"But what of the knightly spirit?"
Artoria still couldn't fully agree with Morgan's words.
"Which is precisely why I said I'm no knight I care little for such things."
Morgan crossed her arms, allowing Lot an even clearer view of the ample benevolence her chest provided.
[Damn, that's some truly 'people-gathering' charisma.]
Lot watched from the side, silently marveling.
Hearing his thoughts, Morgan proudly lifted her chin and subtly pushed her chest forward.
Hehe, you like it? Good.
Suppressing her glee, Morgan continued lecturing Artoria:
"Compared to some abstract ideal, the people's welfare is what truly matters."
"...I understand."
Artoria fell silent for a moment before nodding reluctantly.
She offered no further argument.
"Her Majesty Morgan may not be a morally perfect ruler... but she is undoubtedly one who satisfies her subjects."
With this thought, she turned to leave.
Morgan, meanwhile, seized Lot's hand and grinned.
"Well? Was I wrong?"
"Of course not."
Lot wholeheartedly approved of Morgan's philosophy.
[Loving Morgan started with her looks, but now it's our shared values that bind me. Well, that and if she'd let me slack off more...]
Slacking off? Not a chance.
Morgan's smile deepened with smug satisfaction.
Then, she gazed up at Lot.
Falling for Lot began with his talents...
But now?
It's everything about him.
Rising onto her toes, she leaned in for a kiss
Three, two
Just as their lips were about to meet, the castle doors burst open again.
"Your Majesties! King Leodegrance's messenger has returned "
Artoria blinked.
Her eyes locked onto Morgan, still balanced precariously on her tiptoes.
...How many times does this make now?
She froze, then mechanically turned around.
"I saw nothing."
Her voice was wooden.
The moment her back was turned, cold sweat drenched her face.
I'm dead. So dead. Is today the day I get silenced for good?
Foster father... brother-in-arms... your beloved 'sworn brother' may be meeting her end.
Artoria grimaced.
Once might've been excused as coincidence. But this? This is a pattern.
Frankly, were their positions reversed, even she would consider murder at this point.
Morgan snatched her staff from the table. Lot strolled to the corner and hefted a knightly longsword.
"Come here, Artoria. We've got something special to show you..."
Their synchronized beckoning was downright sinister.
"Y-YOUR MAJESTIES, PLEASE SPARE ME!"
Artoria's shriek echoed through the halls.
Later
"What compensation are you offering?"
Having dealt with Artoria, Lot and Morgan finally turned to the messenger their expressions still thunderous.
This is all your fault.
If I don't squeeze every last coin from your kingdom today, I'll eat my helmet.
[Searching for peas in a quail's crop, carving lean meat from a heron's legs, scraping oil from a mosquito's belly if I don't loot your treasury bare, I'll renounce the name 'Lot'!]
Mhm. Same.
Morgan nodded vigorously then paused.
Wait. Since when did Lot have a surname?
Whatever. I'll take his name anyway.
Point is Leodegrance begged for our help. Now we'll milk him dry.
Their synchronized golden-eyed glare made the messenger whimper.
Why do I feel like they're about to devour me alive?
Will His Majesty's offer even satisfy them?
...Will they demand more?
Had they heard his thoughts, Lot and Morgan would've nodded in perfect unison.
Yes. Always more.
The messenger left in tears.
It was surreal a bearded, 6-foot-tall warrior, reduced to sobbing by two people half his size.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty... I've failed you..."
Galahad, passing by, overheard the man's muttering and frowned.
What horrors did they inflict on him?
"Perhaps in every timeline, Her Majesty Morgan remains a figure of dread."
His grip tightened on the rope binding Lancelot now trussed up like a festival dumpling.
At least this way, he won't seduce Guinevere.
Galahad allowed himself a rare smirk.
Presently, Lancelot could pass for an Orkney delicacy: zongzi.
No one lusts after sticky rice.
Entering the throne room, he found Morgan and Lot practically glowing with triumph.
...I almost feel sorry for that messenger.
"Your Majesties, the troops are prepared. We depart at your command."
Under Lot's orders, Galahad and Kay had mobilized their forces horses, supplies, even ships stood ready to cross into Scotland and aid Leodegrance.
Yet Morgan's brow furrowed at his report.
Did I miss something?
Before he could ponder further, Morgan spoke:
"Henceforth, when addressing us, you will name King Lot first."
Galahad's jaw dropped.
This... is Morgan?
The woman who clawed for supremacy in all things?
Morgan's expression was serene.
This is what my Husband deserves.
He'd rather laze about than claim authority, but I'll force the world to respect him.
Behind closed doors, I'll ride him as I please but in public? His dignity comes first.
[Damn, Morgan, you're gonna give poor Gala a heart attack!]
Lot's mental interjection made Morgan relent.
Fair point.
To her, Galahad was still that wide-eyed eight-year-old no matter how inexplicably he'd shot up like a weed.
"The men are truly ready? Then we march soon." Lot smoothly redirected.
"Without question."
"Good. I'll inspect them shortly."
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"Oh Gala, how's Lancelot?"
"Quite well, Your Majesty."
"...'Well'?"
"Extremely well-bound."
"..."
[Galahad's grudge runs deeper than I thought. Even 'Mash' inherited that resentment. Truly, a father's absence warps a child.]
Morgan's sympathy surged
Not for Lancelot, obviously.
She still didn't know Galahad's true origins. To her, he was simply the abandoned son of a philandering knight.
Scum deserves whatever he gets.
Now, expecting a child herself, Morgan's maternal instincts flared.
This poor boy...
"I'll review the troops first."
As Lot exited, Morgan fixed Galahad with a gaze brimming with tenderness.
Once alone, she murmured:
"Galahad, know this whatever you do to your father, you have my support."
"Ah..."
Galahad ducked his head, cheeks flushing.
Morgan's heart melted further.
"From today, you shall call Lot 'father.'"
"...What?"
Galahad's brain short-circuited.
Your Majesty, have you lost your mind?
King Lot's barely older than me!
Wait she knows my true age. To her, I'm decades their junior.
"Your mother raised you alone. I've no right to call myself your foster mother... but Lot? He's worthy of the title."
Her motives were twofold: genuine pity, and binding Galahad irrevocably to Camelot.
"I "
"No objections. When Lot returns, you'll kneel and swear fealty."
And so, while inspecting oblivious soldiers, Lot unknowingly acquired a son.
As for Lancelot...
Morgan smirked, imagining his reaction upon learning his son now had a new father.
Delicious.