenzied Follow-Ups

Chapter Text

Agravain could only stare incredulously at the pair kneeling in front of him for a moment as he processed what he'd just been asked, before he finally found his voice: "... are youserious, Mordred?"

"I have never been more serious about anything, Agravain," Mordred nodded firmly, before lowering her head and begging: "Please, you'vegotto teach us all that etiquette and manners crap!"

"I don't..." Agravain pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced at Mordred's squire, before looking back at his youngest sibling and asking: "Mordred... what on earth brought this about?"

"Uh, you're the one who told me how much I messed up, remember?" Mordred co*cked her head in confusion at her brother. "And there's no way I can teach him what he needs to know before His Majesty returns, since Mother never-"

"Mordred!" Agravain hissed, quickly interrupting Mordred before she could reveal anything about her circ*mstances. Sure, as much as he opposed Morgan's plans, he neither wanted his siblings to be suspect of treason nor for them to be subject to their mother's ire.

"... oops..." Mordred quickly covered her mouth, looking as sheepish as she could without her face being visible.

Agravain could only sigh and glance between his idiot meathead of a youngest sister and her squire, all the while wondering what in God's name had happened in the hour or two it had been since they'd last talked.

Sure, he'd anticipatedsomethinghappening, since he'd made sure to phrase his statements in a way that Mordred couldn't simply ignore or shrug off and had only released her once she'd seemed suitably chastised, and he knew his sister was ultimately a good person at heart.

But his calculations had only predicted something along the lines of Mordredprivatelyasking him to tutor her squire, or asking for tips on how to do it!

Not... well... not openlybegginghim for help (and right in front of her own squire no less!), or asking him to teachheras well!

Seriously, what on earth happened?!

As he looked back down at his sister, a sigh escaped his lips, before they twitched into a short smile.

Even if he had no idea what had happened, it didn't change the fact that his sister, Mordred the Stubborn, was both openly admitting that she had messed up, and was asking him for help.

And if Mordred the Brash and Impetuous was willing to swallow her pride... how could he possibly refuse her?

"... I'll see what I can do," Agravain finally answered, struggling to keep the familial pride out of his voice.

"Yes!" Mordred pumped her fist victoriously as she grinned up at him. "I won't let you down, I pro-"

Before she could celebrate, however, Agravain continued: "But!I can't make any promises, Mordred; I'm not a miracle worker. I have at most one month to teach the both of you everything you need to know, and I cannot afford to neglect my duties to Camelot to assist you. So there will be absolutely no complaints or talking back; when I tell you to do something,you do it. Understood?"

Mordred and Jaune both gulped and nodded, eliciting a smile from Agravain.

"Then let's begin."

-ONE GRUELLING TRAINING SESSION LATER-

"Ugh... who on earth decided that knights need to know this useless crap..." Mordred bitterly grumbled as she massaged her aching temples with one hand and held a cup in another. Sure, sheknewit was important (considering how many times it had been explained to her that day alone, it was hardly a remarkable feat of deduction), but that didn't mean she had tolikeit!

"There, there, Sir Mordred..." Jaune placed a hand comfortingly on his mentor's shoulder as she second-guessed her decision for the hundredth time that day. "You didn't do too badly, for your first time..."

"Really?" Mordred perked up and looked at her squire hopefully, before remembering just howhe'dperformed during their joint training session. Folding her arms sulkily, she huffed: "I don't want to hear that fromyou, squire! I thought you told me you didn't have any experience with this sort of thing!"

"But I really don't!" Jaune quickly defended himself as he backed up fractionally. "You know my world... thekingdomI come from, doesn't have any royalty or nobility to speak of!"

"Then how come you could do it so easily?!" Mordred glared at her squire. "How come you could talk in that flowery long-winded way or dance or-"

"I get it, I get it already," Jaune held up his hand placatingly, before sighing in relief as his mentor relaxed slightly. Looking up at the sky, he explained: "I wasn't lying, and this isn't the kind of thing they'd teach us in Beacon anyway. But, you see...I have seven sisters."

"Seven sisters?" Mordred echoed, before co*cking her head in confusion. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"So, they'd force me to be a servant while they were all princesses!" Jaune explained triumphantly, like it explained everything.

"Wait, I thought you said your kingdom doesn't have royalty?" Mordred blinked.

"We don't," Jaune confirmed. "We were just playingpretend."

"... I don't get it," Mordred finally sighed and shrugged. "I never did anything like that during my childhood..."

"Mmm, yeah, I guess I can see that..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, wondering if he was being insensitive. "I mean, I can't imagine Agravain ever playing pretend like that..."

"Eh?" Mordred blinked, feeling a chill go down her spine.

"But I can see Gareth acting like my sisters," Jaune laughed, before realizing Mordred's unusual behavior. "Is something wrong, Sir Mordred?"

"What do Agravain and Gareth have to do with this?" Mordred asked nervously.

"Uh... I mean... they're your brother and sister, aren't they?" Jaune co*cked his head at Mordred.

"..." Mordred was silent for a moment, before demanding: "How did you know that?"

"Woah, hold on!" Jaune quickly held his hands up again. "Youtold me that, remember?"

"I did?" Mordred repeated dumbly. "Since when?!"

"You mentioned it just now," Jaune reminded his mentor. "You know, when you said something about brother being right, and then told me that you'd just met with Agravain? Honestly, in hindsight it really wasn't that surprising, considering you seem to hang out with him more than with anyone else in Camelot..."

"..." Mordred could feel her stomach sinking.

"And you mentioned that Gareth was supposed to be my mentor," Jaune continued on, oblivious to his mentor's growing discomfort. "And then you mentioned that you became my mentor instead because you wanted to get one over your sister-"

"Okay, I get it!" Mordred quickly cut in even as she buried her head in her hands and wished for a hole to spontaneously appear under her and just swallow her up. God, why did her squire have to have a brain? And why did he have to bringthatconversation up?!

As Mordred was torn between embarrassment over recalling her conduct earlier that day and dread as she imagined Agravain and Mother finding out she'd spilled the secret, Jaune finally noticed just how uncomfortable Mordred was getting, and he quickly backed up: "Oh, sh*t, I am so sorry!"

"Just... just drop it, alright?" Mordred snapped at him, before sighing and hugging her knees.

"... was I not supposed to know about it?" Jaune tentatively asked.

"Nobody is," Mordred huffed. "Not even Gareth. Only Agravain does..."

"... oh," Jaune could only say, before the pair descended into an awkward silence, where Mordred cursed herself for failing to keep the secret a secret and Jaune spent a moment wondering just how complicated Mordred's life was.

At the very least, it did explain why Gareth, who'd talked to him enthusiastically about her three older brothers, had never once mentioned Sir Mordred in similar terms.

Finally, though, he broke the silence by cautiously speaking up: "... I'm sorry, Sir Mordred. I shouldn't have pried."

"... you'dbetterbe," Mordred sulked.

"Just... if you ever want to talk about it..." Jaune offered quietly.

"I don't."

"... I mean... that's what friends are for, alright?"

"..." Mordred fixed her gloomy-looking squire with a look, before moving on: "Let's just get back to the original topic, alright? ... what were we talking about again?"

"Hmmm..." Jaune hummed thoughtfully, playing along. "I was telling you about my seven sisters?"

"Right, right..." Mordred nodded absent-mindedly, grateful to her squire for taking the bait. "So, what does playing pretend have to do with knowing all that stupid bullsh*t?"

"Ummm, well, you see..." Jaune spent a moment trying to figure out how to make his statement actually believable. "So, all the things they had me learn? It turns out it's all very similar to the manners you guys teach here!"

"... seriously?" Mordred didn't even bother hiding her incredulity.

"I guess manners in front of royals are just universal or something," Jaune shrugged. "But yeah... that's really the only reason why I managed to follow Sir Agravain's lessons, Sir Mordred. Just sheer dumb luck. It's not because you're a worse knight or anything..."

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue and looked away. "That wasn't what I was thinking, squire."

Jaune could only smile with fond exasperation even as he held his hands up placatingly. After a moment of silence, he offered: "You know... if you want... after we do our usual combat training, I can give you some help with this etiquette training?"

As Mordred turned to him with her expressionless helmet, Jaune hastily followed up: "I mean, Ididsay we'd figure them outtogether, right? Arc's word, and an Arc never goes back on his word, least of all to a friend."

"... don't get co*cky, squire," Mordred answered, before a smile graced her lips, unseen but not unheard by her squire: "You think you'll even be able to move after our next session? Now that I know you're lacking in combat training, you've got to be insane if you think our future sessions will be as easy as they've been so far!"

-A FEW WEEKS LATER-

An oppressive silence filled the room as Lancelot and Agravain focused on the pair as they showed the fruits of their labor.

Finally, as they concluded their display, the silence with a polite round of applause, before Agravain spoke up: "So, Sir Lancelot, as the First of the Round Table, how would you rate them?"

"..." Lancelot thought it over for a moment, before a smile graced his features. "I would give them a passing grade, Sir Agravain."

"YES!"

"Don't get too co*cky just yet, Mordred!" Agravain immediately snapped sternly. "You were merelyadequateat best! Such a performance is to be expected ofanyknight!"

"Oh, come on!" Mordred pouted furiously at her brother, though it remained unseen underneath her helmet.

"There, there, Sir Mordred..." Jaune placed a hand comfortingly on his mentor's shoulder.

"Are you not being too harsh on them, Sir Agravain?" Lancelot inquired. "They display a marked improvement as compared to when Squire Jaune first arrived in Camelot. Does that not deserve praise?"

"Tch," Agravain merely clicked his tongue and looked away, the memories of just how much effort it had taken to wrangle Mordred and her squire (especially his sister) into something with the semblance of presentable still fresh in his mind. "After how much they put me through,thatdisplay was thebare minimum!"

Lancelot could only smile at his fellow Knight of the Round Table, knowing that, from Iron Agravin the Executive, thatwaspraise. Placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, Lancelot said: "You have my sincere respect for everything you've done, Sir Agravain. I cannot imagine it was an easy task..."

"Well, they'd better not screw up in front of His Majesty tonight," Agravain sniffed haughtily, though Lancelot knew that it was the equivalent of quiet support, coming from him.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Sir Agravain," Lancelot reassured him, before continuing: "And speaking of tonight... how go the preparations?"

"The cooks have been busy all morning, and the servants spent the whole of yesterday cleaning the castle and polishing the silver," Agravain reflexively answered, slipping into his role as Secretary of the Round Table. "Her Highness Queen Guinevere is currently performing a final inspection, and the men have already begun organizing themselves along the route from the North Gate to the castle. His Majesty and the army should enter the city before midday, so we still have two hours before we are required to await His Majesty's arrival at the Entrance Hall."

"Splendid!" Lancelot nodded gratefully to Agravain, taking his word for it. "Thank you as always, Sir Agravain. Then, shall we go to freshen up before his arrival?"

Agravain nodded, but before turning to leave he addressed the pair: "Mordred, Squire Jaune! Dismissed! Go and freshen up before the King arrives, and don't do anything to embarrass yourself, Mordred!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Mordred just rolled her eyes at her brother, before gripping her squire by the arm and dashing off. "Come on, Jaune! I can't wait for you to see the King..."

"..." Lancelot watched the pair depart in silence, before turning to Agravain and asking: "... Sir Agravain?"

"What is it, Lancelot?"

"... it's nothing, Sir Agravain," Lancelot dropped the subject, deciding that he'd merely been imagining things.

Agravain knew what Lancelot was thinking, but decided not to correct his misunderstanding.

After all, even he would have had his arm ripped off by his sister if he'd tried comforting her with physical contact, to say nothing of the sheer absurdity one would feel from seeing Mordred in her usual armor chattering excitedly under her breath with another person.

Chapter 12: Fanciful Festivities

Chapter Text

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 drawnthatsword), before she ruthlessly crushed it back down under the mask of regal nobility.

The perfect King had toalwaysbe kingly, after all.

Despite her expressionless visage, though, she couldn't stopallthe 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'deverforget 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 weresafe, 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 onat leasta 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 KingArthuraround 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?"

"Sothat'sthe 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 hereallyshouldn'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 theotherKnights 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 knewhowto speak formally and carry themselves with decorum and dignity, neither of them necessarilyenjoyedit.

"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'dbetterremember 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'twantto 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 actuallyrespondedto his attempts at conversation (instead of merely glaring at him and brushing him off like he normally would have). Perhaps therehadbeen 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.

"Itoldyou 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, hereallyhated 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 reallybanned... 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 lookslivelyover 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 ofguns!"

"Wait, I thought guns were a magical weapon devised by Merlin?" Gaheris co*cked 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 waspreciselythat 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 forcedherselfto 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 whosupportedher didn't think she still had a human heart.

What was she supposed to do?

Whatcouldshe 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 beensomethingabout 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 werefriends, 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 inhereyes and the forced matter-of-fact tone with whichshehad used to explain her circ*mstances (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 feelsorryfor 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 wasexactlywhat 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 reallydidallow him to be inhumanly perfect, or maybe the Kingreallywasn'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'renot? 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.

Chapter 13: Morning Meetings

Chapter Text

The massive hall was already alive with talk when Mordred and Jaune entered the room that morning.

Immediately, all eyes turned to them, some with suspicion and most with curiosity, and Mordred glared around at the table as she demanded: "What?"

After a moment of silence, a slightly-disheveled Lancelot and Gareth nodded politely in greeting to the pair, and Agravain sighed quietly in exasperation before explaining: "I believe the members of the Round Table are just curious as to what your...prospectivesquire is doing here with you, Sir Mordred."

"Ah... well..." Mordred scratched her helmet as she turned to look back at her squire, who took a step back.

"Uh, if it's a problem, I can always leave..." Jaune jerked his thumb at the door they'd just entered from as he backed up.

"I'm sure it's fine," Mordred reassured him, before glaring around at the room, daring anyone to speak up. "Right?"

The Knights of the Round Table quietly exchanged looks, unsure of how to react.

After all, such an intrusion was hardly commonplace; the sanctity of the Round Table was almost akin to a commandment to these fabled few, the ones who'd earned their place.

But at the same time, most of them had been on campaign with their liege; they had only heard of the reason behind the changes the young brash knight had undergone through secondhand accounts and rumors, to say nothing of his mysterious new companion.

And thusly they held their peace when Lancelot, first among equals, finally spoke up: "Would I be correct in assuming that you wish to seek the King's approval for your new squire during this meeting, Sir Mordred?"

"Yeah, you would be," Mordred grinned and nodded, much to the surprise of those who'd never seen the two get along (i.e. most of them). "You know, since we didn't get to do it last night... and hey, it's a good way to show him what we do, right?"

"You seem remarkably confident in your companion's acceptance, Mordred," Gawain remarked with just the barest hint of suspicion, still recalling what he'd heard about the mysterious stranger the previous night (namely, his relationship with his baby sister).

"Well, Sir Agravain and I did vet him as well," Lancelot explained while Gareth glared at her eldest brother from behind her mentor. "While the final decision will be made by His Majesty... I do share Sir Mordred's faith, Sir Gawain."

"Oh?" Gawain raised a skeptical eyebrow as he looked back at Mordred's apprentice, who looked like hereallydidn't want to be there. For all of Lancelot's faults (like the massive stick up his arse and the fact that his baby sister had chosen him to be her mentor instead of her awesome big brother), Gawain did truly respect the man, and that extended to his skill and his judgement.

But at the same time...

"He doesn't seem like much," Gawain pointed out. "Certainly not like the type to have fought... what did you say it was again, Gareth?"

"Hey!" Mordred interrupted defensively, her arms folded defiantly. "Sure, he could do with more muscle, I'll give you that..."

"Thank you for such encouragement," Jaune murmured in a deadpan voice, rolling his eyes at his mentor.

"But he did also help me slay the Addanc of Snowdonia, when we first met!" Mordred continued on, not having heard her squire's words.

"He also managed to hold his own in single combat against Sir Mordred for half an hour, brother," Gareth added on supportively, inadvertently dooming her fellow squire.

"Is that so?" Gawain's voice held all the warmth of a blizzard, and Jaune fought the urge to gulp and run for the door as the senior knight looked him up and down, his instincts all the while screaming that he was in big trouble.

Knowing what was about to come, Lancelot tried to head it off: "Now, now, there's more to being a knight than mere martial prowess, Sir Gawain. I suggested that he consider joining our ranks not because he had helped slay the Addanc, but because he assisted Sir Mordred despite his circ*mstances-"

"Yeah, yeah, that's great and all," Gawain wasn't interested in listening. "But if he becomes a knight he will also be called upon to combat the enemies of the land... we need to at least make sure he's ready for that, now don't we?"

Immediately, a commotion broke out throughout the Round Table as its members, the greatest heroes throughout the lands, excitedly discussed what was about to happen like old hens (while Lancelot and Agravain could only sigh and shake their heads).

"I'm sure he can take on Bedivere, at the very least," Mordred confidently declared, ignoring the subsequent protest from the knight in question.

"Perhaps if Sir Mordred and Jaune would give us another demonstration?" Gareth asked hopefully, eliciting murmurs of agreement from the crowd (and a protest from Jaune).

"Over my dead body, Gareth," Agravain stated firmly, causing the crowd to groan in disappointment.

"I was thinking, perhaps we should test his skill against a foe he has never faced before," Gawain suggested with feigned thoughtfulness.

"Oh, are you volunteering?" Mordred challenged as she stormed forward, and the room quietened down in anticipation.

"I won't deny my interest in seeing the fruits of your labor, Sir Mordred," Gawain explained magnanimously. "And at the very least, there can be no accusations of favoritism, ifIwere his opponent..."

"If only you were free of ulterior motives as well, brother," Agravain pointed out drily, not fooled for a second.

"Brother..." Gareth pouted heavily at Gawain.

"It's Gawain..." Gaheris sighed in exasperation.

"H-hey!" Gawain frantically protested amidst good-natured jeers. "I'm not going to do anything, honest! I'll just treat it as a serious duel, that's all!"

"As long as you don't treat it like your duel with the Green Knight..." Percival warned half-jokingly, causing Gawain to blanch at the memory of that encounter.

"Hah! I doubt you'd find it so easy to behead my squire, Gawain," Mordred slapped Jaune's back confidently.

"Wait, what?!" Jaune couldn't help but turn around and exclaim in shock at mention of the word "behead".

"But go ahead and try," Mordred continued on, acting like she hadn't heard her squire's words at all. "I wager he could take you on!"

"Oh?" Gawain raised an eyebrow at the challenge, and he gave Jaune another look as he frantically raised his arms and shook his head. "I'd happily accept your wager, but your apprentice seems... rather unenthusiastic..."

Fortunately for Jaune, before Mordred could "salvage" the situation any further, Agravain spoke up: "Need I remind all those present once again that the one whom the decision ultimately falls to is the King, and none other? What would a duel with you, the Knight of the Sun, even prove, brother? And you, Mordred! Are youtryingto get your prospective apprentice killed?!"

"Aw, come on!" Gawain whined in exasperation. "I really did learn my lesson from that time! I was just going to knock him around a bit, and maybe get Mordred to finally show us his face, honest!"

"Oh?" Mordred growled coldly as she stalked forward, and Agravain fought the urge to groan (helped by Gaheris and Gareth putting comforting hands on his back), until she was right in Gawain's face. "What, too cowardly to just take it offyourselfin a fair fight?"

"I would never stoop to such lows in a duel," Gawain retorted as he cracked his knuckles. "But if you're giving me permission to do itnow..."

As the pair butted heads, and the spectators cheered them on, Jaune couldn't help but quietly sneak his way to the sidelines and ask Gareth: "Uh... does this happen a lot?"

"Mostly when our big brother's around," Gaheris answered from next to his sister as he stepped forward and held a hand out to the blonde boy. "By the way, I'm Sir Gaheris, one of the newer knights, and brother to both Gareth over here and that oaf over there."

"I'm Jaune," Jaune shook the proffered hand firmly, glad to see some relatively-normal social interaction. As the commotion grew behind them, he continued: "Jaune Arc. Gareth's talked about you."

"She's told us a bit about you too, Jaune," Gaheris smiled, ignoring Gareth's expression of outraged betrayal. Then he leaned forward and excitedly whispered: "Is it true Sir Mordred picked you up in a forest after you fought a dragon and a witch?"

"... well..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, taken aback by the obvious enthusiasm in the man's eyes. Fortunately for him, though, before he could answer, the door opened up behind them, revealing King Arthur, dressed in his usual polished armor and regal furs.

Immediately, the room quietened down, as everyone immediately rushed to their seats (save Jaune, who had no seat and instead quickly stood behind Mordred).

Artoria couldn't help but feel a tinge of sorrow as she looked around at the silent room, and a small part of her noted that even Agravain didn't get the same treatment as she did.

Then she forced it down, reprimanding herself for being so affected by the events of the prior night.

This wasnormal.

This wasfine.

She shouldn't allow herself to feel so isolated over something as small as her knights showing their usual deference to her station.

As she continued to look around as though nothing was wrong, some began to fidget uncomfortably, miniscule movements that would have otherwise gone unnoticed, and it took a few moments before she finally realized why it bothered her so, why it felt different from the usual atmosphere of chastised children.

Evidently, she wasn't the only one who was still thinking of the events of the feast.

With a small silent sight she recollected herself, and strode to her place at the table, before sitting down and clearing her throat.

"I bid all of you a good morning, my knights," Artoria began after a moment, once she knew she had the attention of the room. "And now, let us begin this meeting with the most recent event.

"I... am aware that Sir Tristan's actions weighs heavily on all of our minds..." Artoria couldn't help but pause after that statement, in order to judge the reaction of her knights.

Outraged murmurs, sympathetic whispers, understanding nods...

Okay, she'd anticipated all of those, even if it did hurt a bit, listening to the way some of them seemed to be siding with Sir Tristan.

Now came the hard part.

How should she continue from there?

"The King does not understand the hearts of men."

Should she address their concerns?

"I ask you not to seek the same values as ours from one possessing magic like the gods."

Should she brush it off, reassure them that their liege remained stoic and infallible in the face of such an outburst, and that their order's unity was not in question?

"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."

...

A third option, of admitting to her trusted friends and comrades that she wasn't perfect, that she was only human, that she truthfullyfearedbecoming fully inhuman, came to mind, before she crushed the temptation with ruthless willpower.

Regardless of what the stranger had said... regardless of the insights he'd shared with Mordred...

A quick look at Sir Lancelot's unusually imperfect appearance sealed the deal for her.

She would not allow herself to be selfish.

The only reason the men had been able to endure some of the less-than-honorable actions they'd been forced to take on their campaigns was because they'd believed in her, believed it was necessary.

To disillusion them by admitting that it weighed on her conscience as well... that she too wondered if there couldn't have been a better way despite her Instincts...

It would break their faith in her, and in doing so undo bonds almost two decades in the making.

And for what?

So that she couldtryto forge a new relationship with her brothers-in-arms?

Would it serve any greater purpose to the realm?

She'd known from the start that her reign would require sacrifice!

"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."

But still... even so...

...

...

...

... no.

She could not betray them like that, just because of a moment of doubt and weakness.

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.

Sucking in a deep breath, Artoria closed her eyes, and mentally removed the third option from her choices.

... still, that didn't answer what she should donow.

For God's sake, where was Merlin when she needed him?

Even as a small part of her quietly cursed absent pansy godfathers, she decided to follow her Instincts, and finally continued her speech: "But let us remember Sir Tristan not for the circ*mstances surrounding his departure, but instead for all the good he has done for the Kingdom during his time with our order. Let us commemorate his many great deeds, and let us honor his memory as the Knight of Lamentation, famed throughout the realm for his humanity and compassion."

""..."" As one, the men raised their goblets in solemn silence, echoing their King's own gesture.

Artoria allowed them a few moments on contemplation, before she lowered her own and continued speaking: "Now then... while the feast may have been prematurely ended, I do not see any reason to cut short the men's well-earned rest. Does anybody object?"

An agreeable silence greeted her, though Agravain received a few fearful glances, causing him to scowl fiercely.

Artoria almost couldn't help but smile in fond exasperation, but she managed to maintain her composure in the face of potentially slighting her nephew, the secretary of the Round Table, and instead quickly announced: "Then, should there be no pressing concerns or urgent issues, I have but one matter to raise."

The room collectively went silent in anticipation, and Artoria couldn't help but mentally replay the conversation she'd overheard the previous night as she turned to Mordred and his companion, and gently asked: "Sir Mordred, would you like to introduce your guest to us?"

Mordred and Jaune both gulped and exchanged worried looks, and Mordred quickly stammered: "Your Majesty, I-"

"Peace, Sir Mordred," Artoria quickly held up a hand to reassure the young knight. "This is not a reprimand, but merely to satisfy my curiosity. I have heard some of the details from Sir Lancelot last night, but I'd like to hear a fuller account. So, if you would start from the beginning?"

The pair breathed a sigh of relief, and Mordred proudly got up and gripped Jaune's shoulders, before pushing him forward as she excitedly introduced him: "Your Majesty, fellow Knights of the Round Table... as I'm sure you've heard, this is Jaune Arc. I found him over a month ago in a forest in Snowdonia, where he helped me slay the Addanc, and after a discussion with Lancelot we felt that he would be a valuable addition to our ranks."

"I see..." Artoria hummed thoughtfully as she compared the information to what she'd received, and what she'd seen and heard. "And what was he doing in the forest? I recall Sir Gareth mentioned something rather peculiar..."

"He... um..." Mordred looked back at Jaune as she recalled the reaction Agravain, Lancelot, and Gawain had given her, when she'd told them about her friend's circ*mstances. Sure, she didn't really care much for what they thought, but this was the King! She didn't want to embarrass either of them in front of him!

A tap on her shoulder drew her attention back to Jaune, and she turned around to see him with a forced smile on his face as he stepped in front of her, and explained: "Uh, Your Majesty, look... this is going to sound crazy, I know, but it's the truth, I swear on my name as an Arc! The last thing I remember before waking up in the forest was my... home, under attack by monsters, and fighting a dragon and a witch. Then I lost, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the forest alone."

Once again, the room descended into open discussion, with many knights incredulously shouting among themselves and at the prospective squire, and Artoria spent a quiet moment listening to them all with her superhuman senses before clearing her throat.

Immediately, the room fell silent again, though the tension was still present as Artoria turned to address them all: "I understand all of your concerns and your doubts, my Knights. But is this not Camelot, where stranger things oft happen? Have we all not spent at least a night or two in Corbenic? And who can forget the Green Knight's challenge, and Gawain's response? He has sworn the veracity of his tale in his name, and his presence in this sacred hall is born of the trust and faith placed in him by one among us equals."

As the room calmed down, Jaune couldn't help but release a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding even as he reflected that, while he may not have known anything about royalty, if he had to envision an ideal King, the kind of just and fair ruler that fairytales usually talked about...

... well, he probably wouldn't have looked soyoung, but he'd have definitely acted like how King Arthur just had.

No wonder Sir Mordred always raved about him...

Then King Arthur turned back to him, and gently but firmly asked: "Now, Jaune Arc... I must voice my own concern. For the sake of the realm, I would like to know, what happened to the dragon and the witch you were fighting?"

"Ah, they're no danger to this Kingdom," Jaune quickly reassured the occupants of the room, having faced the question before. "My home,,, the place where the battle occurred, it's too far away, and even... even if it wasn't... I'm sure my friends took care of them."

They had to be.

After all, he'd seen them at the tower, just before everything had gone wrong, and the alternative was simply something he couldn't accept.

It'd been Weiss, Pyr, and Ruby, after all.

They had to be.

The Knights couldn't help but frown as they picked up on the quiet, desperate hope coloring his tone, and Lancelot quickly spoke up to support his story: "Your Majesty, I made inquiries among the villages surrounding Snowdonia as soon as I heard his tale. None of them spoke of any recent sightings of witchcraft or dragons. They are unlikely to be a threat to the realm."

Artoria nodded, having complete faith in Lancelot's ability, before turning her attention back to the young men in front of her and sighing internally.

Truthfully, the more she heard about the situation, the more she could feel a headache growing.

Why couldn'tanythingin Cameloteverjust benormal?

... then again, as she'd told her knights earlier, this may as well have been normal for Camelot (much to her personal dismay).

One thing she couldn't help but wonder about was what Lancelot, Gareth, and Mordred had been doing in Snowdonia while she'd been on campaign, and the fact that they hadn't mentioned it once was certainly telling...

But she had faith in her Knights of the Round Table; if they'd gone to Snowdonia, then they must have had a good reason, and she wouldn't pry any further.

The bigger enigma, though, was Jaune Arc.

Oh, she did sympathize with Jaune Arc's story, truly, and both her well-honed Instincts and her hard-earned experience were telling her that he was telling the truth, but that just raised more questions than it answered.

Where had he come from?

How had he appeared in her lands?

How had he managed to endear himself to Mordred and Agravain?

And most of all, what bugged her the most was that she could see no trace of the conviction and understanding she'd witnessed the night before, the man who had managed to speak to her deepest wishes and worries, in the nervous boy who stood before her.

Which one was the real Jaune Arc?

The sincerity, sureness, and sympathy that had colored his tone as he had spoken to Sir Mordred the Brash about the burdens he'd (correctly) believed she faced as the Perfect King, the sympathy and empathy he'd expressed that had gotten even Mordred thinking...

It had felt too real to have been faked.

She didn't believe it had been faked.

(She didn'twantto believe it had been faked.)

But that too could be a threat.

On the off-chance that he was a pawn of one of the realm's many foes (wittingly or not), that level of insight into her insecurities, into the cracks in the unity of England, would be dangerous, especially considering recent events.

A quiet war waged internally within her, as she tried to calculate the different probable futures as Merlin had taught her, before sighing as her eyes fell back onto Sir Mordred's distinctive horned helmet, which for some reason he never removed.

"... even if His Majesty isn't perfect... I will always admire the King of Knights."

She'd said it herself, hadn't she?

One among their number of equals had extended their trust and faith to Jaune Arc.

In the name of justice and fairness, she could not deny him that much.

Taking a deep breath, Artoria finally spoke up, as she made her decision: "If nobody should have any strenuous objection thus far... I would like all to vacate this room temporarily save for Jaune Arc and I, that I may speak privately to him."

Looks were exchanged, and the low din of many simultaneous discussions filled the room, but one by one the Knights got up and filed out without speaking up.

Mordred was the last to leave, with a whispered "good luck" to her friend and apprentice, before she left the room.

Jaune couldn't help but fidget nervously as Sir Mordred closed the doors behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

Sure, he'd known that this meeting was coming, had been prepared for it, but the prospect of dealing with actual royalty had always been a daunting one, and that was before he'd factored in the fact that his future in this new world hinged on his performance, and that he wouldn't have any familiar faces here to guide him.

Seeing the boy's nervousness, Artoria couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment, but she ignored it in favor of giving him a fair chance as she began: "Be at ease, Jaune Arc. You have nothing to fear here."

Taking a deep breath, Jaune tried to recompose himself, and he gave the King a shaky smile as he replied: "Uh, thank you, Your Majesty. And I'm not afraid, really! It's just... well... I've never really interacted with royalty before..."

The disappointment grew within Artoria, but she nodded in understanding.

It wasnatural.

It wasfine.

Jaune noticed the slight shift in the King's eyes, however, and after memories of the previous night came to mind he quickly continued: "Ah... ahem... I'm not really explaining myself well here, am I, Your Majesty? I just wanted to... apologize in advance, if my conduct is in any way lacking! Sir Mordred, Sir Agravain, Sir Lancelot, and Gareth, they all tried to prepare me as much as they could for this, but... I have no experience with this, Your Majesty."

Artoria blinked, completely surprised by Jaune's admission, and after a moment she tried to summarize: "... you're worried that a misstep on your part might reflect badly on my Knights?"

Jaune nodded sheepishly, but he forced himself to meet King Arthur's incredulous gaze as he elaborated: "If not for them... I don't think I would have ever made it out of that forest in Snowdonia. They brought me here, helped me get back on my feet, gave me a chance when they didn't need to. I... I owe them my life, and I... it would be a poor way to thank them, by making their lives harder."

