Incest Pendragon

"Queen... The letter from Lady Morgan." The servant knelt before her, holding the sealed letter with trembling hands.

She presented it carefully, her head bowed low in submission.

Queen Medb didn't bother acknowledging the servant at first.

Instead, she stretched her arms lazily and yawned, as if the very act of receiving correspondence was beneath her.

When she finally reached out, it was with deliberate disinterest.

She snatched the letter, glanced at the seal for less than a second, and shredded it into pieces with a swift, dismissive motion, scattering the fragments to the floor like confetti.

"Never, ever, show me this again," Medb said coldly, her voice dripping with disdain.

Her golden eyes narrowed into a glare that could pierce through steel. "We will never compromise with the enemy. Never."

The poor servant girl visibly shuddered under the weight of Medb's intimidation.

Her hands clenched tightly to steady herself, and she lowered her head even further, her voice trembling as she replied. "Y-Yes, Queen."

Medb waved her off with an air of finality. "Now, leave. I've no more time to waste on you."

The servant bowed deeply, muttering hurried thanks three times as custom demanded.

Each word quivered with fear and gratitude for being allowed to leave with her head still attached to her shoulders.

She turned quickly, her steps fast and purposeful, but not without caution.

As she exited the grand hall, she darted her eyes around to ensure she was unnoticed, then made her way to the palace kitchen.

In the dimly lit kitchen, she met another servant girl—her identical counterpart.

The other girl's gaze was sharp and questioning.

"How did it go?" she asked in a low, cautious tone.

"Queen Medb refused to read the letter. She tore it apart without even opening it," the first servant whispered back, her voice soft but steady.

"Good." Her partner exhaled, a faint hint of relief softening her features. "Keep an eye on her and report everything to the King of Connacht. He'll want to know every detail of her movements."

The first servant nodded solemnly.

There was no room for mistakes in their work.

They were spies, loyal not to Medb but to her husband, King Ailill mac Máta.

Unlike the impulsive and self-indulgent Queen Medb, who was ruled by her desires and whims, Ailill was calm, calculating, and pragmatic.

He used the palace servants—and even Medb herself—as his tools to maintain control. Nothing escaped his gaze, and he made sure Medb's every action was monitored.

It wasn't trust that bound their marriage, but a shared interest: Medb's recklessness could ruin their kingdom, and Ailill wouldn't allow that.

"There's something else I need to report," the first spy continued in a hushed tone. "She's planning a grand banquet and has sent invitations to Cu Chulainn, Conchobar mac Nessa, and several other kings and queens. But... she didn't send one to our king."

Her partner's brows furrowed at the news.

"I'll let the king know immediately," she said in a low voice.

The two exchanged nods, their expressions unreadable, and parted ways without another word.

Their steps faded into the shadows of the palace, each carrying the weight of secrets that could shift the balance of power.

...

Cú Chulainn felt the world had gone crazy.

After accepting Queen Medb's invitation, along with his best friend, King Conchobar, to a banquet at her manor before their war against King Uther, he encountered a strange girl who professed her love for him.

They spent the night together, and then she offered her beloved dog to him as they dined on dog meat.

He nearly vomited but couldn't refuse her invitation, especially since he had vowed never to turn away hospitality, particularly from women.

Her expression was so sincere that he couldn't bring himself to reject her.

Her love might have been crazed, her mind chaotic, but he still ate and expressed his gratitude for the meal.

They even promised to marry after his victory against King Uther.

Confidently, he attended the feast set by Queen Medb, forgetting one crucial detail: one of his geasa forbade him from eating dog meat.

This act drastically weakened him.

Unaware of his condition, Cú Chulainn didn't realize his demigod constitution had been stripped away. Vulnerable, mortal, and drunk, he entered the banquet.

There, he witnessed a tense drama between Queen Medb and her husband, King Ailill mac Máta.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here, my beloved wife? You've invited practically everyone. Why wasn't I included?" he accused Queen Medb with a menacing glare.

