Unknownfate
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Chapter 69 (nice)
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 03:36:27 +0000 UTCSince arriving in Albion, Raven had, on behalf of Erik and the entire brotherhood, carried out some tests, even having other mutants come over and risk themselves.
All to see what the current view on mutants is within the newest nation in the world.
Most of the tests involve exposing mutants, allowing them to showcase their powers or mutations in public. That required both some of the weaker mutants, whose mutations were easily viable, and more or less just cosmetic disabilities.
Getting them into Albion wasn’t easy, as they couldn’t really fly around on a normal airplane, but they had managed. And the results came soon after that.
“Yes, the tests have gone well enough, the people still act as expected, Ash was reported, Deven was, all of them got reported, but the knights, the real law enforcement, they just asked if they practiced magic, and when they said no, they were let go, clearly, no laws against being a mutant, no interest in them either.”
For a while, the call was silent. Erik was clearly thinking deeply about what he heard.
No place in the world was mutants not hunted, not hated, and clearly, the common people in Albion still hated them, but what about the leaders? Did they hate them, or were they still unaware of them?
Was the result of the tests the result of acceptance or ignorance… “I need you to get an audience, I need to know what they think, it will be dangerous, but I believe you can do it.”
…
Raven sat in the small, dimly lit room, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace and the distant murmur of Camelot’s bustling streets beyond the thick stone walls. Erik's words echoed in her ears.
I need you to get an audience.
She frowned, swirling the half-filled goblet of wine in her hand. This was no small request. Few people had ever received such a thing, and it was always the king who summoned others; rarely did anyone request it, and even fewer had their requests granted.
That wasn’t to say it wasn’t possible to meet the king, hundreds of people moved in and out of the castle every day. The king, after all, was the sole ruler of the nation, and he needed to meet with many officials to ensure stability and resolve problems.
Raven could easily replace someone going to meet the king, but that wasn’t a good idea, it was well known that lying was impossible in front of them, and she didn’t know if he could see through her mutation.
It was far too dangerous, which meant she had to go as herself, which was where things got difficult.
She was, after all, an internationally wanted criminal. As to whatever that was fair, that hardly mattered. She was, and that made things difficult; she would place herself at great risk, even asking was dangerous.
But she didn’t blame Erik. He would likely have come himself if it wouldn’t have been even worse. His powers were well known, and few would feel safe around him, much less if they were dressed in metal armor.
No, him going personally would be seen as a threat, maybe even an attack, so someone else had to do it, and only she could.
The rest of the Brotherhood, well, even combined, she doubted they had even half the smarts needed for something like this.
She tossed and turned on the couch, trying to come up with a good idea for how to accomplish this.
-----
Life had changed in Camelot since they took over all of Albion. At the beginning, the city was empty, but now? Now it was filled with people and with life.
Mordred hadn’t thought much about how things would change once they got other people into the city, she remembered Camelot from back in the day and mostly just expected more of the same.
She had been wrong. Very wrong.
Worst of all was the fact that for a short time, she had been able to walk around freely without her armor, being able to wear whatever she wanted. That was something she hadn’t done even in her time, as she had to hide the fact she was her father’s son.
Now, she once more had to walk around in her armor, her helm on; she didn’t like it one bit. But apparently, it was for her own good. “Yeah right.” She cursed under her breath as she walked.
“Mordred! Can I get a selfie?”
“Mordred, can I hold your sword?”
“Mordred, please let me get a picture with you!”
This was the most significant difference from her time. Back then, most people didn’t bother her, a lot even feared her, primarily due to her helm, but still, she was left alone most of the time.
Now, however?
She couldn’t walk through the city without getting mobbed by people wanting something from her.
It hadn’t been bad at first, she liked the attention. And had let people take pictures and such, but it just never stopped.
Day after day, they kept coming; they had no fear, which was good, but they treated her like some kind of monkey that would perform for their amusement.
If they weren’t her father’s subjects and her future ones, she would have beaten them all up, but she couldn’t, so she just had to ignore them. she had even had to order a few Enforcement knights to follow her around just to keep the crowd from swarming her.
She hated it, she really did, but Father promised he would solve it. So she just had to wait; she never was good at that; she got impatient easily, and all these screaming fans didn’t help at all.
Finally, she made her way to the stables, and without wasting a moment, she went inside,
She couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when the doors closed behind her. The stables were one of the few places she could be in peace, here, most people weren’t allowed to enter. Which was the main reason she spent so much time here.
To further relax, she removed her armor, which, sadly, wasn’t as easy as she wished; after all, she wasn’t a servant but a living, breathing person, so the armor had to be removed piece by piece.
She stretched, rolling her neck until it popped. Gods, that felt good.
It had been hours since she’d been able to move properly. The armor was strong, powerful—but it wasn’t made for comfort.
