Unknownfate
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Chapter 43
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 00:31:48 +0000 UTCThe widows were used to a bit of everything, both thanks to their training and the many missions they had been on. Yet waking up inside Camelot was still strange. They couldn’t decide if they felt scared or safe.
While the kids slept in, the oldest girls, the fully trained widows, had woken up and moved to one corner of the large barracks they had slept in. There, they could talk in peace.
Yelena leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Alright, let’s just say it. King Arthur is a woman. Did anyone else see that coming?”
One of the older Widows, Viktoria Ivanova, shook her head, her fiery red streaks catching the dim light. “Not in a million years. Every story, every legend, every painting—it was always a man. Yet here we are.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” muttered Sofia, another Widow in her early thirties. “But then again, nothing about this place makes sense. Camelot reappearing? Knights with magic powers? And now this.”
“Does it matter?” asked Elena, one of the quieter ones, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Man or woman, she’s still the one who opened her doors to us.”
Yelena smirked. “True, but let’s not pretend this isn’t strange. A ‘King’ who’s clearly a queen? The whole thing feels...off.”
Viktoria’s gaze sharpened. “It feels like freedom. That’s what matters. After everything we’ve been through, does it really matter who’s sitting on the throne?”
Sofia snorted softly. “You’re just saying that because you fancy her.”
The group chuckled, the tension easing just slightly. They were still Widows—trained to be skeptical, to question everything. But even they couldn’t deny the faint glimmer of hope that had started to creep into their hearts.
“What do you think her game is?” Yelena asked, her voice dropping. “No one offers this kind of sanctuary for nothing. What’s the catch?”
“Maybe there isn’t one,” Elena said, though even she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “She said it, she needs us to navigate in this modern world, and that job sounds better then secret assassin any day of the week.”
Yelena sighed, rubbing her temples. “It’s just...a lot. A king who’s a queen, a kingdom out of time, knights who glow like the sun, and now we’re supposed to swear allegiance?”
Viktoria placed a hand on her shoulder. “I get it. But think about the kids. They’re safe here. For the first time in their lives, they’re safe.”
The room fell quiet at that. They all glanced at the door, as if imagining the laughter of the children echoing from the halls. It was true—no matter how bizarre this place was, it was the first time in years they hadn’t been looking over their shoulders.
Yelena exhaled deeply. “So, it’s only a matter of time before they come for us, no doubt wanting us to pick jobs already, what do we say? What jobs do we take?”
Viktoria was the first to answer, “Well, we can split the jobs up into a few categories. First is the maid and other servant type of job. Not the most glorious but they would be carried out inside Camelot itself, so the safest type of job.”
Elena nodded thoughtfully. “Then there’s the second type—advisory roles. Helping the knights understand how the modern world works, teaching them about politics, technology, and culture. Another type of mostly safe work.”
Yelena spoke up next. “And finally, the most dangerous work, Black ops, intelligence, pretty much what we have been doing now, just to protect our home rather than at the orders of those assholes.”
It truly was a rough way to divide the countless different jobs that might be available to them, but it was good enough for now—good enough to give them pause as they considered it.
“I lost everything in exchange for the skills I have now, and while I hate them, I’m also not about to give them up, so I agree to take on the darker, more dangerous jobs.” One of the widows said, which many were quick to agree with, including Yelena.
“We can give the maid type jobs to some of the younger ones, it's an important job, the perfect way to gather information about our new king and home, and it's without any real risk.” Viktoria added.
The group nodded as Viktoria’s suggestion settled in. It made sense—assigning the younger widows and older girls to less dangerous roles gave them time to adjust and find their footing in Camelot without the looming specter of violence.
“We need to think strategically,” Yelena said, her tone sharp but thoughtful. “Not just about what jobs we take, but how we position ourselves. This is a new life, sure, but we can’t let our guard down.”
Elena tapped her fingers on the table, her brow furrowed. “Even if this place is as perfect as it seems, we need contingencies. Escape routes. Plans. Trusting too easily is what gets people killed.”
