Unknownfate
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Chapter 26
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 00:23:09 +0000 UTCMeanwhile, in the magnificent castle at the city’s heart, Agravain was poring over a file he had received.
This was an unprecedented situation. He was convinced that the outside world was attempting to restrict their understanding of events, which was deeply frustrating to him.
The king had commanded them to learn from the outsiders, yet he felt he was failing to meet that expectation.
Now, he had received information that was quite troubling. After a quick scan of the pages, he stood and walked toward the throne room; the king needed to be informed.
The throne room doors, grand and finely detailed with depictions of Camelot’s splendor, opened smoothly as he approached. King Arthur sat on the throne, her posture both regal and relaxed, her gaze distant as if pondering matters far beyond the room itself.
“My King,” Agravain began, bowing deeply as he neared. “I carry news that may require your immediate attention.”
Arthur’s expression sharpened, and she leaned in closer. “Speak, Agravain. What concerns you?”
Agravain held up the folder, advancing slightly. “This was given to one of our knights by the outsiders during their visit. It contains detailed accounts of someone known as Sir Percy of Scandia and a weapon called the Ebony Blade. They assert that this knight was part of Camelot and served at the Round Table.”
Arthuria frowned as she extended her hand, taking the folder from him. She flipped through it, her expression inscrutable. The tales within were filled with rich details of valor, a cursed sword, and a lineage linked to Camelot’s legacy.
“Tell me, Agravain, am I a liar?”
Agravain trembled under my gaze, and while I didn’t fault him for it, I had much to question.
“No, Your Majesty, you are truthful, just, kind, and a noble king.” He said, lowering his head, his words thick with respect.
“Summon Mordred,” I instructed after a pause. “And gather all those not tending to the outsiders.”
Agravain straightened up, nodding sharply. “At once, Your Majesty.” He turned sharply, his steps purposeful as he exited the throne room to gather the knights.
The thought of another knight—one linked to my legacy, to my Round Table—troubled me. Sir Percy of Scandia. The Ebony Blade. These names felt like unwelcome intrusions on my story, my truth.
Rising from the throne, I let my cape sweep the stone floor as I moved. The room, grand and daunting, offered no solace. I briefly traced the armrest with my fingers before crossing to the expansive windows overlooking Camelot.
Beneath the midday sun, the city sparkled. Its towers stood resolute, yet the weight of the knowledge pressed heavily on me. My knights had spoken the truth. I trusted their memories as much as my own. Yet the world celebrated this "Sir Percy.”
Could I have forgotten someone so integral to my legacy? No, that was unthinkable. My memory held every name, every face of those who shared my table. This tale did not belong here.
I was aware that the Marvel universe had its own legends, a distinct Camelot and a different Arthur. In essence, I was like an impostor. Still, I had hoped the differences wouldn’t be vast.
I knew the truth, but my knights did not, and I desired to spare them from that burden.
Now, it seemed that the distance from the truth was widening, and I needed to address it.
As I surveyed the city, the thought of these conflicting narratives stirred discomfort within me. I had come to terms with the fact that this Marvel world bore its own myths. Yet, this "Sir Percy," this "Ebony Blade," crossed a line.
Camelot was not simply a city; it represented a legacy, and its true story belonged to me and those who lived it. The notion that some outsider, a fabricated knight, might claim it ignited a fury within me.
The doors creaked open, pulling me from my thoughts. Mordred stepped in. “You called, Father?” he said, a teasing smirk on his lips, though respect lingered in his tone.
“Kneel before the throne and wait for the others, Sir Mordred,” I said, my voice icy enough to erase his smirk.
With Mordred present, I returned to my throne and resumed my reading.
One by one, the other Knights entered the room. Seeing Mordred kneeling, they joined him, forming rows in silence before the throne.
(Not all of them, but best there is around)
Soon, most of my knights stood before me. For some, it was their first encounter with me since that initial day I had summoned them to this realm.
Sir Gawin, the knight of the sun, was among them.
His brothers, Gaheris and Gareth, were present as well.
Sir Galahad was there, together with Sir Kay and Ector.