"..." Artoria studied Jaune's face for a moment, searching for any sign of deception, before leaning back, satisfied with what she'd found. Then her lips quirked upwards fractionally, and she seized the chance as she suggested: "Then, perhaps it would be in both of our interests to drop the formalities for this conversation?"

"A-are you sure?" Jaune couldn't help but stumble over his words, caught utterly off-guard by the King's offer. After all, he'd gathered from interacting with Sir Agravain and Sir Lancelot that this society was big on formalities and hierarchy.

Perhaps this was a test or something?

"As I said before, this is a private conversation," Artoria reassured him. "On my honor, any lapses in manners here and now will not reflect on you or my Knights in the slightest."

Jaune relaxed as he processed the King's words, knowing that the culture here was really big on sworn oaths and honor. "Well, alright then. So... where should we start?"

"As I mentioned earlier, Sir Lancelot told me some of the details last night," Artoria answered, easily leading the conversation to try and fill in the gaps that bugged her. "Most of which has been corroborated with both your words and that of Sir Mordred's just now. But if you'll indulge my curiosity... I'd like to start by knowing more about the land you hail from, if you don't mind, Jaune Arc."

"It's... a Kingdom called Vale..." Jaune slowly began, before remembering a few details that probably needed to be mentioned: "Ah, right... I think I should tell you, Your Majesty, but even though it's called a Kingdom, neither it nor any of it's neighbors are ruled by Kings, instead, the people elect representatives to form a council that oversees the running of the lands..."

Artoria's eyes widened as she processed these words, before she breathed in realization: "Democracy. You're talking about aRepublic."

Jaune blinked, before he slowly affirmed: "... yes... that's exactly it... how did you...?"

"The Athenians of Greece ran their city state in such a manner, and so too did the Romans before they became an Empire," Artoria answered absent-mindedly, even as her mind drew up and analyzed the pertinent information. It had been a long time, though, since she'd had a history lesson from Merlin, and even back then it had been little more than an obscure piece of trivia, something mentioned off-handedly and discarded as unnecessary in the Path to becoming the Perfect King.

And yet, here was a subject of such an antiquated method of government before her.

As a ruler, she couldn't help but be curious about how other lands were run, if only so she could potentially improve the governance of her lands in turn.

"What is the criteria for one to vote?" Artoria inquired curiously, leaning forward. "How often is an election held? How are representatives treated?"

"Umm... well..." Jaune scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "For voting rights... any citizen of age, I guess? And the rest... I'm not too sure... I was just a farmer's son, so I never really had an interest in politics..."

"Is that so..." Artoria managed to keep the disappointment of her tone, instead latching on to the information he had provided. "So, voting isn't limited to land-owners, in the Kingdom of Vale?"

"Well..." Jaune looked away awkwardly, as he desperately tried to recall anything and everything his parents had mentioned off-handedly about politics in Vale.

-OUTSIDE THE CHAMBERS, MEANWHILE-

"Are you done pacing, Sir Mordred?" Agravain asked in a dry tone as he watched over his sister. "Or do you aim to wear that spot down to the very stone?"

"But what if Jaune fails, Agravain?" Mordred countered as she continued walking up and down. "What if he doesn't manage to impress King Arthur, or makes a mistake and messes up?"

"... I know you worry for your squire, Mordred..." Agravain quietly began after sighing, before flinching Mordred's head snapped up towards her brother.

Even through her helmet he could feel the intensity of her gaze.

"Hah?! Worried?Me?" Mordred scoffed haughtily.

"..." Agravain only raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I'mnotworried, really!" Mordred snapped angrily, crossing her arms as she finally stopped pacing. "Youtrained him!Lancelotgave him his approval! Iknowhe won't make a poor showing of himself to King Arthur! There isnoreasontoworry!"

"..." Agravain's eyebrow rose further.

"I'm just..." Mordred almost began, before catching herself. Then she sighed, and begrudgingly admitted: "I'm just... I just can't help butthink, alright? Like, what if the King's still in a bad mood about last night, or what something,anything, happens, that he couldn't prepare for, or-"

"Mordred..." Agravain interrupted her as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Yeah?"

"Thatisworry," Agravain bluntly informed her.

"..." Mordred blinked repeatedly, before she insisted: "But I just said-"

"Emotions aren't always logical, Mordred..." Agravain groaned, before carefully placing a reassuring hand on her back, ready to withdraw it should her glare return. When nothing happened, he counselled his baby sister: "But you're right that you shouldn't be worried; his manners certainly put yours to shame, and as for the events of last night... His Majesty is a fair and just King. I doubt that Sir Tristan's outburst even merits a second thought in His Majesty's mind any longer..."

The mention of the King and his emotions was sufficient in taking Mordred's mind off of her squire's interview for the moment, but as she recalled Jaune's words last night she couldn't help but ask: "... uh, really? So... you don't think the King was affected by Tristan's words?"

"Why would he be?" Agravain's eyebrow rose once more. "Sir Tristan's tantrum had no rational basis; in war, sacrifices are sometimes necessary for the greater good. His inability to see that speaks to me more ofhispersonal failings."

"..." Mordred was silent as she digested this. While she personally agreed with Agravain's criticisms of that weird good-for-nothing archer... she couldn't help but also remember the conviction in her friend's voice, and his words still resonated within her, still made sense to her. As she tried to ponder more about this, tried to figure out who was right, she tried once again: "Well... I mean... surelyanybodywould feel something, after being called out like that by a Knight of the Round Table..."

"That is true, that anybody would," Agravain conceded, before sternly countering: "But the King is no mere person, and I would ask you not to seek the same values as ours from Him who possesses magic like the gods."

"Hmmm..." Mordred could only hum thoughtfully, her brows furrowed behind her helmet.

That... hadn't helped in the slightest.

Sure, Agravain probably had a point about His Majesty possessing a different viewpoint from them, considering he was a wise and just ruler who'd been blessed with immortality...

But at the same time, something about his words just bugged her, which was weird becauseshe'dhave probably said the exact same thing before last night.

Then it struck her.

Wasn't thisexactlywhat Jaune had warned her about?

... but then again, he had also admitted that he could have been mistaken, and that Agravain would have had a better idea than them...

Could it be, that he'd just been mistaken?

Before they could continue the conversation any further, however, the thick doors to the meeting hall slowly swung open, and King Arthur's voice called out: "My Knights, you may all return."

Agravain and Mordred immediately exchanged looks, and it was with growing apprehension that Mordred quickly re-entered the chambers ahead of the pack even as she reminded herself that no, she wasn't worried, and she had absolutely no reason to worry.

Then she saw Jaune standing before the King, saw the expressions on their faces, and immediately her worries vanished.

"My Knights," Artoria's voice echoed throughout the hall despite her making no effort to raise its volume. "I would like you all to bear witness to this ceremony.

"Jaune Arc of Vale, do you swear on your name and honor, to hold fealty to the Rightful King of England?" Artoria solemnly asked, as Jaune automatically took a knee as he'd been taught. "To never cause him harm, and to observe your homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit?"

"I do," Jaune answered.

"And do you swear to serve Camelot loyally, to observe your duty to the realm, to respect and protect the less fortunate, to never lie and remain faithful to your pledges, to give largesse to all, and to be always the champion of the right and the good against injustice and evil?"

"I do," Jaune repeated once again.

"Then, as High King of England, do I, Arthur Pendragon, accept your sworn oaths," Artoria proclaimed with a gentle smile. "May your service to the realm be filled with honor and glory, Jaune Arc."

Jaune's shoulders almost sagged with relief, and he looked out at the audience as they gave him a polite round of applause, before smiling softly as his eyes settled on Sir Lancelot, Sir Agravain, Gareth, and an armored figure with a distinctive horned helmet, cheering louder than everyone else.

Now that the biggest hurdle had been cleared, he couldfinallythink about repaying them for everything.

Chapter 14: Diverging Dynamics

Chapter Text

It was with a cheerful mood that Mordred casually strolled down the familiar corridor to Jaune's room that morning, humming to herself all the while.

Jaune.

Her squire.

Hernew,officialsquire.

Oh, sure, it may as well have been the case ever since she'd picked him up from Snowdonia, but her lips couldn't help but quirk up behind her helmet as she once again recalled the events of the previous day, and affirmed to herself that it hadn't all been a dream.

All the hard work they'd endured over the past month had paid off.

They hadn't failed;shehadn't failed him.

With the oaths he'd sworn, Jaune's place in Camelot had been secured.

Her friend's futurehad been secured.

Unbeknownst to her, a full-blown smile was gracing her relaxed face behind her helmet as she continued remembering the previous day, as well as the ramifications of it all.

Oh, sure, Jaune wasn't afullknight (she remained the only person to have managed that feat for the time being), but now that they weren't on a deadline anymore, now that they didn't have to worry about Jaune accidentally messing up and insulting the King... now they could finally take a break from all that boring formal crap (important as it may have been, as she'd been grudgingly forced to admit, nothing could change the fact that the subjects were about as interesting as watching dyes dry) and start focusing on some of the morefunstuff!

... not that she wasexcitedfor any of that, of course...

... and shedefinitelyhadn't slept in alittlebit because she'd stayed up late drawing up lesson plans and lost track of the time...

She'd just decided, in her infinite kindness and wisdom, to reward her squire for succeeding the previous day by granting him a few extra hours of sleep, that's all!

And now that it was a few hours later...

Hmmm, whatshouldshe teach him today, now that they had luxury of time and choice?

Maybe she could drill more advanced swordsmanship techniques into him? Sure, he'd gotten the basics down, and he was a lot stronger and faster than a normal knight, but considering how her ass of an eldest brother had treated him yesterday it probably wouldn't hurt to prepare him in case Gawain tried to push it...

Then again, further practice with a sword might not be the best option, if she wanted to prepare him for a bout with her fellow knights. She still remembered how her own blade had been broken by the Addanc; against the likes of Arondight and Galatine, blades that had slain creatures worse than the Addanc, a mere mundane sword probably wouldn't be enough, even if he reinforced it with his bullsh*t Aura. Perhaps she could focus on teaching him how to fight unarmed?

Or she could just take him to the stables and begin teaching him how to ride a horse. With the two of them mounted they could venture further from the castle for training, lessons, and other adventures, and now that King Arthur and the men were back Agravain probably wouldn't be able to complain about their departure...

Though Jaune had said he'd had no experience with horses before, during their journey back from Snowdonia, so it'd probably be best if he rode with her for their first few lessons, clinging tightly on to her back lest he fall off...

...

... reaching her squire's door just as she'd made up her mind, Mordred took a moment to once again make sure her bearing was immaculate (had to set a good example, especially now that the King was back), before she knocked on the door and waited.

After five seconds of waiting, she co*cked her head in curiosity at the door, and knocked again, before listening intently with her keen senses.

... nope, she still couldn't hear any movement behind the door.

That was odd, and certainly uncharacteristic for him.

Was he still sleeping?

Was he feeling unwell?

A slight tinge of concern for her friend welled up within her, and after a third round of impatient knocking she tried the door, which opened easily.

Then she blinked in surprise, as an empty room greeted her.

Huh...

Had her squire simply gotten up at his usual timing and decided to get some training done on his own, when she hadn't shown up at their usual time?

If so... well, she supposed she could only commend his initiative and reward his enthusiasm...

Of course, that didn't answer the question aboutwherein Camelot he was...

Shrugging her shoulders, she left his room, closing the door behind her even as she decided to go looking for her wayward squire.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, Mordred ruefully reflected that maybe she should have come up with a better plan than simply picking a random direction to walk in while calling out her squire's name.

Oh well. Too late to stop now.

As she turned the corner, preparing to call for her friend once again, she suddenly felt a presence nearby, and managed to turn around and stop her moment just in time to keep herself from being almost run over by a distracted Lancelot.

"Oh, pardon me-" Lancelot quickly apologized as his attention snapped back to reality, before blinking as he realized who'd he almost collided with. "Ah, good morning, Sir Mordred. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"... everything okay there, Lancelot?" Mordred couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Between his odd behavior and the fact that she'd swear he'd had a dopey grin plastered on his face before they'd almost run into each other, something felt... off.

"Oh, of course, everything's fine," Lancelot answered hastily, his eyes quickly glancing down the corridors. "Is there something that would lead you to believe otherwise, Sir Mordred?"

"... not really, I guess..." Mordred eventually dropped it, deciding that she must have been mistaken. After all, as much as his expression and actions may have been at odds with her usual impression of him, she'd freely admit she didn't know people in general to be sure that he was acting weird, let alone him. Taking her attention away from the older knight, she peered past him, before blinking in surprise. "Did you just come from the King's private chambers?"

For some reason, Lancelot began coughing, before he explained: "Ah, yes, well... I had something I wished to discuss with the King this morning. Unfortunately, he was not in his chambers... anyway, what are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm just trying to find Jaune," Mordred shrugged, taking the bait. "Got some new lessons planned for him, now that he's officially one of us. Speaking of which, any chance you've seen him?"

"My apologies, but I was occupied up until just now," Lancelot tapped his chin in thought, before suggesting: "But perhaps you might want to talk to Squire Gareth? The two of them do train together rather frequently, after all..."

"Gareth, huh..." Mordred couldn't help but frown behind her helmet as Lancelot's words made her recall what the other Knights of Camelot had said, during the feast two days ago.

Sure, she knew that the two of them were friends, but the idea that there might have been somethingspecialgoing on between her elder sister and her friend... for some reason, the more she thought about it, the more irate she found herself becoming...

"... Sir Mordred?"

"Huh?" Mordred blinked as her attention turned away from her sour thoughts and back to Lancelot, who was giving her a look of concern.

"Is everything alright?" Lancelot inquired gently, sensing that something had suddenly bothered the young knight in front of him.

"Yup, everything's fine," Mordred quickly reassured Lancelot even as she turned around as fast as she could. "I'll just go find Gareth, see if she knows where Jaune is. Bye!"

For some reason, she found herself sincerely wishing that the answer would be "no".

-TWO HOURS EARLIER-

Jaune quietly hummed to himself as he checked on the joint of pork he'd been frying, before looking at the herbs, spices, and seasonings he'd managed to scrounge up from the kitchen with a torn look for what was probably the dozenth time that morning.

Good news, the pre-Dust world he'd found himself in did at leastmostlyshare the same herbs, spices, and seasonings with Remnant, and if his nose was an impartial judge, his time spent in the kitchen as the brother to seven older sisters had served him well.

Bad news, the state of England as compared to Remnant meant that said herbs, spices, and seasonings of Camelot didn't exist in nearly the same quantities he was used to in Remnant, and a part of him still feltextremelyguilty about even using the miniscule pinches that he had (despite Gareth having reassured him that other knights and squires snuck into the kitchens to do their own cooking all the time).

One of the biggest reasons for why this was so was, obviously, the primitiveness of England's "technology" (just as he'd observed with the farmers in Snowdonia). For example, while salt had been discovered for well over a thousand years in this world, domestic production was largely restricted to the coastal regions and some Empire-founded town called "Salinae", where brine was collected and heated in large open shallow pans until the water was boiled away.

Another conclusion that he'd come to after going through the castle's library, though, was that the fall of the Empire that had once controlled England and most of the nearby continent had basically destroyed the spice trade. According to the historical archives, most of the spices that England had once gotten through the Empire had come from foreign Kingdoms in the Far East if they weren't produced from some other corner of the Empire, and between the downfall of the Empire and all the subsequent wars England had gone through contact with these spice producers had been lost. As for local production... pepper may have been worth more than its weight in gold, but if Snowdonia had been any indicator, most people in England had their hands full just trying to grow enough crops to keep themselves fed.

(Of course, this was just conjecture at best; he'd freely admit he'd always struggled in Doctor Oobleck's classes, though he felt Ren, Pyr, and Oobleck would have been very proud of him for willingly doing research and coming up with his own theories, though Ruby and Nora would've probably been horrified...)

Well, even if he could guesswhythe castle didn't have much in the way of seasonings, it didn't change the fact that it didn't have much in the way of seasonings. and so all he could do at the moment was appreciate just how valuable the pork he'd just fried was, and try not to feel so guilty as he sliced a loaf of bread in half and melted some cheese over it to make a sandwich.

Fortunately for him, the smell of fried pork and cheese that made his mouth water, the thought of finally having something that wasn't roasted or boiled that made his stomach growl, and the reminder that this meal was not going to be a common occurrence did much to help him ignore his guilt.

And itdefinitelywasn't going to be a common occurrence; even if Camelot (and his conscience) could afford these meals on a regular basis, there was no way Sir Mordred was going to let him off from their usual morning practices.

Maybe if he bribed his mentor by preparing food for him as well? Sir Mordred had seemed to enjoy his cooking, back when they'd first met...

... no, knowing his mentor's appetite, doing so would almost certainly bankrupt the castle, and get them in trouble with Sir Agravain again...

"Oh, Squire Jaune?"

A voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, and he couldn't help but jump before he quickly turned to the entrance of the kitchen, where a blonde was studying him curiously.

"Your Majesty!" Jaune exclaimed nervously as he recognized the short boyish figure, and he made sure his sandwich was well-hidden behind him as he continued: "I didn't hear you there... how can I help you, Your Majesty?"

"Well, you could start by telling me justwhatthat novel smell is," Artoria's lip quirked fractionally upwards, amused by the reaction the newest member of her knights had just given her.

Not to speak ill of her knights, of course (they were peerless heroes of the realm, noble champions of truth and justice one and all), but between the apparent friction between her eldest nephew and their newest member, the fact that Sir Mordred the Brash was his mentor, and the shifty 'my-hand-is-totally-not-in-the-cookie-jar' look she was getting, she felt certain that Jaune Arc was going to fitrightin with her merry order of troublemakers, for better or for worse.

"I was just cooking, Your Majesty," Jaune explained even as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and held out his sandwich with his other, seeing no better alternative than complete transparency.

"I can see that, and self-sufficiency in the face of hunger is certainly not a virtue I would discourage amongst my knights," Artoria gently reassured the young squire, easily noticing his apprehension. "Though I will admit it isn't common for me to see someone putting that ideal into practicethisearly in the day..."

Jaune couldn't help but laugh sheepishly: "Well... I had a good teacher, I guess..."

"Sir Mordred?" Artoria prompted with curiosity even as she leaned forward to study what her nose was telling her was the source of the mouth-watering smell that had brought her there earlier.

"Yup," Jaune confirmed, before elaborating: "Usually, by this time, we'd already be training in some corner of the forest, and although today is a rare exception... I guess it's become a bit of a habit by now... anyway, what about you, Your Majesty, if you don't mind me asking? Are you also used to waking up early as well?"

"It's certainly not a habit I'm opposed to cultivating," Artoria deflected with practiced ease, seeing no reason to admit the truth.

After all, what reason would she have to tell the newest squire in Camelot that, even though she was very much physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted (having only returned from a hard campaign two days ago), she'd still be woken up earlier than usual by her wife, who'd then proceeded topolitely suggestshe take a walk?

For all the words they'd shared, for all that she'd gotten a measure of his character, she'd already established that she would not betray the loyalties of her Knights and her Kingdom.

Instead, even as she internally pondered the actions of Guin that morning, she still continued their conversation, steering it to safer waters: "In any case, that certainly seems like a unique dish... is it traditional to Vale?"

Jaune looked down at his sandwich, wondering what in Oum's name could be so unique about meat and fillings between two slabs of bread. But as he thought about it, he found himself realizing that, for all the time he'd spent in Camelot, he'd never once actually seen anybody else eating a sandwich.

... was it reallythatunusual?

"It's just meat and cheese between two halves of a loaf, Your Majesty," Jaune finally spoke, unsure of how else to answer (did something count as a tradition if it was just how things had been done as far back as anyone could remember?). At the same time, though, he found himself feeling a lack of surprise, considering the kind of questions King Arthur had bombarded him with when they'd first talked the previous morning.

Who would have thought the Perfect King everybody that he'd met in this new world had admired would have been a bit of a nerd?

Not that he could blame him, admittedly; if a person from a different world had suddenly shown up in Remnant, he'd have probably shown just as much curiosity as he was receiving (emphasis onprobably, though; he'd be the first to admit he wasn't the most studious person around).

Then he took a second look at King Arthur's intense scrutiny of his sandwich, and with memories of his interrogation fresh in his mind, he rapidly put two and two together.

Before King Arthur could comment on his words (or ask him any more questions, like where such a "tradition" originated), Jaune quickly began to fix up another sandwich even as he asked: "Would you like to try one, Your Majesty?"

-ONE BREAKFAST LATER-

"That was certainly an... interesting way to eat," Artoria finally commented as she finished wiping her mouth, and did her best to ignore her stomach and sense of taste as they pointedly requested for seconds (hunger may have been the enemy, but Gluttony was one of the Seven Deadly Sins).

"I was going to go with 'convenient', myself," Jaune offered between bites of his own sandwich, having decided to take his time in savoring the semi-familiar taste of his own cooking.

"It certainly seems so, Squire Jaune," Artoria agreed with a nod, before adding appreciatively: "Although I doubt I would have found the meal as interesting as I did, had the dishes not been so well-cooked. Would you happen to have a lot of prior experience with this?"

"My seven older sisters made me cook for them all the time," Jaune explained easily, trying to disguise his pride and embarrassment by making a comment about his family like he typically did, although a fond smile did make its way onto his lips as he talked about them.

Artoria fought down a snort of amusem*nt at his words, remembering both her own childhood with Kay and Ector as well as watching her nephews and niece interact (truly, it seemed that having demanding elder siblings was a universal phenomenon). Instead, retaining a dignified composure, she inquired: "If you don't mind me asking, what other dishes would you consider yourself proficient in cooking? This meal has left me curious about the cuisine of Vale."

"... well..." Jaune couldn't help but rub the back of his neck awkwardly this time as he racked his brains trying to think of anything that the Kingdom of Vale would have considered a national dish. Finally, he gave up, and admitted: "Honestly, I'm not sure if I'd be able to name any dishes from Vale that would really stand out... though I'd say I'm at least good enough at cooking that I could probably recreate them here to demonstrate? Uh, well... as long as they don't needtoomuch seasoning... they're a lot easier to find in Vale than here, no offense..."

"Oh, is the Kingdom of Vale rich in herbs and spices?" Artoria pressed as she leaned forward, a part of her trying to recall any lands of record that had met such a criteria. Sure, Jaune Arc had told them that he'd tried going through the Castle's archives to look for any mention of his home, but there had been a good number of documents that hadn't survived the Fall of the Empire and the chaos that had followed the death of her father, and when she had an ancient dream-walking wizard as an advisor the physical destruction of a local copy wasn't quite as final as it might otherwise have been.

Beyond whatever curiosity she'd admit to possessing about a Kingdom that no longer needed a King, beyond the simple want to help her fellow Man, establishing diplomatic contact (and possible trade relations) with a country of great technological might and a wealth of natural resources was really just common sense as a head of state.

"... I guess you could say that..." Jaune answered after a moment's thought. "I mean, I wouldn't really have called it rich before, but compared to here... well, I mean, it can't be helped that Vale just has more advanced farming methods..."

"You did say you were a farmer's son, correct?" Artoria hummed thoughtfully, before remarking: "I did find myself curious about your remarkable literacy and knowledge despite your apparent background, but if your home possesses more advanced farming methods, it would make sense for the profession to require a greater degree of literacy and knowledge than it does here..."

Jaune couldn't help but wince, and he immediately tried to correct King Arthur's misconception: "Um, well... I mean, sure, our methods are more advanced, but I wouldn't say farmers specificallyneedto be smarter than the average person... sure, there's some specialized stuff like soil chemistry or composting, but on the whole everyone in Vale's expected to be able to read and write... in fact, I'd be the first to admit I was never the best at studying..."

"I see..." Artoria murmured, taking a moment to examine the squire's face for any sign of falsehood even as she tried to digest the thought ofeverybodyin a Kingdom being literate. "I suppose that widespread literacywouldbe a requirement in a democracy where voting is open toallcitizens of age..."

"I mean, it'd probably be hard to read a manifesto or write your chosen candidate's name on a ballot if you couldn't," Jaune pointed out with a shrug.

"That is true," Artoria nodded, before sighing and reflecting that it been a good thing that she hadn't truly been considering democracy as anything beyond an intellectual curiosity, if a requirement for it to function was for everyone to be able to read and write.

Considering most of her people were too busy just growing enough food to see themselves through the next winter (and considering this was alreadya lotbetter than how things had been two decades ago), it would be unreasonable of her to expect them to set aside some additional time for education, let alone getting further involved in local governance.

And that wasn't even considering what the nobles under her would have done if she'd tried empowering their peasants.

The obligations imposed upon nobles by the Lord and their liege, while far from perfect, was at least for the most part sufficient in ensuring the welfare of their subjects.

With foreign invaders arriving on their shores from beyond the seas every year, she could not risk any social upheaval or rebellion.

And of course, that wasn't theonlyway what she was hearing could benefit her people.

"You mentioned earlier that farmers in Vale required some specialized knowledge and used advanced methods, correct?" Artoria inquired with barely-disguised curiosity, rewinding the conversation slightly. "Could you elaborate briefly onhowVale's methods differ from here? And could you tell me a bit more about this 'specialized knowledge' of yours?"

Jaune couldn't help but curse his luck at the fact that the King he'd sworn an oath to serve was amassivenerd even as he tried to figure out justhowto translate what he knew into terms his liege would actually understand.

Well, at least it wasn't about politics anymore.

Chapter 15: Gradual Growths

Chapter Text

"Oh my, if it isn't Camelot's newest squire," a voice spoke up as he dragged his tired body down the now-familiar hallway, one part teasing and one part surprised delight, and Jaune immediately turned to face its owner even as she jogged up to him, the sweat and dirt and plate armor doing little to detract from Gareth's radiance as she grinned at her fellow squire.

As she caught up to him, and he clasped her gauntlet with his own hand in greeting, he returned the grin even as he easily shot back: "Nice to see you too, Camelot'syoungestsquire."

Gareth laughed and rolled her eyes, and as the pair separated she asked: "I didn't know you were back in Camelot, Jaune... when did you and Sir Mordred return?"

"Actually, we just got back," Jaune informed her even as he stretched his back. "Sir Mordred's gone to deliver his account of our trip to Sir Agravain, though."

"I see," Gareth nodded, giving her friend a quick once-over, before eagerly pressing: "And is it true?"

"Iswhattrue?" Jaune blinked and co*cked his head in confusion.

"What the men are saying you and Sir Mordred got up to during your travels in the past few weeks!" Gareth prompted excitedly.

"What we got up to?" Jaune echoed bemusedly. "All we did was go around the surrounding towns and villages as a learning journey, like we said we were going to..."

"So... you didn't rout an entire Saxon raiding party?" Gareth asked with only mild disappointment.

"... I don't think I've evenseena Saxon before..." Jaune admitted, shaking his head.

"What about levelling a score of forests from here to the lands of the Picts from the fury of your countless duels?"

"We've only been gone for a few weeks, and we definitely never went that far North!"

"And is that a 'no' to slaying a rampaging dragon and save a town?"

"... is that anactualproblem that happens here often?" Jaune couldn't help but ask, even as a part of him realized belatedly that Gareth wasn't beingcompletelyserious with her questioning.

After all, they had believed him with remarkably little difficulty about his own battle with a dragon, and while he hadn't looked a gift horse in the mouth back then...

"Well, Sir Lancelot slew one in single combat a few years ago, just before he became my mentor, and Sir Kay was said to have shocked fire dragons into flying back from whence they came..." Gareth recalled, before chuckling and admitting: "But I would have definitely been most surprised had that story turned out to be true."

"Well, either way, Sir Mordred and I definitely didnotdo anything of those things," Jaune rolled his eyes, before rhetorically retorting: "Do youreallythink Sir Agravain would have allowed Sir Mordred to take me on a field trip if he'd thought such a thing was likely?"

"That is certainly true..." Gareth conceded, even as her hand went up to her chin thoughtfully, before she mused: "You know... Agravain is the only one besides His Majesty who can actually get Sir Mordred to listen to him most of the time..."

"Really?" Jaune tried to inject as much disinterested skepticism as he could into his voice even as he suddenly found an interesting cloud to fix his gaze on.

"I'm serious!" Gareth protested, heedlessly following her thoughts wherever they guided her. "And come to think of it... when Mother first introduced Sir Mordred to the Round Table, Agravain didn't seem surprised or impressed at all."

"Does Sir Agravaineverseem surprised or impressed?" Jaune wondered off-handedly, still trying to steer the conversation back to safer topics.

"Perhaps not to most people, but Icanread my brother, Jaune," Gareth pointed out, still refusing to be distracted from piecing together the image slowly forming in her head (much to Jaune's dismay). "But even though he was neither surprised nor impressed, he was still among the first to voice his support for Sir Mordred's membership..."

Fortunately for Jaune, though, before he could accidentally put his foot into his mouth and potentially incriminate himself any further, Gareth wondered out loud: "Do you think brother helped train Sir Mordred before he came to Camelot?"

Jaune didn't quite breathe a sigh of relief that his mentor's secret had been preserved, but it was a close thing, and after a few moments of recomposing himself (which he cleverly disguised as thinking the question over, in the spirit of younger siblings trying to get out trouble everywhere), he deflected: "... well, I suppose, you'd know better than me..."

"Hmm, that is true..." Gareth hummed thoughtfully, before she shook her head and sighed after a few moments: "Sir Mordred's skill with the blade far outclasses Agravain's, and considering both his duties in Camelot and his dedication to them, I do not believe he would have had the time or inclination to take on an apprentice, save perhaps as a scribe..."

Jaune nodded along encouragingly, even as a part of him felt conflicted over Gareth coming to the wrong conclusion about Sir Mordred's relationship with Sir Agravain (and her, by extension).

Sure, the misunderstanding was both to be expected (he doubted Gareth could even conceive of the notion that her mother had kept another brother a secret from the entire family save Sir Agravain) and convenient (it wasn't his secret to tell, and Sir Mordred had made it very clear he didn't want Gareth to find out, no matter how many times he'd asked), but at the same time he couldn't help but feel like Gareth would have been a good influence on Sir Mordred.

Still, though, he'd only gotten as far as he had because Team JNPR had respected his secrets, and so he instead changed the subject: "And speaking of training, how's yours coming along? Are we about to see the youngest Knight of the Round Table any time soon?"

"Oh, Sir Lancelot said he's willing to bestow my knighthood upon me as soon as I am of age!" Gareth informed him cheerfully, perking up at the chance to speak about her mentor (just as Jaune knew she would). Then the brown bangs that accented her blonde hair drooped, and she quietly murmured: "Though, recently..."

"Is everything alright?" Jaune leaned in, unable to help the concern that welled up within him.

After a moment of hesitation, where Gareth weighed her admiration for Sir Lancelot with her worry about his recent behavior, she shook her head and smiled reassuringly: "I am sure it's nothing, Jaune. He has been a bit... distracted, ever since the feast, but who can blame him? The words Sir Tristan spoke still haunt many of the men who were present, and he has not allowed it to affect his mentorship of me, such is the strength of his character."

"..." Jaune looked back at the castle for a moment as he rememberedthatfeast, before shaking his head, not wanting to think about how much harder someone who'd actuallyknownboth the King and Sir Tristan would have taken it.

Silence descended on the pair for a few moments, before Gareth took her turn to change the subject: "So, want to see the progress I've made on Ira Lupus so far?"

"Sure, why not," Jaune said with a smile and a shrug, a small part of him quietly giving thanks to Ruby Rose for all the times she'd talked about weaponsmithing as he did so. Sure, he was nowhere near the level of even a blacksmith's apprentice (or a Signal student), but he'd picked up enough via simple proximity and osmosis to at least give a few pointers.

As the pair made towards their new destination together, however, and the whispering of passers-by around them only grew in intensity, Jaune barely managed to fight down the urge to look around curiously even as he quietly wondered why it seemed like people in Camelotstillhadn't gotten used to his presence.

-AGRAVAIN'S CHAMBERS, MEANWHILE-

Agravain stared at the armored figure as she leaned back, having finished giving her brother the report he'd demanded.

He blinked.

Nothing changed.

He blinked again.

His youngest sister's body language remained the same.

