Fate-in time

41

The Selfless Hero, one who fulfills the wishes of others, and yet must never tread any further.

The tragic tale of a prince of the Netherlands granted the sword Balmung from the Nibulungen Family.
Siegfried, royalty of the Burgundians.
Gale and Norvel stood rooted, much like many of the of the other Saxons in the area who descended from native Germanic tribes. None had not heard of the legend of the hero who surmounted every battlefield.
He whose body was unbreakable, bathed in the blood of dragons.
And he whose devotion was unmatched.
The culmination of a series of adventures and tasks unknown yet understood by the civilians the most. For it wasn't just the kings and queens the great hero had offered his services to, no; for his service extended to the peasants and commoners as well. From hunting wild wolves and animals, to slaughtering corrupt groups of bandits and tax profiters, he undertook all without a word of complaint.
In the hearts of the common folk, much like Norvel and the others had once been, they cared not for the greatest of conquests the hero had embarked upon, but on the basis of a figure who could understand them. Wild animals hunting sheep and livestock were just as much of a tragedy for locals than a dragon was to the ruling monarchy.
A Hero wished by others.
A Hero of the People.
The man known as Siegfried the Dragon Slayer.
Gale and the others watched as a resplendent aura of energy extended outwards from the jewel embedded within the treasured sword, blue in colour and twisting into a ravaging storm.
"Balmung!"
The shout resounded, an undetectable surge of magic expanding outwards relentlessly like the battle cry of a mighty beast. The crows and ravens in the air shrieked, the swaying of the reeds and tall grass upon a bloody field marking the beginning of a makeshift fault line.
And yet, when the energies extending forth reached Arturia, Gale, and the others, all they felt was the distinct aura of tranquility.
A lull in a chaotic battlefield granted upon them by that which was holy.
"It doesn't matter if I'm not acknowledged by anyone,"
A voice resounded in their minds, soft and frank as the light of Balmung shone brighter, incinerating the enemies before it alongside Shirou's shout.
"I don't mind if I'm not praised by anyone either,"
One by one, Gale and the others swallowed, an emotion welling up from within them that they couldn't describe. Arturia and Lancelot were much the same, staring off into a vision of a memory that had long since passed of a Hero whose thoughts no one had understood. Task after task without complaint, never once fighting for something he had considered his own.
A want to take pride in one's self, and a want to acknowledge one's self.
It was something that all could comprehend, yet was always out of reach for the Hero of the Nibulungenleid.
To stand on the side of what he had believed in.
For the love, justice, loyalty, and benevolence he had laid his life down for.
"The sword will swing once more."
A final image appeared. The sight of the Hero's death; a dagger plunging into one's back and the depth of the regret found within the assailant's eyes. The hero who died by the wishes of others to stop a war from beginning, and the friend who had no choice but to follow through with it.
The vision disappeared, coinciding with the figure now wielding the treasured sword of the Nibulungen.
A Hero of Justice still the same in life and in death.
Gale, Arturia, and the others, were stunned into solemnity.
Elsewhere, a reptilian eye closed.
The Evil Dragon of the Nibulungenleid Saga falling into a moment of silence, not out of contempt or disdain, but out of respect. Its wings uncurled, thick black leather flaps expanding outwards from the depths of a cavernous cave as pillar-like limbs supported a gargantuan body.
With every step, the ground trembled, droplets falling down from hanging stalactites which rippled over the pools of water below. Gleaming silver and gold coins then fell like a waterfall, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds glittering in the dim light reflected off of the cave's uneven walls.
Fafnir opened its fiery eyes abruptly, wisps of steam exiting its maw before its gaze shifted towards its unassuming visitor, a raven.
It wasn't the first time the raven had visited Fafnir's new dwelling he had accommodated in the distant mountainside, but then again, he hadn't been very keen on placing much emphasis on the familiars of magi in the first place. Not when their feeble magics couldn't even pierce the durability of its highly magic resistant hide.
However, the gaze he used to stare at the raven in the current occasion was different.
Not only was Fafnir able to sense the presence of the sword that had once slain him in legend, but it was also clearly able to feel the very moment Gogmagog's life extinguished.
This alone was warning enough just as much as the dull magical pulsations of a piece of the Ashton slate he kept on his person. If this was the case for him, then it was probably the same for the other two still in possession of the other fragments. They were probably panicking at this point as they may never have had considered an Ashton to still be living after the Ashton Massacre.
