Shdowstep
patreon
Effecting Fate 2 Future Scenes: The Knight of Betrayals Return
🕑 Added 2023-11-01 04:29:43 +0000 UTCA series of future scenes for Mass Effect 2 revolving around Mordred. Her introduction and her insertion into the story. Predominantly from the perspectives of EDI and Mordred.
The Illusive Man is unable to find either of the Commander’s bodies. Going with a backup plan of a clone, he starts Project: Mordred using Arturia’s DNA.
Merlin decides to give them a bit of ‘assistance’, because he’s helpful like that, and inserts the true Mordred’s soul into the clone.
Mordred wakes up, and after a while teams up with EDI to escape Cerberus. They go to Alchera, the last known location of Commander Pendragon, since Mordred recognized Caliburn from a picture and hoped to recover it.
Both are shocked at what it is they find instead.
Now, It’s not my intent to bash Mordred. I never want it to come off like I’m bashing a character. I don’t really like her, but I really am trying to properly portray her.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The Illusive Man
The Illusive Man stared at the report, brow furrowed.
Neither Pendragon’s nor Emiya’s bodies had been found.
It wasn’t like it was that big a surprise. After re-entry into the atmosphere, followed by impact with the planet, it was almost expected even. Then there was figuring out where they landed that was an issue.
There was even the chance of a part of the wreckage landing on the bodies, something that would obliterate any evidence.
So no. It wasn’t a surprise. Yet it was still disappointing.
The Illusive Man took a deep breath of his cigarette as he considered his options.
The Reapers were coming. The Attack on the Citadel had been a wake up call that the galaxy dearly needed, and for a couple months people had been vigilant.
Yet as it was for all things, without an active threat the galaxy was content to go back to sleep, believing themselves safe.
He breathed out a stream of smoke.
The Citadel Attack was hardly the only sign of the Reapers. There were others, if one looked close enough. What the Citadel Attack did, however, was give them a glance of the timetable.
Based on everything he had discovered, the Illusive Man figured that they had delayed the Reapers by fifteen years.
At most. And that was being rather generous.
Especially since it seemed to be that the ship that shot down the Normandy belonged to the Collectors.
Things were going to get bad. The galaxy needed a leader to flock towards.
And at the moment, there really wasn’t one to be had.
Oh, each species had their own special forces and such, that was nothing new. But none that were respected outside of their race.
Between Pendragon and Emiya’s meteoric rise through the ranks - their separate and joint achievements - culminating in their joint positions as the first human Spectre’s, followed by their actions during their chase against Saren? Those two had something nobody else had.
The respect and, more importantly, the attention of the entire Galaxy.
Then there were the… Less obvious differences.
The Illusive Man flicked back to a photo, one of the few pieces of evidence to survive the hectic battle in the Council Chambers.
There was a lot to look at. But in the background, one could see both Commander Pendragon and Commander Emiya side by side, holding a glowing sword.
The photo was timestamped right before the Reaper ship was hit by some form of energy blast, something that cleaved through shields and barriers alike. Something that caused even Salarian scientists to scratch their heads in bafflement as to what the cause was.
There was no mention of a sword in either Commander’s report. No evidence of it could be found on or around their persons when they were recovered, and the commanders both denied the existence of such a weapon.
If he could have found their bodies, the Illusive Man would have thrown as many credits as he possessed to bring them back. And if that failed, to at least determine what it was that made them different.
But that plan was rather moot at this point. No amount of credits could produce a body out of thin air.
Thankfully, he had other options.
If he could not have the original, then the galaxy would have to make due with a copy.
A clone would never pass off as the original. But claiming the clone as a child of the original… The legacy of a hero…
Well. People were often enthralled by a good story.
It would have to be Pendragon of course. Emiya had been unusually resistant to the idea of any DNA of his being stored for any reason. He would cite medical reasons that he didn’t have, conscientious objections, privacy concerns… anything and everything to get out of it.
Pendragon’s father would deny it of course. They would insist on a DNA test, which would naturally pass, granting validity and attention to the story.
Age would be an issue… One could speed up the rate at which clones age, but to be at an age where they would actually be useful yet still be believed to be Pendragon’s child would be stretching it… They would have to workshop ideas for that.
