The room still slled faintly of blood.
I had gotten rid of most of it with a bit of magic, but I didn't know any real cleaning magic, and Kilgrave's blood had really seeped into the carpet.
His body, too, had been unceremoniously disposed of, thrown out the window. It would cause so chaos for sure, but I didn't plan to stick around for long.
Mordred and I sat on my bed, with Jessica sitting on Mordred's as she told her story.
Her voice was low. Hoarse. Like soone who hadn't spoken much for a while.
She told us about the night she t him—how she'd been trying to do good, trying to be a hero. How she'd been inspired by Stark's coming-out party, back when he told the world I am Iron Man. She wanted to help people.
And then he found her.
"It wasn't sudden," Jessica said, fingers clenched around the mug Mordred had handed her. "It was slow. Like drowning in syrup. Sticky. Sweet. He didn't say obey —he said don't you want to? And I did. Because that's what he made want."
Mordred didn't interrupt. She hadn't said a word since the story began. She just listened, sharp-eyed but patient.
I sat on the bed, arms folded, letting it all pass through . Her pain. Her sha. Her guilt.
None of it was hers to carry.
"When he made do it," Jessica said, voice cracking. "When he made kill soone… I was aware. I felt it. I scread the whole ti inside my head. But my body just smiled and did what he wanted."
Her shoulders shook.
"Hey, girl." Mordred spoke, getting her attention. "You want to go out and beat his body into a paste?"
Mordred wasn't good at this and didn't know how to comfort soone properly, but she still tried her best, and if nothing else, it did bring the tiniest smile to Jessica's lips.
It wasn't much. Barely a twitch of her mouth.
But it was sothing.
Jessica let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sob. "It's fine, I would be happier if I never had to see his face again. She murmured.
Mordred grinned. "No worries there, I smashed it pretty well, no face left on that guy."
I stood up and stretched. My body didn't ache, but I found myself mimicking the gesture regardless—it helped. Grounded .
"Then what do you want, Jessica? You are free now, no vengeance to seek, no nightmare to flee, you could do anything you want now." I asked as I looked at the poor girl.
Jessica didn't answer right away.
Her gaze dropped to the coffee mug, as if the answer might be hiding sowhere at the bottom.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't think I ever let myself imagine it. Freedom. Not really. Every ti I thought I was getting away, he'd find . Pull back in. So I stopped dreaming."
She once more went quiet, just sitting there, looking at nothing, thinking.
Neither Mordred nor I interrupted her.
Finally, after a few minutes that seed to stretch on forever, she spoke. "So… Mordred… are you really him?"
Mordred blinked.
Of all the things Jessica could've asked, that one caught her off guard. She tilted her head, cocked an eyebrow, and looked at Jessica like she was trying to figure out whether the woman was joking or genuinely curious.
"Him?" Mordred echoed. "Who are we talking about now?"
Jessica just stared. Searching.
"You said you would only kneel to your father. That there was only one king worthy of your loyalty. You said you were the Knight of Treachery."
She was quoting now. Word for word.
"That wasn't a taphor. Was it?"
"Yeah? What of it?" she asked, confused, but only montarily, then Mordred's grin faded. Her posture stiffened ever so slightly, the way soone does when they realize a secret might've slipped loose.
I watched quietly, curious myself. I hadn't expected Jessica to pick up on that.
Jessica leaned forward a little, elbows on her knees, the mug clutched between her hands like a lifeline.
"It wasn't just the words," she said softly. "It was how you said them. That mont… when you snapped out of it. That wasn't soone resisting control. That was soone built to resist. Like it was part of your soul."
Mordred didn't respond imdiately. She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, as though weighing the options—deny it, laugh it off, or tell the truth.
"Damn," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. "You're a lot sharper than you look."
Jessica gave her a look. Not offended. Just flat. "While under his control, I couldn't do much; I only watched through my own eyes and observed things. I guess I beca pretty good at it."
Mordred looked to , clearly asking for what to do now that our secret was out in the open. I admit, it was unexpected, I had thought her too preoccupied with the whole getting free from a sicko's mind control would distract her.
But clearly I was wrong.
"Pretty good indeed. She is indeed Mordred, knight of the Round Table." I admitted, seeing no reason to keep it secret anymore, now that it was pretty much confird.
Jessica didn't react with disbelief. No laughter. No scoffing. Just a long, quiet breath as she looked at Mordred again—really looked this ti.
Then, she looked at , since Mordred was Mordred, then she had to realize who I was, and she naturally struggled to believe it.
After all, both Mordred and I were said to be n, in the legends and in the dia today. Yet before her, sat two very clearly won.
"If she's Mordred…" she began, her voice slower now, careful, "and she kneels to you…"
She trailed off, but I saw the mont the dots connected.
Jessica's breath caught in her throat. She stared at for several seconds longer than was comfortable. Then finally, she said it—not loud, not dramatically, but with enough weight to fill the room.
"You're Arthur."
Not a question. A conclusion.
I didn't deny it.
"But… you are a man?"
"People couldn't accept a woman being king back then, so I hid the truth," I explained lightly.
"But… but… how could anyone not see it?" She asked, vaguely gesturing to my very feminine figure.
I smiled, faintly. "Because I didn't look like this back then."
Jessica blinked.