(picture of sir Galahad)
Lucan, Lionel, and Lamorak also joined the ranks without a word.
Sir Bedivere cast a glance my way before kneeling.
Tristan surveyed the others first.
(Picture of Tristan)
Sir Percival and Sir Palamedes.
Sir Bors the Younger, Sir Dagonet.
Lastly, Agravain, the last of Morgan’s children, entered, leaving only Sir Lancelot absent.
I remained silent as I perused the entire file; the room was still save for the rustling of papers.
Finally, after I finished reading and took a moment to reflect, I spoke. “Sir Mordred, I ask that you speak sincerely; do not lie to your king.”
“Tell me about Sir Percy of Scandia, and be truthful,” I commanded, gazing down at him.
Mordred raised his head slightly, meeting my eyes with a mix of confusion and determination. “Father,” he began, his voice unwavering yet tinged with curiosity, “I know no knight by that name. Sir Percy of Scandia is a stranger to me.”
Instantly, the atmosphere grew tense. Mordred had many enemies here, and his previous betrayal was not easily forgotten, despite my forgiveness.
The way he responded to my question felt deceitful, even though I knew he was truthful. I silently regretted exploiting him, but promised to redeem myself later.
“Is that so? Let me recount his story," I said, opening the small summary before me.
“Sir Percy of Scandia, the personal bodyguard of King Arthur, the mightiest knight, often feigned foolishness and cowardice, yet he was actually the black knight."
As I recounted, I caught glimpses of the listeners, their expressions revealing a shared confusion.
“He wielded the Ebony Blade, a sword rivalling the King’s Excalibur.” My words reverberated through the room, my knights shifting in disbelief.
"During the Battle of Camlann, Sir Percy arrived too late to save King Arthur from Mordred's attack. With a roar of grief, he used the Ebony Blade to avenge his king."
Mordred looked as if he might leap up and accuse me of lying; had anyone else spoken, he surely would have.
"Yet in his dying moments, the mortally wounded Mordred plunged his blade into Sir Percy’s back, and on that hill, Sir Percy met his end alongside his king," I concluded.
While the story was brief, the provided file largely focused on the modern black knight, summarizing the original's tale only slightly. Yet, it was enough to create a palpable confusion in the room, with my knights wrestling to recall this information or resisting the urge to shout.
"So, Sir Mordred, do you remember him now? Because I certainly don't. I recall wielding the holy lance Rhongomyniad.” At that moment, I summoned the lance, its light flooding the room and compelling everyone to avert their eyes.
“I recall you falling to the sacred light of my lance... or am I mistaken?" I prompted him to respond.
"You're not wrong, Father," he replied, his voice strained. "I fell to that lance. I remember it clearly. The tale you just shared? It’s pure fiction."
Tension buzzed in the air. My knights, still kneeling, exchanged hesitant glances but remained loyal to me.
"Does anyone remember Sir Percy?” I asked, as I returned Rhongomyniad to my soul.
“Or any tales of the Ebony Blade? Stories of a sword equal to Excalibur?” I summoned the holy sword, its calming light settling the atmosphere.
The light radiated warmth, banishing negativity; only someone truly malevolent could resist. None of my knights possessed such dark hearts.
“No, no sword rivals Excalibur; that story can't be true," Gawain asserted, he who wielded its sister sword, Galatine.
Mordred remained silent, though I noted a slight easing of his tension under Excalibur's glow, a soothing presence even for those with troubled histories.
Turning to Gawain, I asked, "Are you certain?”
He nodded swiftly. "Yes, my King. No blade, regardless of its legend, could match Excalibur's purity and power. Even Galatine, crafted as its sibling, stands apart."
The other knights murmured their agreement, some shaking their heads at the idea’s absurdity. Bedivere spoke next, steady yet firm. “If such a weapon existed, we would know. Its presence could not have gone unnoticed in Camelot."
I scanned the knights, their loyalty and clarity making me reconsider my stance. "And yet," I said, measuredly, "the outside world holds a different belief. They tell tales of Sir Percy of Scandia, his bravery, his weapon, and his supposed place amongst us.
