Scene #7043: Rumors of Gallantry

Owner	Pose
Rhongomyniad	The coastal town of Sibiril, northern Brittany. It is here that the King of Knights has chosen to start her inquiry into a scarlet knight sporting a helm like that of a demon's horns. Proclaiming rulership of this region, it only made sense to begin here. Calmly, the King speaks with one of the locals in that even monotone of hers. It's not long before a new rumor begins to spread, though. Of a blue-clad knight in a helm resembline the head of a lion, wreathed in a great furry mantle. That she asks after other Knights might even be brought up, but the appearance is always the same, as expected from such a striking appearance. "Merci," she states once her inquiry has been answered. A dip of her head, and Rhongomyniad turns from this latest person, gazing out over the French town's streets from within the depths of her headwear.
Mordred	After her last visit to Nantes ended in not making much progress at all, Mordred's set her sights on a different region of Brittany. Sibiril seemed to be the natural choice, what with its proximity to the sea and Britain without being so close as to be stupidly obvious about keeping an eye on her father's territory. That just makes this the ideal place to start coming into his field of vision, especially after hearing rumors of a certain lion-helmeted knight in the area. Even with only that to go on, the horned-helmed knight has taken to the streets of Sibril, ^riding a motorbike along at a steady, yet somewhat leisurely pace without regard to the odd looks or the confused whispers. Mordred's sword remains unseen, but it's clear that she's looking for someone. All that's left is to find that lion-helmed person and determine if they're truly her father, or an impostor sent to taunt her.
Rhongomyniad	Cars, bustling townsfolk. An ordinary large town or small city. Nothing within Rhongomyniad's view is out of the ordinary. She lets out a thoughtful noise before turning away. Some time later, waiting at a crosswalk, the rumble of an engine draws her attention. A motorcycle is a unique thing. Small scooters and the like may be commonplace, but that kind of roar... That lion-headed helm tilts up, swivelling from side to side. No sooner has she found the source is that bike and its armor-clad rider passing through the lane right in front of her. The wind throws up her mantle, billowing about her and prompting an amused complaint from one of the other pedestrians. Without waiting for the signal, the Lion King steps into the street, staring down it at the bike that just rumbled past, and its horn-helmed rider.
Mordred	Of course it was just a rumor. What more could it have been? Anyone with half a brain knowing about the legend of King Arthur would surely know about Mordred as well, and after making her return known in Nantes weeks earlier? Nobody would be dumb enough to imitate the great king and wait around to get smited by the kingslayer. Smote? Smitten? Dammit. Why did words have to be so hard? Although Mordred's expression is hidden under that helmet, it's pretty obvious she's not quite paying attention to where she's going. The only reason Mordred stops is hearing someone complaining, and she looks back just in time to see... That helmet. That mantle. That stature. It's unmistakeably him. Aside from the size inaccuracies, that's the spitting image of father's armor! Or it could be an impostor. Why else would they look so off? Turning that motorbke around with a sharp screech, the demon-helmed knight steps off the vehicle, then starts approaching the lion-helmed King. "You've got some balls, wearin' that when I'm around. You got three seconds to explain yourself, punk!"
Rhongomyniad	Ah. That confirms it. Suddenly screeching to a halt like that confirms that this mystery rider is not just an eccentric biker, but the Knight of Rebellion. Especially once she, you know, dismounts and starts shouting threats. The Lion King's posture straightens just a touch from the brusqueness. As the wind settles, her mantle closes in around her armor, obscuring her from the neck down. Three seconds. Or at least until that distance is closed. The King's head inclines, her mantle parting as she reaches out with her right hand just enough to push the cape aside. Fingers spread, then close-- and a spear of golden light materializes in her grip. Metal straps appear in showers of sparks, braiding together as they wrap around that core of light, forming the shape of a lance. This is thrust forward, turned, and then thrust downward into the street. It is there that Rhongomyniad leaves the Divine Lance, her arm retreating back into that voluminous mantle she wears.
Mordred	That nixes the impostor theory, but now Mordred just has even more questions. None of these questions stop the betrayer nor the silver sword from materializing in her hand, brandishing it with a brief flourish before resting on her shoulder as she sizes up the lance wielded by the King. There's no mistaking it now. This is- "Father? You're..." Mordred's tone is one of disbelief and shock, but her body has a mind of its own. Instead of faltering or stopping, the knight in white and red lunges forward, bringing that sword down to test the Lion King's response. "Why are you so tall? /How/ did you get so tall?" It's inconceivable. The Arthur Mordred knew barely looked older than herself. This Arthur, though... "And where's your sword? Are the rest of the knights here?" So many questions, and they just flow like water.
