86. A Midsummer Night’s Dream Woven by Unfulfilled Longing

[This is a world where you can no longer exist as "human."]

[And yet, it is also the world you wished for.]

[Everyone's fate is quietly moving toward the future you once dreamed of.]

"My King—are you serious?"

Gawain stared at the blue-gold blade placed in his hands, eyes full of disbelief.

"You wish to entrust Excalibur Galatine to me?"

"Yes."

Artoria nodded.

"I will entrust it to you."

"But… isn't this a Holy Sword from the lake?"

Gawain's voice trembled.

"Why give it to someone like me?"

"Gawain, do you want the truth?"

"My King, of course."

"Then—"

Artoria gazed at him, her emerald eyes filled with emotion.

"I have no reason that compels me to give you this sword."

"I simply believe that—"

"This is the best possible ending for it."

"…"

Gawain saw the sorrow in her gaze.

And so, he did not argue further.

"I understand."

"Since this is your will—"

"I will cherish Excalibur Galatine with all my heart."

[As a triumphant King, Artoria returned to Camelot.]

[The people rejoiced at her return.]

[Yet, she felt that a certain figure was missing—one she should have seen.]

[But the more she searched for them, the more elusive they became.]

[The Knights of the Round Table survived.]

[Each one walking toward their own bright future.]

As steadfast as ever in their mission.

"My King, with your victory secured, I wish to resume my search for the Lance of Longinus."

"Go forth, Percival."

"Britain shall forever bless your journey—you will find the Holy Lance one day."

As sweet as love's embrace.

"King of Knights, I must return to France."

"There, I will tell my people—of your greatness and valor."

"And… I have one small request."

"Would you be willing to attend my wedding with Guinevere?"

"I wish to take her home to France, as my rightful queen."

"Of course, Lancelot."

"You have my blessing."

As resolute as the pursuit of a worthy challenge.

"My King, it seems I have lost the one opponent I needed to surpass."

"I will spend the coming years searching for a new answer."

"If that is your wish—"

"Then go, Palamedes."

As transformed as a new perspective.

"My King, it seems you finally understand the human heart."

"No, Tristan."

"I still do not."

As warm as a family reunited.

"Big Brother Gawain! Big Brother Gaheris! Look—the King is over there!"

"Gareth! Show some respect!"

"It's alright, Gawain."

"A girl her age should be free to be lively."

"But if possible—"

"I hope to see Agravain standing beside you next time."

"After all—he is your brother, too."

As frugal as ever.

"Artoria, the military budget has exceeded the limit again this month!"

"I don't know why, but our crops are growing unnaturally fast—"

"Even the rivers are filled with absurdly fat fish—"

"But we can't just waste resources like this!"

"I apologize for troubling you, Brother."

"But rest assured—"

"Very soon, that will no longer be an issue."

As loyal as the steadfast heart.

"My King… you were a woman?"

"I apologize, Bedivere—for keeping it from you for so long."

"No, My King, there is no need to apologize."

"Even if you are a woman—"

"You have led Camelot to unprecedented glory."

"This is a secret worth keeping."

"It will no longer be a secret, Bedivere."

"I am… simply tired."

[It was another year of bountiful harvests.]

[The people of Camelot were overjoyed—and their admiration for King Arthur grew even deeper.]

[Yet no one could have expected what happened next.]

[Their respected King—whom they revered—]

[Would stand upon the newly rebuilt castle walls, letting her golden hair flow in the wind—]

[And reveal that she was, in truth, a woman.]

[It was a shocking revelation.]

[The people were terrified.]

[They were confused.]

[Even the Round Table was shaken.]

[But in the end—]

[The response was unexpectedly calm.]

The people of Camelot were not fools.

They had seen with their own eyes what kind of land Britain had become under Artoria's reign.

So long as they could continue living well—

Did it truly matter whether their King was a man or a woman?

But Artoria did not accept their goodwill.

She no longer wished to be King.

Of course—

She would not abandon Camelot irresponsibly.

Once all preparations were complete—

She placed the crown upon Morgan's head.

"May you rule in peace."

"The Knights of the Round Table shall always stand by you."

[And so, the legend of King Arthur came to an end.]

[Yet, it was also the beginning of a new Camelot.]

[Artoria did not step down simply out of exhaustion.]

[She had something she wished to experience.]

[She wanted to live—not as a "King"—]

[But as a "person."]

[Her first step—]

[Was to return Excalibur and Avalon to the lake.]

Dressed in a white gown,

Artoria rode her steed back to the village she once called home.

Upon hearing of Ector's passing,

She laid flowers upon his grave—

And wept.

She collected herself—

And continued forward.

To the sacred lake where she had once received the Holy Sword.

The world did not stop for anyone.

The wind still blew.

The waters still flowed.

The forests remained lush.

The grasslands remained green.

And yet—

Something was missing.

Artoria did not know why—

Why was there a faint sorrow lingering in her heart?

And the deeper she walked into the forest,

The stronger that feeling became.

But it didn't last long.

Because soon, that emotion was replaced—

By surprise.

At the heart of the lake, deep within the forest,

Artoria saw someone she never expected to find there.

It was Morgan.

She sat quietly by the water's edge,

Her gaze melancholically fixed upon the still, mirror-like surface of the lake.

And beside her, resting motionless on the grass,

Was the crown—

The very symbol of Camelot's royal authority.

"…"

After a moment of hesitation,

Artoria decided to call out to her.

"Morgan."

"Hmm?"

Hearing that familiar yet distant voice,

Morgan turned her head.

