(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