He blinked for a third time.

Unfortunately for his blood pressure, Mordred was still just as oblivious as she was insufferably smug at the moment.

Agravain exhaled slowly, taking a moment to collect himself, and Mordred leaned forward, seemingly misunderstanding his actions.

"... Mordred?" Agravain finally began. "Do you remember what we discussed, what you promised, before I allowed you to take your squire away from Camelot for the month?"

"Uh, to make sure I taught him well?" Mordred co*cked her head quizzically, not understanding why she was being asked such an obvious question.

After all, based on her own judgement, she was pretty sure they'd done a good job of helping the towns they'd visited during their travels (at least, when compared to the tales she'd been told, and the picture books she'd grown up with).

And as for his horse-riding...

Jaune's brow was furrowed in intense concentration as he tried to hold onto to the warhorse's reins (as opposed to its neck), and quietly prayed that it wouldn't try to buck him off again (as it had been ever since they'd left the castle).

"You need to relax, squire," Mordred chastised him as she rode up next to him, looking him over and quietly picking out the flaws in his form even as she explained: "If your grip is too tight, and your mind too focused on simply riding your horse, it may cost you seconds in drawing your blade, and Iknowyou know how important that can be in combat..."

Jaune took a deep breath, before exhaling slowly as he forced himself to loosen his grip on the length of leather.

Mordred had just begun to nod in approval, before the old horse took the chance to stamp a hoof violently and snort, sensing his rider's inexperience and lack of confidence.

Before Jaune could tighten his grip, however, Mordred quickly intervened, growling at the horse even as she seized the reins from Jaune.

As the horse calmed down, knowing better than to press his luck at that moment, Jaune could only look sheepishly at Mordred as she sighed and remarked: "You know, I was expecting you to be a lot better at handling animals, between your youth on a farm and your training as a Huntsman..."

Jaune laughed awkwardly as he quickly averted his gaze, not knowing how to respond. After all, it wasn't like he could explain that his family's farmhadn'thad any animals (since that would have just opened him up to more questioning, and it'd have been hard to describe what a tractor or combine was to people who used oxen and horses to pull carts and carry packs), to say nothing of how the preferred mode of transport for Huntsmen was the Bullhead...

Mordred narrowed her eyes at his laughter, wondering if there was something she was missing, before she shook her head and sighed again.

Nudging him in the side with her elbow to grab his attention, she pulled herself even closer to her squire, but her touch was gentle as she gripped his hands beneath hers, and guided them to the old horse's reins once more.

"Again," she instructed, though it came out far softer than the impatient bark anybody who knew of her would have expected from her, nor would they have expected the small smile hidden behind her helmet as she watched Jaune do his best to follow her instructions.

But then again, she was teaching afriend, someone whom she'd sworn to be a mentor to, even if they had to figure things outtogether.

... though, judging by the way things were going, hemightneed to share her horse again when they entered the next village (still a much more dignified fate than getting bucked off his horse in full view of the local peasantry).

Strangely enough, she found that she could live with that.

... well, considering he'd been able to ride that ornery steed she'd picked out for him three weeks into their journey, she could confidently declare him capable of riding just aboutanyregular warhorse in Camelot...

"Besides that," Agravain prompted sharply, bringing her back to the present.

"Um, to ensure his safety?" Mordred answered confusedly, still not seeing the problem.

"Yes," Agravain confirmed in a dry tone even as he looked back at the dictation he'd taken of Mordred's report. Waving a hand back to her account of how their journey had gone, he demanded: "And what would you callthat?"

"A safe journey?" Mordred ventured.

"A dozen wolf packs, two rampaging bears, and a group of Pictish bandits raiding the countryside disqualifies the entire endeavor from being "safe", Mordred," Agravain pointed out, unamused.

"Really?" Mordred inquired, genuinely curious.

"Yes," Agravain's tone was clipped as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"But they were just wolves and bears and bandits!" Mordred protested defensively. "It wasn't like I let him fight another demon or dragon..."

"Mordred, I know that your judgement has been skewed by mother's upbringing," Agravain sighed, before shifting to a more understanding tone. "But that doesn't change the fact that wolves, bears, and banditsaredangerous to most people."

"I doubtanyKnight of Camelot would fall to such paltry foes, not even Bedivere," Mordred retorted, taking offense at her brother's lack of confidence in her squire.

"But Jaune is not yet a full Knight, Mordred," Agravain pointed out.

"But he's faced far more dangerous foes than that!" Mordred countered. "Remember how we found him? Remember his tale of how he ended up here, with the dragon? Remember his soul magic Aura?"

"And do you not remember how the Addanc almost fell you, whose swordsmanship and natural ability far surpass most humans?" Agravain reminded her. "Do you not remember how his tale ended with hisnear-deathat the hands of the witch and the dragon?"

As Mordred fell silent for a moment, Agravain seized his chance, and placed a hand on Mordred's shoulder as he quickly continued: "And Idoremember your squire's magecraft, Mordred. I acknowledge that your squire is stronger than many, and I'm sure that he has only improved under your tutelage. And I can only commend the deeds you have done, the aid you have rendered to the subjects of His Majesty!

"But! What I cannot accept is your faulty judgement, to believe that what you have encountered is in any way acceptable, let alone "safe"! Mordred, as a Knight of the Round Table, you have been selected by the King personally, and with that honor comes expectations,responsibilities! Not to mention that, as a mentor..."

Mordred sighed dejectedly under her helmet, as Agravain's chastisem*nt really began to pick up steam.

It wasn't even thefirsttime she'd gotten this lecture before, though listening to her brother was at least more tolerable than listening to Lancelot going on and on about what ifs and what nots.

After all, what was the big deal? Nobody even got hurt this time, right?

... but at the same time, she'd already admitted to herself that she was just a third-rate knight; if two first-rate knights were giving her what was basically the same talk, there was probably something she needed to learn, wasn't there?

She owed it to both the King she admired and the squire she mentored to be the best knight she could be, and so she forced herself to at least try and concentrate on what Agravain was telling her.

... a few seconds later, she interjected: "Okay, okay, I get it! The situation was unusual and unsafe, and I should have recognized it, right?"

"... that's... not an inaccurate summation..." Agravain allowed, pleased that his youngest sister seemed to have actually internalized his words, even if he doubted that she did realize just how odd the situation truly was (especially the mention of Pictish barbariansthatfar south).

"Alright, got it, lesson learned," Mordred quickly reassured her brother even as her shoulders slumped in relief that the lecture wasfinallyover. "Next time it happens, I will... uh..."

"..." Agravain pinched the bridge of his nose as Mordred stared at him expectantly, waiting for the answer.

Sadly, though, this was definitely the best he'd ever gotten from her, and so he obliged: "You will send a message back to Camelot informing us of the situation, so that we can make the necessary preparations?"

"Yes, that's right!" Mordred nodded, before prompting further: "... and?"

"..." Agravain shot Mordred a look of exasperation, before sighing: "... just... just keep in mind that humans have a different standard of safety from you, alright? Next time, either of you may not have such a capable travelling companion-"

"What doesthatmean?" Mordred's demanded, her voice low.

"Jaune won't be your squire forever, Mordred, and your next one may not have such a useful magecraft," Agravain informed her, an eyebrow rising as he wondered where the sudden outburst had come from. "Should you and your hypothetical future squire encounter a similar situation..."

"..." Mordred paused for a moment, before looking away as she quickly answered: "Ah, of coursethat'swhat you meant! Right, got it!"

Agravain eyed his sister for a moment, but decided not to push his luck any further.

Instead, as he glanced back at his desk, and the message he'd hidden under piles of parchment, he decided it was time to get to the second reason why he'd summoned Mordred to his office: "Anyway, Mordred... speaking of training... yourtrainerjust sent me a message."

Mordred immediately stiffened up as Agravain retrieved the relevant message, gave it a once-over, and tossed it into the fireplace as he informed her: "She says she'll be visiting Camelot in a few days."

Mordred couldn't help but groan and curse as she slumped into her seat.

Chapter 16: Revolting Revelations

Chapter Text

As a cool draught blew through the mostly-empty dining hall, and the candle's small flame flickered for a moment, Jaune couldn't help but seize the opportunity to take a break from his work, putting his quill down (Camelotreallyneeded someone to invent the pen or pencil) in favor of reaching for one of the meat-stuffed breadsticks (at least, as close as he could get to bread) that he'd fried as he looked over the parchment he'd been scribbling on for the past few hours.

... well... at least it kind oflookedlike Ira Lupus?

... ah, who was he kidding?

Ruby would've probably fallen over laughing at his attempts at drawing up blueprints for Gareth's gun-lance, if not for the fact that she'd have just been so happy that he was finally taking an interest in weapons as well (or distracted by the fact he was dealing with a non-mecha-shift gun-lance that had been designed with the help of a wizard and ran on "magical ether" instead of Dust).

At least Pyr would've been able to keep a straight face as she encouraged him...

As thoughts of his friends (hisoldfriends) came to the forefront of his mind, his mouth quirked up into a small smile, and he quietly imagined their reactions if they could've seen him now... or if they ever learned of the existence of another world, let alone a functioning pre-Dust society with magic.

Then a resigned sigh escaped his lips, as a familiar dull ache made itself known in his chest.

Just like Ansel, just like his family, the memories of Beacon, of Teams RWBY and JNPR, wouldalwaysbe bittersweet; as much as they represented happy times, they also reminded him of what he'dlost.

But it didn't hurtnearlyas much as it first had, back when he'd looked up at the moon and belatedly realized it wasn't the broken moon of Remnant.

Jaune wasn't very comfortable with that realization; what kind of a team leader and friend was he, that he'd already begun to stop thinking about his team and his friends, not even half a year after... how was he even supposed to refer tothatday, anyway? The 40th Vytal Festival Finals? The Amity Collosseum Attack?

... well, it wasn't like it mattered; whatever he called it, it didn't change what had happened.

But at the same time, setting his death aside, what else was he supposed to do?

His friends were okay (he'd made sure ofthat), and he'd woken up in a different world with no way home.

All he'd done... all hecoulddo, was seize the second chance he'd been given (if that was what this was).

He'd run away from home, from his family, to be a hero.

Now, he washere, and there were people who needed help.

It didn't matter that "here" was "England" instead of "Remannt", it didn't matter that there was an entire order of kickass warriors who could've easily done what he could, it didn't matter that the problems people faced here were more "failing crops, sicknesses, and wild animals" than "Grimm attacks", and it didn't matter that he was being trained up to be a Knight instead of a Huntsman.

... admittedly, it probably helped that being a Knight and being a Huntsman weren't all that different, just like it helped that he'd been found by Sir Mordred, Sir Lancelot, and Gareth.

(And itdefinitelyhelped that Pyrrha, Ruby, andCardinhad helped him realize that hedidn'thave to do everything alone, even if the latter hadn't really done it on purpose...)

... but still, even if hehadbeen occupied with a new world, a new life, and new friends...

Shouldn't he have been missing his friendsmore?

"Hey, Squire, everything alright?"

Jaune couldn't help but jump at the sudden voice that broke his train of thought, and he turned to find a familiar suit of armor standing over him.

"Sir Mordred!" Jaune yelped, almost jumping from his seat in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in... are you done talking with Sir Agravain already?"

"Yes, I'm done getting scolded by my brother," Mordred complained as she collapsed into the seat next to his, head slumping against the table dejectedly even as a hand easily reached out for one of the pieces of bread from Jaune's plate.

"That bad?" Jaune asked sympathetically, handing over a breadstick to the outstretched gauntlet.

"Apparently, I wasn't supposed to expose you to so much danger," Mordred informed him drily, before munching on the bread with a groan of satisfaction.

Jaune didn't even bother commenting on the fact that his mentor was somehow shoving a loaf of bread through his helmet's visor; he'd never even seen Sir Mordred without a piece of his armor, not even when the pair had been travelling together, and he'd gotten used to it. Instead, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he echoed: "So much danger? I didn't think we were doing anythingthatdangerous..."

"That's what I said!" Mordred agreed with a full mouth, before swallowing and letting out a satisfied sigh. Reaching for another one, she continued complaining: "But according to Agravain, encountering that many bandits and wolf packs meant that the situation wasunsafeandunusual, and we should haveat leastsent a messenger back to inform the other Knights something was off."

"... huh..." Jaune blinked, and tried to figure out how any of their adventures qualified as "unusual". Going by the stories of what Knights routinely encountered that Sir Mordred and Gareth had told him, he'd genuinely considered the journey to be pretty uneventful, even when he took into account the fact that he wasn't in aGrimm-infestedworld.

"And worst of all,Mother'scoming to by to visit Camelot in a few days..." Mordred continued to grumble and vent even as she slumped further against the table, furiously chewing a third piece of baked dough.

Jaune barely managed to avoid wincing at the sheer despondence radiating from Mordred's words and tone. Sure, he knew his mentor's family life was complicated, but the way he almost sounded like he was dreading hearing from his mother...

Before he could give it any further thought, however, Mordred perked back up, and with a light clap on her squire's back she changed the subject: "So, what was on your mind? Looked like you were really bothered by something, squire."

Jaune's face heated up, and he quickly tried to downplay the whole thing: "It was nothing serious, Sir Mordred, really!"

"Come on, Jaune," Mordred refused to be deterred, and with an attempt at a comforting squeeze of his shoulder she reassured him: "It was serious to you, and as your mentor I have a responsibility to take care of you! Also... well..."

"Sir Agravain will lecture you again if you don't look after me?" Jaune guessed with a soft laugh, before holding up his hands in resignation as he admitted: "I... well... I was just thinking about my friends from back hom- back in Beacon."

"... oh." Mordred hadn't expected that answer, and reached for a fifth breadstick as she awkwardly pressed: "And... what brought this on?"

"Gareth asked me to help her with Ira Lupus this afternoon, just after we'd returned," Jaune explained, gesturing to his drawings (and missing the way Mordred's tongue clicked). "And, well... remember how I told you I never got any training before Beacon? Yeah, the only reason I know anything about weaponsmithing is because of the first friend I made in Beacon. And after I started thinking of her... I just kind of started thinking about everyone else from Beacon..."

Mordred hummed thoughtfully as she considered his words, before co*cking her head in confusion and asking: "So, why'd you say that it was nothing serious?"

"Well, I mean..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, before sighing and explaining: "Actually... I was feeling kind of guilty over not thinking about them as much as I could... but at the same time, shouldn't I be focusing on the present, instead of dwelling on what I can't change?"

Mordred's helmet stared emotionlessly at Jaune even as her mind quickly raced behind it. Of all the potential squires in England, she justhadto get the one who asked hard questions, didn't she?

But then again, there probably wasn't any other squire in all of England who'd have stuck by her, who'd have dared to call her a friend.

Resolving to ask Agravain about it at the next opportunity (the books she'd been raised on and the Code of Chivalry did preach about loyalty, about defending the honof of one's peers, and she figured that extended to the bonds of brotherhood that existed between companions, but at the same time he did have a point about focusing on what he could), she instead tried offering: "Well... maybe you could tell me about them? You know, if you think it'll help..."

"..." Jaune looked up for a moment, before beginning: "Well, I guess I already sort-of mentioned her, so let's start with my first friend in Beacon, the one who taught me about weapons. Her name was Ruby Rose, and the best way I could describe her would be... hmmm... I guess she's a lot like Gareth, except maybe less sociable?"

Mordred disliked this "Ruby Rose" already.

-ONE CONVERSATION LATER-

A groan of satisfaction escaped Mordred's lips as she stretched her arms and back without moving from where she stood, and reflected on what her squire had talked to her about.

All she could say, after having sat in a chair and listened to him for the past hour, was that Beacon was truly a weird place, and Huntsmen absolutely lacked the dignity that the Knights of the Round Table possessed.

And also, that Jaune clearly treasured the time he'd spent with them.

Even now, she still wasn't sure that offering him a listening ear had been the best solution to clearing his mind (her initial plans when she'd first entered the dining hall and seen him had been to invite him to spar, so that they could both work off their frustrations)...

But at the same time, for some reason...

"Sir Mordred? Thanks... for everything," Jaune had said, after he'd finished talking. "You really are a good mentor, you know that?"

When she remembered her squire's smile and his words, she found that she didn't mind it quite so much...

Unfortunately for her, that was when her usual lack of luck reared its head.

"Mordred," a familiar cold voice suddenly intoned imperiously from an empty corridor behind her, and as a chill ran down her suddenly-stiff-again spine a veiled figure in a black-and-blue dress stepped out of the shadows.

"Mother?" Mordred managed to keep all the shock out of her body language and voice as she turned to face the figure, having been conditioned to show absolutely no weakness in front of her mother. Instead, her voice remained neutral as she politely asked: "I thought Agravain said you would be coming here in a few days?"

"The Bounded Field that damnable incubus set up was easier to penetrate than I'd anticipated," Morgan explained dismissively, before getting to the real reason why she'd come: "More importantly, Mordred! I heard you took on some no-name squire! For how long do you intend to keepplayingknight?!"

"..." Mordred knew better than to question her mother when she was on one of her rants, and instead silently co*cked her head in confusion as she tried to figure out just what she was going on about.

After all, hadn't it beenherthat had been the one to introduce her to Camelot, that had recommended her for membership amongst the Knights of the Round Table?

Sure, she was fulfilling her role because she genuinely wanted to serve the King she'd always admired, but wasn't this also what Mother had wanted?

... or was this related to what she'd said the day she'd brought her to Camelot, about how the King was the place she should aim for, and the enemy she must defeat?

Sure, she'd known that Mother didn't really get along with King Arthur (despite all of her children serving Camelot as Knights of the Round Table), but she'd never taken Mother's plots of treasonseriously!

After all, what she was asking was basicallyimpossiblefor her!

Even with her swordsmanship being among the best in the realm, and Mana Burst as her hidden ace (especially if she removed her helmet), she had doubts that she could beat Lancelot or Gawain if they held nothing back, let alone being able to actually killtheKing of Knights and the Wielder of Excalibur!

Also, wouldn't Gawain have been a better fit for the role of usurping King Arthur? After all, he was the King's right-hand man, his body double, a fellow wielder of a Holy Sword gifted by the Lady of the Lake herself!

As she puzzled over her mother's words and intentions, however, Morgan blindsided her with her next words: "Youare theheirof King Arthur!"

If she hadn't been wearing her helmet, Mordred's jaw would have hit the floor.

As it was, however, all she could do was stand there, slackjawed, completely uncomprehending as Morgan continued: "Your life is also proof of his existence! You are the child of the King!"

"...me?" Mordred finally murmured, still dumbstruck, as she turned away from her mother and tuned her out in favor of looking towards where she knew the King's chambers were.

That... itcouldn'tbe, right?

There was no way someone likehercould possibly be the King's child, right?

This... it just wasn't possible for her to be a child of Morgan le Fay and King Arthur Pendragon, right?

But Mother had no reason to come up with such an elaborate and easily-debunked lie... unless itwasn'ta lie.

But it would explain why Mother had always avoided the topic whenever Mordred had asked who her father was.

But it would explain her face, and why Mother had ordered her to never show it in Camelot.

(But she wanted it to be true.)

The idea had once been so completely inconceiveable that she'd never even considered it in her wildest fantasies, but now that Mother had planted it in her head...

Mordred incredulously choked out: "I... am King Arthur's..."

She accepted it.

She embraced it.

She rejoiced in it.

She had a father!

King Arthurwasherfather!

TheKing Arthur, the King of Knights, the figure she'd always admired, that she'd sworn to follow...

And that meant, she was...

She was...

Her eyes sparkled, and a grin began to overtake her face as the rest of her body finally began to catch up with her mind.

"Hey, Sir Mordred, I'm done cleaning up the kitchen-" Jaune's voice barely registered on her senses as the door to the dining hall opened behind her and Morgan, and her squire came out, before freezing. "Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?"

If Mordred had had enough sense of mind left to turn around, she would have seen her mother flinch at her squire's arrival, before recoiling away from his mere presence.

But she didn't, and even Morgan's cold, commanding tone wasn't enough to fully bring Mordred back down to reality as she spat: "Mordred.What. Isthat?"

Of course, Mordred's body had been conditioned not to avoid answering a direct queston from her mother, and so she off-handedly introduced him: "Oh, Mother, this is my squire, Jaune Arc. Jaune, this is my mother."

"Uh, pleased to meet you?" Jaune tried, offering out a hand even as he did his best to ignore his instints as they told him to run away from the veiled woman as fast and as far as he could, and then to keep on running.

Morgan's eyes narrowed into slits as she intensely studied his outstretched hand, before taking a step back into the shadows, away from Jaune, and disappearing with a firm: "We'll talklater, Mordred."

Jaune blinked as he watched her literally dissolve into the shadows, and after a moment turned back to Mordred and asked: "... so, was this a bad time?"

The next thing he knew, he was suddenly in the air, being held up by his shoulders as his mentor twirled him around, and ecstatically exclaimed: "Squire! Squire! Did you hear? I am King Arthur's son!"

Chapter 17: Candid Confessions

Chapter Text

The room was dark and quiet, before a low rumble caused Jaune to slowly stirr with a yawn.

As he sat up and stretched, and his mind joined the rest of his body in waking up, he couldn't help but recall the events of the previous night.

Him talking about how great his old friends and old team had been...

Meeting Sir Mordred's mother (and especially the way she'd looked at him, like something she'd found at the bottom of her shoe)...

And Sir Mordred suddenly swinging him around like a ragdoll even as he announced that the King was his father.

That last one wasdefinitelythe biggest thing to happen last night, and even now he barely spared anything else a second thought as he looked back at it.

Sure, he'd been initially taken by surprise at the sudden announcement (not to mention the way he'd been picked up and flung around), but once the shock had worn off all he'd been left with was alotof questions.

Questions like:

"Sir Mordred never even knew who his father was?"

"Why hasn't the Kingevermentioned having a son?"

"Aren't your mother and the King happily married todifferentpeople?"

In short, a lot of questions, with disturbing implications.

He'd done his best not to eventhinkabout them last night, though (let alone voice them out), and had instead chosen to simply congratulate his mentor and be happy for how happy the news obviously made him, rather than ruin the mood with such questions.

Of course, it had definitely helped that the latter hadn't been particularly difficult; to say Sir Mordred had been "ecstatic" about the revelation would have been like saying that Ruby "liked" weapons (or that Blake "liked" tuna, or that Pyrrha was "eye-catching", or that the Schnee Dust Company was "well-off").

Admittedly, though, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't help but wonder if wishing Sir Mordred "good luck" as he'd charged off to look for the King and deliver the "good news" had really been the right thing to do.

... well, it wasn't like there was anything else he could have done.

Going with him wasn't an option; whatever conversation Sir Mordred and King Arthur had, was meant to be between them (andmaybeQueen Guinevere, Mordred's mother, and her husband), and had absolutely nothing to do with an outsider like him.

And there was no way he could have stopped him either; to be blunt, he'd have been more willing to stand between Ruby and cookies, or even Nora and pancakes!

... but, at the same time... the more he tried to think about things, the less sense they made.

Even if he ignored the reputation for justice and fairness King Arthur Pendragon had amongst his subjects and his knights, he just couldn't see the young-looking man who'd accepted him into Camelot, who'd sat and chatted with him for hours about farming and politics,who Sir Mordred clearly thought the world of, also being the kind of man who'd cheat on his wife, before abandoning his own son to what little mercies Mordred's mother possessed.

Then, was Mordred's mother lying?

Sir Mordred clearly didn't think so, and Sir Mordred would know better than him.

Then, had Mordred's mother simply kept him a secret from the King?

That just added the question of "Why?", while not answering the questions of "Did King Arthur cheat on Queen Guinevere and sleep with Mordred's mother?"...

... wait, Gareth was King Arthur's niece, and Sirs Agravain, Gaheris, and Gawain his nephews...

... and Sir Mordred was their brother...

...

Jaune couldn't help but gag at theverydisturbing implications, before quickly rushing for the window.

The brisk, fresh air revitalized him, and between that and the view of the sun slowly rising over the villages surrounding Camelot, the unease Jaune had been feeling slowly settled down.

Sure, the situation was... complicated, to put things lightly.

But, no matter what... Sir Mordred was his friend.

And, come to think of it, the King was a friendly-ish acquaintance too, wasn't he?

It wouldn't change everything they'd done for him.

Hopefully the talk had gone well, though...

As another low rumble washed over the castle, Jaune sighed, and pushed himself off of the windowsill, deciding to at least get out and dosomething, instead of uselessly stewing over a situation that he wasn't even involved in.

Grabbing his usual training gear, Jaune began suiting up even as he considered his options.

The obvious choice was to go looking for his mentor, so that he could ask about how it'd gone, but at the same time he wouldn't want to be a third wheel should Sir Mordred and the King still be together and reconnecting; he'd had quite enough of being a third wheel thanks to having seven sisters, thank you very much.

Alternatively, he could just go and get a quick morning workout done, maybe even see which Knight of the Round Table was causing the castle to shake with their intensive training, and pick up some tips...

Before he could finish weighing them and come to a decision, however, the sound of heavy footfalls rapidly approaching his room caught his attention, and a soft smile crossed his face, figuring that his decision had been made for him.

"Hold on a second, I'm coming," Jaune called out with a chuckle, as the footsteps screeched to a halt outside his door, and an armored gauntlet began impatiently banging against it.

To his surprise, though, instead of a familiar suit of armor with red accents and a horned helmet standing outside his door, it was the sight of a serious-looking Agravain and a panting Gareth that greeted him.

"Sir Agravain, Gareth," Jaune nodded to the pair confusedly. "Is something the matter?"

"Squire Jaune, I'll be blunt," Agravain began, fixing him with a stern look. "Did anything happen to upset Sir Mordred last night?"

Jaune blinked.

-OUTSIDE THE DOOR TO SIR MORDRED'S (SOON-TO-BE-FORMER) QUARTERS, FIVE MINUTES LATER-

Jaune's jaw hung loosely as he dumbfoundedly stared at the rattling door (and the shuddering wall that it was connected to), and wondered if somebody had released a horde of Boarbatusks into Sir Mordred's room.

Yeah, that had to be it.

A portal to Remnant must have opened, and dumped a bunch of Grimm into the room, who were currently utterly devastating it in their mad scramble to burst free and attack the inhabitants of the castle.

... and the Grimm dragon had been among their number as well, by the sounds of things.

But, as far-fetched as that fantasy was, it was stillfarmore plausible to Jaune than the alternative - that it wasSir Mordredwho was shaking the entire castle while in the throes of a destructive rage, all the while furiously and incoherently roaring and cursing.

Well, at least he could see what Sir Agravain and Gareth had meant when they'd said that something hadupsetSir Mordred (in what was probably the understatement of the year).

Of course, why they expectedhimto know the reason by Sir Mordred's anger, and what they expectedhimto do about it, was utterly beyond him.

After all, at the very least, Sir Agravain knew Sir Mordred was his brother, and even if he'd managed to avoid spilling the beans on the King being Sir Mordred's dad (even if he thought that telling Sir Agravain his mother cheated on his father and slept with her brother would go over well, that secret wasn'thisto tell), Sir Agravain should have known his brother better thanhim, right?

With an resigned sigh, Jaune gave his armor and shield one finaly check, before slowly approaching the shaking door and giving it an apprehensive knock.

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune shouted, fighting to make sure his voice could be heard over the chaos ensuing behind the door. "Are you there? May I enter?"

A howl of fury was his only response.

"..." Jaune took a deep breath to steel himself, before pushing the door open with a quiet; "I'm coming in, Sir Mordred."

The first thing he saw, as he entered the room, was what he could only describe as a scene of utter carnage.

The few walls that still stood all sported countless fist-sized holes in them, the floor had craters and cracks, and most of the wooden furniture in the room had been reduced to kindling and splinters.

And at the center of it all, metal armor covered in dust and debris, stood his mentor, breastplate heaving as he breathed heavily.

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune cautiously asked as he took a tentative step into the room.

Jaune's instincts immediately began screaming at him to run away as Sir Mordred's horned helmet snapped towards his direction from where it'd been glaring at some pile of rubble, but he ignored them as Sir Mordred responded in a hoarse tone: "Squ... ire?"

"Uh, hey?" Jaune awkwardly waved as he took a second step forward, before concern leaked into his voice: "Did... did something happen when you went to talk to the Ki... your father?"

"Father..." Mordred breathed, as the word reminded her of just how things had gone.

The emotions that had overwhelmed her since the previous night were unfamiliar, and she couldn't even begin to identify them, let alone boast any knowledge on how to actually deal with them.

Except for one.

Being raised by Morgan had given her lots of experience with pain, as well as a simple way of dealing with it.

When hurt, destroy.

"Arthur," Mordred snarled, fury entering her voice, and Jaune's eyes widened in surprise as the stone brick in his mentor's hand was reduced into powder as the fist holding it suddenly tightened. The urge to retreat from the room only intensified as Mordred swore with a growl: "Everythinghe'sever built... everythinghe'severloved... everythingherepresents... I'll destroyallof it!"

Clearly, things had not gone to Sir Mordred's liking.

Jaune didn't make any move to run away, though, but instead spoke up once again as he stepped forward: "Sir Mordred?"

Mordred's head snapped back towards her squire, reminded that he was present, that he wasthere, facing her.

Unlikeanotherblonde young-looking man that she respected.

Another wave of emotions she couldn't identify surged within her, threatening to overcome what little self-control she had.

Unaware of what Sir Mordred was feeling, only seeing that his mentor was troubled, Jaune continued: "That's it, Sir Mordred... take a deep breath... now, why don't tell me what happened? When I left last night you were overjoyed! You've always been the one telling me how great the King was, and how you always admired him! Why are you suddenly trying to do...this?"

Jaune's words stirred even more memories, even more emotions within Mordred.

Of all the admiration she'd held for the King, from when she could first read to when she'd laid her eyes on the King's dignified figure, to the day she became a Knight of the Round Table.

Of all the praise she'd heaped on the King, to anyone who'd listen (only Jaune).

Of all the excitement and happiness and love she'd felt, when she'd learned that she'd been sired by the King.

And how all of it shattered in an instant, with a cold, simple answer.

The dam burst, and with how overwhelmed, confused, and hurt as Mordred was, she instinctively lashed out at the person who'd caused it.

"Get out," Mordred snarled at Jaune, rounding on him, and Jaune couldn't help but take a step back as she once again demanded: "Get out!"

"D-did I say something wrong?" Jaune stammered, falling back a second step as Mordred took a step towards him (and causing the floor to shudder).

"Just get out, and leave me alone!" Mordred bellowed, grabbing a chunk of rock from the floor and threatening to throw it at her squire.

"..." Jaune stopped, and instead looked at his mentor.

He still couldn't understand what was going on, why Sir Mordred was seemingly having an emotional breakdown...

But he rememebered that day months ago, when Sir Mordred had learned just how poor of a job she'd been doing teaching him, and told him to find a new mentor.

He hadn't regretted refusing him then, and no matter what happened next, he knew he'd regret it more if he just walked away from a friend in need.

"No," Jaune firmly refused, drawing his shield.

Mordred didn't offer him a last chance, but instead launched herself towards him with a shout and a speed that rivalled Ruby's Sembalnce.

Jaune's eyes widened, and he only barely managed to throw himself out of the way as a gauntlet wildly flew towards his head.

Sure, he'd completely expected a fight, but he'd also thought he had a measure of Sir Mordred's abilities.

He'd thought he'd seen Sir Mordred upset.

He'd been wrong.

Before he could get up from the floor, cold metal fingers gripped his top, before he found himself getting thrown into the wall.

Instead of pressing the advantage, however, Mordred took a moment to roar in fury, and Jaune quickly scrambled to his feet, raising his shield with one arm while the other grabbed a sturdy-looking piece of wood that he'd landed within an arm's reach of.

Jaune managed to meet the next punch with his shield, but the sheer force behind it forced him to take a step back lest his stance break, and would have numbed his arm (if not broken the bone) if not for his Aura.

The third blow was successfully deflected by his stick, but it shattered into splinters from the effort.

The fourth blow slammed into his shield from above, and Jaune gritted his teeth and braced it with his now-free sword hand,

Then the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh, and more, all began raining down upon his shield, hammering him into the ground, and all Jaune could afford to focus on was trying to survive the next strike.