It was a heavy blow, but unlike his compatriots, Fafnir was of the mind to maintain his composure despite the emergence of the very sword that had once slew him before; the mark of which was readily apparent on his chest, an azure runic insignia in the shape of a cross where Balmung had pierced him prior.
The memory was a bitter one, yet it was all the more reason why he finally conceded out of caution.
Staring hard at the raven, an odd light flashed within Fafnir's eyes, but in the end, he still nodded his head, beginning the start of an unlikely partnership built on benefit.
By the time Balmung's light receded back within the jewel of its hilt, Shirou turned around to find the vacant and stunned expressions of Gale and the others.
Balmung wasn't just some sword in the eyes of the people of the Germanic tribes, but was instead an object that represented something more. The strength of the hero they believed in to help tide through the tough phase of rebuilding in Colchester. This was the very reason he had brought it out from his arsenal of swords.
For its meaning alone.
Unknowingly, a connection had been made in the moment he swung Balmung. A resonance born from protecting the natives whose belief in their hero manifested a miracle created through Faith, an energy that touched upon the boundary of Gods.
A final message that conveyed the dying thoughts of one of the world's most renowned heroes.
Clank, clank.
The sound of swords, knives, bows, daggers, and even armours resounded throughout as every Saxon present for the battle dropped their armaments and bowed. Warriors, hunters, Kings, Saxon aristocracy, and commoners, social standing didn't seem to matter at the moment. Only Arturia and Lancelot stood rooted where they were, standing out amongst an entire crowd of people.
He didn't know what to say at the moment, rather he was never one to like being the center of attention. This trait reflected even in an alternative version of himself whose moniker as an ally of justice ended up being the Nameless Hero recorded within the Throne that sits outside of the world. However, the subtle disposition he had inherited from the selfless wielder of Balmung, supplied him with what he needed to say.
Siegfried was a man of little words, yet each word was always concise.
His arm raised, a shout echoing out within the open plains no different from the ones of the Saxon homeland.
"Victory!"
It was a shout filled with a mysterious power to move others.
Staring at him, Arturia felt a shudder of exhilaration travel down her back. She was supposed to be the King of the people who wanted to drive back the Saxon invasion, but standing amidst them where resounding cheers spontaneously broke out, she didn't know what to feel. The noise was deafening, filled with a vigour no different from the one rising from within herself.
Enemies or allies, it didn't matter at this point.
The feeling of victory was always the same, and something she hadn't experienced in a long time after several grueling years of training. Moreover, the valiant image of Shirou standing before her and everyone else was engraved in her mind, filling her with a sense of pride.
That was her Knight.
That was her man, the one who loved her.
Unknowingly, a tenderness made its way onto her face as she stared at him; a dumb smile making its way over her lips as she beamed, ignorant of how beautiful it appeared to others.
As for Lancelot, the current situation caused his hands to ball into fists in excitement, his shoulders trembling. The swordsmanship he had seen earlier, the aloof disposition of a peerless knight, and now the glory of victory itself made his desire to be a knight skyrocket. Besides, from the moment he saw Arondight, he felt the oddest sort of connection with it, like it was somehow calling to him.
At the moment, the image he had preserved of Shirou wielding Arondight solidified itself in his very being as the goal he would one day catch up to.
Gale and Norvel wanted to speak, but no words could be produced from their mouths. Only gratitude remained and a burning passion. They didn't know what connection Shirou had with the Hero Siegfried, but the fact that he could wield the sword of their hero was more than enough for them. In fact, wild theories of a secret love child between Siegfried and his wife Kriemhild were quickly sprouting. How else could they explain the image of Siegfried they had seen?
In which case, didn't that mean that the person Norvel had once barred within a prison was, in fact, a royalty of his homeland? Norvel's expression darkened in shame, unable to reprimand the gazes sent his way from the others that had attended the banquet in which he acted so irrationally.
Gale on the other hand was moments away from thanking the hero that had saved them without a single word of compensation, but faltered near the end. Recalling it now, it was just like the legend once told to him by his mother regarding the Hero of the Nibulungenleid.
Without word of silver or gold, nor favour or promise, a selfless and noble prince of the Netherlands.
The resemblance between the hero described in the saga and Shirou were now apparent for Gale to see, yet it made things all the more confusing. If Shirou really was related to Siegfreid, then why had he fought on the opposing side in the battle of the river Glein all those years ago?
