Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

"Is that so… Guinevere and Bavanzi have married, huh."

Artoria looked up as the magical confetti cannons, conjured by the palace guards, drifted lazily down. Instinctively, she caught a handful of the colorful paper.

She still remembered the mocking face Bavanzi had made at her when Guinevere swept her up in Norwich—like saying, See? All your chummy chatter means nothing; in the end, he'll carry her away. That look was so dismissive… yet Artoria couldn't summon even an ounce of anger. She only felt a profound sense of defeat.

She'd seen Bavanzi's little act in Norwich—pretending to stagger so Guinevere would steady her—though the curse's weakness hadn't even shown yet. It was a calculated ploy to win his heart at the opportune moment. Guinevere always claimed he was merely guiding Bavanzi, directing her every move… but all that girlish cunning couldn't have been his doing. Perhaps some tricks of the heart require no teacher.

Artoria could see what was happening, but what could she say? Bavanzi's days were numbered by the curse. Artoria had prepared a potion to heal any wound instantly—but there was no remedy for that slow‐spreading corruption. At this point, she had no standing left to intervene. All she could do was offer her blessings.

After a long moment spent watching the confetti drift away, Artoria straightened her hat and strode purposefully toward the city gate. As she reached the threshold, however, she spotted a group of people—humans and fey—arriving from outside Camelot. Leading them was a figure both familiar and utterly unexpected.

"Bagast? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

Artoria hurried forward in surprise. "I haven't heard a word from you in ages! I thought you were… gone. Where have you been all this time?"

"…Ah, Artoria," Bagast said, glancing weary and travel‐worn. She hesitated, then looked away. "Nowhere special… I've just been at Glasgow for a while."

"Glas…gow?" Artoria's eyes widened. "Lord Lancelot's domain? I thought she had no fief of her own!"

"Impossible," Bagast said with a rueful shrug. "She's defended Albion for over two thousand years—served under Queen Morgan long before the Age of Queens. How could she lack her own realm? Only… you, a country fey, would never hear about it." She glanced over her shoulder. "Glasgow is cut off by hostile terrain and mist‐shrouded lakes—perfect for a prison."

"A prison?"

Bagast nodded. "Morgan built a city amid the lakes to confine great fey criminals—too valuable as taxpayers to execute, but too dangerous to roam free. And since Lancelot frequented the dragon tomb nearby, Morgan entrusted that prison‐city to her wardenship. That's how Glasgow was born. Rumors drifted into human chronicles, but the maps never quite matched—remote, isolated, dangerous."

"When we allied with Lancelot, she never mentioned this."

"Not your concern," Bagast said, turning away. Artoria sensed shame buried in those few words and decided not to press the matter further. Only one thing was clear: the fey and humans she escorted had fled there during the war. Now peace had returned, but the lakes still hid countless perils—Bagast had come to guide them safely to Camelot.

"I understand," Artoria said thoughtfully. "So what do you plan to do now?"

Bagast squared her shoulders. "I'll swear fealty to the new king, Guinevere." Her voice held no hesitation. "He ended the war, unified Albion—who better to serve? And he's a knight I truly respect. Under his banner, Albion will flourish."

Artoria accepted that unspoken hope. "Very well, Bagast. I wish you all good fortune. Farewell."

As Artoria slipped beyond the gate, Bagast called after her, "Artoria—where are you heading?"

Artoria paused and replied, "Anywhere but here… this place holds no home for me."

Then she vanished into the open road.

[SYSTEM NOTES]

You have gained the long‐absent Fey Knight Bagast's allegiance.

After observing her, you confirmed her sincerity—an unexpected relief.

When you inquired into her year's absence, she evaded all questions; you chose not to press further.

You assigned retainers to secure Glasgow, but otherwise devote no resources to it.

Meanwhile, Queen Bavanzi's health has reached its limit.

"…That's the situation," Guinevere reported to Bavanzi, "Sir Gawain has sworn fealty. With him leading the fractured Fang Clan, we'll restore unity under his authority."

"That's splendid…" Bavanzi murmured, lying weak in bed, nodding. "It will ease your burden, Guinevere."

"…Yes," Guinevere sighed. "You need not worry. I will handle everything."

"But I wanted to be an excellent queen," Bavanzi said softly. "I remember… you told me once that if Mother returned, she'd be proud to see me rule well. Have I lived up to that?"

"You have," Guinevere replied, though his voice was tinged with sorrow.

"Oh hush," Bavanzi waved him off. "What monarch stays bedridden, unable to even rise? It's your deeds, not mine, that have strengthened Albion."

"But…"

"I said no more consoling me," she whispered, turning to gaze out the window. "I just… feel a little regret. Only a little, though. If I die now, have I failed Mother's test?"

"…I'm sorry," Guinevere said, closing his eyes and clenching his fist in frustration at his helplessness.

Suddenly, he noticed Bavanzi's hand trembling. Carefully, he lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

"Look—our bond grows ever stronger. Without a single word, you understood what I wanted," she managed a weak smile. "In any case, the finest reward is already mine."

Just then, a guard's voice echoed outside:

"Your Majesty! An urgent situation in Glasgow!"

Guinevere's brow furrowed.

"Your Majesty? Are you in there? About Glasgow…"

"Stand down," he commanded. "Even if the sky falls, wait till—"

A soft thumb on his lips stopped him.

"You promised to be a good king… for me," she whispered.

Guinevere's resolve wavered; he knew Bavanzi could no longer perform scrying magic to warn him if he left. Yet…

He looked into her pleading eyes, hesitated two seconds, then gently laid her hand down.

"I understand. I'll go and return as swiftly as I can."

He bent to kiss her forehead, then rose and hurried out. As the door clicked shut, his gaze turned cold—a look that made the guard quiver at how perilous it is to be a royal messenger.

After confirming no further orders, the guard ventured, "Your Majesty—what happened, exactly?"

Far down the silent corridor, another figure appeared: Lico. Once certain Guinevere had left, she pressed forward a few steps—and her attire subtly shifted from the maid's uniform into the regal finery of the Winter Queen.

Lico paused outside Bavanzi's chamber, then gently pushed the door open and stepped inside. She found the sleeping queen's brow furrowed as if troubled in a dream. Leaning in, Lico heard her murmuring:

"I'm sorry… Mother, I've disappointed you… Will you hate me?"

Lico knelt beside the bed, voice soft as silk: "Never. No matter what, you are—and always will be—my most precious daughter."

At those words, Bavanzi's tense brow finally relaxed, and a gentle peace settled over her face.