#blondtroublemaker

The King was perfect.

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!”

I’m… King Arthur’s… son?

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…

…I’m King Arthur’s son.

“It is not the dress, but the reason why...” She failed to see the reason. The reason why Mary found it such a necessity to dress her for the occasion. A plan to hide between the guests of the party with the host being one of the 7 Masters of the War.

The dress itself fitted surprisingly well, wrapping quite well around her curves until like armor did. Somewhat intriguing her, but all the while still being but a bother.

With few steps taken she was already past her Master, “Let’s get this over with. I don’t feel comfortable dressed like this and would rather get out of it as soon as possible...” She was not one for dresses being who she was. A living wrath, a witch, perhaps in some opinions a monster?

All in all not someone deserving of much normalcy.

         “ Mary c’mere ! I have a new jelly donut for you to try, made it myself ! ”

Crimson eyes pulled from the pages of the novel she held in her warm hands. A red brow rose upon meeting the gaze of another, one hand shifting and grasping the glass sitting upon the bar in front of her. The amber liquid sloshed around, the redhead raising the glass to her brightly painted lips and allowed herself the rest of what remained in the glass. As she set it back down upon the worn wood of the bar, she signaled for the bartender to pour her another glass.