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Now that you're here, stop acting like a manchild. Either take your seat or leave, my dear husband."

Grudgingly, King Ailill mac Máta accepted her invitation and sat down.

Even Cú Chulainn couldn't help but smirk as he took his seat near the king, observing the scene with interest.

A servant girl poured wine into their goblets as Queen Medb raised her glass high, offering a toast.

"For the alliance!"

"For the alliance!" they echoed.

As they gulped their wines, the hall echoed with boisterous laughter.

Goblets clinked, toasts were raised, and they reveled in their union, each man drowning in the satisfaction of wine and camaraderie.

Even the legendary Cu Chulainn wasn't exempt; he laughed heartily alongside his comrades, his sharp eyes dulled by the intoxicating haze of drink.

Then, with a dramatic flair, the bard finally arrived.

He staggered into the hall, clutching his instrument like it weighed a thousand stones.

"And who are you?" The proud King said

"That I must bow so low"

Only a hound of a lesser breed,

That's all the truth I know

In cloaks of green or crowns of gold,

The wolf still bares his fangs,

Mine are sharp and dripping, King,

As sharp as winter streams.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke

That King of Connacht bold,

But now the rains weep o'er his hall

And not a soul to hear

They paid no heed to the bard's presence, ignorant of the song that Troll Uther had written—an omen disguised as art.

The guests laughed harder, drank deeper, and pushed themselves to the limits of excess.

Even Cu Chulainn, despite his cautious nature, allowed himself to indulge in the feast's pleasures.

But the joyous atmosphere shattered in an instant when a scream of raw agony ripped through the hall.

"Argh...! Pain!"

One man clutched his throat, his face contorted in torment as though his insides were aflame.

His choking and retching sent ripples of panic through the room.

Then another screamed.

And another.

One by one, the men collapsed, their bodies writhing as the poison coursed through their veins, burning them alive from the inside out.

Cu Chulainn, though not yet fallen, stood with great difficulty.

His body trembled as he gripped his spear, aiming it at Queen Medb with a feral snarl.

His sharp gaze flicked toward his friend, King Conchobar, who glared at Medb with pure hatred, his hand slamming the table with a thunderous crack.

"Queen Medb, we demand an explanation!" Conchobar roared, his rage spilling out like a tidal wave.

Medb, however, remained calm, her lips curling into a sneer as she leaned back in her chair.

"Explanation?" she mocked, her tone dripping with disdain.

She turned her gaze to Morgan le Fay, who stood silently among the gathered guards. "Lady Morgan, I have fulfilled my role. The rest is yours. I will take my leave."

Medb rose gracefully from her seat, unaffected by the chaos unfolding around her.

At that moment, two cloaked figures flanking her cast aside their disguises, revealing themselves as Morgan le Fay and Baobhan Sith.

Morgan's icy voice rang out with merciless authority.

"Sith, vanquish them all. Show them no mercy."

"Yes, mother." Baobhan Sith's crimson eyes gleamed with bloodlust, her lips twisting into a predatory smile as she lunged forward.

Medb's warriors sprang into action, their blades drawn as they joined Sith in the massacre.

The poisoned men, writhing and helpless on the floor, were slaughtered like pig, their screams silenced by cold steel before they could muster any resistance.

Blood painted the banquet hall in streaks of red, the scent of iron mixing with the stench of death.

But not all fell so easily. Two warriors stood defiant amidst the carnage.

Cu Chulainn, despite the poison clawing at his body, held his spear high, his gaze blazing with unyielding determination.

Beside him, King Conchobar gritted his teeth, wielding his weapon with ferocity.

The two unleashed their prowess, cutting down any who dared approach them, their movements precise and devastating.

Yet, the banquet had already transformed into a slaughterhouse.

No matter how valiantly they fought, the night would be forever stained by the treachery of queens and the cries of the fallen.

...

The power rankings have been reset.

Yeah, it's Powerstone time!

Let's go and reach the top ranking again!

...

Alternative Title: The Rains of Connacht