(A/N: Back for real. Forcefully if necessary.)
Agravain of the Iron Hand, 'Secretary of the Round Table', son of Morgan le Fay and traitor-turned-loyalist, let out a sigh of relief when the Knight of Atrocity pointed his weapon at Sir Kay, and those who wished to rebel against their great king.
And he disliked his own actions.
He believed himself a man of cold logic and fact, a pragmatic individual that dared to tread on the same path their King did, and logic proclaimed that had Aston turned against them, the chances of their victory would be significantly reduced.
Agravain's lack of affinity for his fellow knight didn't come from the fact that said knight seemed to dislike his very presence, it didn't come from the insults, nor the fact that he was far weaker than the man. He was a legend in his own right, what need did he have of envy for his own comrade?
He didn't, and in being envious, he betrayed his own self.
Was he not strong?
Was he not loyal?
Was he not willing to commit grave sins in the name of their King and Britain?
Why then did the King not order him?
Why then did the King only trust the rowdy and unpredictable Knight of Atrocity?
What made him so unworthy?
Unlike Aston who had even lost the colour of his hair from stress and regret, Agravain of the Iron Hand would never, he would not even hesitate.
And yet, faced with their own brethren, some of whom had betrayed their venerable King, Agravain, the cold and pragmatic, found it arduous to steel his heart and felt that there was no other knight who he could trust more to obey their King now.
"Sir Aston, leave this incessant talking be, cut down the traitorous curs or I shall do it myself."
"For once, I will agree."
Aston's face was one devoid of any emotion, as if he had no qualms about killing those that had once fought by his side, "This is the last time, retreat."
In response, Kay bumped a fist against his chestplate and grinned self-deprecatingly, grasping his sword firmly with both hands, "Didn't know you could be such an indecisive bumbler." His sharp tongue came into play.
-
The battle that ensued held no glamour or glory, instead making a mockery of bonds forged by blood and battle and while initially, those who disagreed with King Arthur's plans seemed to hold out, it didn't last long.
Out of a summoned twelve, seven had decided to follow their King all the same, for whatever reasons they may have had, namely, Lancelot, Gareth, Gawain, Agravain, Tristan, Mordred and Aston while five chose to rebel.
The subsequent 'battle' could more aptly be called a slaughter due to the sheer difference in raw power that the division brought.
-
"We fought for the people. You know that. Did death make your brain stop functioning?"
Sparks flew as metal clashed under a blazing Sun.
Kay bled from his head, and spoke in a low, hushed voice, holding up his longsword with his right hand, the left rendered limp when Aston impaled him through it, "You must feel real strong, beating me." He expected witty comebacks and let out a small chuckle when the answer he got was a hesitant face, "Tsk, come on! Say something at least! Did my charm stun you into silence?"
Aston only pursed his lips, drawing the sword at his waist to deflect a heavy swing from his former comrade, "Why will you no-" He cut himself off, already aware of the answer to his question, and impaled Kay through his chest, observing him with eyes wide open where many would have them shut.
"My comrade," Kay seemed to grin, disregarding the fact that his heart had exploded, "I trust you to... understand that idiot, more than any of these lot." The spear impaling him dissipated, and he fell against Aston's arms, "Make your king see reason.. for this fool?"
"My brother," He spoke again, his face losing colour as his body gradually dissipated into wisps of magical energy, "Whe-If the time comes...your King? Or the people?"
Kay pitied the poor, compassionate fool who was taking his life.
He had always cared far more than he should have and their King was a right cunt for using him the way 'he' had.
Not stopping for even a singular moment, Aston appeared next to a frightened Gareth, propping up his cape with a hand to block his student's vision just as Agravain struck down her brother, Gaheris, his features marred by the blood of his own brother.
He looked in silence at the Knight of Betrayal, and prepared himself for when he would eventually have to face her. Logic dictated that he scold and punish her for her treachery yet in his heart, he knew that someone had manipulated an innocent, angry child.
"Ah well, I've never been much for logic."
Killing former comrades was regrettably among his many atrocities, and as such, he was perhaps somewhat numb to his actions as compared to the other knights.
"Lord Aston, G-Gaheris is..." Gareth didn't need to speak further, couldn't speak further, as tears welled up in her eyes, "W..Why do we need to-"
It felt so wrong.
Why did they have to fight each other? Kill each other?
"Aren't we all supposed to be friends?" She asked with teary eyes, hopeful that her teacher would have an answer.
Aston suppressed a sigh, ruffling her blonde hair as a gentle smile crossed his lips, "We're all already ghosts, my dear student." He really was bad at consoling people, "Think of it as a release from the suffering one would endure in being made a pawn even after death."