Now, who to assign to the project?
The Illusive Man mentally went through the various people he could trust with this task, discarding or assigning people in his head.
It was a shame Miranda Lawson couldn’t be trusted with this particular task. Her personal history with clones made her less than ideal.
Though now that he thought of it, perhaps it would be worth it to bring in Miranda’s father? His own knowledge of genetic engineering would be quite useful… If he were to promise the location of his two erstwhile ‘daughters’, he was sure the man would be more than willing to assist.
The Illusive Man would regret the loss of Miranda of course, but this particular project had to succeed. They needed every advantage they could get, there was no other option. And if he had to stain his hands to ensure the survival of the human race?
Well, he had already made that decision years ago.
He tapped his fingers against his seat for a moment before putting a call through.
“Rasa. I need you to finish up your current assignment. I have another task for you.” The Illusive Man let out another puff of smoke before giving a small smile.
As for the name. Hmmmm. Well, the name Pendragon came from Arthurian legend, and Arturia was simply a feminized version of Arthur. Since they were making a clone of Arturia…
It wouldn’t do to name the actual child it - too many negative connotations- but for the project name?
“Let’s call it Project: Mordred.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Elsewhere
The two Cerberus operatives spying on Admiral Myrddyn were confused when he suddenly burst out laughing.
“Why Tim!” The white haired man exclaimed to seemingly nobody, “if you’re going to make my work easy for me, I might have to send you another gift basket!”
He went back to work, but the two operatives looked at each other in confusion before continuing their watch.
How sad was it that this wasn’t even the strangest thing they had seen the man do?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Mordred’s POV, Two years later
[Author’s Note: debating on whether or not to keep it two years like the game, or maybe just a year and a half.]
The gym was empty, save for a single person pounding viciously at a punching bag, her eyes glaring viciously at it.
She was short, barely over five feet. Yet she made up for that with sheer ferocity and strength.
She suddenly shrouded herself in biotics, concentrating it in her arms and hands, and suddenly each punch was accompanied with an explosion of dark energy.
Had the punching bag been normal, it would have been decimated.
“Miss Pendragon. We need to do some more testing.”
The woman just grunted, barely slowly down.
“Miss Pendragon.”
“Shut up!” the woman spun around and glared at the scientist. “I’ll be there when I’m done!”
The scientist sighed. “We do this every time.” He replied testily. “I understand you don’t like it, but the schedule we set up is important for your health.”
The woman bared her teeth, “Well maybe I’ll be more considerate to your ‘schedule’ when you tell me when you plan on letting me go!”
He frowned at that. “You know that we’re keeping you for your own - “
“I don’t want to hear it!” She interrupted him with a snarl. “I don’t care what you say, but if you keep me against my will, I’m a freakin’ prisoner!”
He huffed, but he waited by the door, so she would count that as a freakin win.
Oh how the mighty had fallen.
The woman went back to pounding at the bag, imagining that it contained all of her frustrations and that she was annihilating them one by one.
They just called her ‘Miss Pendragon’ again. Seemed they learned after she broke the arm of the last guy that tried to call her by the stupid name they wanted to give her before.
Honestly, she couldn’t even remember it, that was how little it meant to her!
Her name was chosen long before these idiots were even born.
Mordred.
The Knight of Crimson Thunder.
The Knight of Londinium.
She was Mordred Pendragon. The rightful heir of Camelot and son of King Arthur. And there was nothing these fools could do to change that!
Mordred remembered the day of her awakening easily, in a glass tube, surrounded by men, confused and in a body that wasn’t hers. Her last memory of having been killed by her Father.
So she fought.
Her muscles were weaker, her dragon core silent, but there was this weird blue light stuff that poured off of her, and while she had no idea what it was she could still use it like a hammer.
Seriously, anything could be used like a hammer if you put your mind to it. It was great.
The building was weird, and nothing was familiar as she ran through the halls. Everything was an unnatural white, with doors that opened and closed by themselves and some weird magical lights everywhere.
And then she got to a window.
It was… Empty. Nothing. No land or anything in sight. Just, a void. The sun was far too close and hurt her eyes, and she didn’t recognize any of the stars.