Rhongomyniad	Despite the response, this aggression was expected. Rhongomyniad did choose to prove her existence with the very thing that once ended Mordred's life, after all. Striking in self defense, or perhaps out of a desire for revenge, or some other emotion perhaps. She lacks the immediate context to gauge which it may be, or if it may be driven by something else entirely. When the sword comes down, Rhongomyniad sidesteps. To avoid the inevitable correction that would still lead to a strike, she presses her hand against the Divine Lance, keeping it between herself and the Knight of Rebellion's weapon. Sparks shoot off where the weapons meet, but she leaves it embedded as it is, merely steadying it. "Excalibur has at last been returned to the Lady of the Lake." Shifting again, the Lion King's voice remains even, as if reading from a phone book, "I have come alone. The Knights of the Round Table remain at Camelot." Upon answering the first, yet most difficult question, she comes to a stop, "I am alive." Her hand lifts, resting upon her chestplate, "The blow you struck upon the hilltop at Camlann has not been my undoing. My body has recovered and I yet live-- as the Tower at the End of the World."
Mordred	It's not the voice of the Arthur Mordred remembers, but there's something oddly nostalgic about it. Strange, too, but certainly familiar in that distant way. As their weapons clash, the Knight of Treachery notices Rhongomyniad's lack of counter-attack, and she pulls back. "... Tch. Why the hell'd you go and do that? I could've tested the sword myself and..." Mordred grows increasingly agitated even as she steps back, her own blade brought up to cleave a nearby lightpost in two out of frustration. The worst part is not knowing where to direct any of it effectively. That same lightpost gets a few more bashes, but it's nowhere near as satisfying as hitting someone that would fight back. "So you're... What? You never even died after all that? You ain't a Servant or anything?" Finally turning back to Rhongomyniad, Mordred's helmet shifts into her armor to reveal the same face she had so many centuries ago. "Explains the voice... But how'd you survive this long without Excalibur? What have you been up to this whole time? And what's all this Tower nonsense?" Again with the questions. So many questions.
Rhongomyniad	The aggression directed to the lightpost gives Rhongomyniad pause. She simply observes the action, waiting until the tantrum dies down. In that same tone, she responds, "The sword had to be returned. It was far overdue." Reaching, the Lion King wraps her fingers around the handle of the Divine Lance, pulling it free and lowering it at her side. The other hand reaches up, palming her helmet. Leaning forward slightly, she removes it, holding it under one arm while lifting her face to gaze upon Mordred with luminous, jewel-like eyes. "Whilst I carried the name Arthur Pendragon in the past, I and my purpose have changed. The Sword of Promised Victory kept me youthful. In its absence, I have become what stands before you. The Goddess of Chivalry, Rhongomyniad. The Tower that Shines at the End of the World."
Mordred	"Feh. Convenient excuse." Mordred spits out as she lowers Clarent, although the blade remains materialized and in her hand as she watches Rhongomyniad removing the helmet. Those eyes are familiar. That hair is familiar. The shape... There's something distinctly different, but just as much is the same. But the former King Arthur explains herself. Her name. Her new identity. Mordred closes her eyes in thought, remaining silent for several moments as it starts sinking in. And then Mordred starts laughing. It's not that crazed psycho-murderer laughing, either, but the sort of laughing coming from someone's gut when they're actually glad to see or hear something. "... of course my father'd do something like that! Geez... Don't you ever take a break from this kind of thing?" A beat, and then Mordred laughs it off again. "Of course not. A king doesn't rest or somethin' like that! But... No, really, is this what you've been doing for the past thousand years and change?"
Rhongomyniad	"Your joy gladdens me," Rhongomyniad states, her face utterly unreadable and neutral, "I was concerned that this would become an altercation. 'Unfinished business', I believe is the term." The Lance is lifted, dissipating into golden sparks. Similarly, her helmet also disappears. The mantle closes in once more around her body, and she calmly steps out of the street to the relief of French motorists. "Come," she pauses, eyes shifting towards the young Knight, "Walk with me." Without waiting for a response, the Lion King steps past Mordred at a leisurely pace, traversing the sidewalk with the faint rattle of armor plates. "In this lengthly time that I have been alive, I have been granted ample opportunity to review my life, my triumphs, and my mistakes. Imagine my surprise that I should learn of your arrival, produced I presume by a shard of the Grail's power." Still facing ahead, only her eyes shift down once more towards Mordred, "Your presence has reminded me of something I feel shame in recalling. Confusion. Regret. A memory I would wish to discard or, more realistically, a past I would wish to rectify." Perhaps not the best phrasing.