At the sight of Artoria,

Her pupils instinctively widened—

But only for a brief moment, before she quickly regained her composure.

Camelot was already in her hands.

Artoria had not even asked for a noble title in return.

To still hold resentment toward her would be shameless.

"So it's you, Artoria."

"I never thought I'd see you in a place like this."

"I should be the one saying that."

Artoria replied, her voice calm.

"How do you know of this lake—the one where the Holy Sword is granted?"

"Because this is where I was born.

Of course, I know of it."

"…"

"…"

The two women gazed at each other.

With such similar features,

They could each see a faint trace of regret in the other's eyes.

"Sit and talk for a while?"

Morgan shifted slightly to the side,

Making space beside her.

"I imagine you have the time for that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course."

Artoria gathered her dress neatly and sat beside Morgan.

She looked out over the lake,

A faint smile forming on her lips.

"It seems that for you—"

"The burden of the throne isn't heavy at all."

"It's not too bad."

Morgan's slender fingers traced the crown beside her.

"I've spent my whole life thinking about it."

"Once I actually took the throne—"

"It was simpler than I imagined."

"Is that so?"

Artoria hugged her knees,

Resting her chin atop them.

"So this is what it means to get what you wished for?"

"…"

Morgan fell silent for a moment,

Then let out a bitter chuckle.

"Not exactly."

"After taking that seat—"

"I realized my desire was never about the throne itself."

"I simply couldn't bear being ignored."

"The throne was merely a means to an end."

"And you—"

Morgan turned toward Artoria,

Her eyes briefly flickering with confusion as she took in the white dress her sister wore.

"I've never seen you like this before."

"Leaving the throne behind…

Seems to have lifted a weight off your shoulders."

"Perhaps, in some ways."

A complex emotion surfaced in Artoria's emerald eyes.

"But it's not as wonderful as I imagined."

"At best—"

"My mind feels… just a little clearer than before."

"Is that so?"

Morgan let out a small, knowing laugh.

"Then, in a way—

I actually helped you, didn't I?"

"Perhaps."

Artoria shrugged slightly.

"At least for now, it seems that way."

The conversation lulled into a quiet stillness.

Neither knew how to continue—

Yet, the silence itself felt oddly comfortable.

After a long while,

Morgan finally spoke again.

"Artoria."

"What is it?"

"Nothing much."

"I just… hope that, when you have the time—"

"You will return to Camelot, even if just for a visit."

"Why?"

"Because—"

Morgan's voice carried a hint of loneliness.

"I want to entrust my youngest daughter, Mordred, to you."

"Consider it an exchange—"

For you giving Excalibur Galatine to Gawain."

"…"

There was no mistaking it.

That was a lie.

After a brief pause,

Artoria asked a question—

One that had once troubled her as well.

"And Mordred—"

"Is she willing?"

"I believe she will be."

Morgan explained patiently.

"She and I… we simply cannot get along."

"But with you—"

I think it would be different."

"But I have never raised a child before."

Artoria hesitated.

"And if this continues—"

Morgan's voice was sharp,

Unyielding.

"You never will."

"You may as well try now."

"…"

At this point,

Artoria no longer refused.

"I understand."

"If Mordred does not object—"

I will take her in."

"But I have one question."

"What is it?"

"Who is her father?"

Artoria's gaze locked onto Morgan.

"You've never mentioned your husband before."

"…"

Morgan stared at her own hands,

And for the first time,

A genuine, heartfelt longing filled her gaze.

"I don't remember."

"I only know that he was someone—

Very important to me."

"He would whisper sweet words in my ear."

"Tell me I was more beautiful than the flowers."

"Tell me I was as beautiful as the flowers."

"Tell me I wasn't as beautiful as the flowers."

"He would hold me by the waist—

And greedily breathe in my scent."

"He was such a stiff idiot—

Even when he clearly wanted more,

If I told him to stop, he actually would."

"It was always amusing—"

"To torment him under my heel,

Watching him hesitate, wanting but not daring to move."

"But now—"

Her voice turned bitter.

"Now, he has betrayed me."

"I told him not to leave."

"But he still left."

Hearing Morgan's raw, unfiltered sorrow,

Artoria felt her heart tighten.

And without meaning to,

She found herself speaking as well.

"Then… I, too, had someone like that."

"Someone very important—"

Yet, I cannot remember who."

"He was strong."

"His voice was always gentle."

"He drank wine in strange ways—"

Yet never once did he get drunk."

"He was a liar."

"He would always say he was happy—"

Yet every time I tried to feel his warmth—"

"It was always so distant."

"He thought I didn't know—"

"But I knew everything."

"Then, Artoria—"

Morgan's voice was soft, almost teasing.

"If he was such a liar—"

"You must hate him, don't you?"

"No."

Artoria shook her head.

"I miss him."

"Even if he lied to me."

"I still miss him."

"I want to see him again."

Morgan fell silent—

Then, she nodded.

"I feel the same."

"I miss him too."

"If only we could see him—"

"One last time."

Their longing intertwined,

Two sisters, once at war—

Now, on the grass by the lakeside,

Mourning the one the world had forgotten.

A new prayer was born—

Between the old King and the new.

And in the sacred lake that had birthed countless miracles,

Once more—

The fae began to gather.

They gathered like fireflies—

Following the traces of longing, retrieving what the world had lost.

If one could no longer exist as a "human"—

Then—

Let them return as a fae, responding to the Midsummer Night's Dream of Britain's Twin Kings.

Holding onto this thought,

A figure appeared on the forest path.

"Morgan."

"Artoria."

"It's been a long time."

"And—"

"I missed you both too."