But still, even as Jaune was battered down, even as his Aura drained away, even as his limbs shook from the effort, he fought on.

Eventually, though, he reached his limits, and as his Aura flickered visibly, his legs buckled underneath him from one more of the countless blows he'd forced himself to endure.

As he collapsed, fighting to remain conscious, he saw Mordred standing over him, arms raised for a final blow.

Not even having enough breath to speak, Jaune closed his eyes, and braced himself for it.

Instead of shattering his Aura and his rib cage, however, the two armored fists softly thumped against his chest.

Jaune dared to allow his eyelids to open, just in time to see Sir Mordred fall to his knees over him with a thud, looking down.

A brief silence engulfed the pair, before Mordred took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I hate him," Mordred spat bitterly, breaking the silence. "Hate Father. I hate him, so much!"

Jaune could only lie there wordlessly and motionlessly, watching his mentor rant about how much he hated King Arthur right above him, until he ran out of steam.

"... hate..." Sir Mordred pronounced one last time, a few minutes later, but unlike the others, this one just sounded empty and hollow.

And then Jaune felt something wet hit his cheek.

"Why..." Mordred choked out. "Why... why does Father hate me so much?

"Is it because Mother is a witch?! I never asked had a choice on who my mother was!

"Is it because I'm not human?!

"Why... why wouldn't you acknowledge me as your son, Father?! WHY WOULDN'T YOU EVEN FACE ME?!"

Jaune felt a stinging sensation in his eyes, from the raw grief and heartbreak in his mentor's voice.

He ignored it, though, as well as the tears falling into his face, and instead forced his arm to move.

Mordred jumped at the sudden contact, and she looked to find her squire holding her shoulder, before he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The small comforting gesture held more warmth and affection within it than she'd ever received from either of her parents.

The fight completely drained from her, Mordred couldn't help herself.

She broke.

Jaune had no idea what to do when his mentor suddenly slumped over, burying his face in his tunic, and began to sob uncontrollably, and so he simply lay there awkwardly, his hand gently patting Mordred's back, and tried to figure just what in Oum's name had just happened.

-LATER THAT NIGHT-

It was with a tired groan that Jaune pushed the door to his room open, before slowly shuffling towards his bed and collapsing on it with a hiss of pain and relief.

The good news was that Sir Mordred had finally managed to cry himself to sleep, and with Sir Agravain's and Gareth's help they'd brought him to Sir Agravain's room (since he no longer had a bed to speak of... or a room...), that he'd actually been allowed to leave without further interrogation (he could guess that Sir Agravain and Gareth hadreallywanted to ask a lot of questions, but looking like he'd picked a fist fight with an Ursa Major without being Yang Xiao-Long or Nora Valkyrie had earned him a reprieve), and that, amazingly enough, nobody had overheard Sir Mordred's screams about how much he'd hated the King and wanted to rebel against him (presumably Sir Agravain had managed to cordon off the whole wing).

Oh, and he was finally back in his bed, and able to rest his sore and aching body.

Unfortunately, that was pretty much it for the good news.

Oh, sure, Sir Mordred had said a lot of things in his rant and breakdown, but even if Jaune had understood more than half of it (he had no idea what he'd meant by "not human", and hesincerelyhoped he was having a massive misunderstanding about acknowledging him as his son and not even facing him), well... what could he evendofor his mentor?

If King Arthurhadtruly rejected Sir Mordred as his son, and even if hewassuch a scumbag of a father that he hadn't had an actual excuse for it, it wasn't like Jaune could change the King's mind.

But what was the alternative? Telling Sir Mordred that his father was wrong, and that he should just stop caring about what the King had said because he wasn't worth it?

Somehow, he doubted saying stuff like that in Camelot would go well for either of them, even if he thought Sir Mordred was likely to follow said advice.

Then, could they somehow keep Sir Mordred calm until he'd had time to come to terms with the rejection?

... considering both the damage done to the castle and to him, as well as how passionate Sir Mordred was as a person, Jaune very much doubted it, even if any future episodes were unlikely to be as violent as that day's had been.

... but then again, it wasn'tthatbad of an idea...

Sure, this world didn't exactly have the concept of "time off" or "leave" or "labor laws" (to be fair, though, it was completely understandable considering the state of things throughout England, and even back in Remnant such things like that had really only been implimented in big cities like Atlas and Vale (the city, not the Kingdom)), but he was pretty sure nobody would complain if he and Sir Mordred went on another journey, which would of course coincidentally take them as far away from Camelot as they could get, coincidentally until Sir Mordred no longer flew into a murderous rage at the mere mention of his father.

Better yet, since they'd only just returned to Camelot the previous day, it wouldn't take him too long to repack their kits.

All he'd need to do was get Sir Agravain's permission (easy enough), and then get Sir Agravain to help him convince his mentor (slightly less easy)-

"Could I perhaps trouble you for a moment of your time, Squire Jaune?"

Jaune couldn't help but jump at the sudden voice, despite how comfortable his battered body found the bed to be, and he turned towards its direction just to see King Arthur tucking something under his cloak as he walked in.

"Forgive the intrusion; I knocked, but you seemed too lost in thought to answer," Artoria quickly explained as she made sure Carnwennan was secure in its sheath, technically telling the truth; she had indeed lightly rapped the door with her knuckles, knowing full well that the enchanted dagger would cloak her presence.

But maintaining the secrecy of the topic she wished to discuss with... withMordred'ssquire was as important as the topic itself, and so she chose to overlook such petty details.

Jaune didn't even bother second-guessing King Arthur's statement, not wanting to look this gift horse in the mouth: "No, sure, it's no problem, I've got time."

"You have my thanks," Artoria nodded gratefully to him as she pulled a chair up to his bedside, before looking him over quickly as she sat down in it. "I would ask if the day has treated you well, but..."

"Yeah, don't worry, it looks worse than it is," Jaune quickly waved away his concerns. "My Aura stopped the worst of it, and it's already healing up the rest."

"I see, that is good to hear..." Artoria murmured, already steeling herself for what they both knew she'd really come here to discuss: "And how is Sir Mordred?"

"..." Jaune's pointed look at that was more than enough of an answer, and he instead seized the chance to instead ask a few questions of his own: "Your Majesty... may I ask... is it true? Did you really refuse to accept Sir Mordred as your son?"

Up until that point, a part of him had still held on to the hope that it was all just one big misunderstanding, that Sir Mordred had simply misinterpreted the King's words, and that there could be a simple and peaceful resolution to everything where everyone could be happy.

"I did."

The King's simple answer, and its level, matter-of-fact tone, all but dashed that last hope.

"... I see," Jaune tried to sound like he wasn't feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut by Sir Mordred again. Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to steady himself, before asking: "And, may I ask why? Sir Mordred really is your son, right?"

"..." Artoria's face remained as stoic as ever, even as she remembered Sir Mordred suddenly barging into her study, and dimissing that distinctive horned helmet to reveal a the same face of blonde hair and green eyes that she saw in the mirror every morning, before it proudly told her the news.

Despite everything, she still confirmed it: "He is."

"Then...why?" Jaune couldn't forget the sheer grief and pain that had been in Sir Mordred's voice as he'd pummelled him into the ground, and now that he had a chance for answers he wasn't going to waste it. "If he really is your son... then why did you refuse to accept him?"

"..." Artoria's irritation, having been building ever since the feast, ever since she'd found herself slowly growing isolated in her own castle by her own knights, by even trusted members of her court like Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot, only grew at the presumptuousness of the figure before her. It wasn't nearly enough to cause her to lash out, of course (her composure had been built on having Merlin as a godfather and Kay as a stepbrother, and tempered by years of dealings with doubtful and difficult nobles and Kings during the decade between the drawing of Caliburn and the Founding of Camelot), but her patience still waned, and her tone grew frosty as she warned: "Are you questioning your King, Squire?"

"Yes," Jaune refused to back down, and he pushed himself into a sitting position and locked eyes with the King defiantly, barely able to the person he'd sympathized with at the feast, the person who'd welcomed him into Camelot, the person who'd all but picked his brains out over everything related to agriculture and economics and politics in Remnant.

But still, hecouldsee that same person in those green eyes, and his voice softened as he pleaded: "Your Majesty, I don'tcarewhat happens to me, butyour sontruly believes that youhatehim! So, as his friend... please... at least,why..."

The news hit her like cold water, and any pent-up frustrations vanished in an instant as Artoria blinked in shock.

Mordred, believed shehatedher?

Her own child?

Sure, she knew Mordred had been deeplyupsetby her rejection (there was a reason she'd gone to seek out Mordred's only companion in Camelot this late at night, after all), but she'd never thought she'd hurt Mordredthatbadly.

"... I harbor no hatred for Mordred..." Artoria answered, once she'd finished processing that statement. "My rejection of Mordred is solely for the sake of the Kingdom, and had nothing to do with my personal feelings whatsoever."

"The Kingdom?" Jaune echoed in confusion.

"Yes, the Kingdom," Artoria nodded. "Were I to accept Mordred as my child, that would also mean recognizing him as my heir. Andthatis something the Kingdom cannot afford."

"... because of his...parentage?" Jaune made a guess.

"..." Artoria closed her eyes for a moment, and fought the urge to shudder at the notion that she had been apparently violated byMorganof all people. Then, she answered: "I will admit, Mordred's status as a bastard child does not help matters. Besides the...unpleasantness, of learning that I had unknowingly lain with my own sister and sired a child without any knowledge all this time, such a revelation would also shake the faiths and loyalties of our pious and God-fearing people. But I would have been willing to overlook such issues, had but Mordred possessed the capacity of a King."

"The capacity of a King?"

"Yes, the capacity of a King," Artoria closed her eyes again, remembering all that she'd seen, done, and ordered, in the past two decades. "To order a village to give up all of its supplies so that the army may march for but one more week and win a decisive victory for the Kingdom, to order the deaths of hundreds to save thousands more... to set aside your emotions and humanity for the sake of the Kingdom, and to bear the burdens and complaints of those who cannot bear the weight of their instructions, of those who are still human."

"..." Jaune found himself at a lost for words, as he tried to both imagine himself in such a situation, and Sir Mordred in such a situation.

Meanwhile, the mention of those who could not bear it reminded Artoria of the most recent example, of Sir Tristan and the feast once again, before she looked at Jaune, and remembered his words to Mordred that night that she'd happened to overhear.

"The throne is as much a great burden and responsibility as it is an honor," Artoria took a chance, hoping the young man before her from another land could understand. "One that I do not believe Mordred can bear. Mordred is passionate, headstrong, resilient, one of the greatest swordsmen in the Kingdom... but those are not qualities required to be King. Mordred would not be able to make the same decisions that I did, though he would nonetheless try I have no doubt, and both he and the Kingdom would suffer for such efforts."

As Jaune processed the King's words, he found that he couldn't help but agree with him.

He still remembered the King's face, as Sir Tristan had had his breakdown all those months ago.

Sir Mordred would've probably just tried arguing back, before giving up, chucking something at Sir Tristan's head, and then kicking him in the nuts.

But, even so...

"Then... why couldn't you have justtoldall of this to him last night" Jaune reached desperately, not wanting things to end likethat, not when it was becoming increasingly clear to him that Arthur and Mordred both did genuinely care for each other.

"..." Artoria looked away, recalling the sheer joy on Mordred's face the previous night, and the sudden surge of parental instincts she'd felt in that moment... before she'd done with it what she had all of her other emotions, for the sake of the Kingdom.

Softly, she countered: "Do you think I could even bear to look Mordred in the face,justafter rejecting him as my son, let alone explain to him just why he wasinadequateto be my heir?"

The room once again fell silent, and Jaune mentally kicked himself for once again putting his foot in his mouth.

Finally, Jaune quietly suggested: "Then, Your Majesty... how about now?"

"Now?" Artoria looked back up at Jaune in confusion.

"Yeah, now," Jaune nodded. "Look, Your Majesty... I think Sir Mordred deserves to at least know that youdon'thate him, as well aswhyyou rejected him."

Artoria thought about it for a moment, before conceding: "He does... but I doubt he would wish to see my face, after everything that's happened. Perhaps, you could assist me in conveying the details to him?"

Jaune didn't even hesitate: "Your Majesty, it's especiallybecauseof everything that's happened, that I think it'd be more meaningful if he hears it from you."

Sure, when he'd first questioned King Arthur he'd fully intended to relay everything he'd learned back to his mentor, but now that he knew what the King truly felt...

Well, Sir Mordred's friend as he may have been, but he was also ultimately an outsider in this family feud.

And if there wasonething he did know, it was family feuds.

"Trust me, I grew up with seven sisters."

Chapter 18: Apoplectic Aftermathematics

Chapter Text

The sun had already risen for a few hours, and Jaune had to fight to stifle the urge to yawn as he slowly shambled through the halls of the castle, doing his best to ignore the whispers and murmurs around him that even as they seemed to grow in intensity all the while.

At least it wasn'ttoodifficult that morning; in all honesty, he was too tired and sore to really care that he was being stared atagain, with most of his higher functions dedicated to trying to remember the way to the dining hall, and wishing that this world had discovered coffee.

Well, all things considered, he figured that he was pretty lucky to even find the castle still intact when he'd woken up.

When the King had left his room, having finally agreed to talk with Sir Mordred, he'd found his mind completely occupied between trying to process everything his mentor had shouted about, trying to process everything King Arthur had told him, and worrying about just how much worse thingscouldget, and it had been hours before he'd finally passed out.

Of course, now that hewasn'tworrying about waking up to a destroyed castle or a double homicide (or so he really hoped... the castle would have been a lot more noisy if the King or a Knight of the Round Table was dead, right?), his stomach had decided togentlyremind him that he hadn't eaten in over a day, and as much as Aura may have healed any injuries he'd sustained, he still needed to eat.

As he continued making his way towards the dining hall, he did his best to take his mind off of food by instead wondering about how things had gone between Sir Mordred and the King.

Sure, the worst-case scenario had been (hopefully) averted, but that didn't mean things had necessarily worked out. After all, it didn't change the fact that the King had legitimate reasons for rejecting Sir Mordred as his son, just as it didn't change the fact that he had rejected him and hurt him, and it didn't change the fact that Sir Mordred's reaction had been...extreme, to say the least.

Now that he was thinking about it, though... oh, Oum, what if things only somehow gotworsebetween the two of thembecausehe'd interfered, and pushed the two to talk?!

Sure, he'd definitely believed they needed to have a heart-to-heart conversation, and his experience with his sisters had taught him that it was always better to nip these sorts of things in the bud instead of letting them fester, but he was also confident that nobody in his family had ever quite faced a situationthisserious or complicated (nor could his sisters demolish castles with their bare hands when they lost their tempers).

For all he knew, Sir Mordred and the King would have eventually reconciled on their own, and him pushing the King to explain things to Sir Mordred while things were still recent and raw (and the latter still very much emotionally affected by it) had basically destroyed that future...

All because he, a person who wasn't even fromhere, hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut-

"Good morning, Jaune!"

The sudden loud noise wasn't nearly loud enough to make him jump (he'd shared a room with Nora Valkyrie for almost a year, after all), but it did snap him out of his spiral of self-doubt, and he looked up to find Gareth jogging up to him with a smile and a wave.

"Morning, Gareth," Jaune managed a smile of his own as the dimunitive girl reached him. His smile faltered marginally, however, as the events of the previous day returned to him. Lowering his voice, he inquired: "Hey, uh... so, how's Sir Mordred?"

"Well, Sir Mordred had yet to wake up when we left him last night, and I have not seen him since then..." Gareth followed Jaune's lead, more than aware of the occupants of the castle all around them, and just how curious they all were at the moment (herself included). Casually leaning closer to Jaune (and making sure nobody else could overhear her), she explained: "The King suddenly dropped by Agravain's room last night, and requested to speak privately with Sir Mordred once he woke, so my brother and I gave them space and went to my room to retire for the night."

"Hmmm..." Jaune hummed non-commitally as he processed the information. Sure, he hadn't really doubted that the King would have gone to talk to his mentor, but he supposed it was nice to get confirmation that he'd done it anyway.

Now, all that was left was to figure outhowit had gone this time around...

"You don't sound surprised," Gareth observed curiously.

"Oh, uh, well..." Jaune blinked, and as Gareth leaned in even closer, he explained: "The King actually talked to me, before he went to talk to Sir Mordred..."

"His Majesty did?" Gareth's eyebrow rose.

"He wanted to ask how Sir Mordred was doing, and, well..." Jaune's voice trailed off as he recalled the...conversation, he'd had with him the previous night.

"And you're Sir Mordred's squire," Gareth filled in the blanks. As Jaune nodded, Gareth couldn't help but ask: "So, you know what happened that caused Sir Mordred to act out as he did yesterday, then?"

"I... I do," Jaune reluctantly admitted, before quickly adding: "But it's really not my place to say! Sorry..."

Gareth couldn't help but groan, frustrated at the seemingly-increasingly-commonplace secrecy around her. As much as everyone told her that she was destined to be the greatest of the Knights of the Round Table, it also felt like the people around her treated her like a child and a squire more often than not.

Sure, she'd expected it from her three older brothers (even though it had beenextremelyaggravating when Agravain had still maintained silence despite the severity of the previous day's situation), and she knew that Sir Lancelot was just being a good mentor by not letting what troubled him affect her learning (even though she'd have been more than happy to help), but hearing it from a fellow squire as well stung more than she'd expected.

At the same time, though, the code of chivalry was clear, and so she conceded: "Fine, I get it. If the details were told to you in strict confidence, your honor would be stained were you to share it with others. But... Sir Mordred will be alright, at least?"

"... I don't know, but I hope so," Jaune finally answered, inwardly relieved that Gareth was willing to drop the subject (and he wouldn't have to reveal that her mother had cheated on her father and slept with the King, or that she hadn't been the youngest sibling for a while).

"I pray all will be well too, Jaune," Gareth sighed, before she changed the subject: "Anyway, how are you feeling? To be honest, I wasn't even expecting you to be able to leave your bed today..."

"That bad?" Jaune asked drily.

"You were in a better shape when Sir Lancelot and I first found you in Snowdonia, just after your battle with the Addanc," Gareth pointed out with a chuckle, before looking him over seriously. "Are you really sure you're alright, Jaune?"

"I've got my Aura, remember?" Jaune reminded his friend, reassuringly raising his arms to show his lack of bruising. "I healreallyquickly."

Gareth inspected them for a moment, before nodding: "That's good to hear. Then, I suppose you'll be heading to see Sir Mordred now?"

"Actually..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was going to grab some food first... since I didn't really get a chance to eat yesterday..."

"Oh, right..." Gareth laughed awkwardly, before looking away guiltily as she admitted: "I apologize for that oversight, Jaune. Agravain and I, we didn't expect things to take as long as they did, and by mid-morning we were too occupied keeping people out of that wing of the castle to aid you in your efforts."

"Yeah, I had wondered why nobody walked in on us," Jaune shrugged, before reassuring Gareth: "And it's probably for the best... I don't think Sir Mordred would have appreciated anyone seeing him in the state he was in."

"... if you say so, Jaune," Gareth aceepted his efforts appreciatively, and the pair fell into a companionable silence as they continued walking towards the dining hall.

Finally, though, curiosity got the better of Gareth, and with as much casualness as she could manage, she inquired: "By the way, and you don't need to tell me any incriminating or sensitive details about Sir Mordred, but could I trouble you to tell me about the spar with your mentor? All Agravain and I could hear were screams of anger and the sound of metal on metal, before a long period of silence followed. After that, you emerged from the room, while your mentor was passed out on the floor..."

"I didn't beat him in that fight, if that's what you're thinking," Jaune interjected drily.

"Considering the state you were in, that much seems obvious," Gareth pointed out with a chuckle, and as Jaune rolled his eyes she continued: "But I hope you can understand why everybody in Camelot is discussing what happened; even my brother and I can only guess what truly transpired in Sir Mordred's room!"

"It's really nothing..." Jaune had been about to make another retort, before blanching as he processed Gareth's words. "...everybody?"

"Surely you've realized that everyone has been looking at you and whispering, right?" Gareth asked incredulously.

"I mean, they've been doing that since Sir Mordred and I got back two days ago!" Jaune hissed under his breath even as he self-consciously lowered his head and quickened his pace, feeling the gazes levelled at him even more keenly now. "I didn't know they were talking aboutthatnow! It's not like I could just go up to someone and ask, "hey, what are you talking about", right?"

"Ah, right, I almost forgot," Gareth snapped her fingers as she recalled something. "The tales that had been flying around about the adventures you and Sir Mordred had in the past few weeks have begun mixing with the theories regarding what transpired yesterday. It's... let's just say some of the rumors are getting very wild..."

"I'll pass, thanks," Jaune quickly shook his head and crossed his arms, remembering some of the stories that Gareth had told him when he'd returned two days ago. Sighing, he explained: "Look, all that happened was that Sir Mordred basically knocked me around and pummelled me into the ground until he calmed down, that's it."

Well, that and a lot of crying, but he wouldn't think any less of Sir Mordred for that, and he definitely wasn't going to breathe a word about it to another soul.

Fortunately for Jaune, before Gareth could continue pressing the subject any further, the pair reached the dining hall.

Unfortunately for him, though, the dining hall was packed, and as the number of stares he received suddenly tripled, he quietly wondered about whether hereallyneeded to eat that morning.

-FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER-

"Oh, Your Majesty!" Gareth couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice, as she and Jaune spotted the cloaked blonde standing outside the room they'd been heading towards.

"Squire Gareth," Artoria nodded to her niece as Gareth genuflected, before she found her eyes drawn up to the tall blonde squire by Gareth's side as he struggled with a ceramic pot in his hands. "Squire Jaune."

"Your Majesty," Jaune awkwardly returned the greeting with a respectful nod, busy as he was with sure the pot full of hot stew they'dliberatedfrom the dining hall wasn't in any danger of spilling.

"Would I be correct in presuming the two of you are here for Sir Mordred?" Artoria asked gently once Gareth had risen.

"We are," Gareth confirmed, before gesturing to the food in Jaune's hands. "We wanted to see if he was okay, and if he was interested in any food."

Artoria smiled at her niece's kindness, though a part of her couldn't help but wonder how her elder sister had done so well with her first four children, and utterly failed her youngest. The rest of her knew the reason, however, and she easily kept such thoughts off of her face as she informed them: "Sir Mordred is still asleep at the moment. However, I am pleased to inform you his condition is better than it was the previous day, and I'm sure he would appreciate the food and the concern."

"Oh, that's good to hear," Gareth smiled, though Jaune couldn't help but try and study the King's face, unsure if he was being completely honest or just giving a simple pleasantry.

Artoria easily noticed his gaze, of course, and returned it for a brief moment before turning to Gareth: "Forgive me, my niece, but would you mind giving me and Squire Jaune some privacy? There are some matters of a sensitive nature that I must discuss with him."

"... of course, my liege," Gareth replied after only a moment of hesitation, before moving to comply.

Once she'd walked away, Artoria exhaled, lessening some of the tension between her and Jaune. Then she opened the door to Sir Agravain's room, and suggested: "Perhaps you would like to relieve yourself of that pot, Squire Jaune?"

"Thanks, Your Majesty," Jaune nodded appreciatively as he walked into the room, and coincidentally got a look at his mentor where he slept on Sir Agravain's bed (and still in his armor as always, a sight Jaune had long since gotten used to). Relaxing fractionally, Jaune placed the pot down on a nearby table, and conversationally said: "The cooks werereallyeager to fulfill Gareth's request."

"Squire Gareth has good relations with the kitchen servants, dating back to when she did some work as a kitchen boy," Artoria explained in a soft voice as Jaune left the room, closing the door behind him as he walked out (as quietly and gently as he could, of course).

"Huh, she never told me that," Jaune commented, unsure of what else he could.

"Indeed, as a kitchen boy she received no small amount of praise for both her work and her pale, beautiful form," Artoria reminisced pleasantly, the memory of Kay nicknaming her "Beaumains" being one that brought her no small amusem*nt even now. The memory of family, however, then reminded her of her half-sister, and then of her bastard son, and so she sighed and returned to reality: "But we both know you are not here to listen to tales of Squire Gareth."

"..." Jaune took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. "Your Majesty-"

"I believe this conversation would be easier for thebothof us if we could once again suspend formalities, Jaune," Artoria spoke up, cutting him off.

Jaune blinked, caught off guard by King Arthur's suggestion, but eventually he acquiesed: "Then... Arthur... how diditgo?"

Artoria had already expected that question, and candidly answered: "To say it was not an easy talk would be putting it lightly."

Jaune couldn't help but wince, worried that his worst fears had been true.

"Even with your prior warning, I fear Iseverelyunderestimated how strongly and poorly Mordred had reacted to my words," Artoria continued to elaborate, a part of her still silently appalled by the things Mordred had screamed at her (Uncle Ector would have smacked her behind raw if she'd ever acted out likethat), while another part of her knew she had absolutely no right to defend herself, let alone discipline her son.

Just as a dejected Jaune was about to hang his head and apologize, however, Artoria instead lowered her head to Jaune and concluded: "But... it was one that needed to be had, and all things considered... it went as well as one could hope for."

Jaune's eyes widened, and the offer to abduct his mentor and take a hike until Sir Mordred had calmed down died on his lips as he instead dared to hope: "So... d-does that mean...?"

"Yes, Mordred and I managed to reach an... perhaps an agreement might be stretching it, but wedidcome to an understanding," Artoria confirmed with a tired smile, before her shoulders slumped and she sighed exhaustedly. "Of course, things will never be the same between us, and I foresee the next few weeks, if not months, being terribly awkward for Mordred and I. And make no mistake, even with our understanding... I still do not believe I have any right to call Mordred my son.

"Please, allow me to explain," Artoria raised a hand placatingly just as Jaune opened his mouth to protest, having anticipated his reaction. Quietly, she wondered if Mordred realized just how blessed she was to have such a loyal squire and friend even as she began by reminding him: "You already know of the initial talk between Mordred and I, and you know of my reasons for not being able to acknowledge him as my son."

Jaune nodded wordlessly, the conversation from last night still fresh in his mind.

"All of those would be more than sufficient to disqualify me as his father, but what I feel is truly the bigget obstacle that prevents me from doing so is that, to put it simply, I had no knowledge of his existence or relation to me, let alone any hand in raising him, and by the time he was brought to Camelot he was his own man, absent of any involvement from me."

"But that's notyourfault!" Jaune couldn't help but speak up at that. "You said that you unknowingly... ahem, slept with..."

"...quite," Artoria cleared her throat pointedly as Jaune's voice trailed off, uncomfortable at finishingthatsentence. "But that does not change the facts. I did not raise Mordred. I was never there for Mordred in his youth. I do not even know a thing about Mordred's childhood. The bonds of blood may tie us together, but I pray you understand that I have never truly been a father to Mordred."

It was also why, even if King Uther Pendragon had sired her, she'd always considerUncle Ectorto be her father, in every way that mattered.

A moment of silence followed as Jaune digested what he'd just been told, before he finally asked: "Then... what happens next? Was Sir Mordred satisfied with that answer?"

Somehow, he just couldn't see it.

"Indeed, he wasn't," Artoria confirmed with a shake of her head. "Like I mentioned earlier, we did eventually reach a compromise. I will never truly be able to raise Mordred as a father should, but I'd still certainly like to learn more about how he grew up, while he believes he needs to earn my acknowledgement, even if it can never be public."

Jaune sighed: "I guess this is probably the best outcome, huh?"

"Perhaps," Artoria replied simply, having reflected that her instincts and experiences, while effective at guiding her in both warfare and rulership, were still lacking when it came to fatherhood. "We can never know how things might have played out otherwise, Jaune. For what it may be worth, though, I personally favor the newfound openness between Mordred and I; he knows my position, and I his as well. You have my gratitude, Jaune."

Jaune blinked a few times as he tried to process Arthur's words, before pointing a finger at himself as he asked: "...me?"

"Who else would I be referring to, Jaune?" Artoria replied bemusedly.

"I-I mean... I didn't reallydoanything," Jaune pointed out as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling completely undeserving of any praise the King was heaping on him.

"No?" Artoria's eyebrow arched as she quickly studied the young squire's face, wondering if he was putting on a show of false modesty. Upon seeing that he was being genuine, however, she simply advised: "Humility may be a virtue, Jaune, but you do a disservice to both yourselfandthe people you've aided when you fail to recognize your achievements."

"My... achievements?" Jaune felt completely lost.

"Did you think just anybody could even begin to gain Mordred's trust, let alone be able to calm him down as you did yesterday?" Artoria asked rhetorically.

"..." Jaune fell silent as he thought about it. Sir Mordred may have been his friend, but even he had to admit his mentor wasn't exactly the most sociable or popular person around...

... well, there was always Sir Agravain. Sir Agravain had Sir Mordred's trust (he knew his secret, after all), and Jaune was fully confident that he could have succeeded where Jaune had.

Eventually.

If there had been no other way.

Before he could finally answer, however, Artoria continued on: "And even if youdidfind someone who could do for Mordred what you did, Jaune... do you think they would have also questioned me, let alone challenged me?"

As Jaune once again found himself at a loss for words (the only person he could think of who'd done so had been Sir Tristan, back during the feast), Artoria concluded: "Make no mistake, I am truly honored by the trust that my Knights have in me. But in this situation, I do not see any of them pushing the matter, insisting I seek out Mordred, especially not after hearing my reasoning. They would have instead had faith that my actions were for the best, and things would have ended there."

"... uh, well, I guess I see your point," Jaune conceded, unsure of what else he was supposed to say tothat. But it also felt wrong to simply leave it there, and so Jaune racked his brains for a few moments, before he attempted to reassure his liege (and friend): "Hey, for what it's worth, Arthur... it's not that youdon'thave my trust or anything. It's just that... well... sure, I don't doubt you'll do what youthinkis right... but we're both only human, right?"

Artoria blinked, before nodding slowly in agreement.

Taking that as his cue, Jaune decided to quickly finish up before he could put his foot in his mouth again: "Anyway, you can trust that I'll question you if I don't understand something, and I'll challenge you if I disagree with something, alright?"

Not that he expected to have to do that often (the current situation not withstanding, of course), but as a fellow leader he could definitely understand second-guessing his decisions (though Jaune had only been a fraud leading Team JNPR for less than a year, where Arthur was an honest-to-OumKingwith maybe two decades of experience).

Instead of replying, however, Artoria took a moment to search Jaune's face.

Then her green eyes met his baby blues, and she slowly exhaled before answering: "I... will hold you to those words then, Jaune."

Jaune simply nodded in response.

After all, those were an Arc's words, and an Arc never went back on his word.

Chapter 19: Forgiving Friendships

Chapter Text

Mordred stirred as the smell of food tickled at her senses, and it was with a groan and an effort that she slowly propped her tired body up.

Then she blinked, as she belatedly registered just how utterly drained and listless she felt.

That... was certainly unusual.

After all, heruniqueconstitution should have ensured that she was above such trivial things like exhaustion (especially considering she was very sure she hadn't spent the past few hours training against Mother's latest experiments).

Was she sick?

Could she even get sick?

More importantly,who even cared?!

Mordred easily banished her physical discomfort (a very useful skill when growing up with Mother), her mind busy focusing on more important things.

Father...

Herfather...

Despite everthing had happened, despite everything that she was... hedidn'tactually hate her!

A wide grin threatened to split her face as she recalled how the conversation with her father had ended, before it immediately disappeared as she recalled all that had led up to it, and she felt the urge to simply smash her head into the wall repeatedly until she forgot all of it...

... no, wait, that wouldn't erase Father's memories of what she'd said and done...

In the end, Mordred instead settled for simply burying her covered face in her hands and groaning loudly in frustration, before a scowl overtook her features.

Sure, she understoodnowwhy Father had rejected her as his son, but she didn't think shecouldever forget that sensation of grief when she'd first attempted to tell him the good news, and he'd coldly rejected her, refusing to even look at her...

Mordred's fist began to clench up as the memory made her chest feel unbearably tight, but she quickly shook her head, trying to forcibly clear those thoughts.

