Chapter 90: The Queen's Choice -5-
The chilly northern wind that had raged through the night finally died away, and bright morning sunlight filtered into the camp.
From early dawn, a powerful, enticing smell was filling the area around the tents, tickling the noses of the Pict soldiers.
It was breakfast, cooked by Arthur himself: curry.
Curry was originally a miraculous food made from a blend of countless spices, something the lands of Europe could hardly even imagine, where the climate was harsh and spices cost more than gold.
But Britain was different.
In this land steeped in Mystery, all kinds of crops and spices from across the world could grow regardless of climate.
Into a great iron pot, Arthur had cut generous portions of fine meat from Phantasmal Species, then simmered it slowly with rich spices to complete a thick beef curry stew.
Though there was no rice, since the Picts did not care much for grains, the stew alone was enough to send the entire camp into a frenzy.
The food culture of Britain and Pictland had originally been miserable beyond words.
People had been too busy surviving for cooking methods to properly develop, and food had been nothing more than a means to fill the stomach and stay alive.
The Picts in particular, as Phantasmal Species, could directly absorb Mana from nature, so meals were merely a supplementary means of restoring stamina quickly.
But to beings whose appearance and senses closely resembled those of humans, the sharp savor of Arthur’s curry and the deep flavor of tender, slow-cooked meat were nothing short of revolutionary.
"Oooooh...! As expected of the male and king I acknowledged! Every day is something special!"
The Picts, including the Queen of Moidart, were too busy praising Arthur while licking their bowls of stew clean to the bottom.
From Arthur’s perspective, this meal was quite efficient as well.
Unlike humans, the Picts absorbed the nutrients and Mana they consumed completely, one hundred percent, and so left behind no waste.
Of course, waste itself was useful as fertilizer for farming, so not having any was a little unfortunate in its own way.
Still, the fact that an army on the move had none of the most troublesome problems of sanitation and waste disposal was proof of just how perfect a warrior race they were.
But this morning, what shocked the camp most was not the taste of the curry.
It was the astonishing change in Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons.
"Arthur. The meat’s a little hot, so be careful not to burn your lips."
The woman who always wore a sharp gaze was now sitting pressed close at Arthur’s side, her eyes soft.
She even blew on pieces of meat herself before feeding them into Arthur’s mouth, and gently wiped the broth from the corner of his lips with a soft cloth.
Having realized love and resolved to become one man’s woman, the Queen of the Amazons had transformed into the very image of a devoted, virtuous wife and a blindly lovestruck woman.
Even her way of speaking had lost its stiffness, and now carried a strangely gentle softness overflowing with affection.
Watching the sight in a daze, Artoria nearly dropped her spoon as she murmured,
"Good heavens... I never imagined Penthesilea would be this talented at being the proper wife."
Penthesilea’s gentleness extended not only to Arthur, but to Mordred as well.
Where she had once kept a certain distance, now she swiftly scooped up toddling Mordred whenever the child looked about to fall, rubbing her cheek against her with open affection.
Of course, that honey-sweet love was reserved solely for Arthur, the male she loved, and for Mordred, his blood.
Whenever the other Servants or soldiers approached, her expression instantly turned back into the cold, dignified gaze of the queen she usually wore, as if none of that softness had ever existed.
The one most horrified by that extreme difference in temperature was Caenis.
"Hey... are you seriously even the same person? Did something go wrong in your head overnight? This is creepy as hell!"
When Caenis clicked her tongue in disbelief, Penthesilea, still holding Mordred, gave a snort.
"Hmph. What is strange about being devoted to and cherishing the one you love? If anything, your attitude is far more abnormal and foolish—you’ve already given your whole heart away, yet on the surface you still snap and bristle because you can’t be honest."
"Wh-what?! Y-you crazy Amazon, I swear to—!"
Caenis sprang up, her face turning red as a tomato, but Arthur only let out a quiet laugh and roughly ruffled her hair.
"Don’t fight. Penthesilea’s excessive affection is nice, but I also really like that easygoing, slightly prickly tsundere side of yours, Caenis. You’re perfect just the way you are now."
"I-I didn’t ask, damn it?! Just shut up and eat, you beast!"
Caenis whipped her head away and fled, and cheerful laughter rang through the tent.
After finishing their pleasant breakfast and setting out north once more, the army finally reached Orkney, the northernmost territory of Britain, a massive fortress built of black stone.
But its gates were tightly shut.
And before those closed gates stood a youthful knight in silver armor, his radiant hair streaming like the sun, firmly holding formation with Orkney’s elite soldiers.
It was Gawain, eldest son of King Lot and Arthur’s nephew.
"You may not take a single step farther from here, King Arthur."
Though Gawain showed perfect knightly courtesy toward the uncle he was meeting for the first time, his voice carried unwavering firmness.
"King Lot, ruler of Orkney, has no intention of meeting the army of Britain, and has also refused any talks. I respectfully ask that you turn back."
A clear refusal of the king’s royal progress, and an outright order to leave.
Arthur, openly turned away at the gate by a boy who was both his nephew and, by bloodline, his son, rested his chin on his hand and let out a dry laugh.
On top of that, the boy was his own age, which made the feeling all the stranger.
"Hah, well now. Being treated like this by my nephew the first time we meet... this is certainly new and refreshing."
But the Picts and Heroic Spirits lined up behind Arthur reacted differently. At the insult to their lord, killing intent began to boil over.
"Insolent wretch...! To dare block our lord’s path!"