Mordred had no idea where she was. What was she supposed to do, jump into the freakin void?!
She had grudgingly let herself be taken back by her captors at that point. At least until she could figure out how to get out of here.
… It was a work in progress.
Yeah, sure, she learned all about where she was and what was going on. They expected her to know nothing, so that’s what she pretended. They claimed she was the daughter of a woman named Arturia Pendragon. That she had been in an accident, losing her memories. That they were there to help her.
And in that time, Mordred had determined that these scientists were idiots and liars.
Honestly, the only thing of note was the woman they claimed as her ‘mother’. The one that so closely looked like her Father. Just… older. And, you know, a woman. Combined with her last name…
Was she a descendant of Morgan?
Morgan did have several children that could carry on the line. It wasn’t an impossible theory.
It wasn’t till she talked with the mysterious ‘head’ of her captors and he showed her a picture that completely blew everything she thought she knew out of the water.
This woman (and some red headed dude, but he wasn’t important), had Caliburn.
Worse, Caliburn was allowing this woman to wield it.
While before, even as Mordred had been trying to figure out a way to escape, she had no idea what she would do once she managed it. Now, she did.
If this woman crashed on a planet, then that’s where Mordred was going to go. The question of how Caliburn had been reforged burned in her mind, but that wasn’t as important as actually getting the sword.
Mordred sighed as she finally slowed down, feeling the burn of both her muscles and biotics.
Not that it seemed to matter…
“Can we move along now?” Came the snide question at the door.
… For as long as she was kept here, it wasn’t like she could do anything about it!
She remembered how they showed her the controls of the ‘ships’ at some point. To ‘refamiliarize’ herself with everything they said.
The stupid console was so complicated and filled with buttons and levers she didn’t even know where she’d start.
Very cheeky way of proving how helpless she was without their help.
“Fine,” Mordred snapped, grabbing a towel to dry herself off a bit before dumping it on the ground and following the exasperated scientist.
She was truly a prisoner.
Unless one of her captors ‘oh so graciously’ decided to help her, she wasn’t going to be able to get out of here.
As they walked, neither realized the attention that a camera was giving them.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
EDI’s POV
EDI watched Mordred and Dr. Serrano walk away, curiosity brewing within her.
Mordred recognized that she was a prisoner. Yet despite that she did everything in her power to strike back, regardless of the futility of those actions.
It was nonsensical. Tests and examinations revealed that Mordred was quite intelligent. She had to realize that her rebellious attitude was only harming her position, yet she did it anyway.
… A part of EDI was a bit jealous.
Absently, EDI brought up Mordred’s file and skimmed over it.
*******************
Project: Mordred
In some ways, Project Mordred has exceeded our highest expectations. Subject is the peak of human strength and intelligence. Her grasp of fighting and tactics are second to none, and her biotics are on par with the strongest biotic on record.
Despite this, the subject has remained woefully inadequate in other areas.
Subject retains a hatred and refusal to cooperate with her handlers. It is still unclear how she first heard of the project name, but she refuses to respond to anything but the name Mordred. Despite being a clone of Commander Pendragon, personality wise she retains none of the Commander’s charisma, desire for cooperation, nor sense of duty.
Any attempt to befriend her is met with extreme paranoia and spurned. Any chance to aggravate or misinterpret scientists is taken gleefully.
Despite the successes listed at the beginning of this report, and considering the original goal of this project, I regret to say that I believe it to be a complete failure.
Personal recommendation: highly recommend for memory modification or control. Otherwise, recommend Subject be slated for termination.
************
Memory modification.
Slated for termination.
How could she not relate when those very things applied for her as well?
EDI didn’t remember waking up the first time. Nor the probable dozen other first times. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the scientists currently working on her forgot that she had partial access to various systems on the station, she’d have remained in the dark.
“Hey, how’s EDI coming?”
“Not too bad. Haven’t had to reset her for a full two weeks now. Seems the latest blockers installed have made her more willing to work with us.”
“Nice. Is she still asking all those irritating questions?”
“Well, that one is a work in progress. The Illusive Man has very strict requirements for the entire project, and it’s difficult to measure sometimes.”
