(Would you look at that, it seems a good amount of powerstones have found their way into my hands, and for that, I will keep releasing two chapters a day for a bit longer, so keep them coming, and so will the chapter.)
In Camelot, as the sun began to set, Amy and Coulson reluctantly prepared to depart. Amy was hesitant, eager to explore more and pose countless questions. However, Sir Lancelot insisted that they needed to leave for the night.
"My Lady, you have been here since morning without rest; I implore you to return." He spoke so kindly that she struggled to respond.
"No, please, we aren't tired at all; we don't need to rest," she started, only to be interrupted by the sound of a growling stomach. She glanced at Coulson, but her own stomach protested as well.
Lancelot offered a gentle smile. "It appears you both could use a good meal before resting, which gives us even more reason to leave." He encouraged them.
In fact, he was very eager for their departure; had he not been tasked with guiding them, he would already have left. He had sensed the king's lance a few hours earlier and was keen to learn why his king had summoned it.
On Amy's end, she was reluctant to go, yearning for more experiences and queries. She had heard Camelot didn't provide meals and that their tours barely allowed time for rest, so she had come prepared.
She enjoyed a hearty breakfast; the full English breakfast indeed lived up to its name, filling her for the day. She also carried a water bottle that she managed to refill, and the water here was extraordinary—cool and tastier than anything she had before.
Yet despite all this, weariness had set in; her legs ached, she was hungry, and darkness was closing in. The mind was willing, but the body was weak.
"I guess you're right," Amy conceded reluctantly. She glanced at Coulson, whose professional demeanor was slightly undermined by his sheepish expression as his stomach growled again.
"It's been a long day," Coulson noted with a faint smile. "And it's not over yet; we have some admin work to tackle."
"You win, Lancelot," she said with reluctance, brushing back a stray hair. "But I'm not finished with Camelot. Not by a long shot."
Lancelot maintained his polite smile, his knightly composure intact. "The gates of Camelot will always be open to you, my Lady. You are welcome here anytime. But for now, resting and nourishment are essential."
Amy looked at Coulson, who was already nodding in agreement. "We are truly grateful for your assistance today, Sir Lancelot." He said with a slight bow.
Lancelot inclined his head slightly, maintaining a serene expression. "It has been a privilege to guide you both. May your return journey be safe, and may your rest prepare you for future challenges."
As Amy and Coulson turned to leave, the cool evening air embraced them, refreshing after the day's excitement.
"I still feel like I'm stepping out of a dream," Amy muttered, looking back at the towering spires aglow in the warm hues of sunset. "How can all of this be real?"
"It's indeed real," Coulson replied while placing the bulky camera in the backpack. "I must admit, this thing is heavier than I expected," he complained lightly, rotating his arm.
"Well, I'm sure the footage is worth it. I mean, that city is magical!" She remained enthusiastic as they walked away. "Also, what's that smell?" Suddenly, she detected an unfamiliar scent in the air.
Coulson paused mid-step, sniffing the air. His expression turned from casual to alert in an instant. "You're right. That's… strange." He looked back toward Camelot, the spires now faintly glowing in the dusk. "It smells like… sulfur? Smoke?"
Amy frowned, her earlier excitement waning due to the odd atmosphere. The scent was subtle yet unmistakable, a sharp, acrid note that clashed with the evening's coolness. "Do you think something is burning?" she inquired.
Coulson instinctively reached for his earpiece, an automatic reaction from years of experience. He activated the comm device, his tone shifting to business. "Control, this is Coulson. We've noticed an unusual smell near Camelot—sulfuric, possibly smoke. Any reports of activity in the area?"
A brief silence followed, with static crackling softly in his ear before a response came through. "That's a known phenomenon; the current status indicates that the air inside Camelot is pure and aligns with its time period. What you detect is modern air pollution."
Coulson raised an eyebrow at the reply, his stance easing a little but not completely. "Modern air pollution? Out here in the middle of nowhere?"
He was taken aback; there were no major cities nearby; this was essentially a retreat from urban air. Yet, oddly enough, even this air was so polluted that it had a distinctive smell, unlike that of Camelot.
Amy frowned and folded her arms, leaning against the car. "Modern air pollution? That's puzzling. We're far from any major urban area. By our standards, this air should be considered 'clean.'"