Ushiwakamaru was the first to flare up, bloodshot-eyed as she put a hand on the hilt of Usumidori and moved to leap forward.
"Stop, Ushiwaka."
Arthur lightly raised a hand to restrain her.
Ushiwakamaru bit her lip in frustration, but immediately withdrew her hand from her sword. Arthur quietly narrowed his eyes and looked up at the tightly sealed walls of Orkney.
'King Lot... as expected of the leader who headed the rebel alliance in the original story, his political sense is formidable.'
Arthur understood the present situation perfectly.
He had conquered Ireland, Dál Riata, and Pictland and reigned as an undefeated conqueror, but he had no justification for subjugating Orkney by force.
Ireland had given him cause through the tyranny of the despot Rience, and Pictland had posed no problem because its culture itself revered strength. Even the purge of Dál Riata and the traitors had come with clear warnings and reasons.
But Orkney was a kingdom of Britain’s human people.
In the eyes of Britain’s people, who valued chivalry and honor, crushing by force the land of his former brother-in-law and young nephews, who had committed no hostile act, would make him look like nothing more than a blood-crazed tyrant devoid of all familial duty.
The people of mainland Britain would see it that way as well. If he forced his way in, public sentiment against Arthur would boil over.
King Lot had calculated exactly that Arthur would hesitate to attack for fear of that backlash, and so had chosen a defensive measure that locked the gates and cut off all possibility of dialogue from the start.
"Understood, Gawain."
Arthur nodded without resistance.
"I have no desire to break down the gates and spill my family’s blood. We’ll withdraw for today."
Just as Arthur was about to turn his reins and order the army to pull back—
"Wait."
Morgan slowly stepped forward from the rear of the formation. At her appearance, a deep distrust and a faint twitch passed through Gawain’s eyes, though he remained standing straight.
"We will return empty-handed just as we are. But I have one condition."
Morgan’s chilling Magical Energy pressed heavily over the space before the gates.
"Hand over my daughter, Gareth, to me."
At those words, Gawain’s gaze sank coldly.
"...Why do you ask for Gareth, who is still only an infant, Mother?"
His voice was thick with resentment and hostility.
In the past, the maddened Morgan had poured terrible abuse and madness upon the three brothers Gawain, Agravain, and Gaheris.
The wall of fear and distrust toward their mother carved into the boys’ hearts had already grown too high and solid to tear down easily.
Morgan felt a pain like her chest was being ripped apart at the hostile gaze of her eldest son, who looked upon her as though she were vermin.
But she did not waver, and met Gawain’s eyes with a gaze that was infinitely sad, yet gentle.
"Because even now... I want to fulfill my role as a mother."
"Your role as a mother? Have you forgotten what you did?"
Gawain ground his teeth and spat out his anger.
"Though I am a prince of Orkney, I have received distrust and hatred from many people simply because you are my mother. And no matter how much I tried to think well of you, I could never see you in a favorable light. Forgive me for saying this, but after you disappeared, we were far happier than before."
It was unfilial speech, but Morgan understood. She acknowledged that for Gawain to say even this much, far too much had piled up inside him.
It was only because he was Gawain that he restrained himself to this degree. Given her ugly past, it would not have been strange for her to be cursed and condemned outright.
"I know. I know that because of my sins, your hearts have already turned away from me, and that even if I devoted my entire life to it, I could never wash away those wounds."
Morgan’s eyes grew dim with lonely moisture.
She, who had wanted her parents’ attention, love, and recognition more than anyone, had inflicted abuse upon her own children.
Even if she had gone mad because of becoming a Fairy Calamity, that sin did not disappear.
"But... Gareth is still only a two-year-old baby. The only child who did not suffer the madness I committed. So at least Gareth... I want to hold her in my own arms, give her whole and proper love, and raise her as a true mother should."
There was a desperate sincerity in Morgan’s voice, as though it were scraping away at her very bones.
For a moment, Gawain was left speechless by that weak, sorrowful face of his mother’s, one he had never seen before. He bit his lip with a conflicted expression, then finally turned his back and headed inside the gate.
A little later.
The gate opened slightly, and Gawain came walking out carrying a small baby wrapped in swaddling cloth.
King Lot as well, in the end, had been unable to completely ignore the persistent insistence of his former wife, the witch Morgan, and her rights as a mother, and so had yielded up his youngest child.
Still not letting down his guard, Gawain placed the sleeping Gareth into Morgan’s arms with a stiff expression.
"You have Gareth now, so please keep your promise and leave."
At last, a single hot tear fell from Morgan’s eyes as she held the warmth of the softly sleeping Gareth in her arms.
Holding the child as though embracing a precious treasure, she quietly nodded.
Arthur watched the heartbreaking sight of mother and child, then from atop Llamrei he lifted his daughter Mordred high and showed her to Gawain.
"Gawain. This is your younger sister Mordred. She’s only a year older than Gareth."
Startled by the sudden introduction, Gawain blinked in confusion, and Arthur continued with an easy smile.
"For now, the walls in our hearts are too high, and the timing is poor, so I won’t force the gates open. But we are blood. Someday, the day will come when we can meet again with smiles. Until then, my nephews—and sons—stay well."
Leaving behind that light farewell, Arthur tugged on the reins.
With the tightly shut gates of Orkney behind them, and with young Gareth now in Morgan’s arms as a full member of her family at last, the army of the red dragon turned south.
Their journey, having conquered the harsh winds of Pictland, now returned to Nogares to firmly strengthen their nation.
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register