This story I recounted was brought here by an outsider seeking his idol, the black knight. Clearly, the outside world chooses to believe this falsehood—because it is a falsehood. No such knight served me, nor does such a sword exist. I carry the weight of Mordred’s death with me to this day."
I noticed Mordred and many of my knights lost in their emotions and thoughts at my words.
“Yet, to the outer world, it seems I did not strike down Mordred; my most trusted guard was not Gawain, who possesses the mightiest sword after mine; nor was Lancelot the most skilled.
All accolades go to another man, someone undeserving of them. Even worse, this man’s descendants claim the rightful heir to Camelot, a repugnant villain who stains the legacy of us all.”
Tension thickened in the room with my declaration. Despite their pride and loyalty, the knights reacted strongly to the thought of an imposter usurping Camelot's glory and honor. Mordred’s fists were clenched, his expression a turbulent mix of anger and frustration.
“Father,” he snarled, “who dares utter such lies? Who dares tarnish your name and this kingdom’s legacy?”
I met his gaze firmly, allowing my words to resonate. “Nathan Garrett. A man from the modern era who has falsely claimed this legacy for himself. He is the same individual who attempted to invade the city just nights ago.”
Mordred’s reaction was immediate and explosive. He sprang to his feet, his crimson mana crackling around him like a storm, casting sharp shadows across the chamber. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and his fiery gaze fixed on me.
“Father!” he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. “This is an insult beyond words! Some imposter not only dares to claim Camelot but also calls himself your closest knight? To say he killed me?” His voice cracked with indignation. “The audacity! The arrogance! Let me find him, and I’ll carve the truth into his very bones!”
The others, though quieter, clearly shared my feelings. This was a serious insult not just to me but to them and to everything they stand for.
To have a villain assume the heirship of Camelot, and for a pretender to steal the glory of Camelot as his own.
“Stay calm, Mordred. Don’t let your emotions dictate your actions; they might lead you astray in battle,” I said, slightly regretting that I had dismissed Excalibur so quickly.
“How can I remain calm?” Mordred growled, his crimson mana flaring even brighter. “How can I, Father, when both my honor and yours are being dragged through the mud by that deluded fool?”
“You will, because your king commands it,” I replied, my tone firm and my gaze icy.
And indeed, it caused his wave of mana to recede back within him.
“I understand your feelings; even I am tempted to show him the weapon that truly marked your end. Yet, I restrain myself, and you must do the same.”
Mordred's fists trembled, and he breathed heavily as he forced himself to kneel again. “As you wish, Father,” he said, his voice quieter but still seething with rage. “However, this insult cannot be overlooked.”
The other knights shifted slightly, the weight of his words resonating with their own silent agreement. Though Mordred’s emotions were the most intense, it was evident that this insult affected them all.
I scanned the room, declaring, “This offense will not go unchallenged, but we must respond wisely, not recklessly. This Garrett thinks he can seize what belongs to us. He will discover the truth.”
The knights bowed their heads in unison, their determination evident. I had no doubt they stood ready to defend Camelot’s honor when called upon. For now, I needed them to remain steady and focused.
“Agravain,” I said, and he straightened slightly.
“I need you to gather the truth—our legacy—and prepare it for dissemination. Lies must not mislead the outside world; Camelot and all of you are knights of truth and justice, and lies have no place here.”
Agravain nodded decisively, his expression unwavering. “It will be done, Your Majesty. I will ensure that our true story is shared with the world.”
“I understand your desire to pursue this black knight, but I cannot allow it.” My words prompted Mordred to open his mouth, but a sharp look from me forced him to shut it again.
“He will come here—the one who thinks this city and my legacy belong to him. When he returns, Sir Mordred, it’s time he learns that his ancestor would not stand a chance against you.”
Mordred's eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and anger at my declaration, his crimson mana flickering dimly around him. “As you command, Father,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with resolve. “When he arrives, I’ll ensure he understands the true power of Camelot’s heir.”
The other knights appeared energized by my proclamation, their sense of purpose reinforced. Gawain, always the voice of reason, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, should we bolster our vigilance at the walls? If this Garrett dares to return, we must be prepared.”
