The war room was heavy with tension, the murmurs of the knights subdued as King Arthur leaned over the Round Table, his fists clenched against its smooth surface. The Viking rune left in Sylva's tower lay before him, stark and accusing. His face was a storm of fury and anguish, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"They dared to take from me," Arthur growled, his eyes blazing. "They dared to breach Camelot itself."
The knights exchanged uneasy glances. Lancelot, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward. "My king, we will find your most precious possession. You have my word."
Before Arthur could respond, Mordred strode into the room with purpose, his dark armor gleaming in the torchlight. "This is more than a personal affront, my king," Mordred declared, his voice steady and resolute. "This is an attack on Camelot itself. Any strike against your possessions, your people, or your kingdom is a strike against us all."
The knights murmured their approval, many nodding in agreement. Sir Gawain stepped forward, clapping Mordred on the shoulder. "Well said, Mordred. We stand united."
Arthur straightened, his sharp gaze settling on Mordred. For a moment, pride flickered in his expression, but it was quickly replaced by something heavier. He took a deep breath, his voice quieter but no less commanding. "There is something you all must know."
The room stilled, the knights' curiosity palpable. Arthur's hand tightened against the edge of the table as he searched for the right words. Finally, he spoke.
"The one they've taken... is my daughter."
A ripple of shock passed through the room. The knights exchanged startled glances, whispers breaking out among them. Only Lancelot remained calm, his gaze steady as he watched Arthur.
"Your daughter?" Gawain asked, his brow furrowed. "But... we thought you had no heir."
Arthur raised a hand to silence the room. "She was kept hidden for her protection. Few outside this room knew of her existence, and for good reason. She is no ordinary child. She possesses gifts—gifts that make her both a treasure and a target."
The room fell silent, the weight of Arthur's words settling over the knights. Lancelot stepped forward, his voice calm and reassuring. "My king, you entrusted me with this secret once before. I swore then that I would protect her, and I swear it again now. Mordred and I will lead the charge to bring her home."
Arthur's gaze shifted to Lancelot, gratitude flickering in his eyes. "You are my most trusted knight, Lancelot. I know you will not fail."
Mordred stepped forward, his expression resolute. "We will return her, my king. Whoever dared to do this will learn what it means to challenge Camelot."
The knights erupted in agreement, their cheers echoing through the chamber. Arthur held up a hand to quiet them, his gaze falling on Mordred. He reached for the repaired Caliburn, its blade gleaming in the torchlight. He held it out to Mordred.
"Take this as a symbol of your charge," Arthur said. "Honor this sword and honor Camelot."
Mordred bowed low as he accepted the sword, his voice steady. "I will not fail you, my king."
Later, in the quiet of a hidden corridor, Mordred met with Morgause. Her sharp eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she watched her son approach, Caliburn at his side.
"It seems everything is proceeding as planned," Morgause said, her voice a purr.
Mordred smirked, his confidence unshaken. "Arthur has no idea. He hands me his trust, his sword, and his knights, all while his kingdom teeters on the edge of collapse."
Morgause stepped closer, her fingers brushing the hilt of Caliburn. "And what of the girl?"
"She is merely a distraction," Mordred replied. "Her absence will weigh on Arthur, consume him with guilt and desperation. He will chase this phantom while we prepare for what truly matters."
Morgause's smile widened. "A new holy war. One to divide his forces and leave Camelot vulnerable."
Mordred nodded, his gaze cold. "By the time he realizes the truth, it will be too late."
Morgause placed a hand on his shoulder. "Good. Keep your composure, my son. Arthur's time is drawing to a close, and when it does, Camelot will be ours."
Arthur hesitated outside Guinevere's chambers, the weight of the past day pressing heavily on his shoulders. He had done as Lancelot suggested, delegating the search for Sylva to his knights. But now, as he prepared to tell his queen what had transpired, he felt the walls closing in.
He knocked softly, waiting until Guinevere's familiar voice called out. "Enter."
The queen sat by the fire, her delicate features illuminated by the flickering light. She turned as he stepped inside, her brow furrowing at the sight of his troubled expression. "Arthur? What is it?"
Arthur crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He knelt before her, his hands trembling as he reached for hers. "Guinevere... something has happened."
Her eyes widened, her grip tightening on his hands. "What? What's wrong?"
"It's Sylva," Arthur said, his voice breaking. "She's been taken."
The color drained from Guinevere's face. She pulled her hands away, rising to her feet as her breathing quickened. "Taken? How? When?"
Arthur stood as well, his voice desperate. "I don't know. The Vikings... they left a message. Lancelot and Mordred are already in pursuit."
Guinevere's expression twisted with grief and fury. "And you let them take her? You, the great King Arthur, could not protect your own child?"
Arthur flinched, her words cutting deeper than any blade. "Guinevere, please. I—"
"Don't!" she shouted, grabbing a nearby vase and hurling it at him. It shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. "You hid her from me, from the world, and for what? So she could be stolen away while you played king?"
Arthur took a step back, his hands raised in surrender. "I made mistakes, Guinevere. I know that. But I will make this right. I swear it."
Guinevere sank into a chair, her face buried in her hands as sobs wracked her body. "Leave me," she whispered. "I can't look at you right now."
Arthur hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of her pain. But he knew he couldn't comfort her, not now. With a heavy heart, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls.
As Arthur made his way back to the war room, his grief gave way to determination. He had failed his daughter and his queen, but he would not fail again. The weight of his crown pressed heavily on him, but it was a burden he would bear for Sylva, for Camelot, for the kingdom he had sworn to protect.
I will find you, Sylva, he vowed silently. No matter the cost.