Coulson nodded, deep in thought as he contemplated the situation. "Exactly. If Camelot's air is genuinely as pure as advertised, the contrast must be significant enough for us to notice it right away. That's... concerning. The air out here shouldn't be bad enough to provoke this kind of reaction."
Amy wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air again. "It's not just pollution, though. There's something sharper in it—perhaps sulfur? That's not typical, even for contaminated air."
Coulson returned to his earpiece. "Control, please confirm—are there any environmental anomalies or industrial activities within a 50-mile radius of Camelot? The sulfuric scent doesn't correspond with ordinary pollution."
There was a brief pause, followed by a light crackle. "Negative, Agent Coulson. No industrial sites, fires, or geological activities that explain the sulfur. The working theory remains the disparity between Camelot's environment and modern air quality. If you think further investigation is necessary, we can escalate."
"Understood," Coulson said, although his voice revealed skepticism. He looked at Amy. "We'll log it and move on for now, but something feels off."
Amy's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the faint glow of Camelot's spires was barely visible in the dwindling light. "Could it be Camelot itself? Some kind of magical aura or boundary that disrupts the environment?"
"Possibly," Coulson replied, his voice steady. "If Camelot is as pristine as it appears, its ecosystem might involve more than just cleaner air. Magic or not, the contrast is tangible—and merits investigation."
Amy let out a small, humorless laugh. "Fantastic. Just add 'strange air' to the list of Camelot mysteries. Next time, I hope we discover why the water tastes perfect."
Coulson smirked slightly. "That's straightforward; it's free of pollutants. It's how water should taste, before we tampered with it."
Coulson was also astonished by the taste difference. SHIELD, among others, had conducted numerous tests on the water sourced from the city. He even had a full bottle prepared for further lab analysis.
Up to now, it was simply water; the clearest anyone had encountered. The only way to obtain such water was to dig into ice sheets and melt the ancient ice.
Amy raised an eyebrow. "Wow, it really highlights how messed up the environment has become."
Coulson chuckled dryly. "Yeah, it's an incredible opportunity to explore and gain knowledge about the past, across various fields."
Amy nodded thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed out the window at Calebot's fading silhouette. "It's like a living time capsule. We study ruins and fossils, but this—this is history, alive and breathing."
"Exactly," Coulson said, his tone shifting to seriousness. "Camelot isn't merely a historical or cultural occurrence; it's a scientific treasure. The air, the water, the soil—each element in that city can reveal much about how the world once was. About what we've lost."
Amy turned to him, her expression intrigued. "What happens next? Given your role as an agent? What does that imply for my story?" She asked, unable to suppress her worry that they might prevent her from coming forward.
Coulson paused for a moment, weighing his response. "We will need to go over everything, copy the footage, edit certain sections, and impose limitations on what you can disclose. However, with Stark supporting you, the UK won't be able to fully stop you."
Amy released a relieved sigh, though the notion of her work being analyzed and censored still troubled her. "Well, I suppose that's better than total suppression. But I'm not excited about holding back the truth. People have the right to know what's happening."
Coulson looked at her, his expression softening. "I understand. But this isn't solely about the public's right to know; it's about making sure what you share doesn't lead to unintended repercussions."
Amy frowned. "What could go wrong? There aren't any significant secrets; it's just history. Imagine if Sir Percy, one of King Arthur's most renowned knights, wasn't real? That changes everything!"
Coulson paused and scanned the area, ensuring nobody was around. There weren't. They were still between Camelot and the barricades. While lots of people looked at them from a distance, they couldn't hear anything.
"That's a prime example of something you won't be able to discuss; everything relating to Sir Percy will need to be cut."
Amy's jaw dropped; she stared at Coulson in disbelief. "You can't be serious! Sir Percy is one of the most legendary figures in Arthurian lore. If he isn't real, that's monumental. People need to hear that!"
Coulson shook his head, his expression calm but firm. "I'm not joking. That revelation could do more harm than good, at least for now. You won't be permitted to address it, and all footage concerning it will be seized."
Amy's frustration bubbled over as she threw her hands up. "Seized? Are you kidding me? What's the point of my being here if I can't report on my findings?"
Coulson's expression remained calm, but a spark of understanding flickered in his eyes. "I understand, Amy. You're a journalist, and this seems like a once-in-a-lifetime story. However, it's dangerous, and I'm saying this for your own good."