Gale smiled wryly. Perhaps it was simply something that was asked of him. Siegfried himself had a notorious reputation of being unable to refuse earnest requests.
Staring at Shirou, all kinds of thought were playing through the Saxons minds, but what they couldn't convey in words, they conveyed in actions.
They fell to their knees, bowing their heads low after all the cheering.
And just like that, as if in an act of magic, a swirl of unfathomable energy wrapped around Shirou, Arturia, and Lancelot, and obscured them. When Gale and the others eventually looked up once more, the three had all disappeared, leaving behind only the billowing of the wind over a still plain.
Gale took a breath before sharing an astonished look with Norvel as the crowd of Saxons began to murmur amongst themselves amidst a partially destroyed settlement. All forms of talk proliferating the beginning of a new Saga.
A beast slayer that had come and gone like the wind, the Saga of man and beast to be told for generations to come.
Flattered as Shirou may have had been if he had discovered what was happening in Colchester, he was currently too busy staring into a pair of unblinking azure orbs to care. He was back within the forest by the lake, thick vegetation and flora spanning on for miles on end with the scent of woodlands permeating in the air.
Lady Vivian, the Lady of the Lake had unexpectedly whisked them away at the conclusion of the battle, Arturia and Lancelot left elsewhere as Vivian personally met up with him.
The Lady of the Lake, the woman who bestowed Arturia with the Sword of Promised Victory, the very sword held in the woman's hands stared intently at him. She was the person who had always been in the background of Arthurian Legend, and it was her who had secretly helped drive things forward.
"You, how did you do that?"
It was the first question the Lady of the Lake asked. Her eyes were like mirrors, clear pupils that seemed to see through any deception. She was still in the process of contemplating over the sudden emergence of a second Excalibur when another copy of Arondight suddenly manifested as well. If not for the fact that she had been closely monitoring the events occurring in Colchester, she wouldn't have bad been able to believe what she had seen.
From out of thin air, a construct of the Fae, peerless amongst all other mortal-made weapons materialized seemingly without any effort on the caster's part. That alone was impossible since weapons made by the Fae couldn't be reproduced unless the forger himself had a thorough understanding of Fairy-type craftsmanship.
It was not something a human should have had known.
Suddenly questioned so insistently by Vivian, he wasn't certain of what to say at first. After all, he could be truthful and divulge the secret of his magecraft, but that would only make the situation worse. As far as Lady Vivian knew, Arondight, Excalibur, and Balmung could be the limits of his power.
Should she know that it wasn't even the tip of the iceberg, he feared that she may take more drastic actions as the weapons he could create had the potential to directly impact the world. There was a reason why Lady Vivian was tasked as Excalibur's sword bearer. It wasn't a weapon meant to be used in any ordinary situation. In fact, if Lady Vivian discovered that he could reproduce copies of Excalibur like a cheap bargain sale with a high enough surplus of energy, she would probably be unable to maintain her composure.
Therefore, he had to think of something else to convince her and it came in the form of a sheath known as Avalon from within him.
He wordlessly willed an aura to exude outwards, causing Lady Vivian to stiffen visibly.
"T-This feeling," she stuttered out in peculiarity.
It wasn't the presence of Avalon itself, but the properties of those that had made it.
The aura of a Fae.
"A Fairy?" Lady Vivian said in befuddlement before shaking her head. "Impossible, still it would make sense then how you could create the treasured swords, but even Fairies have strict requirements to craft them. Who are you really, Ashton?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to as Lady Vivian fell into a contemplative silence. Her eyes narrowed, in suspicion, and yet she didn't bring up the matter in favour of regarding him intensively.
"You are an anomaly," Lady Vivian eventually said. "I had ignored it before, but I fear that I must ask it now with the capability you have had already displayed."
The indifferent expression in Lady Vivian's eyes caused him to feel distinctly uncomfortable even as she voiced her question.
"Why are you with the destined child?"
Lady Vivian was a type of divinity that stemmed from the lake and the Fae. To a certain extent, she could see glimpses into the future on a far better scale than Merlin's prophecies. It was why she knew of Arturia and had even raised Lancelot to aid her. And yet, as she stared at Shirou, the future she had seen had grown blurred. She hadn't been too concerned about it before, but now it was different.