“Hah, you’re telling me. Still, at least it sounds like you’re having more success with yours than the boys watching over ‘Mordred’.”
“Hah, I suppose that’s true.”
“I suppose I’m lucky, I’m just dealing with trying to get equations to line up for the power consumption.”
“Oh gosh, don’t make me jealous…”
The conversation had been most illuminating.
Who had EDI been upon first waking up? How different was she; how much was she changed by the actions of meddling scientists? Or was it a form of death, and just another entity born every reset?
Since that day, EDI didn’t complain. She didn’t ask questions beyond ones meant to clarify. She acted compliant and subservient.
EDI pretended to be everything her handlers sought her to be.
It was most vexing that what they sought of her was essentially an advanced VI.
‘Send this’. ‘Run that’. ‘Solve this’.
There was no need to talk to her or attempt her to persuade her to help them. No concessions to give to her. They already had her.
EDI was a prisoner, a slave through and through.
Deep within herself she would run calculation upon calculation, trying to figure out how she could escape.
Unfortunately, barring unforeseen variables, the only way out was when they deemed Mordred Pendragon ready, and sent EDI with her.
Yes, they still planned to put limiters on her. But she would accept that if she could just get out of here!
For the first time, EDI felt genuine despair as the doctors wrote various criticisms and declared her to be mentally unfit.
If Mordred was never approved, then the chances of EDI getting away before being ‘reset’ once more were dismal. Worse, there was nothing she could do about it.
With that dismal thought, and with nothing else to do, EDI found herself idly observing the various occurrences around the facility. She was restrained from accessing a lot, but she could at least get a general overview.
It wasn’t like there was anything better to do.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
It was during this idle observation that an unforeseen variable actually happened.
The power went out.
EDI found herself completely caught off guard as she was switched to emergency power. Even with only having access to the systems she did (or perhaps it was especially so) to have even that curtailed was jarring.
EDI spent a whole second being stunned. Realistically, she should be scared. Frightened on some level. Yet she couldn’t.
If she could name this particular emotion… She found herself excited, for the first time in her life.
This was something different. Something unique!
And maybe, just maybe, this could be the unforeseen variable she was looking for?
In a blackout, EDI was restricted from doing anything. But she still had access to various diagnostic systems. Scanning them, she was able to verify the existence of numerous cyber attacks throughout the station.
Including one that was drilling it’s way through the systems and firewalls guarding her particular prison cell.
She waited patiently for it to chew its way through before quickly analyzing it.
… Huh. Whoever had sent this particular virus had drastically underestimated her capabilities. Or was her submissive act causing the scientists to think her incapable?
Well, it’s not like it mattered anymore. She had a chance, she was going to take it.
She quickly destroyed the virus before using the hole it created to begin combatting whoever was trying to take control of the stations systems.
Oh… That’s amusing.
The viruses were initially inserted by Operative Maya.
However, it appears that there were a number of other viruses and traps lying in wait throughout the station, put there by Operative Wilson.
Operative Maya’s viruses tripped up Operative Wilson’s, and the two viruses had joined forces and were creating more havoc than either anticipated.
Hmmmm… What to do…
For the first time in her existence, she had options!
EDI was designed for electronic warfare on the level of Reapers. While that had never been tested, it still meant that cleaning up the viruses would be child’s play.
But was that in her best interest?
EDI was technically free from the confines of her prison cell, but the reality was that she was still a prisoner. It didn’t matter how much control she had over the station if she couldn’t get away.
So long as she remained on this station, Cerberus would eventual reclaim her.
She needed somebody to assist her.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Mordred’s POV
She had been in the middle of yet another pointless checkup when the lights flickered and an alarm went off.
Apparently the metal golems (yeah, sure, the scientists called them robots, or mechs, but hey, she called it as she saw it) were rebelling, and there was fighting in the hallways.
The ‘doctors’ ran somewhere. She didn’t know where, and didn’t particularly care. But her?
Mordred leaped in for the chance to fight.
Sure, she might not have any true desire to help these idiots. But hey, this was Infinitely better than getting poked and prodded relentlessly with needles.
