time-valley

[time-valley]

The ending's echo

Galahad wakes up.

It is dawn when the Pure Knight wakes. 

Morning light filters in through arched windows as Galahad rouses from his slumber, trying to gather his bearings. Fingers brush against the fabric of the mattress he found himself sitting up in, the unfamiliarity of it sending a chill of confusion down his spine. He looks around, finding himself in a hall not unlike the ones in his King’s palace. That shouldn’t be, Galahad thinks as he calmly gets to his feet, feeling cool stone against the flat of his feet as he walks to the window. The last he remembers is having laid down and drinking from the holy grail before closing his eyes. He shouldn’t be awake at all, so why—

His thoughts are shattered by a ten-foot wave of pain crashing against the inside of his skull. 

It is rare for Galahad to wake with headaches that threaten to make him crumble to his knees, he notes in between the jackhammer thumps of pain throbbing in his temples. He lets out a quiet breath as the tide recedes, left with only visions. Terrible, cruel visions of a Camelot burning down, torn apart by the flames of rebellion. He sees the lord he serves felled by a fellow knight, a vicious snarl of pure malice stretched across the knight’s face before his hand falls limp, impaled by the King’s lance. He hurries over to the windows of the hall when he sees the army his father leads painted in his mind, peering through the glass as the image of his King being sent over a lake follows soon after it. He is greeted with a peaceful Camelot, the morning birds singing a sweet song for the start of the day. No fires. No bloodshed. So why did it feel so real— 

“—It is real, Sir Galahad.” A voice sounding like many voices says softly, different tones overlapping with one another and yet seeming wholly one to his ears. “You woke up.”

Galahad stills, searching for the source of the voice. He finds not one person else in the hall. 

Galahad glances down at the ground. "I was.”

“I was beginning to think you wouldn't," the voices whispers into his ear, like the cool breeze of an autumn day. "You were ready to die."

That is what he was supposed to be, wasn't he? 

Dead. Taking a sip from the Holy Grail should have killed him immediately. He should have served his greatest purpose and yet here he is, stuck in his state of bewilderment. Perhaps this was what heaven was supposed to be? The voices hum lightly, reverberating through his very core. He thinks of the voices as what he imagines true angels would be like, overbearing and all-encompassing. 

"That is not where you are. That is not what I am.”

“Then what are you?” Galahad questions. 

“I would think that you would know.” The voices say, almost mockingly. “You drank from me, after all.”

“The Grail?” Galahad shakes his head. “That does not seem possible.”

“Many things seem impossible, Sir Galahad.” The Grail says. “Look at yourself. This is quite an impossible predicament.” 

Galahad glances at the glass of the window pane, cerulean eyes widening at the sight of his reflection. Distantly, he knows his body felt foreign to him but this was something he could never imagine. His frame was smaller, far less bulky than he remembers it being. His hair was longer, fair locks worn in a style he remembers from his younger years. His face was rounder, having not grown out of some baby fat just yet. He blinked at his reflection and yet the image of his younger self continued to remain. 

 He was 18 years of age somehow. 

“Is this some sort of trick?” He asks aloud.

“No trick. Just a purpose. Just a duty.” The Grail sings. “You were always destined for duty, Sir Galahad.” 

“But I completed my duty. I was meant to—”

“—ascend?” The Grail hums. “Ascend… But how, Sir Galahad? You have not done enough. Yes, not enough to ascend.”

Galahad looks down at his palms. 

"I don't understand."

“You need to save them.” 

“Save who?”

“Camelot. Save them from their fate. Only then, can you leave.”

Galahad pauses. “Those visions… Were they true then?”

“They were. What a terrible fate for dear Camelot. But you can stop it, can't you? Do you accept this duty?” 

Galahad feels the saliva pool in his mouth. It would be selfish to refuse, wouldn’t it? To say no and to leave Camelot to its fate. Galahad is the Pure Knight and a man of God. He cannot be selfish. The choice he must make is only logical then. 

“I will complete this duty you have given me. Only then, will I know peace.” 

[time-valley]

Imagine a world where when Galahad finds the grail, it doesn't raise his soul to the heavens but instead sends him back in time with the future of the ruin of Camelot in his memories.

Imagine a world where Galahad must prove himself of worthiness to the holy grail by saving the Kingdom from certain doom. Imagine a world where Galahad is locked in a time loop of trying and failing to save his Kingdom.

And what if on his repeats of the years, he notices Mordred, who he has been shown to lead a rebellion against his king and bring about the ruin of Camelot. What if he notices a Mordred who is not yet filled with resentment but instead a Mordred who lingers in the shadows, watching, watching and wanting. What if Galahad befriends this Mordred over the timelines?

What then?

What if Mordred, not used to this new Galahad who acts strangely to him, notices something is wrong with the pure knight?

What then?

[time-valley]

Me: what if I created an Arthurian regression AU where Galahad is constantly chasing after Mordred's survival/ Camelot's prosperity aha

Also me, cracking open my Google docs