We didn’t have more forces, the Knights I had summoned were powerful but limited in number. I hadn’t wanted to summon a mighty army, feeling that it would cause the outside world to get the wrong idea.
However, it became increasingly clear to me that the outside world would likely require more force than I wished for.
I nodded in agreement. “I will summon more enforcements later, and then you can double the watch. Once he returns, we will find him, and Mordred will have his opportunity to deliver justice.”
Bedivere, always dutiful, placed a hand over his heart. “What about the outsiders within the city, my King? Should we tighten our oversight?”
“Stay vigilant,” I instructed, my tone firm. “But do not raise undue suspicion. They are here by our grace, and they should leave with only the truth.”
The knights murmured their agreement, their resolve unwavering. Mordred, however, continued to radiate restrained energy. “Father,” he said quietly yet intensely, “when he comes, I will not let you down.”
I met his gaze, softening slightly. “I know, my son.”
A twinge of guilt tugged at me for what I was about to do. I would completely undermine the legacy of Sir Percy, who, although a noble knight in the Marvel Universe, had left a tainted legacy.
His final actions—carrying so much bloodshed that his sword was forever cursed—and the havoc his descendant caused, warranted his erasure. It seemed best for the knights of my Round Table to assume his mantle.
“My king, can we trust this information?” Sir Tristan asked, breaking the silence of my thoughts.
I tapped the armrest of my throne, pondering his words.
Earlier, I’d assessed the informant while gazing out the window.
I understood why Tristan questioned the validity; after all, we had never received intelligence like this before.
Everyone knew the outsiders were attempting to keep us in the dark.
This sudden outpouring of information felt suspicious.
“I understand your doubts. They have their own motives for sharing this, but the information has merit, or at least they believe it does,” I explained slowly.
“They genuinely believe in Sir Percy, which is why they presented us with this information regarding the intruder; they want to test us, to see how we react to someone tarnishing the legacy of one of our own.”
“They are also interested in gauging our strength; they struggle against this black knight, Nathan Garrett, and want to see if we can withstand him.”
“I am confident that Mordred can, especially since this man doesn’t even wield that Ebony Blade; instead, he uses a weapon of his own making, based on technology—not magic.”
Mordred’s voice rang out, still simmering with anger yet tainted with disdain. “A man who doesn’t even bear the blade that links him to us? And they fear him? Pathetic.” His crimson mana flickered briefly with all his frustration.
His disdain was clear, and I couldn’t fault him. Facing a knight of the Round Table without magic was foolhardy. I doubted even the real black knight would prove a match for Mordred, much less this pretender.
I dismissed my knights, giving them their orders, while I needed to think.
Mordred would no doubt head straight to the nearest training ground, and most others would likely follow, ensuring he was prepared for the impending conflict.
I had no idea when this black knight would return, but that hardly mattered. He would, of that I was certain, and when he did, he would confront a Mordred far stronger than any in the Marvel Universe.
I could be mistaken, but I doubted it; Mordred was formidable, and many beings within the Marvel Universe lacked true strength.
Some were undoubtedly fearsome, but they belonged to the ranks of the greatest villains and ancient knights, and this man seemed to fall outside that elite club.
Yet, this whole event highlighted how little I understood of the broader Marvel universe, and even less about this particular one. Who else was out there? The thought made me sigh. I was in dire need of information, but how could I obtain it?
My knights weren’t adept at gathering such intel, so sending them would likely cause more trouble than it was worth.
Furthermore, using the grail felt inappropriate. I realized it wasn’t sufficient to only consider the threats I was aware of; I had to contemplate what other dangers might be lurking.
I needed to prepare for the possibility that there could be adversaries with plans against me.
Ultimately, all I possessed was strength. While my unmatched knights and my own power could toy with legendary heroes, brute force couldn’t solve every issue.
So, how was I to address that? I found myself glancing out the window, knowing Phil Coulson was below, representing SHIELD.
They had a wealth of information but were rarely inclined to share. Moreover, working with them would be complicated and bothersome.
Fury had an obsession with control, and I wasn’t about to be controlled. And if he couldn’t control me, he would see to defeat me, which made it unlikely that he would help me.
