“That is the enemy that you must defeat.”
Blindingly, overwhelmingly perfect.
Loving everyone and being loved by all - that was the existence of King Arthur. A man chosen not only by those of this earth, but also by those beyond it. Raised to be the King, he had assumed his role perfectly.
Mordred loved him, of course. How could he not? He loved the King of Knights deeper than any mere countryman could hope to bear. The tales of King Arthur, defending against the beasts that threatened Britain - King Arthur in person, riding down the streets and taking the time to listen to every soul that reached out for him - King Arthur himself, welcoming him to the Round Table, not holding his refusal to unmask himself against him.
“Welcome, Mordred. Your swordsmanship is great indeed, and I welcome your presence at this Round Table, this gathering of knights. May your blade be ever raised in defense of this country, this land, and this people.”
And raise it he did. Cloaked in metal, never showing his face, Mordred laid his life on the line for Britain. He beat back the hordes of savages that threatened their borders, he slew the anonymous knights that threatened their peace. His name grew in popularity, even if it had never reached the levels that his compatriots in the Round had ever had. But he could care less about the fame and the honor -
- as long as he served the King’s decree, he was happy.
“How long must you insist on playing the knight in shining armor, Mordred? You are the legitimate heir to King Arthur. Made to surpass him in every way, from his own flesh and blood. Finish him. End him! Take your rightful place at his throne!”
How weird was it that despite all of Mother’s speech, those were the only few words he could focus in on? The perfect King, which he had served so long, to which he had shown nothing but devotion and loyalty and pledged his honor - he was his Father?
Surely, if he loved me as a knight… then as a son, perhaps… perhaps I might be able to stand behind him. Perhaps I might be able to serve him better. Perhaps I might…
“My King! I would request an audience. I have news of great import.”