Hehadapologized and explained himself.

Why couldn't she just let go of her anger?!

Wasn't forgivenesssupposedto come naturally to her?

And yet...

This time, Mordred didn't stop her fist from balling up.

No wonder Father had difficulty accepting her as his child and heir.

How could King Arthureveraccept the failure of a son, a human, and a Knight of the Round Table that she was?!

And that's all she ever was, wasn't it?

She couldn't be the son King Arthur needed or deserved, she couldn't be the tool Mother wanted... for God's sake, she'd even failed to be the mentor Jaune had needed her to be!

Jaune...

As the memories of her encounter with her squire the previous day came to the forefront of her mind, she found herself deeply torn between wishing she could erase the events of the past two days, and simply wishing for a hole to appear in the ground and swallow her up.

God, how was she supposed to face her squirenow?!

It'd already been bad enough when she'd almost ruined his chances of becoming a squire in Camelot; she couldn't even begin to fathom how much worse things would be after yesterday!

Why?!

Why didhehave to be so damned stubborn?!

"Just get out, and leave me alone!"

"... no."

"Let go of me, squire."

"Then tell me what's wrong."

... why... why did he always have to go sofarfor someone likeher...?

"Look... I know I'm just a squire, and you're a full knight... but... well... something's clearly bothering you, and I'd like to think we're friends, so..."

"Friends, huh..."

Why couldn't he just stop being an insane irrational idiot and just take care of himself for once?!

A familiar hand, grabbing her shoulder, before giving it a reassuring squeeze...

Mordred felt her face loosen up behind her helmet even as she placed a hand over the spot where Jaune had suddenly grabbed her yesterday.

... it had been warm...

...

Mordred furiously shook her head, refusing to acknowledge those thoughts or how warm her face was (yet another point in favor of the "mysterious sickness" theory, she figured, though she resolved not to let anybody find out, especially Mother).

Honestly, there wasn't any reason for her to think about it so much.

It wasjusta touch, after all; the other knights gave them to each other all the time, and even she wasn't a stranger to the occasional slap on the back.

Hell, she couldn't even be sure that Jaunehadmeant it as a comforting gesture!

Sure, it was exactly the kind of thing he would do, but at the same time it had happenedaftershe'd threatened his well-being (for a second time, mind you), smashed him into the ground, and then started sobbing and ranting all over him; if anything, it was more likely that he'd grabbed her in a desperate attempt to snap her out of her rage, or to try and stop her from accidentally killing him.

... for some reason, that thought didn't make her feel any better.

Before she could stew on her thoughts any longer, however, there was a knock on the door, causing her to look up with a start.

"Come in!" Mordred called back, after quickly making sure her appearance was presentable, not wanting Agravain to lecture her or to show Father a slovenly appearance. "I'm up!"

(And who else could it have been? The only other person who might have dropped by to check in on her was Jaune, and she highly doubted it was him for obvious reasons.)

"Evening, Sir Mordred," Jaune greeted politely as he carefully entered the room. "It's, uh, good to see that you're awake now..."

Mordred blinked, before her mind finally processed that the person who'd just entered wasnotAgravain or Arthur.

The small part of her still capable of rational thought considered herself lucky that she'd donned her helmet sometime during her talk with Father the previous night (to hide her tear-stained face), and she hadn't bothered taking it off after they'd reconciled and she'd gone to sleep.

The rest of her simply blinked again.

"Uh, before you ask, Arth- I mean, the King wanted me to tell you he's sorry he couldn't greet you when you woke up and made sure that you were okay, but he really did have a few things to take care of," Jaune explained as he took a seat, not wanting his friend to get the wrong idea about why his dad wasn't the one greeting him. As Mordred's silence continued, he quickly added: "He really did wait outside your room this whole time, by the way, until I showed up and convinced him to let me take over... anyway, are... are you feeling any better now?"

Mordred blinked for a third time, before a part of her unconsciously relaxed, relieved to hear that Father truly did care about her.

Just a part of her, though.

Finally, she found her voice, and slowly repeated: "Am...I, feeling better now?"

"Yeah... are you?" Jaune asked again patiently. "The King told me his second talk with you went pretty good, so..."

"It did," Mordred confirmed, before vigorously shaking her head. "No, that's not the issue her! Squire... Jaune... what areyoudoinghere?!"

"Um... I'm here to see if you're feeling any better now?" Jaune co*cked his head in confusion, wondering where that question had come from.

"... I should be askingyouthat!" Mordred pointed out incredulously evem as she looed him over carefully. "After what I did to you yesterday..."

"Oh,that..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, as he finally got what Sir Mordred was referring to. "I mean, it wasn't a big deal or anything..."

"I mercilessly beat you into the ground!" Mordred roared, furious at both herself for losing control that badly and her squire's apparent lack of self-preservation. "I almostkilledyou! How can you not call that a big deal?!"

"..." Jaune could only look at his mentor as his breastplate visibly heaved with emotion, before quietly pointing out: "But youdidn't."

"Icouldhave..." Mordred spat bitterly as she looked away, ashamed by what she'd almost done... what shewouldhave done, if the sight of her squire lying defeated beneath her hadn't cooled her anger enough for other emotions to take over.

"I trusted you," Jaune honestly reassured him with a small smile. As Mordred's helm snapped back up towards him, Jaune reminded his mentor: "Iknowyou, remember, Sir Mordred? You're my friend; I knew what would happen when I chose to stay, but I'd have regretted walking away even more."

"You..." Mordred could only shake her head in disbelief, before her tone shifted. "... you reallyarean insane, irrational idiot, aren't you?"

"... maybe," Jaune simply shrugged after a moment, more relieved to see that his friend had at least calmed down than actually agreeing with his less-than-complimentary assessment (he wasn'tthatbad, was he?). Quickly seizing the opportunity, he then explained: "Anyway, Ireallywasn't joking when I said it wasn't a big deal, Sir Mordred. Remember, worst Huntsman trainee in Beacon? I got beaten up way worse during every training session and class back there by the other students."

"... really?" Mordred leaned forward.

"Yeah... sure, they weren't as strong as you, but I was a lot weaker back then," Jaune explained, privately admitting that that honestly wasn't saying much. "And some of them were activelytryingto be...mean, to me."

For example, Cardin wasn't the kind of person who liked to win matches by a ring out, to say nothing of what he and Team CRDL had done to him (and tried to do tohisteam)outsideof Glynda's ring.

He didn't see the need to give his mentor the details, though.

"... I thought you told me Huntsmen were a lot like the Knights of Camelot?" Mordred recalled, and Jaune could almosthearthe frown on his mentor's face. "Why would they do such a thing to you?"

"Well, you know how kids can be..." Jaune shrugged and sighed, seeing no reason to go into details. Oh, he knewwhythe other boy had done it, having talked with Cardin a bit after that incident in Forever Fall, and he'dneverforget what Cardin had done, but the two of them had managed to come to an understanding after that, and he was happy to let by-gones be by-gones as long as Cardin never tried any more funny business (and he hadn't, as far as Jaune had known up until he'd died).

Mordred did not, evidently, seeing as how she fumed: "Then it is the responsibility of his mentor to educate him! How could such a disgraceful conduct have been tolerated?"

"Well... it wasn't like the monsters or enemies we fought would've shown us any mercy," Jaune pointed out, remembering how the White Fang had caused the Breach, as well as their attack on Amity and Vale with hacked Atlesian military hardware and Bullheads full of Grimm. At least Sir Mordred seemed to have been sufficiently distracted by the change of topic, though, and so he continued: "I guess our teacher wanted us to at least be able to handle such things."

"That does not excuse allowing your charges to descend to such lows!" Mordred insisted indignantly, wondering why she was even surprised by him any longer.Of courseJaune wouldn't see anything wrong with what she did to him; he didn't even see anything wrong with his brothers-in-arms doing evenworseto him! "Knights, Huntsmen... as Champions of the Realm, we're meant to beexamplesto the people, to bebetterthan our enemies!"

"... well, he was getting better, last I saw him," Jaune finally spoke up, defending Cardin's name (and he'd have given a hundred lien for pictures of the faces of Pyrrha, Ren, Nora, and Ruby if they could see him now). "And most of the trainnes in Beacon weren't like that... I told you about my friends, remember?"

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue, feeling her irritation unconsciously surge at the memory of her squire happily telling her all about his friends (the one that sounded like Gareth especially rubbed her the wrong way). "Still..."

Seeing his mentor's mood begin to fall, Jaune clapped Mordred's shoulder (or pauldron) as he sincerely reassured him: "Hey, it's okay. I've got a better teachernow."

Under her armor, Mordred stiffened at the sudden and familiar contact, her mind immediately going back tothatmoment,thatday.

This time, however, there were no tears to cloud her vision, no anger or sorrow clouding her judgement.

She could feel the comfort behind the gesture, like the warmth of a hearth.

She could see the earnest smile on his face, and the kindness in his eyes.

She could hear the honesty in his voice.

And she could feel something squeezing her chest.

He really did mean it as a comforting gesture, didn't he?

Even after everything she'd done to him?

... god, she truly didn't deserve a friend like him.

"... I'm sorry," Mordred finally forced out, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "If I really were a better mentor... I shouldn't have lost control like that..."

"Sir Mordred..." Jaune could only sigh, disappointed that his attempts at cheering his mentor up had failed yet again.

"I just..." Mordred couldn't help but continue to honestly spill her heart out, however. "It's just... when I heard that the King was my father... and then, when he..."

"I know, I know..." Jaune said soothingly, continue to pat his mentor's pauldron. "Your dad told me everything..."

"He did?" Mordred blinked, blindsided by the news.

"He went to see me last night, to ask how you were doing," Jaune explained. "So... yeah, look... I know how much you love him, and I can't even begin to how you must have felt when he rejected you... what I'm trying to say is, Iunderstandwhy you lost control like you did, alright?"

This time, Mordred didn't even bother to search his face for any signs of deception.

Instead, after taking a moment to collect herself, she promised: "It won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't," Jaune didn't doubt it for a moment. "I mean, after all, you and the King have already come to an understanding, right?"

"We did," Mordred nodded, before a frown formed on her face. "Jaune... can I ask you a question?"

"Sure?"

"You said that you understand how I'm feeling, right?" Mordred confirmed, before uneasily admitting: "Then... is it weird that I'm having difficulty forgiving Father? I knowwhyhe did it, but..."

Jaune took a moment to look his mentor in the eye (or at least, try to; his helmet made it rather difficult), before finally saying: "It's not weird."

"Really?"

"I mean, forgiving him is therightthing to do," Jaune quickly clarified, "but that doesn't make iteasy; you're onlyhuman, Sir Mordred. You looked up to him and cared about him evenbeforeyou knew he was your father; even if you knowwhyhe hurt you, that doesn't change the fact that youwerehurt, and it takes time for you to heal."

Mordred released a breath she didn't even know she was holding, before she replied: "Thanks, Jaune."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Jaune smiled gently, before he remembered his earlier conversation with Arthur and added: "If it helps... just remember that the King's only human too, alright? He may have done what he believed was right at the time, but he's not perfect.

"In the end, what matters is that you care about him, Sir Mordred, and that King Arthur cares about you," Jaune ended off by reminding him. "Just... just keep that in mind, alright?"

Mordred could feel her lips curling upwards as she nodded; if there was one thing Father had emphasized to her yesterday, it was that he truly, genuinely, cared for his son.

And while she may not havedeservedFather's love, by God would sheearnit.

Just as she would Jaune's forgiveness and friendship.

Jaune quietly breathed a sigh of relief that his pep-talk seemed to have finally worked, and forcibly changed the subject before things could relapse again: "Anyway, I don't know about you, but I haven't really eaten for a few days, so..."

At the mention of food, Mordred's stomach rumbled, reminding her that shealsohadn't eaten in almost two days, and that she'd been originally woken up by the smell of food.

As her face burned behind her helmet, Jaune chuckled and got up, before grabbing the pot of hot stew they'd brought from the kitchens: "Here, Gareth and I got this for you."

Mordred had been about to thank him again, before the mention of her elder sister made her pause.

Jaune could only sigh, well-aware of Sir Mordred's inexplicable and unrelenting hostility towards Gareth, and as he handed the large pot and a spoon over to him, he wondered if he should seize the opportuntiy to try and mend their relationship once again.

-CORRIDOR LEADING TO THE ROYAL BEDCHAMBERS, AROUND THE SAME TIME-

Artoria took a moment to ensure that the hallway was completely devoid of life, before she finally allowed herself a moment to relax (though she did make sure Carnwennan's magics were still active around her; the perfect King always had to always be perfect, after all, and it wouldn't do to be spotted in such a state by a passer-by).

Sure, she'd been awake for longer stretches while on campaign, and her scabbard kept her physical health perfect, but it had been quite a while since she'd been so mentally and emotionally drained.

Then again, it wasn't as if finding out she had a bastard child was a common occurence to her, so she felt that her current state could be forgiven (not that she'd ever allow another to see it, of course).

At leastthatsituation was over now; she'd made up with Mordred, come to an understanding with her, and with her squire's help Artoria felt confident that Mordred wasn't going to destroy Camelot in a fit of rage.

All that was left now was to deal with the aftermath.

Why Mordred was kept a secret from her, how on Earth Morgan had raised Mordred, how on Earth Mordred could appear as an adult despite definitely being less than a decade old, whether anybody else knew of Mordred's identity, the fact that Mordred's squire knew of her true identity, the fact that he'd actually been able to see her as human and willing to stand up to her, the consequences of Mordred's rampage and Agravain's attempts to contain it...

Artoria shook her head in dismay, barely suppressing a groan.

For a moment, she briefly wondered whether she could simply take a break first, and sort it all out once she was well-rested; she didn't seem to be pressed for time, after all, and making plans while having been awake for two days straight seemed like a horrible idea.

But at the same time, as King, she had her duties...

Artoria sighed, before her instincts and experience helped her come up with the ideal course of action.

A hot bath and a short nap would suffice at revitalizing her, and with Guinivere's help she should have been able to handle it all by tonight.

Of course, that also raised the issue of how Guinivere would react upon learning that Artoria had lain with another (even if it had been unknowingly), but it wasn't like she'd been planning on hiding it anyway; even if their marriage was a sham, Guinivere was her wife, and she wouldn't keep secrets from her.

Artoria sighed again, before deciding to simply get it over with as quickly as possible, if only so that she could finally get some well-deserved rest.

That happy thought lasted right up until the moment she opened the door to find Sir Lancelot fornicating with Lady Guinivere on her bed.

Chapter 20: Affair Articulation

Chapter Text

It was a quiet and peaceful morning, just like countless others Camelot had met since the fairies had helped rebuild it from the ruins of Londinium, after the legendary clash between the Red Dragon and the White Dragon.

The Angles, Saxons, and Jutes hadn't been able to truly threaten their lands for decades, and their latest invasion had been beaten back into the sea by the King and his Knights months ago.

The Picts had been quiet this year, and with Sir Percival in Listenoise with King Pellinore there were few who worried of a full-scale assault breaching the Old Imperial Walls.

The lands of Logres remained blessed, with the Britonnic people living a life free from the worry of failed harvests or enemy attacks.

And yet, even in these times, rumors spread in hurried whispers and hushed tones throughout the kingdom like wildfire.

No small number of them were positive, of course; the lands bordering Snowdonia had all heard of the Slaying of the Addanc (and of course everyone knew someone who'd sworn they'd personally seen the body of that great water demon) and all across the realm was it being told that the mysterious and passionate Sir Mordred the Silent had picked up an equally-mysterious squire, a giant of a man who could heal with a touch and take down a rampaging bear with his bare hands (far from implausible when one considered the feats the Knights of the Round Table had achieved in the past two decades), just to name a few examples.

But at the same time, no small number of them were negative.

The Knight of Lamentation's open rebuke of the King and his subsequent departure from Camelot's halls was by now public knowledge, and it was said that the King's influence was beginning to wane as a few local lords and kings had been swayed by Sir Tristan's words, with perhaps one or two having even gone so far as to rebel against the inhumanly perfect King (or so the subsequent retellings always seemed to grow).

The sudden quakes that had shaken the castle (and required Sir Agravain and Squire Gareth to block off access to an entire wing of the fortress) before ending just as quickly and mysteriously as they'd begun were still on the minds of the people of Camelot even two days later.

The heirlessness of the King of Knights, even a decade into his marriage with Queen Guinivere, was a topic that remained constantly discussed even despite its age (though few truly believed that impotence or infidelity plagued the royal couple).

And nowhere did more rumors fly around, did more loosened lips exchange whispers, than in the barracks and dining halls of Camelot itself, the heart of the Kingdom; after all, it was they who'd witnessed firsthand the accusations Sir Tristan had thrown at the King, and it was they who'd watched the Knights of the Round Table as they'd ridden out to the various lands that had pledged to follow King Arthur, and it was they who'd noticed that the King and the Queen seemed increasingly distant of late.

Considering recent events (and some not-so-recent), it was thus only natural for the castle's communal dining hall to be buzzing with conversation that morning, as its numerous and varied occupants shared and discussed the latest news.

Except that it wasn't.

Oh, there was still conversation, of course; even a protracted siege wouldn't have been enough to silence the men of Camelot.

However, where the hall should have been filled with hundreds of individual lively voices, there was instead a tense low buzzing, as confused and spooked occupants whispered among one another, each theory both wilder and more plausible than the last, even as they kept their attention fixed on a particular pair of men all the while, wondering just what words were being shared between the two.

"And since Sir Lancelot's been giving her a lot of free time now that he thinks she's ready to be knighted and doesn't need any more training, Gareth's offered to join us for a few of my training sessions, give me additional experience in dealing with different weapons and fighting styles, that sort of thing," Jaune concluded eagerly, completely inured to the constant gazes he'd been receiving by now. "What do you think, Sir Mordred?"

There was a moment of silence, as his mentor considered his words, and Jaune's hopes (already optimistic over the fact that Sir Mordred hadn't immediately shot down his suggestion as soon as he'd mentioned Gareth's name) further grew.

Finally, Mordred took a spoonfull of stew and, completely ignorant to the constant gazes she'd been receiving, flatly rejected him: "Not interested, squire."

"... fair enough," Jaune simply conceded with a resigned sigh, unable to find it within him to actually be disappointed. After all, he knew his mentor, and he'd honestly expected this outcome the whole time even despite his earlier hopes.

Despite having initially felt like she'd already indulged him just by hearing him out until he'd finished, the sight of her squire's expression made her chest feel uncomfortably tight, and it was with a frown that she asked: "Did...doyou really want to train with Gareththatmuch?"

The notion that her sister would've been a better mentor for Jaune than her was one that had weighed heavily on her since Lancelot had initially suggested it when her squire had first come to Camelot, but after Jaune had rejected the idea all those months ago when she'd offered him a choice she'd stopped paying it any heed.

So why had this topic suddenly come up?

And why was she feeling even more upset over the thought now than before?

Then another thought struck her, and she swallowed uncomfortably.

Could what had happened two days ago still be weighing on his mind?

... no, but he'd told her it wasn't a big deal, right?

... of course, there was no way that what she'd done to himwasn'ta big deal!

... at the same time, it wasJaune...

... but he'd also understood her when she'd talked about her difficulties in forgiving Father...

Even though Mordred implicitly trusted Jaune, she still found herself pressing: "I-is this about what happened two days ago?"

Jaune blinked, his reply to his mentor's previous question dying on his lips at the unexpected question as he instead assured him: "I already told you, Sir Mordred, it wasn't a big- I mean, I've had worse, alright?"

Mordred's only response was a skeptical hum, prompting Jaune to quickly continue: "I just thought that it might be a good way to, you know, kill a few birds with one stone; I get more experience with other fighting styles, Gareth gets something to do to help keep her sharp, and... well..."

"..." Mordred could only sigh, her prior concerns washed away as she realized her friend'strueaim. While she hadn't exactly expected it, she just couldn't find it in herself to be surprised, and it was with exasperation she groaned: "Jaune..."

"I just thought it'd be nice if you had more people you could talk to!" Jaune quickly defended himself. Sure, he kind of understoodwhySir Mordred didn't really like Gareth (something about wanting to prove himself over his perfect older sister, if Jaune recalled correctly), but considering recent events Jaune couldn't help but feel that it'd probably do his mentor some good to have more people he could trust and confide in.

As King Arthur had pointed out to him, when Sir Mordred had needed someone,anyone, the only person who'd been able to get through to him was... well...him.

The screw-up trainee Huntsman who wasn't even from their dimension.

While he had faith in Sir Mordred and King Arthur he'd also had the misfortune of meeting his mentor's mother; if something similar were to happen again he wasn't sure if he could calm him down another time.

"I don'twantmore people to talk to," Mordred insisted with a huff. "I've got Agravain, and I've got Father, and I've got you."

Jaune blinked, but before he could truly process that last part Mordred continued accusingly: "Besides, youalreadymeet Gareth most days after we finish our training sessions. Don't the two of you also do some training then?"

"We do," Jaune admitted, "but Gareth's not really experienced at giving pointers about swordsmanship to someone in themiddleof a spar, and there definitely isn't any adviceIcan give her; with just the two of us there isn't much we can do to improve each others' skills beyond some light combat practice."

Mordred's frown deepened behind her helmet. As she herself had brought up, she'd known from the start that Jaune and Gareth spent a fair bit of time together alone, but hearing her squire confirm it made her feel oddly uneasy, for some reason.

Even though her squire was also confirming that Gareth wasn't as good of a trainer as she was...

... was she just displeased that her squire's time was being wasted?

Finally, after a brief struggle, Mordred reluctantly offered: "... then, would it help if I went with you, the next time you and Gareth had another sparring session?"

"That'd be great!" Jaune's face immediately brightened. "Thanks, Sir Mordred!"

"Tch, just remember I'm only doing this for you," Mordred reminded him with a click of her tongue, before warningly adding: "And don't eventhinkabout trying to get me to talk to Gareth more than necessary, alright?"

"Of course, of course," Jaune held up his hands placatingly, before placing one on his chest. "Arc's word."

Mordred simply stared at him, unconvinced, knowing full well the quality of his character.

But, at the end of the day, she couldn't bring herself to hate his meddlesome nature, and it was with fond exasperation that she merely snorted in response.

"Come on!" Jaune protested with a whine, easily detecting his mentor's skepticism. "An Arc never goes back on his word!"

Mordred rolled her eyes, though she did mentally concede the point. He'd given her his word, so he probably wouldn't do anythingtooovertthistime...

Before she could reply, however, the sound of footsteps echoing throughout the suddenly-silenced room caught their attention, and they both turned to see a cloaked figure approaching them.

"Fa-" Mordred excitedly began, before immediately correcting herself: "My King."

"Your Majesty," Jaune followed suit, before blinking as he got a closer look at King Arthur.

... wasn't that the same cloak and set of robes that King Arthur had been wearing when he'd talked to him yesterday?

"Sir Mordred, Squire Jaune," Artoria quickly returned the pleasantries with a nod, before fixing her eyes on Jaune. "Pardon the interruption, but I require Squire Jaune's services for a moment."

Jaune didn't miss the seriousness in the King's tone, and he exchanged a confused glance with his mentor (or at least, his confused eyes looked briefly at the visor of his mentor's helmet) before he shrugged and got up.

Mordred, for her part, merely remained seated, feeling completely lost as she watched her squire follow her father out of the hall.

Then the pair crossed the room's threshold, with Jaune closing the doors behind him, and the room exploded with noise all around Mordred.

-JAUNE'S QUARTERS, FIVE MINUTES LATER-

"... so..." Jaune awkwardly began, once the King had taken a seat in the chair by his bedside, and he'd closed the door behind him after making sure the corridor was clear. "... is everything alright, Your Majesty?"

Artoria simply looked up at him, before sighing and exhaling, allowing her usual facade to be relaxed by a fraction.

Jaune was immediately struck by just how exhausted the King looked as Artoria tiredly admitted: "Truthfully... no,. No, I do not believe everything is alright, Jaune."

Jaune's instincts began screaming at him to get out of the room as soon as physically possible.

"Also, in the interest of time and candidness, I would like to request another suspension of formalities for this conversation, Jaune," Artoria added off-handedly, leaning forward in her chair with her elbows resting on her thighs and her fingers steepled together.

"... of course," Jaune answered with a gulp, his instincts now telling him that diving out of his room's windows would be preferable to remaining in the same room as the King, but he forced himself to remain where he was as he inquired: "Are... are things reallythatbad again, Arthur?"

"..." Artoria looked up at him, and wordlessly looked back down (an action which did little to calm Jaune's nerves and instincts), before she bluntly spoke: "Guinivere has been having an affair."

Jaune blinked, as he processed what he'd just heard.

The silence stretched on, and Jaune blinked again, wondering if he'd perhaps misheard Arthur

Finally, he found his voice, and incredulously asked: "A-are you sure, Arthur?"

"Quite," Artoria spat sharply, and the venom in her tone didn't let up in the slightest as she elaborated: "Just last night I had thedispleasureof walking into our chambers to find Lancelot laying with her on our bed."

"Oh," Jaune winced, even as a part of him couldn't help but wonder just when in his afterlife he'd become an interdimensional family and marriage counsellor.

Seriously, what washesupposed todoaboutthis?!

He'd at least been able to wing it when helping Arthur with Sir Mordred thanks to his experience with his sisters, but his parents were happily married, Pyr hadn't really talked about her family, Ren and Nora were orphans, and Ruby's and Yang's mom was dead; he was just as qualified to be amarriagecounsellor as he was a Huntsman!

Also,Lancelot?!Really?!

"... have you talked to the queen about this already?" Jaune inquired, as much to fill the silence as to try and get a clearer view of things.

Artoria's scowl deepened, but she confessed: "... no, I haven't confronted either of them yet. They don't know that I know."

Specifically, while they'ddefinitelynoticed the door being opened (despite failing to uphold his oaths and being ratheroccupied, Lancelot was still a Knight of the Round Table), Carnwennan's magic and her reflexes had allowed her to prevent herself from being discovered by the pair.

Jaune hummed noncommittally, not knowing how else he was supposed to respond to that (or anything else he'd just heard, for that matter).

Artoria simply rested her forehead against her knuckles as she let loose another deep sigh.

Finally, sensing that Arthur had nothing more to say, Jaune awkwardly asked: "And... uh, how are you feeling, Arthur?"

"... how am I feeling?" Artoria echoed in bemusem*nt, not having expectedthatquestion.

"... yeah, I guess that was a dumb question," Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, mentally kicking himself for asking something so obvious.

"No, I just hadn't really thought about it," Artoria defended him from his self-recrimination, and raised her head and cupped her chin thoughtfully before slowly giving voice to her thoughts: "I... suppose there is no small amount of hurt... pain... anger..."

"That's all to be expected," Jaune remarked quietly, not wanting to interrupt Arthur's introspection (not when they seemed to finally be gettingsomewhere).

"Indeed, but there is also somethingelse," Artoria noted with a furrowed brow as she continued searching herself. and after a moment of hesitation continued: "I... it is complicated, but there is a small part of me that is... almosthappy, for Guinivere."

"Happy?" Jaune prompted with a raised eyebrow, wondering if there was something about Arthur that he didn't know about (and definitely didn'twantto know about).

"Our marriage was purely political, and there is no romance between us," Artoria elaborated, "but I still love Guinivere as my closest friend, just as I love Lancelot as the pride of the Round Table."

"..." Jaune hummed thoughtfully, before he tried to summarize Arthur's thoughts: "So... you're happy, that your...closest friend, has managed to find love?"

"That would be an accurate enough summation, if perhaps oversimplified," Artoria affirmed, before her tone hardened: "Do not be mistaken, though; I am not in the least bit pleased that the two of them have been engaging in intimacy behind my back."

"Of course," Jaune gulped, eyeing the window once more.

"For goodness sake, if they'd only discussed things with me, I would have given their relationship my blessing!" Artoria continued to fume. "I understand Guinivere's dissatisfcation with our marriage, the sacrifices she's made and the burdens she bears for the sake of the Kingdom, and I trust that Lancelot with his Gaulish upbringing would be able to make her happy; did they not trust that I would be if not supportive at least understanding of her finding comfort in his arms?"

Jaune did his best to refrain from pointing out that being supportive of your wife cheating on you with your favored subordinate was probablynotthe expected response to finding out that your wife was cheating on you with your favored subordinate, and instead settled for simply enduring the increasing awkwardness he felt as Arthur continued to vent and grumble, occasionally injecting sympathetic noises into the conversation whenever he felt was appropriate (namely, whenever Arthur paused for breath).

Eventually, Artoria's rant wound down, and Jaune seized the chance to progress the conversation: "So... what will you do now, Arthur?"

"Now?" Artoria mused, stroking her chin idly. "I suppose all Icando is turn a blind eye to their activities, to give them my tacit support by simply allowing them to continue their affair."

"Are you...surethat's wise?" Jaune raised an eyebrow at that.

"What would you have me do, publicly give them my blessing?" Artoria offered rhetorically, before her voice softened as she patiently explained: "I know that you are not familiar with monarchies, Jaune; an affair with the royal consort is no mere scandal but equivalent tohigh treason. My reign is built on a foundation of justice, fairness, and equality, and in this situation that binds my hands; even the Queen and the First of the Round Table must be held accountable to the laws of the land, lest others begin also selectively applying it."

"Well, obviously notthat, of course," Jaune clarified, "I meant... can'tyoujusttalkto Guinivere and Lancelot, work something out?"

"... I would not know how to even begin that conversation," Artoria admitted, almost helplessly. "Especially notnow, with the sting of betrayal still being raw. How am I to tell my wife that I know of her infidelity, without coming across as confrontational or accusing?

"Moreover, even if Ishouldsucceed in simply conveying my understanding, what then? Am I to knowingly encourage Guinivere to continue ignoring her oaths of matrimony, for Lancelot to continue breaking his oaths of loyalty? To encourage the members of my court to continue breaking our laws and customs? Make no mistake, despite current events I shall not ever call into question either of their loyalties, not after all both have sacrificed for the sake of the Kingdom.

"And it is especially because of that loyalty that, as things are currently, Icannotbe the one to initiate this conversation, Jaune. Were I to ignore our laws from the start, that would make me a hypocrite.Theiractions would turn me into a hypocrite. And that knowledge, that I would have been found lacking in performing my duties as Kingbecauseof them, that wouldbreakthem.

"At least, should they bring the matter up to me, to acknowledge their actions first, I could then pardon them in my role as the ultimate arbiter of justice in the land, condemning their actions while acknowledging that there was just cause behind it, and from there reach an understanding with them,"

"I... see..." Jaune answered lamely, after Arthur concluded his statement. In all honesty, he reallydidn't, but his eyes were already spinning in different directions like he'd sat through a lecture by a Professor Oobleck hopped up on coffee, and he decided to simply trust that Arthur knew better than him in this regard.

Much to Jaune's dismay, however, Artoria wasn't finished, and she instead fixed him with a critical look before acknowledging: "However... waiting for them to confess their actions to me first is also probably unrealistic. Would you mind if I ask for more of your help in the future, Jaune? I'd like to rehearse initiating a potential confrontation with them..."

"You want...myhelp?" Jaune couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice. "With all due respect, Arthur, are you sure that's a good idea? I don't know Guinivere or Lancelot well enough to know how they'd react, and I'm definitely not familiar with how things work in Camelot!"

"That is all true," Artoria agreed with a nod, "but you're also theonlyperson I can trust with this right now."

"Me?!" Jaune's eyes were boggling now.

"Make no mistake, my trust in my Knights is not lacking in the slightest," Artoria elaborated. "But I am also aware of their unyielding codes of chivalry; if they were to find out about this affair, their honor would demand that they confront Lancelot or Guinivere despite my wishes, privately or publicly, and from there things would spiral out of control.

"You, on the other hand... as you have so fervently pointed out earlier, you arenotas familiar with things in this land as the others. This is not a slight against you, Jaune, but your code of honor isjustdifferent enough from theirs that I can have faith that you will not break my confidence... unless I am mistaken in my assumption?"