“Agreed,” Yelena said, her gaze hardening. “We do what’s necessary, and we stay smart. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to build something here. If this really is our chance at freedom, we’d be stupid not to take it.”
Sofia leaned back, her arms crossed. “So, maids and advisors to gather intel, and the rest of us take on the dangerous work. Sounds like we’re building our own little hierarchy.”
“Better us than someone else,” Viktoria said. “If we don’t organize ourselves, someone will do it for us. At least this way, we keep control.”
The group fell into silence again, the weight of their decisions pressing down on them. For years, they had been forced into roles they didn’t choose, puppets to a master they despised. Now, for the first time, they were making their own decisions—not just for survival but for a future.
Yelena broke the silence. “Alright, then. We’ve got a rough plan. Let’s see what Camelot has to offer, and we’ll adapt as we go.”
By the time they came to a decision, many of the younger girls had already woken up, but a mix of nervousness and bliss at not being forced to train kept them tugged in their beds.
This was the sight that greeted Sir Bedivere when he entered the barracks they had been assigned. “Good morning my ladies.” He greeted them with a smile as bright as the sun entering from the door behind him.
The widows froze momentarily at Sir Bedivere’s entrance. His calm demeanor and radiant smile were disarming, even if they were trained not to trust appearances. The younger girls, still curled up in their beds, peeked out cautiously.
Yelena was the first to recover, standing and crossing her arms. “Good morning, Sir Bedivere,” she said, her voice steady but measured. “What brings you here so early?”
Bedivere inclined his head respectfully. “I’ve been tasked by our king to ensure you and the children are comfortable. And,” he added, his smile growing warmer. “I’m sure you could also use something to eat as well.”
The widows exchanged wary glances, their instincts still leaning toward suspicion. Viktoria was the first to speak, her tone guarded but polite. “Food does sound good, but I doubt you came all this way just to offer us breakfast.”
Bedivere chuckled softly, his demeanor unshaken. “True enough, my lady. Our kitchens are preparing a proper meal for you all, but I was also asked to offer a more personal welcome and answer any questions you might have.”
One of the younger girls, emboldened by the mention of food, sat up. “Do knights eat the same food as everyone else? Or do they have special meals?”
Bedivere knelt slightly to meet her eye level, his expression warm. “We eat the same food as everyone in Camelot. A knight fights best with a strong heart, and nothing builds a strong heart like sharing bread with those you protect.”
His sunny and kind personality wasn’t entirely enough to convince the fully trained widows, but given the younger ones hadn’t finished their training, and thankfully never would, they had little resistance to the magnetic pull Sir Bedivere radiated.
Under his lead, they soon found themselves in another large hall, this one filled with tables that were filled with food, though little more than baked bread and a massive amount of mashed potato for some reason. And meat, tons of cooked meat.
“An interesting combination of foods.” Viktoria said as she watched the kids dig in.
“Well, we have no cooks, so we only have what we make ourselves, and well, Sir Mordred likes his meat, and we can all cook that, and Gawain, his mashed potato is edible.” Bedivere said, slightly embarrassed as he filled his own plate.
“I know the king said she needed our help, but I didn’t think it was this bad.” Sofia teased, the aura around Sir Bedivere was so calming she couldn’t help herself.
Bedivere chuckled, a sound that seemed to lighten the mood in the hall. "We do our best with what we have," he said. "And we are grateful for the company to share it with."
As the children happily ate, the widows began to relax, their wariness slowly dissipating. Bedivere's genuine warmth and the simple, hearty meal worked together to ease their tensions.
Viktoria watched the scene unfold, her mind already spinning with questions. "Sir Bedivere," she began, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and concern, "what exactly does the king need our help with?"
Bedivere's expression grew more serious, though the kindness never left his eyes. "The king will soon begin to reclaim his kingdom, and as such, we need to interact with the outside world if he is to rule it.”