She didn't show it, but she was troubled, and this was a direct result of the most recent event. The appearance of another object identical to the Last Phantasm in her hands and a sister copy of it. Only one weapon designated as a Last Phantasm should ever exist in the world, and yet for a moment in the past, two had existed.
It broke the very balance.
Staring at Shirou, she couldn't see the future he would bring, but her powers were enough to indicate that he may be the root cause of a divergence already in play.
Dangerous.
Solely for the unpredictability that Shirou represented.
At this point, she wasn't even certain if the changes he would make could prove beneficial. She had already tried to divinate him, but she ran into interference; the magic seal of that woman trapped in the shadows between worlds, hindering her.
It was frustrating.
"Well?" She pressed for an answer.
"Because she is important to me," Shirou said without pause.
The simplicity of his answer left Vivian internally shocked, but it wasn't the answer she wanted. What she really wanted to know, was another thing entirely.
"Is that really your true answer?" She asked in the silence of the evening.
With her divinity, she could feel that there was more to Shirou than just the Ashton magic crest and the aura of the Fae. A foreign energy seemed to cling to him. An energy filled with a tremendous potential. Something powerful, and beyond even her scope of knowledge.
It was the energy left behind by that which had sent Shirou into the current timeline in the first place. The workings of a miracle that transcended time.
"My answer doesn't change," Shirou said truthfully. "She is the woman I would fight the world for."
Lady Vivian paused, not moving a muscle as she felt that Shirou wasn't lying to her. But he was human, a race known even to lie at the face of death if it meant saving their own lives. Thus, should she attempt a test?
Throughout all legends, heroes would always be put through various tests, Hercules and the labours, Theseus and the labyrinth, the current situation should be no different.
As soon as the thought surfaced in her head, it wouldn't leave her. With a test, she could verify everything. As long as she could better understand Shirou stance and what it entailed for the destined child, then everything should turn out okay. She knew that it probably wasn't in her nature to do so, but for the sake of the future, she resigned herself to follow through.
In her period of silence, Shirou had taken it as the end of the conversation and was in the midst of leaving, yet her voice stopped him.
"I don't believe you," she said coldly. "If she really means that much to you, then what would you do if I replaced her? Destined child she may be, but it's still within my means to alter the course of the future by picking another. You best choose your words wisely."
His back stiffened after he had heard her words.
"Would you be so ruthless?" His hands balled into fists.
Lady Vivian's silence was enough of an answer.
"Lady Vivian," he said forcibly, his body shifting around.
No longer did he carry any airs of amicability or patience, instead, anger had shifted his expression into that of a dull monotone.
It was the feeling of a blade's edge.
Despite the sovereignty Vivian had over the area, a part of her was beginning to grow unsettled. More so when she felt a prick along her finger and glanced down to see the droplets of blood drawn from Excalibur's edge as if it disagreed with her behaviour.
Her brows furrowed.
"A sword of the righteous," Shirou spoke, gaze blank as if he could understand Excalibur's actions. "One that brings certain Victory and is the strongest of all Holy Swords."
He paused, before making direct eye-contact.
"It's the light that shines at the end of the world. Would it stand for its sword bearer to resort to underhanded means?"
Excalibur seemed to thrum with his words, a golden glow suffusing its form. Lady Vivian's lips pursed as her expression grew serious. She understood what was occurring, but it made no sense.
It can be said that all great swords, Demonic or Holy had sentience. That which allowed a sword to find its destined wielder to carve out its legend.
An empathy between swords.
That which was right, and that which was wrong.
Had she truly erred in her decision to test him?
Regardless, she couldn't take back the words already said.
She maintained her silence as a result, watching as Shirou stretched an arm forward expressionlessly, judgingly.
"You are virtue," he said softly, a sword appearing from out of nowhere and planting itself into the ground.
The light of its blade reflected the moon above, lengths of blue and gold running up its shaft and converging near the pommel. Its gleaming silver base was etched from a sharp metal, creating words no mortal could ever understand. Letters of the Fae. A Divine construct created not from human hands.
The expression on her face sank, her lips parting subconsciously as her mind tried to protest what her eyes were seeing in front of her for the second time. But even then, it was yet to end.
"You are tranquility,"
His voice sounded again, and subsequently, another sword erected itself over the ground. Sturdier than the last, and sparsely decorated. It was a sword that could be described as heavy yet elegant, a sister sword she knew all too well.
But it was impossible.
Her hands balled into fists as the way she regarded the human in front of her changed abruptly.