"No, no, I won't tell anyone else or go looking for Lancelot," Jaune quickly reassured him, before taking a deep breath and explaining: "I mean... well, you told me what's going on, why youdon'twant this getting out. I pledged my loyalty to you, Arthur; I'd be breaking my word if I didn't keep it a secret now, and an Arcnevergoes back on his word."

Also, it wasn't like he had any room to point fingers about keeping secrets, considering how he'd gotten into Beacon and all (not to mention his friend's teammate also having been a former terrorist).

"You have my gratitude once again, Jaune," Artoria gave him a gentle smile even as her shoulders sagged slightly in relief.

"But that doesn't change the fact that I'm not sure how much I'd actually be able to help you, Arthur," Jaune didn't hesitate to point out.

"Just your honest opinion regarding any statements I wish to make would be enough, Jaune," Artoria assured him. "And I doubt time to be a concern, considering I only found out about their affair because I walked into myprivatechambers at a misfortunate time, and they will doubtlessly be more careful followingthatclose call."

"Well..." Jaune stalled, still struggling internally with his doubts, his fears, his self-deprecating nature.

Then he looked up, and his eyes met Arthur's.

Once again, he remembered the lonely green eyes of someone else.

Even if Arthur hadn't helped him out by accepting him as a squire of Camelot, even if he hadn't pledged his loyalty to the man, even if he wasn't basically the worst person for the job...

Someone needed his help.

Had he run away from home with the family sword, endured two semesters of torturous training at Beacon, died, and suffered through even tougher training in another dimension... just to walk away when he was theonly onewho could help?

What would his parents say?

What would Ruby say?

What would Nora say?

What would Ren say?

What would Pyrrha say?

He still had misgivings, of course, but this time he didn't let it stop him from saying: "When you put it that way, how can I say 'no', Arthur?"

There wasn't any hesitation when he gripped and shook Arthur's proffered hand, either.

Chapter 21: Carefree Countdowns

Chapter Text

As the oversized lance stabbed towards his chest, Jaune barely had any time to think.

The only conscious thought that managed to pass through his mind, just as it reached him, was that its owner had gotten even faster.

Fortunately, he also had his subconscious reactions, reactions which had been drilled into him until they were muscle memory, and even as he wondered whether it had been as fast as Pyr or Ruby his body was already moving.

Before, he would have raised his shield, braced himself, channelled his Aura into his arms and shield as he simply did his best to weather the blow like an unbreakable rock.

That bad habit had been beaten out of him (literally) by his new mentor, who'd made it abundantly clear that such a tactic only worked if your opponentwasn'tstrong enough to just break through your defenses (which, loath as he was to admit, did lend some credence to the idea that Pyr hadreallybeen coddling him...).

And even if hecouldendure such a blow (such as in this case)... why waste the energy and allow his shield to be potentially damaged?

(And that wasn't even factoring the fact thatmagicwas a thing in Camelot; taking an unnecessary hit was just taking an unnecessary risk that the weapon you were being attacked bywasn'tsome magical artifact that could just cut throughanything, including his shield and the fleshy bits behind it.)

Thus, when the blow came, he was already gone, pivoting his body to the side even as he raised his sword in preparation to counter-attack.

Of course, his opponent was also familiar with his reactions, and quickly halted her movement with one smooth action, transferring all her momentum into her lance even as its side was suddenly swung towards him like a club.

This time, he intercepted it, channelling his Aura into his sword even as he in turn swung upwards, battering the lance away from him even while he stepped forward, getting within the guard of the diminutive knight.

(He'd made sure to use the flat of the blade this time; even if his Aura would've stopped the blade from losing its edge he still didn't want to risk damaging the lance, not after having spent so long helping work on it.)

If his opponent had been any slower, the fight might have ended there, with Jaune's shield being rammed into her face.

But she wasn't, and so Gareth dodged the blow with far more ease than Jaune had dodged hers even as she let go of Ira Lupus and reached for her own sheathed blade.

Just as the two began to exchange blows however, with Gareth using her superior agility to test his guard while he tried to defend , an annoyed voice cut in: "Alright, stop! That's enough, you two!"

The two of them immediately lowered their weapons and relaxed even as they turned to the source of the interruption, an armored figure burying its helmet in a gauntleted hand even as it fumed: "What. In the Lord's name. Wasthatsupposed to be?!"

"Uh..." Jaune's eyebrow rose as he shared a confused look with Gareth.

Mordred huffed in exasperation as she looked them over, before feeling her face loosen slightly when she saw her squire's face. Taking down a deep breath, she forced down her initial reaction, and instead sternly addressed them: "You two. You're holding back against each other too much. The two of you don't need to try andkilleach other, but it's better for you to accidentally injure each otherherethan be unprepared in a real battle."

"I guess that's true..." Jaune conceded the point as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Before Gareth could respond, however, Mordred turned to her in particular, and continued: "And you, you've been focusing on your lance too much. When's the last time you practiced with your sword?"

"It has been a while since I've had the opportunity to work on my swordplay with Sir Lancelot, Sir Mordred" Gareth admitted with a strained smile. "And Jaune's preferred style of swordsmanship is different from mine."

Even as Mordred began lecturing Gareth on how sloppy her swordplay had gotten, Jaune couldn't help but chew on her words once she'd mentioned Sir Lancelot. He hadn't really thought much about it back when Gareth had mentioned that Lancelot had been giving her more free time and had been more distracted recently, but considering what Arthur had told him a week ago, he couldn't help but feel suspicious.

A sigh escaped from Jaune's lips as he continued pondering on things. Honestly, even after all this time, he still wasn't sure what to think regarding the whole thing.

Lancelot was a person he owed a lot to, having been the one to initially suggest bringing him to Camelot from Snowdonia in the first place, Gareth thought the world of her mentor, and even Sir Mordred had respect for him as an ideal knight.

But even if his suspicionsweren'ttrue, itstilldidn't change the fact that Lancelot had willingly had an affair with Arthur's wife.

Of course, on the other hand, he definitely didn't know all the details; as his mother always said, there was always at least two sides to every story, and he only knew Arthur's. Moreover, despite being the most affected, it wasArthurwho was more than willing to try and give the pair the benefit of the doubt even after everything, to be understanding and forgiving of the two he considered among his closest friends.

Honestly, it wasthat, more than anything else, that rubbed Jaune the wrong way.

If Lancelot had only fallen in love with Guinevere, without doing anything else, Jaune might've been more sympathetic and understanding to the tragic forbidden romance.

But doingthat, to someone likethat?

Maybe he was just biased: growing up with seven older sisters had meant he'd been forced to listen to no small amount of failed romances and relationship drama, and he'd been especially soured on cheaters.

Jaune sighed again, as he wondered just what was up with his complicated, drama-filled afterlife. Before he could sink into his thoughts again, however, a warm metal hand grasped his shoulder, and he almost jumped as Mordred's boomed in his ear: "Are you listening to me, squire?!"

"Sorry, Sir Mordred," Jaune immediately apologized as he turned around, finding his mentor right next to him even as Gareth swung her sword by herself a fair distance away. "You were saying?"

"I was saying, that you weren't doing Gareth or yourself a favor by ignoring all the openings she showed," Mordred repeated with just a tinge of impatience. "Iknowyou could've easily struck while Gareth was fumbling to draw her sword, you're more than strong and fast enough."

Jaune highly doubted that, but the confidence his mentor had in him was almost touching.

Then, to his surprise, instead of continuing his reprimanding, Sir Mordred instead looked away, a gauntleted finger scratching his chin as he continued: "Anyway... what's on your mind, Jaune? Something's clearly bothering you, and... well..."

Jaune was honestly touched this time by his friend's words, but as much as he appreciated his concern, an Arc never went back on his word, and so-

"Does it have to do with what Fa- what the King's been asking for your recent assistance in?" Mordred asked before he could say anything, unknowingly hitting the nail right on the head with her guess.

Jaune suppressed the urge to gulp nervously, but it was a close thing.

Honestly, hereallydidn't like keeping Arthur's situation a secret from his son; he knew just how devastated Mordred would be if he found out. But at the same time, he couldn't disagree with Arthur that Mordred finding out before the matter was resolved wasnotsomething that would end well; he knew his friend would immediately attempt to challenge Lancelot to a duel, if not just outright murder him.

And so Jaune chose to lie, laughing awkwardly and looking up at a particularly-interesting cloud even as he deflected: "Don't worry, Sir Mordred. It's just a small matter, alright?"

"... if you say so, Jaune," Mordred conceded, her trust in her best (and only) friend winning out over her doubts; he was always the one who asked her to tell him if something was wrong, and so surely he'd tell her if something was wrong too.

Jaune's relief was short-lived, however, as Mordred simply continued the conversation: "So, what are you helping the King with, anyway? He's been seeking you out for seven days in a row already!"

Behind his mentor, Gareth had slowed her practice drills as she focused more on their conversation, and Jaune could almost swear her ears were perked up in their direction like a canine's.

"Oh, nothing much," Jaune quickly deflected. "Arthur's been a bit curious about how the Kingdom I came from did things, you know?"

That wasn't even a complete lie; the two of them used such discussions as breaks, in between rehearsals forthatconfrontation.

"... did you just call the King by his name, without any honorifics?" Mordred asked in disbelief, wondering if she'd misheard him.

"Oh, uh..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment as he realized his mistake, and quickly explained: "Sorry, Sir Mordred. It's just that, when we talk in private, we tend to drop formalities to make it easier to discuss things, and, well... it just kind of slipped out..."

"I never knew the two of you were so close..." Mordred couldn't help but frown behind her helmet, though she didn't know why. After all, she knew Jaune didn't mean any disrespect, and if Father had given him permission to do so, it wasn't her place to say otherwise.

Jaune simply gave a non-committal hum in response, not wanting to let anything else slip by accident.

"I think you underestimate just how rare of a privilege being able to talk to the King informally is, Jaune," Gareth interjected as she walked up to them, practice drills all but forgotten. "To say nothing of the King himself personally requesting for a squire's assistance in front of everybody; based on what I've heard, the dining hall was in a complete frenzy when His Majesty singled you out that first time."

This time it was with Mordred that Jaune shared a confused look, and he curiously inquired: "Was there such a commotion after I left? I didn't notice anything."

"Neither did I," Mordred simply shrugged, having paid even less attention than normal to her surroundings in the wake of her father summoning her squire. However, to the surprise of them all (possibly including Mordred herself), she then agreed with Gareth: "But... I would not be surprised if that is what happened. There must certainly besomethingabout your Kingdom, for the King to publicly call upon you like so..."

"That's right!" Gareth nodded eagerly, quickly deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Fortunately for Jaune, before the unlikely duo could press the interrogation together (and Jaune could let evenmoreinformation slip), Agravain approached them, walking out of the castle even as he called out: "Squire Jaune! The King requests your presence once more!"

Jaune breathed a sigh of relief as he seized the chance to escape: "Oh, is it time already? Well, sorry guys, but the King's calling, so... see you tomorrow! Thanks for the help, Gareth, Sir Mordred!"

The pair simply stared at Jaune's retreating back as he walked away with Agravain, before Gareth awkwardly tried to fill in the silence: "So... what doyouthink the King wants from him?"

Mordred turned to her half-sister, unsure of how to respond now that Jaune wasn't around to serve as a buffer between her and Gareth. On the one hand, even though she had no interest in really interacting with her older sibling, she knew Jaune didn't want her to be so hostile to his friend, not when she was just trying to be friendly.

Also, she had to admit (only to herself andmaybeJaune, of course; she'd vehemently deny it to anybody else), she too was very curious as to what her friend and her father were discussing.

But on the other hand, she trusted her father, even if it had been diminished of late, and she trusted her friend. If it was important, she was sure they'd tell her.

Also, shereallydidn't want to talk to Gareth.

"I think that you still have a few more practice drills that youaren'tdoing," Mordred pointed out dismissively as she turned away from Gareth, who groaned in response but still raised her sword, taking Mordred's words at face value.

As Gareth began running through a simple series of slashes and parries, Mordred found herself begrudgingly acknowledging her sister's effort and obedience in the matter. Admittedly, though, having her swinging her sword against empty air wasn't particularly effective, but Mordred wasn't about to cross swords with Gareth; her elder sister wasn't nearly strong enough, and her skill with the blade had dulled as she'd focused more on Ira Lupus. Even if she held back and restrained herself (which would defeat the entire purpose of the exercise as she'd told Jaune), it was still more than likely that she'd accidentally injure Gareth, which would earn her lectures from Lancelot, to say nothing of what their brothers would do.

(She doubted Jaune would lecture her, but he'd still feel obligated to check in on and assist Gareth while she was recuperating, or so she was willing to wager.)

She wasn't interested in having to suffer through all ofthat, not for Gareth, not when Lancelot really should have taken care of it by now.

At least the task Mordred had assigned her, forcing her to wield her blade over the lance she and Jaune had worked with, would help her get used to the weight and grip of her sword again.

As for whether it'd be enough for her to not embarrass herself as a full-fledged Knight of the Round Table...

... well, considering she only had a few days left before she was to be formally knighted...

Mordred found herself wavering, before she reluctantly turned back to her elder sister and began overseeing her practice.

-ONE HOUR LATER-

"Guinevere, my wife, my closest friend and confidant in Camelot, I havealwaysacknowledged the burdens you have been forced to bear for the Kingdom; the knowledge of what you have been forced to sacrifice has always inspired me, given me the strength to continue to sacrifice for the Kingdom in turn, for what I have given up has always paled next to you.

"And that is why, had you but told me of your growing feelings regarding Lancelot, I would have been supportive, understanding, willing to discuss an arrangement for the three of us! As things currently are, however..." Artoria took a deep breath to collect herself, before sadly finishing: "As things currently are, as much as I empathize with you, as much as I rejoice for your newfound love... this situationcannotcontinue. Even if you and Lancelot manage to successfully conceal it from others, it is clear that your own consciences weigh heavily. Please, for the sake of the Kingdom, our friendship, and your own happiness, let us sit down and talk things out like rational adults. What say you?"

The blonde across from her pondered her words thoughtfully for a moment, before replying: "Yeah, I guess that works? Doesn't soundtooaccusing or confrontational, especially when compared to yesterday, and I don't think she'd have a choicebutto engage with you after that."

Artoria breathed a sigh of relief at Jaune's words, but even as her shoulders loosened he quickly added: "But I don't know how things are going to go from there, Arthur; I don't know the Queen, remember? I can't help you with the rest of the discussion."

"You've already done more than any could have expected, Jaune," Artoria reassured him even as she quickly scribbled down her words on a parchment with her quill. "The outcome will depend on Guinevere, Lancelot, and I; regardless of the results, however, you have my thanks."

"I was just doing what anyone else would have done," Jaune immediately retorted, though he relented before Arthur could lecture him once more: "But... you're welcome, I guess. And I hope it goes well. When do you think you'll confront the Queen?"

"I'll do it next week, after Gareth's been formally knighted," Artoria answered as she sat down, not exactly looking forward to the prospect. But this was the kind of thing needed to be nipped in the bud as soon as possible; in fact, there was only one thing stopping her from doing it sooner. "I'd do it sooner, but all of us could do with some festivities to lighten our spirits, not to mention how important this ceremony is to my niece, and how much Lancelot's presence means to her. I'd rather not have this discussion also weighing on his mind when he publicly bestows his squire with her rightly-deserved knighthood."

Jaune nodded in understanding and agreement, also knowing how much Gareth had worked to earn this honor, before a frown crossed his face as he remembered Gareth's earlier words, and his suspicions.

"By the way, I heard you were training with Mordred and Gareth before I called for you earlier," Artoria continued conversationally. "Once again, you have my apologies for interrupting your training session."

"No, no, it's fine," Jaune told Arthur placatingly.

"Anyway, how are my niece and Mor... my son doing?" Artoria inquired casually.

"Still not getting along, same as always," Jaune snorted, not even being surprised with the change in topic. After all, as he'd told Mordred, the King did often ask him about Vale, though he'd neglected to mention that it was merely one of many topics Arthur frequently discussed with him. Personally, he just thought that, like Pyrrha, Arthur was just enjoying the chance to have a casual conversation. "Well, I guess Sir Mordred was abitmore civil to Gareth than I'd expected, though. Gave him proper advice when he'd noticed something was wrong."

"Truly?" Artoria blinked as she processed his words, before smiling: "While I've never known what grudge Mordred bears against Gareth, it is heartening to hear that he's grown enough to put it aside when needed."

"For what it's worth, I don't think Sir Mordred reallyhatesGareth," Jaune carefully admitted, recalling what his mentor had once told. After all, he'd always acknowledged Gareth as his "perfect older sister", and honestly he even reminded him of a jealous younger sibling sometimes when he talked about Gareth (he spoke from personal experience there).

But that wasn't his place to say, not even to Arthur, and so he quickly changed the subject to something more pressing: "By the way, I think Sir Mordred and Gareth suspect something's up."

That got Artoria's attention, and she immediately sat up and asked: "Really?"

"They're not anywhere near the truth," Jaune quickly reassured Arthur. "They were just wondering why you've been calling upon me so frequently, that's all. Even Sir Agravain asked me a few questions about it while bringing me here."

"... I suppose their curiosity is a more than understandable reaction to our sessions," Artoria allowed, mentally noting that things must have been more severe than she'd anticipated, if evenAgravain'sstoicism had been forfeit. "And what did you tell them, Jaune?"

"Eh, I just told them you were curious about the Kingdom of Vale," Jaune shrugged. "It was the first thing I could think of, and, I mean, it's partially true, right?"

"It certainly is," Artoria agreed, allowing herself to relax a fraction again. "That should hopefully keep them occupied long enough for the situation to be resolved."

That got Jaune's attention. "You're planning on telling them? Aboutthis?"

"Mordred, at the very least, and perhaps Agravain," Artoria nodded, before explaining: "There have been far too many secrets kept between my child and I; I would rather not mark the beginning of our new relationship with yet one more... though, of course, such a discussion can only occurafterI have come to an arrangement with Lancelot and Guinevere, lest he choose to seek out justice on his own."

"That's fair, though convincing Sir Mordred not to go after them anyway is definitely not going to be easy," Jaune remarked.

"It would indeed be a herculean endeavour," Artoria agreed, with perhaps a miniscule amount of amusem*nt, before adding: "And that is why I was hoping I would have your help in doing so..."

Jaune could only groan, though naturally he still said: "Fine, of course I'll be there. And what about Agravain?"

"Do you truly believe they could keep this a secret from Agravainindefinitely?" Artoria asked rhetorically. "They may be safe for the foreseeable future, but any arrangement we come to will likely have them continuing to see each other. I'd rather Agravain be already informed and assisting us in covering it up, than finding out on his own and taking matters into his own hands, acting without knowledge of the full situation."

"That's... certainly true..." Jaune could only concede the point, unsure of what else to say.

Fortunately for him, before the silence became awkward, Artoria smiled softly and changed the subject: "Now that our matters for today have been mostly settled, perhaps it would be beneficial if we were to end the day on a lighter note?"

"You want to know even more about Vale?"

"I believe yesterday you were talking about how humans lived in coexistence with another race?" Artoria inquired curiously, leaning forward. "I believe that would be a good place to continue..."

Later that night, as Artoria returned to her private bedchambers (she made sure to knock before entering the room, of course, as well as making sure Carnwennan's magics were dispelled this time), her good mood vanished like smoke as she laid eyes on the room's other occupant.

Underneath the covers, Guinevere slept uneasily, releasing sobs and incoherent apologies occasionally even in her sleep, and as Artoria quietly approached her friend, her heart continued to break as she took in more details, such as her unkempt hair and the water-stained pillow her head rested on.

If anything, she'd been understating things, when she'd said that her friend's conscience weighed heavily, but even as her hand immediately began to move, to tuck a few loose strands of hair that rested on her face, she hesitated.

They'd already barely talked for the past few weeks; if Guinevere was accidentally woken up by her actions (more than possible considering how uneasy her slumber was), a small gesture intended to ease her rest, what would she say?

Brushing it off as a simple action would just make her feel more guilty over her perceived betrayal, if it even worked; Guinevere had known her long enough to know that she wasn't blind or oblivious.

But would she simply feign ignorance, just as they both had been? Or would she press the matter, suspicious of whyArtoriawasn't pressing the matter despite her obvious sorrow?

Would that lead to the inevitable confrontation she'd been preparing for?

It wasn't the right time to talk to her yet.

Shewasn't ready yet.

Her wavering hand slowly lowered back to her side as she forced herself to turn away from her wife, her friend, her confidant.

"Soon," Artoria promised with a whisper, as she began to walk away.

Soon, she'd talk to her.

Soon, she'd try to put and end to her torment.

-AT THE SAME TIME-

"It reallyistrue..." Agravain breathed incredulously, slumping back against his chair even as his hands limply fell against the desk he'd been seated at.

When his mother had first approached him without warning the other day, he'd been immediately on guard, knowing full well what she'd intended for him and Mordred to do in Camelot initially.

And then she'd begun to talk, and he hadn't been able to believe his ears.

The tale she'd woven was wild, fantastical even, and he'd scarcely been able to even comprehend it, let alone begin to believe it.

After all, it was far, far, far more likely that it was just some lie, a part of some plot or scheme to usurp the throne and overthrow the Perfect King like always, and he'd only agreed to look into it because one didn't say "no" to Morgan le Fay (except for the King and Merlin, of course).

But he hadn't been able to forget her words, or the sheer conviction in her voice, and when he'd begun his investigations it had been with every means at his disposal (though he'd rationalized it back then as simply doing his duty to King Arthur and treating any and all threats seriously, no matter how unlikely).

And when he'd begun to browse through the archived reports, he hadn't been able to help but spot the glaring inconsistencies, things he'd overlooked previously suddenly seeming obvious in hindsight.

He would have kicked himself for being so blind, but the possibility would have been unthinkable without Morgan's warnings, and nobody else had noticed it anyway, for if they had surely they would have acted.

More importantly, there was no time for recriminations; he had to act swiftly, and remove the traitor at the heart of the Kingdom before more harm could be done.

"Soon," Agravain swore, crumpling the parchments in his hand as he balled his fists with determination, already making plans and contingencies for what needed to be done.

For his sisters.

For the Kingdom.

For his King.

Chapter 22: Celebratory Ceremonies

Chapter Text

As the bracing morning breeze blew through the great hall, and hundreds of flags fluttered above them, Bedivere couldn't help but smile at the festive atmosphere all around him, finding it a welcome reprieve after the past few months.

It had been months since the last feast, and while Tristan may have been long gone from these halls (and he wouldneverforgive him, despite what the King had said), the effects of his words still lingered on, like venom festering in a wound.

Three different kings and lords throughout the realm had raised their armies against Camelot, ostensibly refusing to allow their people to suffer any longer for a King who would inhumanly throw their lives away for his campaign, and while their rebellions had been swiftly put down by the Knights of the Round Table, the blow to the King's prestige and authority had already been dealt.

Moreover, those threehadn'tbeen the only ones who'd listened to Tristan's poisonous words, just the ones who'd acted the most rashly and unsubtly, and it was the ones who quietly spread such seditious and treasonous thoughts amongst the people of Camelot that angered Bedivere the most; no matter how misguided, at least those three had had thedecencyto be open and direct in challenging the King, rather than skulking arounddishonorably.

Did none of them remember the years of hardship before the King had drawn the Sword in the Stone?

Did none of them realize that the King was not truly emotionless, but simply repressing his emotion so as to be fair and unbiased in his decision-making?

Did none of them believe in the character of the King who'd rebuilt the Kingdom and served his people faithfully and diligently ever since, but instead trust the words of a single knight?

Despite the anger welling up within him, however, Bedivere inhaled deeply, before forcefully unclenching his fist.

No matter what he may feel, this day was a day for joy and celebration, and he would not be the one to ruin it with his foul mood, lest he have to answer tothem.

After all, while squires were knighted rather often in Camelot, it was certainly a lot less common for one to ascend to the ranks of the Round Table.

But Squire Gareth did truly deserve no less, for the feat of defeating numerous knights, lords, and kings in a jousting tournament (with a single lance no less!) and so protecting the honor of the Lady Lyonesse, for her prodigious skill with her magical lance (a skill that had surely only grown under the tutelage of Sir Lancelot), and most of all for her character, her friendly and cheerful disposition and her dedication to the spirit of chivalry like her eldest brother.

Bedivere could not recall who had been the first to say it (it was likely Sir Percival), but one thing all the Knights of the Round Table, himself included, could agree upon that Gareth would one day be greatest of them all.

Admittedly, however, such lavish pomp and ceremony probably had less to do with what Squire Gareth had achieved, and more to do withwhoSquire Gareth knew.

And speak of the devil...

"How are you finding the ceremony so far, Sir Bedivere?" a voice boomed loudly behind him, and Bedivere just barely managed to brace himself before a large hand smacked against his back, almost sending him tumbling over.

"Sir Gawain," Bedivere politely returned the greeting with a smile as he turned around, knowing the young man meant no harm. Spotting another blonde man following Gawain, he added: "Sir Gaheris. I hope you're having luck keeping your brother restrained so far?"

"I doubt even Agravain or Mother would see any success attempting such a task, Sir Bedivere," Gaheris replied wryly.

"And why should we be restrained in our celebrations this day?" Gawain demanded rhetorically. "Today marks the day that all of us siblings, all of us who share King Arthur's blood, have been recognized as fully-fledged Knights, Knights of King Arthur's Round Table!"

Bedivere refrained from pointing out that Gareth had joined Camelot while disguised as a nameless kitchen boyspecificallybecauseshe'd wanted to be recognized for her deeds and not for her bloodline; the young womanhadtruly earned her spot, and moreover Gawain simply treasured his family greatly.

Instead, he asked: "And speaking of your siblings... where is Sir Agravain? I haven't seen him all morning..."

"We stopped by his room before we arrived," Gaheris answered.

"Of course you did," Bedivere snorted, knowing Gawain would never have failed to check in on his other brother.

"But he insisted that he was presently occupied, and told us to simply go on first," Gaheris continued on.

"Of course he is," Bedivere sighed, knowing Agravain was, to put it mildly, addicted to finding more work for himself to do. "Any idea what he's busy with?"

Gaheris simply shrugged, a gesture echoed by Gawain as he explained: "He refused to elaborate, saying something about not being ready yet, but he told us to simply be ready for anything. Personally, I think he's just trying to deal with it before the ceremony, lest it ruin our sister's special day..."

"That does seem likely," Bedivere nodded in agreement.

He wasn't too concerned for the younger knight; Agravain was a superbly-skilled swordsman, and some of the many names the common knights called him included "Iron Agravain", and "Agravain Who Knows No Wounds".

"I almost pity any foolish enough to attempt anything on today of all days," Gaheris remarked, nudging Bedivere's side with his elbow while he jerked his chin towards his elder brother. "Gawain's been in a foul mood of late, and he'd certainly relish the chance to take it out on something deserving."

"Oh?" Bedivere raised an eyebrow.

"Gaheris is exaggerating as always," Gawain interjected with a roll of his eyes, though his next words didn't help his case: "Besides, it's only natural for an elder brother to worry about his baby sister, right, Bedivere?"

"... while it is certainly normal, I'm certain that Gareth can take care of herself, Gawain," Bedivere pointed out reassuringly, unsure of where this was going.

"He's referring to Mordred's new squire," Gaheris helpfully explained, before turning back to Gawain. "And I keep telling you, Jaune doesn't seem to bethatbad. Gareth really seems to like him..."

"Gareth would befriend aPictor aSaxon," Gawain retorted with a growl. "I don't like him; we don't know anything about him, where he's from, or what he's done! He doesn't even talk to any of us!"

Bedivere merely sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of the whole subject. That wasn't a slight against Mordred's squire (he honestly didn't know what to think about him, having only seen him a few times), but rather had more to do with the fact thateverybodyseemed to have a strong opinion about him, and was more than happy to share it with Bedivere, regardless of whether he was interested in listening or not.

Meanwhile, unaware of Bedivere's thoughts, Gaheris continued: "Mordred certainly seems to have changed for the better around him, Lancelot was willing to vouch for him too, and even the King seems to have been taken by him..."

"Hmmm..." Gawain relented just the slightest bit, though rather than admit that Gaheris might have had a point he instead changed the subject: "What do you think the King wants with him, anyway?"

"Who even knows?" Gaheris mused. "There's got to be a thousand rumors flying around the castle about him by now, from his place of origin to his supposed ability to heal with a touch; maybe the King's interest in him has to do with one of them?"

"Somehow, I doubt the King needs a healer, considering he still bears Avalon," Bedivere couldn't help but chime in.

"Well, I'd certainly trust your word on matters of the King's health over anyone else's," Gawain nodded, acknowledging Bedivere's service as his uncle's steward and care-taker. "By the way, howhasthe King been of late, Bedivere? I haven't had time to talk to him since returning from Listenoise."

"He has been... distant, as of late," Bedivere admitted reluctantly. "I do not know much more, but I fear that what Tristan said at the feast still bothers him."

There was an awkward pause after that, as Gawain and Gaheris shared looks, before Gawain finally spoke: "... well, the King told us to honor the memory of his good deeds, regardless of what he said at the end."

"Indeed," Bedivere agreed, while Gaheris nodded where he stood. "Though, were it so easy..."

Sensing (and rightly fearing) Bedivere's anger, Gaheris quickly changed the subject: "Anyway, so, Bedivere... do you think you could take the squire in a duel?"

"Wait, do you mean Gareth or Jaune?" Gawain inquired.

"It doesn't matter, I'm reasonably certain I'd lose to either one of them," Bedivere sighed, successfully distracted from the topic of Tristan.

"Oh, don't be too modest, Bedivere," Gawain planted a massive hand on his back as he tried to cheer him up. "You're also a Knight of the Round Table!"

"I'm a Knight of the Round Table in name only at this point," Bedivere wryly replied. "Squire Gareth's skills and feats already far outshine mine, and Squire Jaune has the dubious honor of surviving Mordred's training."

And those were only the things that theycouldconfirm without a shadow of doubt;somethinghad happened last week, which had almost collapsed an entirewingof the fairy-built castle, and while none knew the details (or at least, none who were willing to talk), it was obvious that that "something" had likely involved Sir Mordred and Squire Jaune, considering the nature of the howls and the fact that the former hadn't been spotted for days after that, while the latter had only been seen the day after the incident, looking like he'd decided to fist-fight a Saxon while riding a rabid bear.

"Ah, don't worry, Bedivere, you've still got time to become a proper knight," Gaheris teased good-naturedly.

"If you'd like, you are always free to join me and Gaheris for a quick training session, Bedivere," Gawain offered sincerely.

"I doubt I'd survive, but I appreciate the thought," Bedivere rebuffed their efforts bluntly, knowing their characters well enough to know they'd take no offense at his words (nor did they mean any harm with theirs, such was their nature).

But he was also more than aware that of the limits of his abilities; he lacked even have the natural talent that most other knights around him possessed, let alone the blessings of the spirits or the sun. In the end, however, as long as he could serve the King in his own way, he would be satisfied.

Before Gawain or Gaheris could give any more training suggestions (which would be more akin to creative and painful ways to commit suicide if attempted by one like him), Bedivere quickly changed the subject: "By the way, I forgot to ask, but did you manage to find Sir Percival and Sir Bors in Listenoise? I haven't heard news of him for a long time.)

"Ah, I believe they were planning to search for the Fisher King and the Holy Grail again," Gawain seized the bait. "We didn't run into them, mind you, or we would have made sure they were present for Gareth's knighting, but last we heard they picked up an additional companion to aid them in their quest, a young page of exceptional justice and selflessness."

"Well, I hope he manages to ask the Fisher King the right question this time," Bedivere solemnly wished him luck, knowing that Percival's failure to heal the crippled man had weighed on his conscience for a while.

Before the three men could continue their discussion, however, a minor change in the room's mood caught their attention, and they turned to find two more figures entering the hall, a tall blonde and a horned suit of armor.

"... I can't say I was expecting Sir Mordred to attend the ceremony," Bedivere admitted, watching the crowd part for the duo as they casually walked towards the front, seemingly unknowing or uncaring of the crowd's reaction to them.

"Perhaps the rumors of Squire Jaune having an influence of Sir Mordred were true," Gaheris guessed, watching the two as they remained next at each other's side, talking amongst each other whilst being isolated amongst the sea of people.