One of the horses let out a snort nearby, shifting in its stall. Mordred turned her head and smiled.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she muttered, stepping forward and reaching out to scratch the beast’s muzzle. “You’re probably just as tired of seeing me as I am of all of them.”
The horse merely shook its head in response, flicking its ears.
Mordred let out a breath, resting her forehead against its strong neck. “At least you don’t talk.”
For a moment, she just stayed there, listening to the quiet sounds of the stables, feeling the warmth of the creature beneath her fingers.
This was peace. The only peace she really got these days.
But, of course—peace never lasted.
The doors to the stables creaked open.
Mordred tensed, snapping her head up.
“Who the hell—”
The figure that stepped inside wasn’t a stable hand. It wasn’t one of the knights, either.
“It isn’t often I see one of your type around here, looking for the kids again?” She cracked a joke as one of those widows entered.
Mordred didn’t care much for them, the kids weren’t too bad, but the rest weren’t her type, sneaking around and all that, nahh, that wasn’t her at all.
The fact that she turned away from her as soon as she recognized the face meant she missed the shocked expression on her face as she froze there for a moment.
“Cat, got your tongue? What brought you down here? Did Agravain need something?” Mordred asked as she began brushing the horse.
Behind her, Raven, Mystique disguised as someone else, struggled to understand the situation she was in. She had followed Mordred around and found an opportunity to speak with him in private when she saw him enter the stables.
So she took on the appearance of someone she knew who worked for Arthur, someone who was able to enter, and went inside. Only to see a sight she hadn’t expected.
Well, honestly, she wasn’t sure what she had expected, maybe Mordred tending to the horses? And that was indeed what she was seeing, but Mordred wasn’t what she expected.
While Mordred was well known, none had seen him without his helm, except for the four people who first met King Arthur. They had all described a young-looking handsome teen with blond hair and green eyes.
Well, the young-looking aspect was alright; the teenage part was on point as well; she estimated their age to be around 19.
Golden blond hair, green eyes, good looking, everything was as described, all except one thing.
Mordred Pendragon.
Heir to King Arthuria Pendragon.
Future ruler of Albion.
Famous Knight of Rebellion.
Knight of Treachery.
The magic knight who cut down an army on their own.
The blood-soaked red crusader, feared across the world.
The enforcer of Albion’s rule, ruthlessly cutting down the rebels who dare resist his Father’s dominion.
Was a beautiful, tomboyish young teenage girl.
Raven had met many powerful figures in her lifetime. Some were cunning, others were cruel, and a rare few were genuinely noble. Mordred had always been described as a warrior, a bloodied knight whose power and reputation rivaled even the greatest champions of history.
But this?
She had expected something different beneath the armor, sure—but not this.
Mordred turned slightly, her sharp green eyes flickering in the dim light of the stable, scanning Raven with mild impatience.
“You’re acting weird,” she muttered, brushing down her horse’s mane. “Usually, you widow types just get straight to the point.”
Raven forced herself to snap out of it. Focus. Adapt.
She had come here for a reason, and the last thing she needed was to get distracted.
Especially not by this.
She swallowed and schooled her expression. With a deep breath, she sunk to her knees. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for I have deceived you.” She decided to admit her deception.
Mordred froze.
For a moment, the only sound in the stable was the steady breathing of the horses and the distant hum of the city beyond the walls.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she turned.
Raven kept her gaze downward, her head bowed. She knew better than to meet Mordred’s eyes right now—better than to provoke a knight known for her short temper.
A long silence stretched between them before Mordred spoke, her voice low and dangerously calm.
“What do you mean?” She moved her hand down to the hilt of Clarent, which hung by her hip.
Raven could feel the tension rise in the air. The grip Mordred placed on her sword wasn’t for show—it was instinct, a reaction born from countless battles and the expectation of treachery.
A lesser spy would have panicked, stumbled over their words.
But not her.
She took a slow, deep breath and lifted her head slightly, enough to meet Mordred’s gaze.
“I mean exactly what I said,” she replied, her voice even, measured. “I deceived you. I am not who I claimed to be.”
Mordred narrowed her eyes, her fingers twitching around Clarent’s hilt. “Then who the hell are you?”
Raven exhaled. No more games.
With a thought, her form shifted—her stolen face melting away like water.
Gone was the familiar courtly spy Mordred had recognized.
And in its place—the blue-skinned, golden-eyed face of Mystique.
The breath that left Mordred’s lips wasn’t one of surprise or fear.
It was annoyance.
“Great.” Mordred let go of her sword and rolled her eyes. “A shapeshifter. Because I needed more of those in my life.”
Raven tilted her head. “Not the reaction I was expecting.”
Mordred scoffed. “What, did you think I’d scream?” She crossed her arms. “Shapeshifters aren’t exactly new to me. Merlin pulled worse tricks on all of us back then.”
That reaction was unexpected but not unwelcome. She could work with this.