As the widows settled at the table, their suspicion softened by Bedivere’s kind demeanor and the warm food before them, Viktoria’s sharp gaze lingered on him. Finally, she couldn’t hold back her curiosity.
“Sir Bedivere,” she began, her voice measured but tinged with confusion. “I’ve noticed you always refer to your king as ‘he,’ but she’s clearly a woman. Why is that?”
Bedivere paused, his expression calm but thoughtful. “Well, the king always pretended to be a man, a woman… the masses and lords weren’t ready to accept a woman to rule them, so I guess it's just a habit at this point.”
Viktoria frowned slightly, clearly trying to process his answer. “A habit? So, you just keep up the pretense, even now, when it’s clear to anyone that your king is a woman?”
Bedivere nodded, his tone even and calm. “No, I spoke wrongly, it’s more than a pretense. It’s respect for how the king sacrificed everything for the land and her duty. How she gave up the joys of a woman, to bear the burden of a king.”
Yelena leaned forward, her voice skeptical but curious. “So, it’s not just about tradition? It’s about what she gave up? You call her ‘he’ because of… what? Duty?”
Bedivere met her gaze steadily. “Yes. To us, the king is beyond titles or forms. She gave up her identity as a woman to unite a fractured land, to bring peace. We honor that sacrifice every time we call her ‘king.’”
Sofia, ever the pragmatist, crossed her arms. “And what about now? The world’s changed. Doesn’t it matter that people see her for who she really is?”
Bedivere’s smile was faint but unwavering. “Perhaps it does, and perhaps it doesn’t. What matters is that we see her for what she truly is—our king. The one who stands as the pillar of this realm.”
Viktoria tilted her head, still processing. “So, it’s not about denying her womanhood. It’s about respecting the choices she made to protect the people.”
“Precisely,” Bedivere said, his tone firm but gentle. “She embodies strength, sacrifice, and leadership. Those qualities are what define a king—not the form they take.”
Yelena leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Huh. I guess when you put it like that, it makes a strange kind of sense.”
“Well,” she began, straightening in her seat, “philosophy aside, you mentioned something earlier, Sir Bedivere. About the work that needs to be done. What exactly does Camelot require from us?”
Bedivere’s expression softened, and he nodded. “Of course. The king has tasked me with helping you find roles that suit your skills. Camelot is a growing kingdom, and your expertise could help bridge the gap between our world and yours.”
Sofia raised an eyebrow. “Bridge the gap? You’re talking about more than just cleaning or guarding the gates, aren’t you?”
“Indeed,” Bedivere replied. “We do not need you to play guards, the enforcement knights are perfect for simple jobs like that, you are needed for roles that require more finesse. One of your main roles in the start is to help recruitment, we need many hands to fill many roles.”
Sofia narrowed her eyes slightly. “So our role will be to ensure that the king can rule all of England? Not military power, but administration? We need to find trusted people to run everything once she claims the kingdom?”
“Correct! That is the essence of the need the king has.” The voice of Sir Dagonet came from behind, instantly shocking the widows.
They were trained assassins, agents of the highest skill, yet somehow, a knight in full armor had sneaked up on them without anyone noticing.
“Ah, Sir Dagonet, It's good to see you. Did the king send you here?” Sir Bedivere smiled at his fellow knight.
“Sir Agravain did; I am to help entertain the young ones; there is much to do, so I shall ensure you the freedom to do so, my ladies.” The court jester of Camelot said with a small bow.
Yelena and Sofia exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Yelena finally spoke up, her voice measured. “Very well, Sir Bedivere, Sir Dagonet. We will take on this task. But know this—we will need autonomy and discretion in our actions. To do this effectively, we must be able to make decisions without delay.”
Sir Bedivere nodded, his expression serious. “You shall have it. The king is filled with trust, and we trust the king’s judgment.
“The king is no less generous than he is merciful; Sir Agravain awaits a list of all your needs. For this once only, the King will provide your needs, clothes, equipment, toys, whatever you need, this once the king shall deliver.” Sir Dagonet almost sang the words, much to the amusement of the younger girls.