"Perhaps..." Gawain conceded, before sniffing: "But Istilldon't trust him."

Fortunately, just as Gaheris and Bedivere shared commiserating looks and long-suffering sighs, a herald stepped into the room, and blew on a horn.

Immediately, the room fell silent, before falling to their knees as one as the King walked in, followed closely behind by Sir Lancelot, First of the Round Table and Knight of the Lake.

As the people rose, they took their places of honor at the front of the hall, before the herald walked into the room once more and blew on his horn once again.

This time, a diminutive blonde girl walked into the hall, clad in a simple white vestment and covered in a red robe, her gait steady and confident, though those who'd known her long enough might have been able to notice the little things that betrayed her unease, from the way her fists were balled more tightly than necessary to the way her gaze flickered away every now and then.

Regardless, though, nothing noteworthy happened, and Gareth reached her own spot in front of the King and her mentor, and promptly knelt.

Then King Arthur stepped forward, and his voice echoed throughout the chamber as he began: "Sir Lancelot."

"Yes, my liege," the knight in question stepped forward in response, and Bedivere couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he got a good look at Lancelot's features.

While far from dishevelled, his hair was noticeably unkempt as compared to his usual impeccable grooming, and the bags under his eyes were far from usual, but what really caught his attention was the undercurrent of nervousness that laced his tone, as well as how his eyes seemed to be missing their usual spark even as they failed to remain meeting the King's gaze.

Certainly, that wasn't expected for someone who was presenting his squire to be knighted, and by the way he saw Gaheris shifting he doubted he was the only one who'd noticed it.

Was Lancelot unwell?

Was he having some personal issues?

Bedivere hadn't really asked how he'd been doing recently, trusting that the best knight of the Round Table would have had his affairs in order, but perhaps he should have made more of an effort to check in on Lancelot's good health.

Regardless, any actions could only be taken in the future; the solemn ceremony was in the midst of proceeding, and none dared to disturb it.

"Having taken Squire Gareth under your care, Sir Lancelot, do you swear before God that you have done your duty as her mentor in preparing her for a life upholding the Code of Chivalry?"

"I do."

"And having borne witness to the preparations Squire Gareth has taken under your charge, Sir Lancelot, do you vouch that she is ready to ascend from squiredom, and join our ranks as one of the Knights of the Round Table?"

"I do."

"Squire Gareth," King Arthur turned his attention towards the kneeling girl.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Gareth kept her head bowed low.

"Do you once again renew your vows, on your name and honor, to hold fealty to the Rightful King of England, and to serve the realm of Camelot faithfully and loyally?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to develop your life for the greater good, and to place character above riches, and concern for others above personal wealth?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to cherish humility, to speak the truth at all times, and to forever keep your word?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and to uphold justice by being fair to all?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to never commit outrage or murder, to always to flee treason, and to give mercy to those who ask for mercy?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to never take up a battle in a wrongful quarrel, not for love, nor for any worldly goods?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to always be faithful in love and loyal in friendship, to be generous to the poor and to those who need help, to forgive when asked, and to live your life with courtesy and honor from this day on, forever more?"

"I do."

"Then, Squire Gareth, if you will raise your hands towards the altar," King Arthur gently asked, concluding the oath-taking segment of the investiture.

As Gareth complied, Lancelot approached her and knelt down, girding a sword around her thin waist.

At the same time, a sword was presented to King Arthur on a cushion, and as Lancelot stepped back, his task fulfilled, King Arthur lifted Clarent, the Sword of Peace, before placing the flat of the blade on Squire Gareth's shoulder, declaring: "Then, from this day forth, I, King Arthur Pendragon, dub thee Sir Gareth, Knight of the Round Table."

The room exploded with cheers as Sir Gareth got up, the smile on her face rivalling the midday sun shining through the stained glass window with its brightness, and even Mordred could be heard joining in, her metal gauntlets clanging off of each other, though of course none could rival the sheer volume of Gawain's applause.

Just as Artoria was about to invite Gawain up to join Lancelot in putting spurs on Gareth, however (a small favor to her nephew, knowing how much it would mean to him), so that they could prepare to parade the newly-knighted Sir Gareth throughout the rest of the city, the doors to the hall were thrown open once more, revealing an armored Agravain, flanked by a half-dozen fully-armored enforcement knights.

"Sir Agravain?" Artoria couldn't help but ask incredulously, as the applause immediately died, and all heads turned around towards the sudden commotion.

"Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty," Agravain quickly lowered his head before raising it back up unprompted. "I fear that the situation is direly urgent."

And before any could react, he turned towards a figure in the crowd, and proclaimed: "Jaune Arc! You stand accused of high treason against the King! Seize him!"

Chapter 23: Agravain Accusing

Chapter Text

If not for the metal footsteps of the enforcement knights as they followed Agravain's command, the room would have been so silent that you could hear a needle drop, before Jaune finally found his voice, pointing to himself in disbelief as he asked: "... me?"

Then the knights finished wading through the crowd to reach him, and he quickly protested: "Wait, hold on, there's got to be some sort of mistake-"

Before the first could grab him by the arm, however, Mordred stopped him, almost crushing the knight's wrist in her grip as she growled: "Keep your hands off of him."

"Stand down, Sir Mordred," Agravain barked, as the other five knights hesitated, knowing that even together their chances of prevailing against Sir Mordred were non-existent. "Lest you also be found suspect."

But the enforcement knights weren't the only occupants of the room, and Sir Gawain quickly stepped in, forcefully removing the poor knight from Mordred's grip as he warned: "I think you should obey Sir Agravain's instructions, Sir Mordred."

"And I think you should stay out of this, Gawain," Mordred snarled, as Gaheris came up behind him.

"Uh, Sir Mordred..." Jaune tried to calm his mentor down, looking around worriedly at all of the unarmed knights around them as some of them began to move, whilst a din growing around them as people began to recover from the shock.

Fortunately for him, however, one of those people was Artoria, whose voice silenced the entire room as she stepped forward, demanding: "What. Is the meaning of all this. Sir Agravain?"

"My King, Jaune Arc is too dangerous to continue freely roaming our halls," Agravain explained earnestly. "I have proof that he has been consorting with otherworldly forces and withholding vital information regarding his background, which when combined with his actions leads me to believe he conspires against you and the Kingdom, Your Majesty."

That got the crowd talking again, and Jaune felt like shrinking away at the multitudes of piercing stares he was receiving, but he forced himself to endure them as he tried to defend himself: "But... I didn't... why would I even-"

"Silence, Jaune Arc," Agravain interrupted him firmly.

Before he could continue, however, Artoria cut him off, barely keeping the anger from her voice as she chastised him: "Andwhy, Sir Agravain, was thisproofnot brought before me in private? Why have you ignored thecornerstoneof our laws from the time of the Empire, the presumption of innocence, and instead levelled charges publicly, and during a solemn knighting no less?"

"Apologies, Your Majesty, but I fear it is likely you have already been compromised," Agravain lowered his head. "Your private meetings with him are no secret, after all, and if he was as dangerous as I suspected I doubted in my ability to apprehend him alone."

Jaune couldn't hide the look of utter disbelief as he took in Agravain's words, and he imagined the confused look he gave Sir Mordred was echoed by his mentor.

Were... were they talking abouthim?

Consorting with otherworldly forces, conspiring against the King, and being too dangerous for Agravain to risk confronting by himself... Jaune found it hard to reconcile whoeverthatdescription applied to with... well...him!

"Do you doubt your King, Sir Agravain?" Artoria thundered, before someone else spoke up as well.

"Excuse me, my liege..." Sir Lancelot began with a cough, attracting the attention of all in the room.

As the room fell silent, however, he took a moment to look at the face of his hopeful squire, and then the clearly-terrified Jaune.

He had been the one to suggest bringing him to Camelot, after all, and seen the positive impact he'd had on Sir Mordred.

Months ago, this entire situation would have been utterly unthinkable.

But that had been before he'd known Guinevere, a lifetime ago.

Unlike the British, he held to the creed that he would take the hand of the woman he loves if she is in peril, even if it meant abandoning his oaths, his liege, and his own country.

Remembering the mysterious letter he'd received earlier that day, one that had threatened to expose Guinevere's infidelity with him should he not support Sir Agravain in whatever might happen this day, he stopped hesitating, choosing to put the well-being of the woman he loved ahead of his own chivalry: "I...support... Sir Agravain's actions."

"Sir Lancelot?!" Gareth couldn't help but ask, completely shocked by his words.

"These are... serious charges, that Sir Agravain has brought before all of us," Lancelot slowly said, keeping his eyes far, far away from his squire's, Jaune's or the King's, while Agravain nodded appreciatively at him. "Considering the... severity and urgency of the situation... and bearing in mind that he may have already bewitched yourself, my liege... and considering that as members of the Round Table we are all equal,allof us should hear Sir Agravain's evidence and come to a decision as soon as possible."

That was all he could do for the young man; as disgraceful as a public interrogation may be, at least the King's presence would serve to temper Agravain's harsh methods. This was far kinder than if he'd simply allowed Agravain to take Jaune away for private questioning (who while never malicious or sad*stic could be cold and callous, sometimes to the point of cruelty, in the pursuit of discharging his duties), which would have been the inevitable result even without his intervention... or so he told himself.

Perhaps, if he repeated it enough times, he'd believe it, too.

Artoria was able to keep the disgust from her face as she heard Lancelot's words only through years of conditioning and experience, and even then it was a close thing.

But even as she saw the look of betrayal on Jaune's face, however, the logical part of her pointed out that no matter what he'd been doing with Guinevere, she could see no reason for him or Agravain to be biased regarding this situation; if anything, Lancelot should have had every reason to defend Jaune.

And if Lancelot, Agravain, and Gawain were in agreement on something... then shouldn't it be more likely that she was in the wrong than them?

Reluctantly, Artoria looked down, refusing to meet her friend's as she relented: "If that is so, then begin,quickly, Sir Agravain, though youwillbear in mind that Jau- that theaccusedhas every right to defend himself."

"You have my thanks, Your Majesty," Agravain bowed, before turning his attention to Jaune, who was still being guarded from the various knights by Mordred. "I had originally intended to allow you to maintain your dignity by coming quietly, Jaune Arc, but a public questioning is of no concern to me. But I will offer you one last chance; will you come along quietly, or will you subject yourself to the scrutiny of your peers?"

Mordred made the decision for him, refusing to budge as she confidently stated: "He's not going anywhere, and I'msurehe's got nothing to hide. Right, Jaune?"

"Uh..." Jaune genuinely didn't know how to answer that, considering at that very moment he was hiding the fact that his mentor, the very person who'd just spoken up for him, was the bastard child of the King, among many other things.

"Very well then, so be it," Agravain coldly accepted his decision, gesturing for the knights he'd brought with him to take a step back. "Then, I shall begin."

Jaune gulped.

To his surprise, however, Agravain simply asked: "Jaune Arc... how did you come to our lands?"

"Didn't I already tell you?" Jaune couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"Please, repeat your answer. How did you come to our lands?"

"I was fighting a dragon and a witch, and then I lost, and then I woke up here," Jaune gave the same answer as he had before.

"That does not answer the question," Agravain pointed out. "There were no reports of dragons and witches in the region of Snowdonia in the months leading up to your arrival, so I will ask you again -howis it that you came to wake up in our lands, Jaune Arc?"

"I..." Jaune paused uneasily, before finally deciding to settle on the truth: "I don't know. That was the last thing I could remember, before I woke up in that forest, I swear."

Instead of pressing the subject, however, Agravain simply nodded: "Very well then. Next question - where are you from, Jaune Arc?"

"The Kingdom of Vale?"

"And where is the Kingdom of Vale?"

"It's... far away?" Jaune tried, immediately not liking where this was going.

"How far?" Agravain pressed relentlessly. "How do youknowit's far? Why have you discouraged any attempts by the rest of us from looking into your home, let alone helping you return to your home?"

"I-I mean, I just checked the library and your maps..." Jaune could feel the stares burning through his Aura. "And, I... just... there wasnothing..."

"The absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of absence," Agravain rebutted. "Moreover, you mentioned to Sir Lancelot and Sir Gareth that it would takeat leastalifetimeto reach.Howdo you know this specifically?Howcould we get to the Kingdom of Vale? Andhowdid you come to our lands from your home, if it would take a lifetime to make the journey?"

"That..." Jaune's mind had been racing ever since Agravain had opened upthisparticular line of questioning, and now he was trying to rememberwhenhe'd mentioned such things. That had to have been, what,monthsago?! And had he even been so specific? He knew he'd said it'd beenfar, but...

"Or is it that you have been concealing the whole truth all this time?"

"No, I really am from a Kingdom called Vale-"

"Of that, I do not doubt," Agravain cut him off. "What I was referring to was the fact that the Kingdom of Vale, and by extensionyou, are of another world entirely."

The room fell silent once more, and this time even Mordred looked back at her squire, though whether out of concern, surprise, or confidence in his ability to defend himself perhaps not even she could say for certain.

Whatever the case, she definitely wasn't expecting a pale-faced Jaune to quietly whisper: "... h-how did you...?"

"I wasn't certain about the Kingdom of Vale, not even after I checked all the records you had accessed and found nothing definitive," Agravain admitted tonelessly, as the room exploded with chatter at Jaune's admission. "But of your nature, at the very least, I was certain; Morgan made it clear that your soul magecraft, yourAura, was utterly unnatural."

Sir Mordred was saying something now as well, but Jaune couldn't hear it, focused as he was on trying to defend himself: "Okay, yes, I... Iamfrom another world, but I wasn't trying to hide it or anything! I just... I didn't evenrealizeit for the first few days I was here!"

"And why did you not mention anything once youhadcome to a realization?"

"How was I even supposed to explain that I was from another world?" Jaune shook his head helplessly.

Agravain looked him over with a critical eye, before summarizing: "Regardless, am I correct to state that you are indeed of another world, brought here through means unknown, and have been if not lying about your origins then deliberately obfuscating the truth and misleading us?"

"It wasn'tdeliberate..." Jaune weakly protested, well aware of just how hollow it sounded. But he couldn't let that Agravain's statement go unchallenged; even if everything he'd said was technically correct, the way Agravain was framing things was designed to portray him in as negative of a light as was possible.

"Even with all of that established, Sir Agravain," Artoria interjected, her gaze flickering between the two of them, "noneof those things are against the laws of our lands, let alone warranting a charge ofhigh treason; no small number of our knights have suspect backgrounds, after all, and if having connections to another world were a crime than I myself would have to be jailed, to say nothing of the Court Wizard or your own mother. I still fail to see what Jaune has done to deserveanyof this, Sir Agravain."

"I have yet to be finished, Your Majesty," Agravain patiently reassured the King, before turning his attention back to Jaune and continuing: "I believe you said you spent almost three days in that forest in Snowdonia before stumbling across Sir Mordred, Jaune Arc. How did you survive?"

"..." Jaune carefully considered his answer this time, though try as he might he couldn't figure out what Agravain was getting at with this question. Finally, he asked for clarification: "What, do you mean, what did I eat, or...?"

"No," Agravain shook his head. "I repeat, you spent three days, lost and alone, in the Addanc's territory. Once again,how did you survive?"

"I... guess I just got lucky? I never even saw any sign of the Addanc, let alone the monster itself, until I saw Sir Mordred battling it."

"You set traps at the shores of its lake, and even speared fish and drank from its waters; I do not believe mereluckcan explain your survival," Agravain pointed out, before theorizing: "Rather, it is far more likely that the water demon noticed you, and decided that your death was not in its best interest."

Jaune blinked, needing a few moments to process the accusation, and his tone was utterly incredulous as he asked: "... why would you think the Addancwantedme alive?"

"Are you suggesting Jaune was workingwiththe Addanc?!" Mordred demanded, her ability to contain herself all but gone, and the knights around her flinched nervously as she furiously reminded Agravain: "Youdoremember that it wasJaunewho helped me slay it, right, Agravain?!"

"Perhaps that,too, was by its wishes," Agravain mused cryptically, before conceding: "Regardless, that is not necessarily what I was insinuating. Rather, this ties into what else Morgan told me.

"Jaune Arc, not only is the world you hail from soutterlydistant from ours that Morgan, with all her power and connections in the Reverse Side of the World, could find no information regarding it whatsoever, but during her brief encounter with you Morgan observedsomething else, an otherworldly influence on your soul made noticeable due to your usage of it asarmor."

"Wait, what?!" Jaune had no idea what to make of this new information. How was he supposed to react to being told that there was something on his soul?!

"If I may be so bold," Agravain ignored him. "I would like to posit Jaune Arcdidindeed fall during his battle, in his world, butsomethingused his death to instead bring him toourlands,somethingthat marked him so that its fellow demons and monsters would leave him be,somethingthat intended for Jaune Arc to be brought to Camelot, armed with a sympathetic story and a noble dream that would endear him to any among us, theperfect infiltrator.

"After all, let us look at the actions you have undertaken upon arriving here; you have successfully befriendedmultipleKnights of the Round Table within months, you have begun making a name for yourself especially through the seemingly-miraculous use of your unnatural magecraft, and now you would even have us believe that the King requests your presence privately on a daily basis merely because he iscuriousabout another Kingdom, or that herequirestheservicesof amere squire?"

"Well, n-no, I mean, but..." Jaune stuttered, words utterly failing him as he tried to figure out how to convey that everything he'd done had actually had a logical, reasonable, non-sinister explanation; he'd agreed to join the Knights of Camelot because he'd had no idea what to do once he'd realized he wasn't on Remnant, he'donlybeen able to befriend multiple Knights of the Round Table because, well, strangers were just friends you hadn't met yet (right?), he'd used his Aura to heal people because it could heal people and he couldn't just turn a blind eye to the suffering to others if he knew he could help, and as for the King... well...

"Unless you would care to enlighten us on justwhatwas so vitally important that required the King to personally seek you out," Agravain challenged, "or what had happened last week that had caused Sir Mordred to utterly lose control and almost destroy a section of the castle before you somehow managed to calm him down?"

Jaune could only look around helplessly, unable to say anything at all. After all, whatcouldhe say?

That the former had been because Arthur had wanted his help dealing with the fact that the Queen was having an affair with Lancelot, and the latter because Sir Mordred had found out about his parentage from his mother?

Even if anybodywouldbelieve such fantastical tales, he'dpromisednot to ever reveal it, and an Arcneverwent back on his word.

With a final short glance at Arthur and his mentor, Jaune looked down, and admitted through gritted teeth: "... Ican't."

"Very well then," Agravain simply nodded, before turning back to the King and concluding: "And there you have it, Your Majesty. Consorting with otherworldly forces, knowingly or unknowingly, and obfuscating the truth, which in light of the otherworldly taint on his soul makes his actions in Camelot extremely suspect. Regardless of whether it was all intentional or if he was but an unwitting pawn, in my humble opinion Jaune's continued presence here presents a clear and unacceptable danger to both your person and to the Kingdom, even if we know not the ultimate goal behind it."

Artoria simply looked down at Agravain and Jaune impassively, ignoring the uproar of the crowd around them as internally her mind raced.

Logically speaking, it was certainly concerning that Jaune hadn't clarified his origins, and if what Agravain had theorized was true then his actions required investigating.

Emotionally speaking, however, she could not help but feel anger towards Agravain for turning Jaune's honor against him, using her request for the young squire's aid as a point of suspicion, and under her cloak her knuckles had long ago turned white from how hard she'd been gripping her throne. The only reason she hadn't chastised him for prying so deeply into her privacy was that she knew Agravain didn't know the full circ*mstances and was only trying to protect her, that such magecrafts to enchant onedidindeed exist, and that her rebuke of him without being herself able to explain what she had required his services for would only serve to make Jaune look evenmoresuspect, that the King would come to his defense over his own nephew and long-serving secretary while refusing to elaborate any further.

But what could she do? Publicly admit that she had sired a bastard child with her half-sister, initially rejected said child as her own, and had to thus turn to said child's squire for advice? Or perhaps admit that her wife was having an affair with one of her knights, and thus condemn Guinevere and Lancelot and risk fracturing the realm?

"..." Artoria took a deep breath, both to steady herself and to stall for time while she tried to think of her next course of action, and after yet another review of Agravain's statements she seized on something: "... Sir Agravain, thus far you have only been able topositas to the nature of this otherworldly influence. Would I be correct in saying that you have been unable to definitively identify it?"

"That would be correct, my liege," Agravain nodded. "But considering all the available evidence, it is more than likely something foul and demonic."

"But considering his otherworldly nature and the...uniquenessof his soul magecraft, is it not possible that such an influence might simply be inherent to any from his world, where such abilities are more commonplace?" Artoria offered.

"That... is certainly a possibility, Your Majesty..." Agravain reluctantly conceded, though even as Jaune's eyes widened, a spark of hope returning to them for the first time since this had all begun, Agravain protested: "But the risks...!"

"Your concerns are certainly valid, Sir Agravain," Artoria conceded, before continuing on: "But all of it hinges on said influence being something malicious in nature, something which thus far cannot be proven beyond a doubt. Sir Bedivere!"

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Bedivere stepped forward, not having expected to be called out so suddenly.

"Find and bring back the Court Wizard, Merlin," Artoria commanded. "He shall examine Squire Jaune's Aura and come to a verdict."

"What about my mother, Your Majesty?" Gawain suggested, stepping forward even as Bedivere rushed from the room. "If she was the one to initially find out about it, perhaps she too would be able to identify its true nature with further investigation?"

Artoria turned to her eldest nephew, marvelling at how her scheming elder half-sister had produced such a naive child, that he could make such a suggestion so earnestly. Hadn't he been there when her trickery had caused Caliburn to be broken by King Pellinore? Regardless, whether or not he was blind as to the true scope of Morgan's ambitions, considering everything she'd done (the most recent of which that she'd discovered now being somehow procuring her seed without her knowledge and using it to create a bastard child who aged at more than twice what was normal for human, which she'd then subjected to a training regime best described as "nigh-impossible" before sending the result to Camelot in secret) Artoria wasn't inclined to leave this to her, and so she gently rejected Gawain: "Perhaps, but Merlin's return to Camelot is long-overdue anyway, and I'm sure your mother has much to do, both in her position as Queen of the Fairies and of Orkney."

"Are you sure? I can always ask..."

"That will not be necessary, Sir Gawain," Artoria replied, before turning back to Agravain and Jaune, and delivering her verdict: "In any case, while I will chastise Squire Jaune for not being entirely truthful regarding his origins, the charge of high treason will be put on hold, pending Merlin's investigations. Until then, while he is not to go anywhere unattended by Sir Mordred or another knight, he shall still be considered innocent, unless his guilt can be conclusively proven."

As the commotion in the room rose following her judgement, she continued: "If there is nothing more, thenallshall vacate the room, save for Sir Mordred and Squire Jaune."

Chapter 24: Accusations Addressed

Chapter Text

Even as the hall's occupants began to slowly vacate the room in small groups, the clamoring all around him never seemed to cease, nor did the gazes on him ever seem to relent.

The worst ones were the ones from the people he'd personally known; Agravain's accusing glare, Gareth's uncertain gaze, Arthur's emotionless eyes... even the way Lancelot glanced at him guiltily, neverquiteable to meet his eyes before he too shuffled out of the great hall...

Jaune wasn't sure if he'deverwished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole nearly as much as he did in that moment (maybe just after he'd snapped at Pyr for her offer to help and then found out that Cardin had overheard him admitting that he'd falsified his transcripts), but unfortunately all he could do was remain where he stood, enduring the looks and the whispers directed at him with what little stoicism he could muster while fighting down the overwhelming terror and absolute confusion growing within him as he tried to process the whole situation.

Seriously, what in Oum's name had just happened?!

The day had been going so well, too; he'd managed to convince Sir Mordred to accompany him for Gareth's knighting ceremony (it'd been surprisingly easy, to be honest; his mentor had agreed to go with him (with much grumbling and griping, of course) as soon as he'd mentioned that he was going), nobody had shown up drunk (or at least,toodrunk), everyone had remembered their vows, and Lancelot had even managed to keep his calm while right in front of the guy whose wife he'd been having an affair with.

... and then Agravain had barged in...

...

Jaune forcibly ignored the continued commotion surrounding him as he instead focused on trying to review Agravain's words.

Unfortunately, even with the supposed benefit of hindsight (and especially ofnotbeing caught off guard and subjected to a public interrogation all of a sudden), Jaune found himself no closer to figuring out what exactly had just happened, let alone how he could have handled that situation better.

Fortunately, before Jaune could give himself a migraine trying to figure out how in the name of the Lord that Camelot worshipped Agravain had apparently decided that he was some sort of extradimensional super spy sent to fraternize with Arthur (okay, the extradimensional part was accurate, and to be fair he probablycouldhave been more open aboutthat...), the last members of the crowd finally made their way out of the hall, followed closely behind by a growling Mordred as she escorted them to the doors.

Once they'd crossed the threshold of the room, Mordred quickly proceeded to close the thick doors and bar it for extra measure, only taking pause to give the few brave souls who'd elected to wait around the entrance scathing glares (the intensity of her gaze being palpable even despite her eyes being hidden behind her helmet along with the rest of her face, such was the strength of her emotions) until they'd left, before she finally allowed herself to furiously plead: "Father! There has to be some misunderstanding!"

"Mordred..." Artoria tiredly called out.

"Agravain must be mistaken, I'm sure of it!" Mordred continued rambling on, stepping between Arthur and her squire as she approached the former.

"Mordred..." Artoria tried again, louder this time.

"There is just no way that Jaune would ever betray you or the Kingdom!" Mordred insisted relentlessly. "I am fully willing to testify before the Lord against Agravain if I must-"

"Calm yourself, Mordred; I willnotask again," Artoria firmly instructed Mordred, and though her voice barely rose above conversational levels it still seemed to echo throughout the hall.

Between that and Jaune grabbing his mentor's shoulder to get her attention, Mordred finally and belatedly realized that her father had spoken, and immediately complied, though she never moved from where she stood defensively over Jaune.

"Thank you for collecting yourself, Mordred," Artoria nodded with weary gratitude to her child, before continuing: "Now, if you will permit me to inquire - were you ever, at any point up until a few hours ago, aware that your squire was from another world?"

"I-"

"I never told Sir Mordred, or anybody else, about it," Jaune quickly interjected through gritted teeth before Mordred could even begin to answer. Ultimately, regardless of his reasons, regardless of how Agravain had chosen to frame things, and regardless of what Arthur chose to believe, nothing changed the fact that hehadmade the decision to keep quiet on Remnant being another world entirely; no matter what happened, he wouldnotallow his mentor and friend to take any further risks forhisactions.

"I see," Artoria simply nodded, directing her critical gaze towards him in turn. "And I trust you know why that is a problem?"

"I know, I know, it's just... I didn't even knowhowto say it, alright?," Jaune repeated desperately, his hands gesticulating wildly in frustration. "How would I evenbeginto explain something like that;sorry for the late update, but I just realized I'm actually from another world, you don't have to help me look for a way home anymore?"

"It would have at least been better thannothing," Artoria pointed out matter-of-factly.

Jaune's shoulders slumped as he hung his head defeatedly and clenched his fists, preparing himself for the worst, and even Sir Mordred visibly tensed up under all his armor.

"If you had at least told any of us of your true origins beforehand," Artoria continued to rebuke him, "we would have been able to vouch for you when Sir Agravain accused you ofdeliberatelyconcealing it. As things now stand, however, yourapparentattempts to conceal the truth made you seem far more suspect than you would have otherwise been, and greatly complicated any attempts at defending your name."

Jaune blinked as he looked up, wondering if he'd misheard Arthur's words.

"Regardless, what's done is done," Artoria concluded wearily, leaning back into her throne. "I pray you learn well from this incident, and I beseech that you comply with the terms set out for you earlier, lest my hand be further forced, until such time that Merlin can come to deliver his verdict. Furthermore, should you have anythingelsethat you have thus far failed to disclose, now would be an appropriate time to inform me."

"I'm not hiding anything else," Jaune immediately defended himself, before shaking his head. "No, wait, I mean... is that all?"

"Were you expecting more?" Artoria raised an eyebrow as she leaned forward, looking down at him.

"Uh, well..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, before finally admitting: "Yeah, I kind of was."

"What are you doing, Jaune?" Mordred hissed at him as she turned towards him, appalled by his apparent lack of gratitude towards the King's grace.

"I mean, Your Majesty-" Jaune ignored his mentor.

"Dispense with the formalities, Jaune," Artoria waved her hand dismissively. "The day has been long and trying enough for us both, I'm sure."

"Then, Arthur..." Jaune nodded, though he couldn't help but glance at his mentor's figure as he did so. Never before had he been asked to speak casually with Arthur while other people were present, but either Sir Mordred got a pass for being the King's son, or Arthur was really just too tired to care. "What about all that stuff about me being some sort of alien spy, or an otherworldly pawn, or something?"

"Considering that I was the one who pronounced your presumed innocence, and even provided counter-arguments in your defense against Sir Agravain's accusations, did you think I believed you suspect of those charges?" Artoria pointed out bemusedly.

"Well..." Jaune had honestly thought Arthur had only given him such a verdict because Agravain's failure to conclusively prove his guilt had meant that, under Camelot's own laws and standards, he wouldhaveto be presumed innocent, but when Arthur laid it out likethathe honestly felt kind of dumb (admittedly that wasn't an unfamiliar feeling to him).

Of course, that didn't explain why Arthur seemed convinced of his innocence, but before he could voice his questions Arthur simply continued on: "Do not get me wrong, I would certainly like Merlin to take a look at you, just to be safe, but if I believed there was any risk that you had somehow compromised my free will, then I most certainly wouldnothave allowed for you to be escorted by Mordred, who you have spent even more time with alone, and who would have been even more compromised than I.

"But you have had ample opportunity to cause harm to the Kingdom,especiallywith the happenings of the past two weeks, and yet you have made no attempt to lead me astray. In light of that, I believe you can understand why I am inclined towards lenience for you and skepticism towards Sir Agravain's claims."

"I see..." Jaune could only nod, too stunned for any other words. After Lancelot had sided with Agravain against him, and after Arthur had allowed it, he'd genuinely believed that the only person in Camelot that was on his side was Sir Mordred. Evidently, however, he'd been wrong.

Then he suddenly felt himself being crushed by strong metallic arms as Sir Mordred embraced him without warning, apparently overcome with relief as he cheered: "Hear that, Jaune! Even Father knows you're innocent!"

"Presumedlyinnocent, Mordred," Artoria emphasized, though a part of her couldn't help but smile (internally, of course) at the absolute joy her only child was radiating as she swung her friend around (of course, Mordred's feelingshadn'tbeen a factor in her final decision; it had been made on the basis of logic as always). Then she shoved those feelings down, banishing them away as she did with her other emotions, and gently reminded the pair: "And I pray you do not bear a grudge against Sir Agravain for this matter; his cautious nature stems from his upbringing under my half-sister, and it has admittedly served the Kingdom well many times."

Mordred's good cheer evaporated immediately at the mention of both her brother and her mother, and she merely replied to her father with a click of her tongue.

Jaune didn't do much better either, having genuinely respected Agravain before the events of that day, and it was with no small amount of reluctance that he finally conceded: "... I'll try."

"I thank you for your understanding," Artoria accepted his answer, knowing that hoping for more, especially with the event so recent, was utterly unrealistic. "If there is nothing else, the two of you are free to leave, though I shall remind you once more to follow my instructions, and endeavor not to give Sir Agravain further cause for suspicion."

"Got it," Jaune gulped.

"Of course, Father," Mordred reassured Artoria, before grabbing Jaune's arm as she offered: "Then, shall I bring you to your room now, Jaune?"

"Sure, thanks," Jaune smiled at his mentor before the pair set off.

As they departed from the room Artoria could just barely make out her child beginning to pester Jaune for more information about his original world, but decided to pay it little heed, instead allowing herself to relax once the doors had been closed behind them, and contemplating the events of that day and its consequences in the immediate future.