"I looked like a boy," I clarified. "Small. Thin. Androgynous enough to pass. People saw what they wanted to see. And I let them."
"Let them?" she echoed, more softly now.
"They needed a king," I said. "A king who could lead, who could save them. So I beca that. I wore the armor, carried the sword, fought their wars. And when the songs were sung, they never questioned the 'he' in the verses."
Jessica's eyes lingered on , thoughtful. Then she looked at Mordred.
"But… you had a child, how didn't anyone notice you being pregnant and giving birth?"
Mordred snorted so hard it almost counted as a laugh. "Whoa, back up. Let's make one thing clear—he didn't give birth to ."
Jessica blinked, startled. "Wait, but if you're both won—"
"I said he on purpose," Mordred cut in, leaning forward, her grin a little sharper now. "My father. The one I swore to. The one I rebelled against. That was my father, not my mother. King Arthuria."
Jessica looked back at , uncertain. I nodded, calm and composed.
"Mordred is the child of my sister Morgan and . She wanted soone who could replace , and well, she found a way to make it happen. So magic was involved, and let's leave it at that." I vaguely explained.
Jessica stared down at her mug again, like it might offer a second opinion. "That's... a lot."
"It usually is," I said quietly.
There was a long silence. Not awkward, just heavy with everything that had been said and everything still hanging in the air.
Then Mordred rolled her shoulders with a little grunt. "So now you know. What're you gonna do with it?"
Jessica didn't answer right away. When she finally spoke, it was with a steadiness that surprised . "Honestly? I don't know. I'm not even sure what I am anymore. But..."
She looked up at again. This ti, there was no doubt in her eyes. Just sothing harder. Sothing like resolve.
"Why are you here? Helping ? Shouldn't you be in England? Being king and all?"
I t her gaze, steady and calm. "Being a king… Mordred, why don't you explain how the day of a king is?"
Mordred leaned back, let out a breath, and gave Jessica a look that could only be described as long-suffering sibling energy.
"Oh, you an besides the part where every noble with a stick up their ass wants a private audience to complain about taxes, trade routes, or the length of ceremonial cloaks?" Mordred scoffed. "Let's see… paperwork, policy etings, more paperwork, blessing ceremonies, more etings, speeches, court politics, more paperwork, and occasionally—if the stars align—five whole minutes to eat."
Jessica blinked. "Wait, really?"
"She makes it sound worse than it is," I said calmly.
"It is worse than it is," Mordred shot back. "You don't do anything but work all day long, king? More like… paperking!" she tried really hard on that one, I could tell.
"What Mordred is trying to say is, being a king is a lot of work, so I am here for work, I bought sothing from Tony Stark. And I'm waiting for him to deliver, and while waiting, Mordred and I thought to spend the ti hunting down so immortal ninjas, and well, we found plenty of reason to do that." I explained.
Jessica blinked again, processing the absurdity of it all. "You're… buying tech from Tony Stark and hunting immortal ninjas in your downti?"
Mordred grinned. "Better than sitting around back ho being bored, even if I never got to punch Stark's face in."
Jessica gave a small laugh. Tired, but real. "God, I think I've completely lost track of what's normal anymore."
"You'll get used to it," I said, then added gently, "If you want to."
Jessica didn't answer right away. She stared at the far wall, quiet again, but not in the sa haunted way as before. This ti, she was thinking.
"What do I even do now?" she murmured. "I don't have money. No place to go. I don't even know how to exist outside of his voice."
"What do you want?" I asked her. It was a simple question, but after going through what she had, it was aningful.
Jessica didn't respond imdiately. Her lips parted, then closed again, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug like it might anchor her to the mont.
"I… I don't know," she whispered. "I used to think I did. I wanted to help people. Be a hero. Soone good. But now…" Her voice broke a little.
"You could still be that, if you abandoned that dream, that's fine. But ask yourself, why do you do it? Is it because of him? If it is, aren't you still letting him decide things for you?"
Jessica's eyes flicked up to et mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw sothing raw there—sothing torn open and vulnerable.
Then she looked away again, gaze falling back to the mug in her hands.
"I don't know," she repeated, softer this ti. "I just… I don't want him to be the reason for anything anymore. Not why I move. Not why I breathe. Not why I stop."
Mordred leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Then don't let him be."
Jessica let out a shaky breath. "Easy to say."
"And why is it hard to do?" I asked her. "Why not just jump into it, do like Mordred, just punch your problems until they are gone, it's not elegant, but it seems to work."
She didn't say anything for a while, just sat there, deep in thought.
"Since you have nothing, I will take you to see Stark. You are his fan, no? While I doubt that will last once you et him, at least you can get a bit of a crash from him to help you get back on your feet."
Jessica snorted faintly. "His fan? I'm not sure, but I admired that soone like him, who has everything, would still be willing to fight for others, and not just hide at ho when people suffered."
"I didn't hear a no, so stay here the night, tomorrow we go see Stark, and you can think about what you want." I decided for her. It might be wrong to do so, especially after what she has gone through, but clearly she needed help moving on.
So, Jessica joins up. She is no Knight of Calot, but I have so plans for her. She won't be around long term.
But yeah, not much happened this chapter, but that's fine, poor girl needs so ti to recover. But at least, I promise that we aren't done with the Hand just yet.
So look forward to that!
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