Meetings #2
The building smelled of green things and fresh water, typical these days of renewable energy, though the water running through the place for purely decorative purposes was rarer. It must be used for other things, recycled and reused or something, for that to be allowed.
Merlin slipped away almost immediately, homing in on a tired-looking janitor type person. Another intriguing feature, given janitor work was just one of dozens of jobs that had been automated in the past few decades. Lancelot couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a human janitor.
"What a weird place."
Dred grunted in agreement. "Let's explore, shall we?"
The exhibits started all the way back in the days of the original gaming systems, quaint little things that looked like toys, pretend sets for little kids who couldn't actually play games.
Lancelot couldn't fathom playing a game that had mere 8-bit images.
"How do you even understand what's going on with everything that tiny and fuzzy? "
"Don't ask me," Dred said. "I know this life, and remember the one where we didn't have running water or antibiotics. I missed the weird in between, thank fuck."
Lancelot laughed.
From there the museum went on through the various other stages of big name companies, the greats like Sony and Microsoft, various game developers, until what many flippantly called the Great Shakeup or the Great Restructuring, where those decades old companies had merged or been bought out or simply fallen entirely, resulting in a new wave of gaming companies that all fell under the control of just a handful of the ruling corporations.
Now, there was just a handful of game developers in the U.S.
, and all of them fell under the same corporate umbrella.
"We're right back where we started with feudal societies," he said with a sigh, "except somehow they've gotten worse.
Do you think…" Lancelot trailed off as they entered a room that displayed the various owners of Monmouth, including the current owner, a handsome, pale-skinned man with black hair and dark brown eyes colder than a Siberian winter. He'd know that face anywhere.
"Maleagant," Dred said, voice full of venom and fire.
"Reginald Malcolm Monmouth," Lancelot read off the placard beneath the hand-painted portrait. He couldn't begin to imagine how much that had cost, though of course it was a drop in the bucket to Monmouth.
Maleagant, master of black magic, eldest son of King Bagdemagus, crown prince of Gorre, the Land of No Return.
Bitter rival of Arthur, turned mortal enemy of Camelot.
It had begun with Arthur saving Guinevere, a minor incident in the grand scheme of things that should have been the end of the matter.
Instead, Maleagant's hate had grown and grown, spiraling out of control into that final, bitter fight that had put them here, hundreds of years into the future.
"How in the hell are we supposed to win this fight when he owns the field of battle?"
"He doesn't," Dred replied. "He merely owns the gateway. The pocket universe is out of his control. If he controlled that, the fight would have ended before it began. The magic promised us a second chance."
"At great cost," Lancelot whispered. "We've yet to learn what that cost will be."
"One problem at a time, fish boy. Come on, I'm sick of looking at his ugly mug."
They moved on, ignoring the rest of the portraits in the room and carrying on to what proved to be an exhibit for Edge of Knight—including an enormous 3D interactive image of the very castle they planned to unlock the next time they were in the game, likely later that night.
"It looks just like Camelot," Lancelot said softly, a deep, twisting ache running through him.
"Albeit expanded and glammed." Dred reached out to touch a portion of the castle, causing the walls to turn transparent to display the inside.
Morgan and Guinevere had their garden, Merlin his laboratory, Gawain his library, and Mordred their workshop.
When they hadn't been fighting or spending time with Galahad, they had spent it there creating beautiful pieces of glass, from gleaming cups that had graced the great hall to ornate figurines gifted to his friends.
"I have a craft game with glassmaking as one of the options," Dred said. "It was my dream as a kid, but no slum rat gets a career like that."
"What do you do?" Lancelot asked. "Merlin only said you were on a ten-ten schedule."
Dred made a face. "Hard labor. Just some things robots can't do, like foraging for all the mushrooms and shit that rich people apparently can't live without.
That's what I do, collect mushrooms and berries and whatever else the guzzlers demand.
I spend ten days hiking the woods east of the city, ten days off, then I go to the west. Back and forth unto death.
Not going to miss that shit job, sleeping in the woods ten days at a time.
Last time it stormed, and a tree right next to me got struck by lightning. No fucking thank you."