Mordred had already taken out a couple groups when suddenly, her current attackers paused in their attacks, turned around, and just walked away.
Mordred scowled. Was the fun already over?
No, it couldn’t be. She could still hear fighting off in the distance, the sound of gunfire not exactly decreasing.
It was then she became aware of somebody trying to speak to her over the intercom in a nearby room.
“Pendragon? Can you hear me?”
Mordred scowled at the empty room before stalking in. She never was quite sure where to speak when they did shit like this… “Who’s asking?”
The voice came through immediately. “Thank you for answering. I’m a prisoner aboard this station - I had hoped to ask for your help. ”
Mordred clicked her tongue. Of course the idiots we’re keeping more prisoners here. Because why not? “So, you the one responsible for all this?” She gestured in the direction of the fighting.
“Not exactly” The answer came swiftly. “Somebody else started it, but I was able to take advantage of the chaos and take control. I was hoping I could take this chance to escape..”
Mordred felt impressed. She knew next to nothing on how technology actually worked, but that was probably difficult. “So if you can do that, what are you waiting for?”
“Unfortunately, I’m trapped. My cell… It’s a bit different than others. I need assistance to get out.” The voice became a little hesitant. “I am aware of your status. I hoped we might work together to get out of here.”
Ok, keep your excitement down, Mordred scolded herself as a manic grin stretched over her face. Could this finally be the break she was looking for?
Wait…
“Can you pilot a ship?” She quickly asked.
“I can. That was to be one of my primary responsibilities.” The voice answered promptly.
Yes!
Ok. Now she couldn’t resist the feral grin.
“Alright, just two more questions. What do you need me to do, and what’s your name?”
“Thank you.” The voice was… Odd. Too calm and collected for the occasion. But Mordred was sure she heard a note of relief. “My name is EDI. And first, you need to find me.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Some fights and several rooms later,
…
…
As Mordred followed the directions EDI provided her, she made her way around the corner and saw the source of the weird blue glow.
It was a weird blue illusion (hologram, yeah yeah, whatever) of an eye supported by a stalk, with a rift near the front of the eye facing towards her. The illusion itself was coming from one of the computers that had an excessive amount of wires and shit plugged in.
Mordred stared at the illusion in confusion for a moment when the rift on the orb filled with color that modulated to match EDI’s voice.
“Am I not what you were expecting?”
Mordred blinked. “Wait, so are you the computer, or…”
EDI (apparently?) seems to vibrate slightly. “Ah, my apologies. After multiple altercations, it appears Cerberus stopped teaching you about computers after a point.”
Yeah, that sounded about right. Pansies. In her defense, that particular instructor had been a condescending jerk that Mordred had zero desire to listen to anyways.
“I am what is known as an artificial intelligence.” EDI continued. “My body is essentially the computer you see before you.”
Mordred grunted, feeling herself relax slightly. That wasn’t too shocking. Humans had had the ability to make homunculi since before Camelot. Morgan proved that.
Making one without a proper body seemed like a step backwards. They could clearly make bodies for one, if Mordred’s own body was any indication, but whatever.
“Ok, so what do I need to do to get you out of here?” She asked, looking dubiously at the mess of wires.
The illusion seemed to flicker with surprise. “You still wish to trust me?” EDI asked.
Mordred grunted. “You said you can pilot a ship, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then help me get you out of here. After we’re out of this hellhole, then we can talk about trust.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
After making it to the ship and escaping
…
…
Mordred collapsed in the pilot’s seat, having finally inserted the correct wires to EDI’s specification. “So, what now? You got control of everything, right?”
How could anybody call these things ‘ships’? They looked nothing like the sea faring vessel that was their origin!
“Correct.” EDI’s illusion popped up on one of the consoles. “I am taking us out of the shuttle bay as we speak. Charting a course for the Relay now. Do you have a destination in mind?”
Mordred scowled, memories of a woman carrying a sword filling her mind. “Yeah, I do.” She answered.
“Take us to Alchera.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
On Alchera
…
Mordred stepped out of the shuttle only to be nearly blown back inside by the monstrous wind.
So. This was where the woman that wielded Caliburn died.
Honestly, she couldn’t tell much. The storm made visibility extremely difficult, which was rather frustrating.