Agravain would surely soon realize the problems with allowing Mordred to guard Jaune if he hadn'talreadyspotted it (which was why she'd immediately ordered everyone to clear the hall after pronouncing her judgement - she hadn't wanted to give him time to voice additional concerns), but she doubted her child would allow any other save herself to escort Jaune... which also likely meant that she would have to endure Agravain constantly seeking her out, petitioning for her intervention in assigning a new escort for Jaune.

Gareth would also surely be in a poor mood, considering the outcome of her knighting and that Jaune was a close friend of her niece, and if Gareth was unhappy that typically made others unhappy (not that Gareth would intentionally make others unhappy, of course, but she greatly underestimated the influence she had over others with her seemingly-endless optimism and cheerful demeanor).

And shestillhadn't resolved the matter of Guinevere's and Lancelot's affair...

She'd beenplanningon confronting them either that night or sometime the next day, but considering Lancelot's actions that day she felt that such a discussion would have to be postponed for the foreseeable future, both on grounds that there were more pressing matters to attend to, and that she doubted in her ability to be objective or non-confrontational towards Lancelot after he had essentially caused the public interrogation of Jaune, theoneperson in Camelot she'd trusted to aid her in discussing their affair.

"You had best return post-haste, Merlin," Artoria grumbled under her breath as she slumped into the backrest of her throne, already dreading how the next few days would go.

Chapter 25: Developing Denouements

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since Agravain had publicly dropped his bombshell of a revelation regarding Jaune's origins and suspected purpose for entering Camelot, and in that time the commotion around the castle hadn't died down even the slightest bit.

Or at least, that was true, as far as Jaune could tell.

Admittedly, though, that wasn't saying much; he'd hardly left his quarters since Agravain had accused him of plotting to cause harm to Camelot (and utterly ruined Gareth's knighting ceremony, but that was neither here nor there), having no interest in wanting to trouble his mentor and friend and further than necessary, and even less in dealing with the stares and whispers that were sure to follow him around if he was spotted.

Of course, while he was doing his best at staying out of trouble, there was nothing stopping trouble from finding him.

Nobody had tried to take matters into their own hands, fortunately (the King's verdict had been absolute), but Agravain had dropped bythreetimes since he'd holed himself in his room, and it had only been because of Sir Mordred's loyalty to Arthur and his commands, as well as his stubbornness (and no small amount of violent threats), that Agravain had backed down each time, with him having given up on convincing his secret brother on the last time and having instead promised to bring it up to the King personally.

Considering that the third and last time (so far) had been about ten days ago, Jaune couldn't help but feel both extremely grateful to Arthur, as well as extremely guilty.

Hopefully Arthur had still managed to find the time to talk to Guinevere and Lancelot as he'd planned, even with all the additional problems that had been piled onto his plate...

A sigh escaped Jaune's lips as the thought of Lancelot reminded him of how the man had essentially sided with Agravain against him, back during the ceremony. Even now, hestillcouldn't understand why the senior knight had done so, and even with what he knew of Lancelot's private affairs he personally didn't think that Lancelot would have sided with Agravain unless he'd genuinely thought the situation was reallythatserious.

(Sir Mordred, of course, disagreed, and had been more than happy to come up with more and more insulting reasons as to why he'd done so, which made Jaune extremely thankful for the fact that hewasn'taware of the fact that Lancelot was sleeping with his father's wife; he was already furious enough on Jaune's behalf over the perceived betrayal, and Jaune didn't want to imagine what he'd do to Lancelot if he found out aboutthat...)

What he did know, of course, was that it had made his friendship with Garethextremelyawkward, and in the past two weeks she'd dropped by in a grand total of only two times, the first time to ask for clarification on what in her Lord's name had just happened and how much of what Agravain had accused him of was true (Sir Mordred hadnotbeen pleased about that) and the second to say that she would trust him and the King's judgement for the time being, as well as to wish him luck when Merlin came to give his verdict.

He didn't blame her; it wasn't exactly a secret that they were friends, and he'd been first brought to Camelot by her mentor,andher brother had tried to arrest him, with the eventual backing of herotherbrothers and said mentor, based on the testimony of her mother.

Of course, things could be much, much, much worse; even discounting the fact that he'd been officially presumed innocent and stilltechnicallyhad his freedom, he'd really underestimated how much of a favor Arthur had done him by assigning Sir Mordred to be his guard. Besides keeping him safe, his friend had been just as attentive of an escort as he had a mentor, bringing him meals, ensuring he kept up with his training as a prospective knight (though for obvious reasons the intensity had been scaled down), as well as bombarding him with questions about his world (he especially seemed to love hearing about the stories Jaune had grown up hearing, and Jaune in turn had been more than happy to regale him with the tales of his great-great-grandfather during the Great War and his great-grandfather's exploits as a Huntsman; it was also a lot easier to explain concepts like Dust and motorized vehicles and powered flight now that he could just handwave it all as just "things from another world"), and in general just keeping him distracted from thinking too much about the whole situation.

And speaking of Sir Mordred...

The familiar sound of heavy footfalls caught his attention, and he turned his head away from the peaceful morning sky he'd been watching.

Sure, there was always the chance that the owner of the footsteps heading his waywasn'this friend, but between his newfound reputation and the way the noises coming from the corridor indicated that only asingleperson was approaching, as well as taking into account the time of day, Jaune felt reasonably confident in his assessment that it was Sir Mordred who was coming to perform the same duty that morning that he had for the past two weeks.

(Initially, Sir Mordred had offered to remain with him atalltimes, even staying overnight as well, but while he didn't have any issue bunking with his mentor (they'd shared a tent while travelling through the countryside for a month, after all) he'd firmly rejected the idea on grounds that he refused to cause his friend any more trouble than he already had.)

Then the door was flung open, revealing a fully-armored figure standing at its threshold.

Jaune simply waved at his friend as he greeted him: "Morning, Sir Mordred."

"Good morning, Jaune," Mordred hurriedly returned the greeting before immediately cutting to the chase, wasting no time on pleasantries: "Come on, let's get moving!"

"Did something happen, Mordred?" Jaune cautiously asked as he jumped up from his seat. Considering his mentor didn't sound concerned at all, heprobablywasn't in big trouble, but at the same time he couldn't think of much else that would warrant such a response from Sir Mordred, at least not without getting his hopes up.

"One of the guards just spotted Bedivere returning!" Mordred informed him, barely taking any pauses between individual words in her haste.

Jaune's eyes widened at Mordred's statement, before he found his arm being gripped tightly as his friend excitedly continued: "We've got to go see Father and clear your name, quickly!"

He couldn't help it, couldn't help but smile as a palpable sense of relief washed over him (though that may have just been the wind brushing past him as his friend began pulling him along).

As comfortable as Arthur and Sir Mordred had tried to make the whole situation, it couldn't change the fact that Jaune was, to put it bluntly, sick and tired of it all. He may not have minded thecompany, but he was sick and tired of being stuck in his room, sick and tired of being unable todo anything, and most of all he was sick and tired of feeling like the burden he undoubtedly was on the two men.

He'd run away from home to be a hero, tohelppeople, but until the situation was resolved his friends would face issues just because of their association with him.

Fortunately, all that would change today.

Then he and Mordred turned a corner, and his good cheer evaporated as they ran into a group of knights walking down the hall.

Unlike previously, Jaune was now acutely aware of their suspicious gazes and hushed whispers, and even as they parted to the sides, allowing Mordred to continue dragging him along, Jaune had absolutely no illusions about what they were talking about as he passed by them.

His suspicions had been right.

The commotion hadn't died down one bit.

Jaune grit his teeth and did his best to ignore it all as he carried on, instead focusing on following in his mentor's footsteps.

After several minutes of making their way through the castle (which had never felt so large to Jaune as in that morning), however, they suddenly heard Gawain's booming voice as it thundered from around a corner: "... is not up for negotiation, Gareth."

"And for the last time, Gawain, I am of age,anda full Knight of the Round Table in my own right as well!" Gareth's voice snapped back from the same direction, as the pair turned the corner to find a trio of blonde siblings absorbed in a heated discussion even as they approached from the other end. "You can hardly forbid me from speaking to my friend."

"Gareth, I think you should heed our eldest brother's words on this matter," Gaheris advised, doing his best to mediate as he stood between the two. "Youknowhe only means well-"

"Yes, but that does not mean he'sright," Gareth retorted.

"Do you believe Mother and Agravain would have acted had they not been sure?" Gawain questioned rhetorically. "Even Lancelot sided wit-"

"I am well aware," Gareth cut him off sharply, though Jaune could also hear the tiredness in his friend's voice. "But the King has also pronounced that he be considered innocent."

"Presumedinnocent, pendingMerlin'sinvestigation, and-" Gawain emphasized, even as Gaheris let loose a long-suffering sigh of exasperation, before the trio finally noticed the presence of Mordred and Jaune and halted. "... Sir Mordred. Jaune."

"Gawain," Mordred growled, while Jaune did his best to hide his discomfort as he nodded towards the three of them, a gesture only returned by Gareth.

An uncomfortable silence followed, as Mordred attempted to glare a hole into Gawain, before Gawain finally spoke: "Please permit us to excuse ourselves, Sir Mordred; I have a journey to prepare for. Gaheris, Gareth, let us depart."

Mordred remained silent even as she simply took a step to the side, her eyes continuing to bore a hole into Gawain as he walked past, followed by Gaheris, who stiffly nodded at the pair, and Gareth, who gave Jaune an apologetic look before she too left.

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue in irritation once the trio was gone. "Stupid Gawain..."

Jaune didn't say anything; he wasn't so thick that he couldn't tell the siblings had been arguing about Gareth's friendship with him.

Mordred noticed his silence, and squeezed his hand clumsily to get his attention as she quickly suggested: "Come on, squire. Let's just go see Father."

Jaune forced a smile as he quietly nodded his assent, and the rest of their journey was fortunately uneventful as they continued on, until they eventually made their way to the throne room where the King held court, and after a few moments were allowed to enter.

Jaune hadn't seen Arthur since Gareth's knighting ceremony, but as he and Mordred approached the throne and knelt before its occupant (and the rest of the room was cleared to give them privacy) he couldn't help but feel like Arthur looked more worn out now than he had when Jaune had last seen him.

... it wasn't just his imagination, was it?

Before he could give it any more though, however, Arthur spoke first; "You may rise, Mordred, Jaune. It has been a while since we have last met; I pray the both of you have been well?"

"We have been, Father," Mordred replied as she stood back up.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Jaune followed suit.

"That is good to hear," Artoria nodded with a tired smile as she looked them over. "And now, what brings the two of you here this morning?"

"We heard that Bedivere returned, Father," Mordred quickly answered with a smile. "So we figured that it would be best to bring Jaune here quickly, and allow Merlin to clear him."

"..." Artoria couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as Mordred began looking around the room, as if Merlin would suddenly reveal himself. "... have you not also heard, Mordred?"

"Heard what, Father?" Mordred co*cked her head to the side.

"Sir Bedivere's search was unsuccessful," Artoria carefully explained. "No trace of Merlin could be found, nor could any response be elicited, not even on the channels we developed specifically to be used in cases of emergencies; as far as we have been able to determine, it is as if he has disappeared entirely from this realm."

Mordred only managed to hide the shock on her face because it was concealed by her helmet; behind her, Jaune had no such thing to hide his face.

"I am certain that Merlin is well, of course, if for no other reason save that this isMerlinwe speak of," Artoria quickly reassured them. "Furthermore, I have already assigned Sir Gawain to continue the search for Merlin, a task that he will do his best to successfully accomplish, of that I have no doubt."

"..." Mordred resisted the urge to click her tongue in irritation again, as the mention of Gawain reminded her of her confrontation with him earlier that morning. The idea of being reliant on him was not one she found particularly palatable, though for her squire's sake she would do her best to bear it.

Jaune, on the other hand, was far less optimistic than Arthur, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he spoke up: "... Your Majesty, may I ask a question?"

"You may, indeed," Artoria allowed.

"What if Gawainfails?" Jaune questioned bluntly. "What if hecan'tfind Merlin?"

Artoria took a moment to meet Jaune's eyes, before she answered: "I understand your fears, Squire Jaune, but do not worry. Should the worst come to pass, and Merlin continue to prove absent, I will proceed with lifting your restrictions at the end of the season. After all, it would hardly be just for your sentence to be continued indefinitely, not when your guilt was never conclusively proven in the first place."

Mordred nodded in agreement, though Jaune couldn't help but be skeptical: "Are you sure that'll be enough to convince people?"

"It is hence why I specified theendof the season; by then, most of the suspicion or outrage directed at you will have likely been forgotten after months without incident, if not replaced by sympathy towards your plight," Artoria did her best to assuage his fears, though she did concede: "Of course, there will naturally be some who will be dissatisfied with such an outcome, which is why it would be best to allow the Royal Court Wizard to pronounce an official verdict, but even should the worst come to pass you can trust that I will not allow baseless accusations to overrule the fairness and justice that has marked my reign."

Jaune frowned as his mind immediately conjured an image of Agravain at the mention of people refusing to accept such an outcome, but at the same time there wasn't exactly much hecoulddo.

After all, it wasn't like he could just go looking for Merlin on his own, and he doubted there was anyotherway he could clear his name convincingly; if there was, he was pretty sure Arthur would've told him about it by now.

Though the thought of just sitting around and waiting even more grated on him, he knew it wasn't the fault of the man sitting in front of him, and so there wasn't anything he could do beyond accepting it: "I'll... take your word for it then, Your Majesty."

"I am pleased to see that I still have your confidence," Artoria nodded at him, before turning to Mordred: "Mordred, do you have any objections with continuing your role as your squire's escort?"

"Definitely not, Father!" Mordred answered without any hesitation whatsoever.

"You have my gratitude for your selfless service, Mordred," Artoria favored her only child with a smile, before turning back to Jaune and continuing: "As do you for your understanding, Jaune; I am sure that these must be trying times for you."

Jaune simply nodded, though he couldn't help but think back to the earlier encounter with Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth, to say nothing of what Arthur and Mordred had done for him.

With all the trouble he was causing, and considering he'd barely done anything about it in the past two weeks, how was he supposed to react to being told things were "trying" forhim?

Artoria didn't miss his response, but she also knew that she lacked the time needed to properly address the matter, and after quickly weighing the risks she decided it best to simply end their talk for the time being: "Now, I do apologize, but I am afraid that we will have to draw this discussion to a close; I do believe I am expecting other visitors soon, unless there is something else that you wish to speak to me about?"

"No, I'm good," Jaune quickly replied, shaking his head. "Thanks, Your Majesty."

"Thank you for your time, Father," Mordred nodded, glancing at Jaune from behind her helmet.

"Then, I wish the both of you a pleasant day," Artoria dismissed them with a gesture, hoping her instincts were wrong.

After a final bow the two of them quietly made their way out of the throne room, closing the large doors behind them as they exited.

As Jaune began to mentally prepare himself for the journey back to his room, however, Mordred spoke up: "... are youreallyokay, Jaune?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Jaune answered, just a bit too quickly.

"..." Mordred bit her lower lip behind her helmet, wondering whether she should try to place a hand on her friend's shoulder to comfort him as he always had with her,

Before she could come to a decision, however, footsteps caught their attention, and they looked up to see Agravain approaching, before he came to a stop as he noticed their presence as well.

A tense silence ensued, as Mordred fixed Agravain with the fiercest glare she could manage, while Agravain's lips curled with distaste at the sight of the suspected traitor in the presence of his King (and Jaune, in turn, did his best to ignore Agravain's look).

Eventually, however, Agravain broke the silence first, stiffly greeting his youngest sister with a simple: "Good morning, Sir Mordred."

Mordred refrained from returning it, instead responding with a huff as she took a step back towards Jaune, her glare never relenting in the slightest.

Agravain managed to hide his wince (he'd grown up raised by King Lot of Orkney and Queen Morgan le Fay, after all, and spent a fair bit of his life in King Arthur's court), but the blatant rejection still stung him, and after a moment of hesitation he cautiously tried again: "Sir Mordred, listen..."

"I'm not interested in anythingyouhave to say," Mordred growled warningly, before curtly dismissing him: "Goodbye, Agravain."

"Damn it, Mordred!" Agravain swore in exasperation, before grabbing her arm as she began to walk past him as he asked impatiently: "Do youtrulybear such a grudge against me simply for doing my duty to the King?"

Mordred immediately wheeled around at the sudden contact, such that the two were face-to-face (or face-to-visor, in this case), and snapped: "How the hell was almost ruining Jaune's name and honor in Camelot part of your duty to the King, Agravain?!"

"His actions were suspect, his origins dubious and intentionally concealed; what I did, I did for the King's sake, and my conscience remains clear" Agravain defended himself firmly, before rhetorically asking: "What would you rather I did instead, Mordred? Should I have ignored the fact that a stranger's story and had enough holes for an ox cart to pass through, all while he meets with the King for private talks? Next you would have me believe that Merlin's failure to return is but an unrelated coincidence!"

Behind Mordred, Jaune couldn't help but blink as he tried to process what he'd just heard.

Agravain thoughthewasalsobehind Merlin's disappearance?

How didthateven make sense?

Sir Mordred evidently shared his thoughts, because he scoffed: "Why would Jaune want to stop himself from being proven innocent?"

"Or perhaps heknowshe would be proven guilty," Agravain suggested, shaking his head at his sister's naivety.

"He is innocent," Mordred insisted firmly with a snarl. "The King has already decreed that."

"Presumedinnocent," Agravain corrected her. "And that was contingent on Merlin's verdict; considering Merlin's disappearance, a new decision will have to be made."

"We already spoke to the King about it," Mordred informed him. "He already made a decision - should Merlin not return before the season's end, that all charges against Jaune would simply be dropped."

"Hewhat?" Agravain blinked, before quickly recovering his composure. "Then I must speak to him at once, appeal that decision-"

"You would rather doubt the King's judgement than even consider that Jaune might be innocent?" Mordred asked incredulously, unable to understand where her brother was coming from at all.

"Do noteverdoubt my loyalty, Mordred," Agravain snapped, being unable to interpret her words charitably any longer. "Iknowmy oaths,andthe foes the King faces; I will not be found wanting in protecting him. Perhaps it isyouwho needs a reminder of your duty to your King, Mordred."

"What are you talking about?" Mordred demanded.

"Do you thinkthisis service to the King, Mordred?" Agravain asked rhetorically. "Shielding a suspected traitor daily for two weeks? What have you done for the realm in the mean time? Do you believethatthe conduct of aproperknight? Have youalreadyforgotten what you set out to do when you came to Camelot, Mordred?"

Jaune's jaw dropped at the low blow; he'd been trying to stay out of what was clearly a sibling's quarrel (heknewbetter than to get involved, thank you very much), but he also knew just how much it bothered his mentor, that there were some aspects of knighthood that Sir Mordred struggled with.

Meanwhile, the sound of metal screeching was audible as Mordred's gauntleted fist clenched with enough force to crush armor, but fortunately for Agravain, before she could react, Jaune spoke up first, unable to help himself any longer: "Hey, that's-"

"You stay out of this,liar," Agravain spat, interrupting him. "Thisdoesn't concernyou."

The two men briefly locked glares for a heartbeat.

Then, the next thing Agravain knew was that he was being yanked forward, the front of his tunic in Mordred's left hand.

"Sir Mordred?!" Jaune yelped in shock, as his mentor began to raise his right fist.

Mordred didn't hear her friend's words (nor did she hear her half-brother's protests), as her temper, which had been simmering throughout the conversation, finally boiled over explosively.

How dare he!

Not only had he implied that she'd failed her liege and father, and for fulfilling the instructions her father had been forced to give because of him no less, and not only had he caused all the problems they were now facing because he'd suspected her squire, but he'd then proceeded to insult him!

Didn't he know everything Jaune had done for herandfor their King?!

Before she could do anything, however, she found herself being held by her arm, as a familiar voice hurriedly whispered: "Sir Mordred, don't! It's not worth it!"

The sound of Jaune's voice was like a splash of cold water to the face, and helped cut through the haze of anger enough for her to rethink her course of action.

Jaune was right - Agravain wasn't worth it.

With a huff she allowed her hand to be lowered, before reluctantly releasing Agravain's collar.

As Agravain regarded her warily, she simply turned to her squire, and said: "Come on, Jaune. Let's just go back."

"Iwillspeak to the King," Agravain swore, as he too turned away from Mordred. "Both about his decision,andyour unknightly conduct."

As Agravain left, Jaune couldn't help but think about what had just happened, as well as everything Agravain had said.

Sure, Agravain had definitely been out of line targeting Mordred's insecurities like that...

... but what if he was right?

He already knew he was causing Sir Mordred problems thanks to everything his mentor had to do for him; was he also costing him his dream just by being here?

And what about his relationship with his half-brother, the only one who knew that Sir Mordred shared the same mother?

And all because he'd-

Before he could think too much about it, however, he found something gently grabbing his arm, and he looked up to find his friend looking up at him.

"Is everything alright?" Mordred couldn't help the concern that entered her tone, as she saw her friend's expression.

"... of course," Jaune nodded.

"Just ignore what Agravain said, alright?" Mordred instructed him firmly. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"... I will, Sir Mordred," Jaune answered after a pause.

Mordred looked back at him, wondering if she should continue saying anything else; for some reason, she couldn't help but feel that something was...off, about his response.

In the end, though, she decided against it, her trust in her friend winning out over her doubts again.

After all, surely he'd tell her if something was wrong; instead, he'd said that everything was alright, and he'dnevergo back on his word.

Chapter 26: Desperate Decision

Chapter Text

Jaune checked his pack once more, before looking over his room one final time.

Good, it looked like he'd remembered to take everything he'd need.

Or maybe... maybe he should just check again, just to make sure...

Jaune quickly shook his head, banishing those thoughts before they could fully take form.

This wasn't the first time he'd done something like this; he knew he was stalling, and he knew the longer he stalled the more likely it was he'd lose his nerve.

Sighing, he stood up, slinging his pack over his shoulder, and made his way to the door.

Before he opened it, though, he made sure to kneel down, taking a look under the door, and then put an ear to it.

The lack of any figures or footsteps outside the door was both expected and comforting, and he inhaled deeply as he quietly opened the door, and left the room.

As he stalked through the deserted corridor, utilizing both his knowledge from Beacon's survival classes and his experiences growing up with seven sisters, he mentally ran over his plan one more time, as well as his memories of Camelot's layout.

The exit he was aiming for was about ten minutes away at his regular pace, and if the patrol routes hadn't changed from the last time he and Sir Mordred had returned from training late he should have at least a good twenty minutes before the guards got anywhere near this section of the castle again, and he did have a back-up plan for if he got spotted, of course-

"I do believe I mentioned that you require an escort should you wish to go anywhere, Jaune," a voice suddenly spoke up from behind him.

Jaune immediately spun around, already reaching for his sword, before freezing as he belatedly recognized just who it was had broken the silence.

Seemingly unfazed by his disobedience or his actions, Arthur simply looked him over from where she stood outside his room's open door, before continuing: "Oddly enough, I fail to see any other knight accompanying you at this moment."

"Your Majesty," Jaune gulped as he took a step back, racking his brain to try and figure out a way out of this situation; he had plans for if another knight had spotted him leaving, of course, but he certainly didn't have any plans for dealing with Arthur.

Then, to his surprise, Arthur's expression softened slightly, and he simply replied: "Considering that you are currently not only disobeying a direct order from your King but also attempting to effect an unsanctioned departure from the castle, I do believe formalities are the least of your concerns, Jaune."

"... how did you know?" Jaune asked, involuntarily tensing up.

"The sack of your possessions slung over your shoulder and the way you have been skulking through Camelot's halls are more than sufficient at announcing your intent," Artoria pointed out wryly, before gently adding: "But in truth, even before they were confirmed by your actions, I already had my suspicions, Jaune."

"You did?" Jaune blinked.

"When we met earlier, your expressions spoke volumes of your true emotions, though I must admit I had no concerns of such an action from you until I had learned that Agravain had confronted you and Mordred after our meeting earlier," Artoria explained, not unkindly, as she raised her hands placatingly: "Before you fully commit to doing something rash, however, would you permit me but a few minutes of your time, that we may speak frankly, Jaune?"

"... I don't really have a choice, do I?" Jaune shrugged after a moment, unable to relax in the slightest.

"Of course you have a choice," Artoria refuted the notion immediately. "Though I would of course not wish it, you are free to continue leaving the castle if you so chose, Jaune."

"... you're not going to stop me?" Jaune questioned warily.

"Had I wished to stop you, I could have simply called for the guards, just as I could have easily apprehended you instead of announcing my presence, " Artoria reminded him, before confirming: "But I am no tyrant, just as Camelot is no gaol, and you are no prisoner; while I would certainly hope to be able to change your mind, I have no desire to maintain your continued service through threat or force, as such coercion would render it utterly meaningless. Should you still wish to leave at the end of our conversation, you have my word that I will not hinder your departure, just as Sir Tristan was free to leave after his outburst."

Jaune studied Arthur for a few heartbeats and weighed his options, before he exhaled slowly, forcibly releasing the tension in his shoulders, and then looked back up at his friend: "Alright, sure. What'd you want to talk about, Arthur?"

"You have my thanks, Jaune," Artoria nodded, before meeting his eyes as she got straight to the point: "May I know what exactly transpired when Agravain confronted you and Mordred earlier in the day, that has apparently shaken your faith in my commitment to treat you fairly and justly?”

“What?” Jaune blinked, not having expected such a question.

“Am I mistaken?” Artoria asked apprehensively, raising an eyebrow. “Considering the timing, and what Agravain spoke with me about, I had been worried that Agravain had somehow persuaded you that he had the means to finally convince me to pronounce your guilt.”

“No, no, that’s not it, Arthur,” Jaune quickly denied, shaking his head vigorously. “I haven’t lost faith in you or anything, honest!”

“That is good to hear,” Artoria smiled, inwardly feeling a small measure of relief, one that was quickly extinguished as she continued on: “Though that does leave your motive for effecting your escape yet unknown, Jaune.

“Please, tell me; has this entire situation truly been so unbearable, that you would rather depart Camelot, in the middle of the night no less, than endure yet another month of it?"

Jaune closed his eyes as he looked away quietly, desperately racking his brain to try and explain what was really weighing on his mind.

Artoria, for her part, simply watched him in silence, waiting patiently for him to speak.

Finally, Jaune began: “Arthur... did I ever tell you about my past?”

“Only that you were a farmer’s son in the Kingdom of Vale, before you became a part of your world’s order of knights, a Huntsman, and fell in battle against a dragon and a witch,” Artoria recalled.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jaune nodded. “I was a farm boy, who wanted so much to become a hero, to help people, that I ran away from home to become a Huntsman...”

Artoria quietly reached for Jaune’s shoulder, not needing her Instinct to see where this was going.

Jaune didn’t flinch away from Arthur’s touch, though his fists still involuntarily balled in frustration as he continued: “But... look at all the trouble I've caused in the past few weeks, Arthur. Gareth's been arguing with Gawain and Gaheris because of me. I know you've been having to deal with Agravain, and probably anyone else who's convinced I'm guilty, and Sir Mordred... instead of being the Knight he’s always wanted to be, instead of going out there and protecting the kingdom like he’s supposed to... Sir Mordred’s stuck here.

“All of that, and for what?" Jaune asked rhetorically, still not meeting Arthur’s eyes, before finally hanging his head as he hopelessly finished: “Maybe Agravain was right; just by staying here I’m causing problems for everyone.”

A moment of silence followed, the only movement between the pair coming from the heaving of Jaune’s chest as he tiredly took deep breaths, emotionally drained from finally having gotten that off his chest.

Then Arthur’s voice broke the silence with a simple question: “Do you truly believe that?”

Jaune looked back up at the King, meeting his familiar green eyes once more, as Arthur gently continued before he could answer: “Do you truly believe that your presence in Camelot has brought more harm than good, Jaune? That my subjects in Snowdonia would be better off had you never been around to help Mordred slay the Addanc?

“That Gareth regrets her friendship with you? That my son should never have known your company, the experience of being your mentor, or the comfort you offered him when he learned of his lineage?

“Do you believe I wish I had never met you, and had never had your assistance in reconciling with Mordred and making preparations to confront Lancelot and Guinivere?” Artoria concluded her rhetorical questions, her gaze never wavering even as she chided him: “Do not forget what I told you earlier; do not do a disservice to either Mordred or Gareth or either of us now by forgetting all you have accomplished here, Jaune.

“And do not insult the loyalties and friendships of my niece, my son, or I by pretending that none of us are willing to endure these trials for your sake, especially not when you would do the same for us, eagerly and without complaint, should the roles have been reversed.”

Jaune couldn’t help but look away again, the King’s piercing green eyes and lecture reminding him far too much of another late-night conversation with another green-eyed friend.

But at the same time, this wasn’t the same as back in Beacon; it wasn’t a misplaced sense of pride that was stopping him from accepting their help, but simple care and concern for his friends.

Artoria, for her part, simply sighed, seeing that the young man remained yet unconvinced, and quietly empathized: “Make no mistake, Jaune; I do understand your emotions, your anger at the helplessness and perceived inability to affect the situation, your frustration at being forced into inaction through no fault of your own, with the additional trials you see your friends going through for your sake being the final straw on your conscience, even if we do so willingly.”

“... you do?” Jaune blinked as he looked up once more, not having expected that from Arthur at all.

... wait, was that what he was feeling?

“Even ignoring the fact that I was once your age, I have seen many of the knights when they were but young men as well, with the rashness and impatience that belongs to youth,” Artoria smiled at him, though there was a slight hint of sadness in her eyes, already seeing how this would play out. “Rather than willingly laying down and submitting to the whims of fate, you and all of my Knights would raise arms and defy it, heedless of the odds against you. Regardless of where you may have come from, you truly do have the soul of a Knight of the Round, Jaune Arc.”

“... uh, thanks, Arthur?” Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling both flattered and confused by his words. Was Arthur praising him for breaking the rules? Was he being told he should stay or what?

Artoria looked him over one final time, before responding: “I will not insult your convictions by asking you to stay once more, Jaune. However, I have but one request that I would like you to hear out, before I leave you to your final decision, as I gave my word that I would.”

“Of course, Arthur,” Jaune nodded immediately.

“Then, should you choose to leave, I wish that you give me your word that you return to the halls of Camelot after a year has passed, or after Merlin has returned and I have sent for you, whichever should come first,” Artoria asked him, before elaborating: “Please understand that, should you choose to depart this night, it will not appease Agravain or your detractors in the least; if anything, it is likely they will take your flight as a sign of further guilt. And I will not allow your reputation to remain tarnished, just as I am sure that Mordred will never allow one to besmirch your name.”

“... I will, Arthur,” Jaune agreed, after a moment’s thought. “And an Arc never goes back on his word.”

“Then, I will accept your word,” Artoria nodded, making to leave. “I pray you make your choice wisely, Jaune.”

As Arthur turned the corner and disappeared from view, the tension finally left Jaune’s body, and he slumped against the wall, letting loose a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding as he pondered his last conversation with the King.

He couldn’t lie; his certainty had been shaken by meeting Arthur, and by hearing him out.

But, at the end of the day... even if his friends were more than willing to make sacrifices for him...

Arthur had been right; he just could not remain helplessly in his room doing nothing, could never let them continue to suffer for him.

He couldn’t come between Gareth and her brothers.

He couldn’t come between Agravain and Arthur and Mordred.

And he couldn’t allow himself to continue stopping Mordred from being the Knight he was always meant to be.

As his thoughts turned to Mordred, however, he found himself involuntarily looking towards the direction he knew Mordred’s room was in, and as he imagined Mordred’s reaction to his departure he couldn’t help but wish he could talk to him before he left.

But he knew his mentor, his friend.

Mordred would never let him go, not alone.

But... the kingdom needed Mordred more.

And most of all, Mordred thought the world of his father; for Oum’s sake, he’d become a Knight of the Round Table because he’d wanted to serve Arthur!

He couldn't do it, couldn't tear the newly-discovered father and son apart.

Hopefully, he'd understand, even if he never forgave him.

And so, for the second time in his life, armed with only a sword, his family’s shield-sheath, and whatever he could carry on his back, Jaune ran away in the middle of the night, determined to be a hero.