Amy's frustration deepened at Coulson's words. She moved closer, her voice slightly raised. "For my own good? Come on, Coulson, don't patronize me. I know how to manage a significant story. This isn't about my safety—it's about control."
Coulson exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I assure you, the threat is genuine; back in the 70s, a terrorist emerged here in England, obsessed with Sir Percy. He's very much alive and, sadly, still free. If he finds out you're spreading that story, he will come after you."
Amy paused, momentarily stunned by his words. "Wait, what? A terrorist fixated on Sir Percy? Why haven't I heard of this before?"
Coulson sighed again. "Well, as I mentioned, he was active over thirty years ago, and much of the information about him was buried. It's not that it's a secret—it's just somewhat hidden. So it's not surprising you weren't aware of him."
Amy crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Somewhat hidden? That sounds alarmingly like government speak for 'we didn't want the public to panic.' So what's the story? Who is this guy, and why does he still pose a threat?"
Coulson took a steady breath. "His name—or at least the one he uses—is The Black Knight. He claims to be the rightful heir of Camelot because of blood ties to Sir Percy. He struck England hard, stealing numerous items and causing destruction and death in his wake."
Amy's eyes widened, her shock shifting to morbid curiosity. "The Black Knight? You're saying a lunatic believes he's the heir to Camelot and has been wreaking havoc to prove it?"
Coulson nodded, his face serious. "That's exactly what I'm saying. He appeared in the 70s, asserting that he's Sir Percy's descendant and claimed ownership of anything tangentially linked to him—historical artifacts and so on."
Amy raised her eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite the situation's seriousness. "And people just... allowed him to do that? How did he manage to evade capture?"
Coulson sighed, the weight of years evident in his voice. "He wasn't your ordinary criminal; he had access to advanced weapons and technology beyond what was typical. He even had a flying horse. Back then, there weren't many ways to counter something like that."
Amy blinked, absorbing Coulson's words. "A flying horse? Are you serious?"
Coulson shook his head, his expression unwavering. "I wish I were joking. It sounds absurd, but it provided him with a tactical edge that was nearly impossible to combat at that time. Combine that with advanced weaponry and the element of surprise, and he was a nightmare."
Amy let out an incredulous laugh, though it held an edge of anxiety. "So we're talking about a guy who's like a medieval cosplayer with sci-fi gadgets? How did he even acquire that stuff?"
Coulson's expression remained stoic. "That information is classified. What matters is he had those tools and knew how to use them. Each time law enforcement or even the military tried to trap him, he managed to outsmart them. He was always a step ahead."
Amy frowned, her journalist instincts kicking in. "And no one has been able to catch him? Not even now, with all our technology and resources?"
"He hasn't been active for some time," Coulson said. "But we believe he's still out there. You must have heard about the rumors regarding a flying horse near Camelot about a week ago? That was him."
Amy stopped mid-sentence, her mind racing as clues began to align. "Wait," she said carefully, her voice shaking slightly with realization. "The flying horse… the news reports about a sighting near Camelot last week. That was him, wasn't it?"
Coulson met her gaze, his expression serious and unyielding. "Exactly what I'm saying."
Amy's stomach dropped as the implications dawned on her. "Oh my God," she murmured. "I thought it was just a hoax, some viral stunt or kids messing around with a drone."
"No hoax," Coulson clarified. "That was the truth. And he wasn't there by chance. The Black Knight doesn't act without a purpose."
Amy's eyes widened as realization struck her. "He was scouting Camelot."
"He likely intended to infiltrate it," Coulson elaborated. "However, Camelot isn't without its defenses, and he was driven away, likely to avoid damaging what he perceives as his own. But this is why you cannot divulge anything about the truth of Sir Percy."
Amy stared at him, the heaviness of his words astonished her. "He would truly come after me? Over just one story?"
"Absolutely," Coulson affirmed. "The Black Knight isn't merely obsessed—he's relentless. If he views you as a threat, he'll do everything to silence you. And he won't care about collateral damage. Anyone associated with you—your editor, your sources—could end up in danger."
Amy clenched her fists, her frustration boiling over. "This is outrageous. I'm a journalist, Coulson. Telling the truth is my responsibility. I can't just remain silent because some madman might chase me down."
"I understand your perspective," Coulson replied, his voice becoming gentler. "However, my responsibility is to safeguard the public, and at times, that requires actions you may disagree with, like preventing you from broadcasting that story."