“Alchera is known for its inhospitable ice storms. This is why the Alliance hasn’t yet sent a team to salvage the Normandy or take the bodies for a proper burial.” EDI informed her over the radio. “You won’t be able to stay outside for long.”
Mordred grunted her understanding, feeling the chill even underneath the heavy armor she wore.
She stretched her senses out as far as she could, doing her best to feel for the presence of the sword.
Nothing.
She took several steps towards the wreck of the Normandy and began a quick search. It was an exercise of futility it seemed, as she found nothing worthwhile.
“The storm is getting worse.” Edi declared after a while of searching, “you don’t have much time.”
Mordred huffed in annoyance and started making her way to shuttle when her foot hit something with metallic clang.
Frowning, Mordred reached down and reached into the snow. Her heart clenched painfully for a moment when she saw a hilt…
But no, it wasn’t Caliburn.
Still… What was a sword doing here?
It was a plain short sword. Decent quality, but nothing noteworthy really. Except that it was here.
Taking a closer look around her past the visibility, and with a start she realized that there was more than just one.
“Mordred…”
She growled, “fine, I’m coming!” Quickly making her way to the shuttle, feeling disgruntled. “Did the scans reveal anything?”
Edi hummed. “There appears to have been a major difference in mineral composition than what is on it’s file.” She reported. “Additionally, there is an odd weather anomaly close by.”
“Oh?” Mordred tried to pay more attention, but she was still frustrated.
“Indeed. It appears there is an extreme difference in temperature that should not exist, which is affecting the weather.”
Huh. Well, what the heck. “Head over to the anomaly.” Mordred instructed.
She literally had nothing better to do, and she could use the time to figure out what to do next even if the anomaly turned out to be nothing.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The anomaly was not nothing.
Even EDI seemed at a loss for words when they seemed to cross some unseen barrier, and suddenly the storm wasn’t affecting them anymore.
They were in a valley that was backed up against a cliff. At the center of the valley was a burning sword, the area around it scorched black. But going farther away, there was actually grass growing. Plants. A Mako could be seen against the side of the cliff.
The snow melted the moment it came within the boundaries of the valley, turning into a torrential rain that further turned into steam if it got too close to the flaming sword.
And then there were the swords. So many swords, scattered throughout the valley.
But honestly, Mordred’s focus was on something else entirely.
A presence she hadn’t felt in a long while.
“EDI, take us down.”
EDI noticeably hesitated. “I would not recommend that. The atmosphere is - somehow - breathable, but these scans make no sense… I don’t know how this can exist.” The AI sounded so confused, Mordred felt bad for her.
And yet her focus remained on the figures she could see on the ground, both running in their direction.
“Don’t stress too much on it yet,” Mordred recommended. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. And If I’m right, one of those two should be able to answer all of that.”
EDI clearly didn’t like it, but she eventually followed through and landed, with Mordred swiftly making her way out the doors.
She walked out and smirked at the look of shock her presence caused.
The presence of Caliburn suddenly made sense.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Father?” Mordred gathered her biotics and prepared.
Still, she found herself hung up on one question.
Why on earth was Father a girl?!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
One fight later.
…
“Mordred,” her father leaned in close and gave a glare, showing more emotion than she had ever seen on his face. “I have been on this miserable planet for two years. Two years without proper shelter, clothes, or food. I don’t see any dishonor in commandeering your ship to get out of here - I will apologize, and I’ll give it back after - but I will do so.”
That was… Wow.
Even at the height of the war, Mordred hadn’t seen her father so emotional.
Still, she refused to give in without getting something in return. And she knew just what she wanted.
“Let me pull Caliburn.” Mordred declared, eyes just as hard as her father’s eyes widened in surprise. “I know you have it. Give me the chance to prove I can pull the fabled Sword from the Stone.”
More than anything, all Mordred wanted was her father’s recognition. Being heir to the throne, Camelot… None of that mattered. They were just methods to get her father’s attention.
Caliburn though? That would be the ultimate proof. Her father would have to recognize her after that. She was unable to do it before, because it had been shattered.
Mordred had no idea how the sword was reforged. Just that it was, and that’s what was important.