"T..That's right?" Gareth found the truth in his words undeniable, "But.."
But then why was his voice quivering?
"I-I'll help." She would feel extremely bad for it but, she wouldn't be the only one.
Gareth was stopped by Aston shaking his head, "It's already over."
No blood remained, no corpses, no nothing.
A cruel reminder of the fact they were living on borrowed time.
Dead people summoned to be used for whatever purpose their summoner had in mind.
At least their King had allowed them the liberty of choice.
Lancelot sheathed Arondight and turned to face his fellow knights, guilt overwhelming his features when his gaze landed on Aston and Gareth who was peeking out from behind him with teary green eyes, "Sir Aston, I apologise."
"Shut up." Aston, who was calm and suppressed most of the time lashed out, removing his helmet to stare at his former 'brother' with dull blue eyes, "Keep your apology to yourself. Traitor cunt, did it feel nice to sheathe your sword in the Queen? I begged you to spare my student."
The Knight of Atrocity didn't believe himself a man to hold grudges, or get angry considering all the shit he'd been through, but there were certain lines that were simply never meant to be crossed.
Lancelot's words got caught in his throat and he retracted his hand, "I was not in the right mind."
"And that is supposed to be enough?"
Mordred's shoulders jerked under his stern voice and she lowered her head, having never heard such a tone from her teacher, was he going to use the same tone with her? Or would it be worse?
Closing his eyes, Tristan let out a pained sigh, "It saddens my heart to hear this divide. Do you not recall how close you had been? Brothers even? I had thought so... but then again..." He'd cut down some of those brothers moments ago, and the pain was, unimaginable, more so than the poison that took his life.
Gawain, for once, seemed to read the room.
"Are we engaging in some sort of comedic play to entertain our King when he returns to lessen the impact of our actions? It might need some work but I believe in us!"
Or not.
-
You can find up to 7 chapters ahead at patre0n.com/bleap
(A/N: Ho shit, I almost forgot. I was watching War Dogs and it just crossed my mind.)
Aston, did not feel guilt or much in the way of regret over his actions.
In the first place, he didn't even consider servants to be living and the fact that as a servant, he'd eventually end up having to face his former comrades in battle was something he'd already made peace with.
If anything, he considered it to be a release from the torment of having to fight as a pawn even after death but if they hated him for it, well, Aston didn't have much to say regarding that.
Here however, where they should have attempted to reason with their king, they chose to fight her. Subsequently, he put them down, not something he was unused to doing.
It didn't however, feel all that good to be reminded of their demise and passing.
The Knight of Atrocity let out a small sigh, brushing aside a few strands of pale hair, he stared at Lancelot in unconcealed contempt, "You though, fuck you." He would enjoy beating the traitorous cunt even if the actual him was long dead.
It was a surprise for the other remaining knights to see the calm and collected Aston use such language when he prided himself on grace and dignity.
Agravain reached for his sword, the blistering heat was something he barely registered, and stared at Lancelot, "Is this necessary?"
They were about to enter a war, losing more of their number could be costly.
But well, he wasn't averse to putting down a traitor.
"Mm," Tristan interjected, holding up a hand, "Do you believe it wise to lose the strength he possesses?"
Aston deadpanned, "You're one to talk."
"...?" The red-haired knight tilted his head in confusion, "Regardless, it is true that our King has granted a second chance to all those that abandoned their conviction in life, why not follow the example?"
Aston grit his teeth, strengthening his grip, "Are you serious?"
"Were you not brothers once?" Tristan sighed, gently tugging one of Failnaught's strings to produce a melancholic note.
Ashamed, Lancelot didn't raise his gaze to meet Aston's, "I have done wrong." He'd betrayed the King, committed infidelity, killed his friend's treasured disciple, killed many others in his mad rage, "I accept that."
Aston scoffed, entirely unimpressed, "Great, I suppose that sees all your wrong undone. Let us ride into the sunset, happy ever more... Cunt." He drew his blade as well, ready to charge.
"Which is why I must have this second chance." Lancelot drew Arondight, King Arthur had given him a chance to redeem himself, "To right at least some wrongs, repent."
For that, he was ready to face his brother in all but blood once again, as he had so long ago to protect an innocent Queen Guinevere.
The Knights of the Round Table, those that chose to follow King Arthur, tensed up, some among them remembering the scale of destruction a battle between the two had brought oh so long ago.