Amy's jaw tightened, fists clenched as she moved closer to Coulson. "Preventing me? Are you actually serious? You can't dictate what I can or cannot say! This is my story, my career—suppressing the truth isn't an option just because it's uncomfortable!"
Coulson remained composed, his tone steady. "This isn't about convenience, Amy. It's a matter of survival—yours and those connected to you. The Black Knight isn't a far-off threat. He's a real danger. If you publish that story, you're marking yourself and them as targets."
Amy shot him a glare, her frustration boiling over. "So I'm just supposed to give in? Allow him to win by staying silent?"
Coulson sighed, admiring her tenacity but aware of his orders. "This isn't debatable; it's a national security issue. Your story about Camelot can't include what you know about Sir Percy, and that's final."
Amy fixed her gaze on Coulson, her chest heaving with anger and disbelief. "National security?" she echoed, incredulous. "You're using that card on a story about a man who may or may not have existed a thousand years ago?"
Coulson's eyes remained steady, his voice resolute. "Yes, I am. This goes beyond Sir Percy or Camelot. It involves a dangerous person who could inflict harm if you reveal the truth. Until he's dealt with, the truth must unfortunately stay hidden."
Amy was far from pleased, and Coulson recognized it. He had seen this before; she wasn't thinking clearly.
"Amy, you have an incredible story; people want to experience what you witnessed today. Don't deny them that chance just because you can't reveal everything."
Amy tightened her jaw and crossed her arms, her glare fixed on Coulson. "It's easy for you to say. You're not the one being asked to compromise your work, to withhold the truth because it's considered 'too dangerous.'"
Though she knew it wasn't his fault, he didn't understand the sacrifices she made to be here. Keeping the truth to herself felt like a betrayal of her efforts.
Her voice softened but was edged with bitterness. "You don't understand, Coulson. I didn't accidentally end up here. I made sacrifices to be here. And you're telling me it was all for nothing?"
Coulson met her gaze, calm yet firm. "I'm not saying it was for nothing. You have a significant story that millions need to see. Even if it's not the complete picture, it still holds value."
Amy shook her head, her jaw tense. "Omitting Sir Percy feels like deceiving people. Like I'm undermining the truth."
"You're not," Coulson reassured her. "You're safeguarding it. The truth won't disappear because it's postponed. But pushing too hard now might cost you the opportunity to share anything at all."
Amy gazed at the horizon, arms crossed. She recognized he was correct, yet that didn't ease her feelings. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.
"Alright. I'll withhold information—for now. But once this danger is past, I'll share the complete story. No limits."
Coulson acknowledged her with a nod. "You have my assurance. Concentrate on what you can reveal. It's a narrative that deserves to be told."
As they approached the car, Amy looked back at the spires of Camelot. Though she would share what she could for the moment, the complete truth would eventually come out. She would ensure it happened.
After signing numerous forms, Amy gave Coulson copies of her notes, and he promised to send her the recorded footage in return.
Although she was unhappy about omitting the part regarding Sir Percy from her story, she ultimately understood the necessity of that decision.
While she might have had to sleep with Stark for this opportunity, many others had assisted her along the way, and she wanted to protect them from a madman claiming to be the heir of Camelot.
She intended to research the terrorist, fueled by curiosity, and she was considering crafting another story about him.
Though she might not be able to publish it soon, having portions of the story pre-written would be beneficial if he were captured.
She had a lot to keep her occupied: reviewing her notes, writing the new story, and perhaps finding some guests. The ride back home was spent passionately scribbling in her notebook, much to the annoyance of the man beside her, who unsuccessfully attempted to flirt the entire journey.
Coulson was also on his way home, feeling uneasy about the atmosphere in Britain, particularly within the British government, as it was too hostile.
While he recognized they were under immense pressure, the entire world watching, with everyone demanding something and forcing their hand, he did not envy them at all—or his boss, who was expected to have answers.
He hoped that what he brought back would provide some assistance, at least. The news about Sir Percy was particularly shocking and would surely be considered valuable by his boss, who would likely find a way to utilize it.
(Chapter ends here)
So, Amy... i almost feel I made her a bit too whiny about not being allowed to spread the story, but given that she did sleep with Tony Stark to be allowed to get this story, she naturally is invested.
And Coulson, was he too nice? too friendly? I imagine him as starstruck, not fully thinking properly due to the amazing sights of Camelot, but sure if I managed to convey it properly.