"Says the man with so much control over fire that he worked hot glass with his bare hands," Lancelot drawled.
"I didn't know that at the time!"
Lancelot grinned as Dred playfully shoved at his head. "Come on, let's—" He stopped as Dred grabbed his upper arm, gripping tightly, looking at something behind him. "What's wrong?"
"I need you to not react."
"What…" But even as he started to repeat his question, the answer came into view, towering over everyone, big and broad and beautiful, dressed in a suit that could feed a slum family for literal years.
At least half the eyes in the room were on him, helplessly drawn to his presence, to his beauty and smile.
Lancelot could not judge, he'd fallen for all the same and more that very first moment they'd met.
He was speaking with a couple of men, gesturing expansively in that way of his, though what they were talking about Lancelot hadn't the slightest.
Pinned to the front was a badge that marked him an employee of Monmouth Games. Lancelot jerked forward, but was reeled back by the firm grip Dred still had on his arm.
"You can't," Dred said, voice filled with sympathy. "I know you want to, if that was Galahad I'd be losing my fucking mind, but you can't."
"Get me out of here," Lancelot said hoarsely, unable to tear his eyes away from Gale, aching to go to him, the pain threatening to rip him apart.
Dred obediently dragged him away, weaving around and sometimes pushing right through the other people in the museum, glaring down attempted protests, until they were outside again.
Water. He desperately needed to be in water right now. Safe, in his element, far away from—
"He works for Maleagant," Lancelot bit out. "He's not kept locked away in a room or something, he works for him."
"He runs this headquarters," Dred replied. "I saw it in that room while you were staring at fuckhead's ugly face."
"That's why you wanted to leave that room so abruptly." He should have known. Dred was nothing if not thorough in everything they did, yet they'd cut out before they'd finished exploring the whole exhibit. "Do…do you think he's doing all this willingly? But he had that collar around his neck…"
Dred gave him a look like he'd lost his mind.
"Galehaut? Serve Maleagant willingly? Are we discussing the same Galehaut?
The man who surrendered his father's kingdom, guaranteeing his own exile, and likely demise, in an age where defying your father was practically a bigger crime than witchcraft?
The Galehaut who wrote you love letters and was going to marry you after we won the battle of Camlann, even if that wasn't actually a thing we could do back then? "
"He was what."
"Oh, god, you didn't know," Dred said, eyes widening in horror. "He meant it as a surprise, didn't he? Oh, god."
Lance's legs gave out, and he doubled over in agony, hot tears escaping to trail down his cheeks.
"He said he had a surprise for me. I thought— I thought—" He'd thought Galehaut had arranged a trip, something for just the two of them, to rest and recover after all the upheaval and pain of the past several months.
Maybe to see his mother, finally get her formal blessing on their relationship, introduce Galehaut to his family.
Dred knelt in front of him, pulled him into a hug. "We'll get him back, Lance. I promise. You would move heaven and earth to get Galahad back for me, and I would do the same for your stupid ox of a boyfriend. All right?"
"All— all right," Lancelot said roughly. "Why? Why does he work for Maleagant?"
"Are you two okay?" a soft but strident voice asked, right as Lancelot registered the click of heels on stone.
Lancelot looked up, and his eyes snapped wide as he took in Morgan.
"Um. Fine. Sorry. I felt weak all of a sudden, kind of dizzy, but I'm feeling better now.
Probably just need a snack." He let Dred help him to his feet, wiping hastily at his face as Morgan continued to regard them pensively.
"You're Morgan, right? Martin's stepbrother? "
Her brows rose, vanishing into her hair briefly.
Morgan was, as she had always been, breathtakingly stunning.
She wasn't a soft beauty, but one of sharp lines and hard edges.
Her skin was a rich, dark brown, eyes a pale, golden brown, and her dark hair was currently in a beautiful fro, streaked with a vibrant red that matched her lipstick.
"That's me. How do you know Martin? I've never seen you around the house before. "
"I've only been once, a couple of days ago," Lancelot replied. "He talks about you a lot, thinks really highly of you. We're getting together to play a new video game again tonight, you joining us?"
Morgan scoffed. "Do I look like I play video games? Anyway, I'm working late, getting ready for an expo."