Gawain however, interrupted, collected but serious enough to warrant that the two bickering stop to acknowledge his presence, "Sir Aston, you need not give him a second chance." He had stopped Lancelot from joining their King at the Battle of Camlann and it was a decision that brought him much anguish, "But, hold your judgement until we see our King's will done. Surely, you understand how much he could help."
Gawain wondered, if he hadn't stopped the traitor, would things have turned out differently?
Would they have won?
"If Sir Lancelot poses a threat, I will accept a fitting punishment." The Knight of the Sun made an honest request, knowing full well just how wrong everything could go.
Aston only scowled, realising that his actions were disgraceful, entirely unfitting his nature, "He killed your siblings." Calmly, he withdrew his weapons and turned about, walking over to the jagged cliff edge and peered off into the distance, seemingly placated.
Gareth seemed to deflate, blaming herself for driving such a wedge in their ranks, "I forgive Lord Lancelot." She spoke in a hushed, barely audible, whisper and treaded to her teacher, aware that even if no human could have heard her words, all her fellow knights of the Round Table had.
It was her greatest honour to join them and she didn't want to see them driven apart any more than they already were.
Knowing her, she genuinely didn't blame or hold Lancelot's actions against him and almost every single one of them understood that.
Mordred clenched her fists and stood in silence, her expression masked by her horned helmet.
Why did Gareth receive such preferential treatment?
-
"Is this all?"
Contrary to her words, the King's words held no judgement or contempt as her golden eyes passed each and every one of the seven knights lined up in front of her. Their numbers had halved since the last time she saw them but she did not feel disappointed, as if she'd expected it already.
Their kneeling in show of submission also seemed inconsequential.
"I apologise if we've disappointed you, my King." Agravain looked up, pale hand still over his dark chestplate, "Some among us disagreed with your vision." Looking at her now, he felt it was somewhat stupid of him to continue believing her a man for so long.
It didn't mean he hated the fact any less though.
He hated women.
The King, no, Lion King responded by putting a horned, ornate helmet decorated with white fur in a manner reminiscent of a lion's mane as her massive white stallion neighed, declaring her divine right to the world.
King Arthur had taken up the mantle of the Lion King, for a reason he didn't deign to disclose to his loyal retainers, "We march against the false conquerors on the morrow." She ordered solemnly, leaving no room for questions or doubt.
Of course while the rest were more than happy to not question any of her decisions, Aston wasn't.
"My King, I would like knowledge regarding our foes, how has it come to this?" He asked calmly, rising to his full height, armour clanking against the hard ground.
"..." The Lion King halted for a moment before speaking, "Two people wage war in this land. The Saracen invaders came upon the Holy Grail and summoned a servant, pushing back the Crusading invaders after the death of their commander." She halted again, letting her words sink in.
"This servant has confiscated the Grail and another appeared, King Richard, bringing with him another force that pushed back the Saracens. Their conflict has seen the Holy City they fought over destroyed and the land torn."
Evidently, this conflict was a jumbled up mess but for now, the Knights of the Round Table remained silent, listening to the concise, direct words of their King that perfectly conveyed her lack of human emotion.
"The servant summoned before has begun gathering his own forces, erecting a Kingdom of his own."
"And what is it that we are to do about them, my King?" Lancelot asked pensively, raising his head to gaze at her form.
The reply was short, almost cruel and utterly devoid of empathy.
"Remove them."
Mordred jerked, a grin crossing her face, this was her chance to prove herself deserving, a chance to regain her teacher's recognition and earn her father's!
Normally, one would think it impossible for only 8 individuals to believe themselves capable of taking down armies and kingdoms but once ordered, the Knights of the Round Table were ready to see it through.
That was the extent of their loyalty and admiration.
Ever cold and pragmatic, Agravain considered the necessity of massive numbers.
It was wise to remove all chances of problem and resistance before moving on to their actual goals but realistically, they needed an army of their own to accomplish complete takeover and consolidation.
"I bequeath unto all among you, gifts, to aid you in seeing my will done."
The Lion King raised her hand, addressing her retainers with all the dignity and grace of a King and then some.
Aston shook his head, denying her, "I must refuse that gift, I wish to employ my own prowess."
"I, as well." Agravain spoke out too, slightly surprising Aston who grinned cheekily at his words.
"It appears finally Agravain wishes to follow in my example."
"I merely share interests."
Unsurprised, the king merely nodded in acceptance and granted them to those that would have them.
The Knight of Atrocity ran his gaze over the slowly darkening landscape and sighed, "We need an army."
"Indeed." Agravain nodded, accepting his conclusion because he had the same one.
It was impossible to achieve their goals otherwise.
-
You can find up to 7 chapters ahead at patre0n.com/bleap
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