Mordred	The Tower's persistent poker-face doesn't seem to faze the Knight of Rebellion, and Mordred is all too eager to follow along. The motorbike is left where it was stopped in the street, but not before Mordred shoots a dangerous grin at anyone that so much as looks in her direction, points at the motorbike, and shakes her head slowly while maintaining constant eye contact. She has to be sure. How did she even get something like that? "Yeah, something like that. Some mage wanted to summon you, they got me, and... Well." Mordred pounds her fist into her palm, pauses, then instead draws a line upwards with a pointed finger. "They made a bad first and last impression." There's a whimsical chuckle. It's oddly genuine for the bastard child. "Eh? What's that supposed to mean?" Mordred's tone is somewhat confrontational, but largely one of confusion rather than hostility. There's a twinge of hope in there, too, but controlled to an extent as well. Best not to get her hopes too high, after all.
Rhongomyniad	"I see," Rhongomyniad lets out a thoughtful noise, "Then this magus shall trouble us no more, I suppose. I should expect my son to have only the highest of expectations." She pauses at a streetcorner, but rather than engage the crossing signal, the Lion King tilts her head to the cloud-dotted sky with another thoughtful sound. "My life as King Arthur is, in my current state, much akin to an open book. Something which I may consult, but something which feels detached from me. I understand that it is my past, and yet, it does not feel as if I am the one who experienced those memories." Her head lowers, "As such; when I recall things which distress me, or escape my understanding, my urge is to discard them. They are experiences from which to learn, in many cases, and so I retain them. Others make little sense to retain, but are retained regardless. In this case, no wish of mine within my own mind will rectify what I am responsible for." The King of Knights turns suddenly to face Mordred full on, standing over her in that way only a King truly can, despite the modest height difference. The impassive look on her face is not helped by the glowing depths of her eyes. "No words could possibly alter the past. But perhaps the future may change. If it is your wish, please continue to call me your father, for you are my son, Sir Mordred."
Mordred	Of course! Seriously, if someone's going to lose their head over me being..." Mordred pauses, then laughs again. "Well, more like he lost half of himself, but whatever." She sounds particularly proud of that. That mirth is considerably more subdued as Rhongomyniad speaks again, some of that confusion returning to Mordred's expression. "How do you not feel your own...? Hmn. Must be because you've gotten super old from being around so long." Indeed, Mordred's ability to mince words hasn't really improved at all. "Can't say I really get all this... Tower goddess thing, but I'll leave that sort of high-minded rhetoric to you. When I become king, it'll be in my own way that even you'll have to acknowledge." As quickly as Mordred utters that prideful statement, her bravado flounders again when Rhongomyniad does the unthinkable (besides staring right at her). The King of Knights is... Acknowledging Mordred? For once, the loudmouth is silent. There's no witty retort, no bluster and posturing. Mordred is at a loss for words, only occasionally getting out a low grunt before trying to figure out how to react to that. How to feel, even. Isn't this what she wanted? But isn't that betrayal, that rejection from so long ago still fresh in her mind? Could this all be a ploy? It's gnawing at the back of her mind, but it's a risk Mordred's willing to take. "... F... Father. You're not lying, right? N-no, of course not. You're stiff like a board. You ain't the type to pull something like that!" Once again, Mordred laughs. The uncertainty is there, but as long as she keeps suppressing it, it'll probably become truth even in her mind eventually.
Rhongomyniad	"Mm," Rhongomyniad makes that noise again. The glow in her eyes seems to intensify, and when next she speaks there is a certain... Authority to her tone, "A Knight is sworn to Valor. His heart knows only Virtue. His blade defends the Helpless. His might upholds the Weak. His words speak only Truth. His wrath undoes the Wicked." "Know you this oath, Sir Mordred?" The Lion King's voice has returned to her normal tone, "Recall that I have claimed authority as Goddess of Chivalry. This oath is imprinted upon the core of my being. I cannot break it, to do so would be to deny myself." That mantle parts, a hand raising to rest upon her breastplate, "However I was in the fleeting memories that stitch together the past. However I was in your memory, far more raw and recent-- know that I am now incapable of deceit." That hand lowers, her mantle closing around her body once more, "I look forward to seeing you come into your own as a king. Should you wish it, I am acquainted with an expert on the matter. Perhaps an introduction is in order."