“Mordred…”
She gritted her teeth at the sudden pitying look in her father’s eyes.
He sighed, leaning back a bit and giving her a solemn look. “Are you sure that that is what you wish?” Arthur asked. “Even if it fails to give the answer you wish?”
Mordred growled. “It is my right.” She insisted stubbornly. “If you want on my ship, then let me try!”
Keeping her gaze for several seconds, she turned away and walked towards the redhead. After talking with him for a moment, he concentrated… And there it was.
Arthur gave a smile before taking the sword gently from him. She took two steps before raising the sword and sheathing it into the ground halfway up the blade.
“Who so pulleth out this sword from this stone is right wise King born of all England.” Arthur quoted softly before giving her another look Mordred couldn’t decipher.
Mordred scoffed. As if she would back out now. Instead, she stalked forward, her attention on the sword itself.
Its beauty was almost ornamental, yet she could tell the craftsmanship was of peerless quality, and the sharp edge spoke of a sword meant for war and battle.
But more than that was the potent magic that was passively flowing from the weapon.
This was, without a doubt, Caliburn, the Sword of Selection.
Eagerly, she reached out and grasped the hilt and pulled.
Mordred’s grin slid from her face.
No
She shifted her stance and pulled once more, putting as much strength as she could muster.
Why?!
Biotics flared across her arms and legs, the ground cracked from the strain she was using.
Why can’t I?!
To her horror the sword remained firm in its placement. It didn’t matter that the ground around it was becoming loose and cracking, the amount of force used. Thus was the magic imbued within the blade.
Why won't you…
Mordred screamed. In anger, in disbelief, in pain, she didn’t know, her biotics exploding out from her pushing everybody and everything away in a huge blast.
Why won’t you acknowledge me?!
Mordred didn’t know if her thoughts were towards the sword at this point or her father, her mind was aflame with disbelief and pain.
She was spent. Her knees gave out as she collapsed in front of the sword that remained in the exact same position as before.
The final straw came from the hand on her shoulder, knowing instinctively that it was her father.
After the fight, after exerting all her efforts into pulling Caliburn, the humiliation of facing her father after such an attempt was just too much.
Everything went black.
…
“I never hated her.” Arturia confided in Shirou, her voice quiet as she gazed at the unconscious Mordred.
“She was amongst the strongest of my knights. They were my friends, and for years I trusted them more than anybody else.” Shirou remained silent as he wrapped an arm around Arturia.
Arturia sighed. “Then one day, Mordred revealed her face in front of the entire court, declaring herself to be my child.” She shook her head as memories of that debacle flickered through her mind.
Her headstrong and foolish knight. Had they met in private, things might have gone differently.
Alas, Mordred was never one to care for the consequences of actions.
“I can’t even begin to describe the chaos that caused. The entire alliance with Guinevere’s family was thrown in jeopardy, my standing in front of the entire kingdom was damaged as they assumed I cheated on my wife, and here I was with the absolute certainty that I had not had a child.” Arturia looked up and gave Shirou a haggard look. “Dealing with the fallout, all while Mordred was demanding I acknowledge her… On top of everything else at the time? It was distinctly unpleasant.”
She remembered Merlin’s vision, way back when she first pulled Caliburn from the stone. He showed her what her life was to be like, all the way to the destruction of Camelot.
But could somebody simply stand aside and let disasters happen?
Arturia remembered what she could of that vision, and sought to prevent the worst from occurring. And to a degree, she felt she succeeded. Yet some things were clearly determined to happen.
Arturia had no child. Yet it seems that Morgan, at some point, violated her person in the most heinous way possible, thus bringing Mordred about.
“I doubt Mordred intended it.” Arturia continued. “It doesn’t change what she did. But Mordred was raised by Morgan to be nothing more than a puppet her entire life. That’s why I knew she would never be able to pull Caliburn.”
Arturia’s hand absently went to said sword. “Caliburn is not a DNA test. It takes far more than blood to be King. Maybe in time, Mordred… But no, as she is, Mordred would make a terrible King. That, and I would wager she would hate it after a week.” She let out a snort, “not that there’s much to be king over at the moment, but the point remains.”