Mordred	How long had it been since Mordred last reminded herself of those tenets? Maybe... A few hours or so by now, but how long has it been since she heard anyone else speaking of them? Far too long, even though she's seen plenty of people living them. To hear them spoken by the King she's revered for so long, though... It's refreshing. "I've known 'em for as long as I've been born." Mordred boasts, ignoring the potential awkwardness of reminding either of them of the circumstances of the Knight of Rebellion's conception. That information Rhongomyniad reveals about her core gets a curious eyebrow raise from the white-clad knight, though, moreso when she mentions the inability to lie. "That so? Yeesh. Even for a King, that might be taking it a bit too far. But if it works..." Mordred cracks her neck lightly, then breaks into another broad grin. "Don't get too comfortable waiting. I've been ready for ages! And if you really can't lie..." That smile drops as Mordred's reminded of something when her father mentions 'experts'. "I heard that a blowhard proposed to you sometime ago. Ain't that your job if you were interested? You beat his ass for being a dumbass, right?"
Rhongomyniad	Rhongomyniad's nod is slight, but definite, "This pleases me. Thank you for remaining true to yourself, Sir Mordred, and I request that you continue to do so. To live by the Oath is to become a symbol of inspiration and hope." Regarding the truth of her nature, the goddess pauses for thought. Her words come out carefully, "Duty is not always by choice. Some outcomes are the result of the actions of others. It is, ultimately, not a fate I regret." She pauses again, her tone changing just slightly, "A blowhard?" ... "Ah. King Gilgamesh." Those luminous eyes close, "Yes, the proposal is true. He places me at ease, and his familiarity with the nature of Divine Spirits has been of great help to me. I am fond of him. My connection to my humanity is still tenuous, and so providing an answer which feels genuine has been a matter of difficulty for me." An eye opens, "As for combat-- Yes. His might is considerable. We have fought one another, and we have fought together."
Mordred	Of course it was too good to be true. Sure, Mordred finally has the acknowledgment she's been fighting so long for, but... "... That guy?! Come on, you could do way better than that! Why not..." Shit. What other person could even come close to being her father's equal? In Mordred's hero-worshipping eyes, pretty much nobody. She can't admit that, of course, but... But still! "I mean, just'cause he knows about Divine Spirits and you've fought him before doesn't mean... Goddammit!" Clearly, this is all some kind of mistake. One that Mordred may have to rectify, but if Rhongomyniad is supposed to be someone that never makes mistakes, then... "What the hell did I do to deserve this...?"
Rhongomyniad	The King of Knights lets out a gentle breath. It might have been a laugh, but with how lukewarm she's proven to be, one may never be certain. Instead, she simply states, "There is more to it than that, I will confess. We have much in common, he and I. And so this arrangement is not one I find any objection to." She closes her eyes, stepping confidently though at an easy pace to keep up with, "He is a fine and just man. He repays disrespect with withering scorn. The respect of the King is earned through respectful behavior as well as noble action. I have faith that, should you put forth your best efforts, you will soon see the side of the King of Heroes that I see." She stops suddenly. Reaching, the Lion King works a door handle, then opens it-- An indoor cafe, "Let us set this matter aside for now. You wish to be a King as well, yes? I am nobility visiting from a far off land, yes? Please introduce me, then, to the hospitality of your land."
Mordred	That's... Something of a relief. Sort of. At the very least, Mordred can offer a weak, mildly delusional laugh. "... Oh! I get it. Like a plitical marriage rather than a regular one. That's better. Kinda." Whatever helps Mordred sleep at night. Never mind the fact that Rhongomyniad is speaking well about Mordred's stepmother-to-be, or that Mordred's being encouraged to actually /accept/ it. Maybe food will take her mind off that unpleasant distraction. "Right, right. Yeah, I'll show you the best Brittany's got to offer!" How hard could it be? Morgan le Fay was from Brittany. Mordred's struck the fear of... Well, Mordred into Nantes. Surely that'll translate to a pleasant evening dinner with the King of Knights, right? Right.