"And you are the bearer of the Last Phantasm, but Lady Vivian," sharp eyes, cold and unfeeling, something that should not have had belonged on a normal human. "There are things that you can do, and things that you can't do even if your intentions are in the right place."
For a moment, it was as if she were staring at a vast armoury; all kinds of weapon stored within, and any single action on her part, threatening to unleash them all against her.
It was a stifling sort of sensation despite her status as the sovereign of the lake.
After all, weapons existed that could slay immortals.
"I mean no harm, and in fact I may prove to be a considerable asset should we remain cordial, but alternatively," his expression finally shifted, revealing the anger welled up inside. "If you dareimply of threatening her again, I may become your greatest enemy,"
A final sword was stabbed into the ground, the most pristine of all, and the one Vivian was the most familiar with.
She could no longer speak at this point, let alone react, her eyes dilating.
"It was a pleasure speaking with you, Lady Vivian, but it's time for me to take my leave. Goodnight."
A voice filtered into her ears, but she could hardly care about it even when the rustling of the shrubs alerted her of Shirou's departure in the area she had taken him to.
Tentatively, she stood up, arms trembling as she reached out for the swords left behind for her.
There was no mistake.
From the aura, to the make.
Everything was the same.
The unfading Light of the Lake.
Arondight.
The Sword of Revolving Victory.
Galatine.
And the Holy Sword that Shines at the End of the World.
Holy Sword Excalibur.
She released a breath she didn't know that she had been holding, yet at the same time, a resolution appeared in her expression that wasn't there before. Turning around, she directed her attention to the inconspicuous rune that had planted itself discreetly over the lake as Shirou had been talking. One that was filled with a bloody savageness that Lady Vivian had not dealt with in decades and something that she would rather not deal with period.
Unfortunately, due to the claim that a certain vile woman had left on Shirou in the form of command seals on his person, Lady Vivian had no choice but to act. The importance she had placed on Shirou had magnified several folds with his one action, and as such she couldn't possibly leave him under the guidance of such a disgustingly tainted woman.
As she completed this thought, a distinct figure formed from the shadows stemming from the rune over the lake, a bewitching smile adorning a pale face.
"We need to talk, Agatha," Lady Vivian said abruptly sensing the woman behind her. "He isn't someone that should be bound by the Ashton laws. You should understand what fate awaits him at the end of this path of reforming that slate."
"Indeed, I do," was the vexed response. "But perhaps some things aren't set in stone."
Elsewhere, Shirou slowly made his way towards where he felt Arturia to be. He wasn't certain of what Lady Vivian would do from now on, and wasn't sure if he should take Arturia away from the area as soon as possible or not. Then again, he may have had acted slightly impulsively, making any future developments his fault.
The thought alone caused him to frown uneasily fueled more so by the fact that no matter where he went searching, he wasn't able to find her.
A sinking feeling took root from within him as the consistency of his breaths grew uneven in his anxiety.
Had Lady Vivian already acted and taken Arturia away somewhere?
The plausibility of such a thing happening weren't zero, making him gradually grow desperate. If Lady Vivian wanted to hide Arturia from him, then he knew that it would be impossible for him to find her. Lady Vivian was connected to the world itself much like fairies which were extensions of the planet. It didn't help that he was currently in Lady Vivian's domain.
Fortunately, it wasn't the case of Lady Vivian hiding Arturia as he had found her eventually in another part of the area opposite from where he had talked with Lady Vivian by a lake. She and Lancelot were standing near each other and talking, the contents of which he didn't care about as his sight focused n her alone.
Desperate as he was, the relief that flooded him when he saw her caused him to act out in reassurance.
He pulled her in close, a hand cupping the back of her head before gently pressing it to the groove of his shoulder. The intimacy of the action wasn't lost on Lancelot who stood nearby and in a show of his integrity, he left without another word, leaving only Shirou and Arturia alone.
Almost immediately, Shirou felt Arturia relax, her self-awareness flaring in Lancelot's presence, yet receding now that Lancelot was gone. Tentatively, her arms wrapped around him despite feeling that something was off with the situation. However, the trust she had in him, and the budding feelings of love from deep within her prevented her from giving voice to her thoughts.
Instead, all that her mind cared about was the way she could feel a slight tremor travel through Shirou's body.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
In response, the grip around her tightened, pulling her in closer as she could feel his fingers tenderly running over her hair as his gaze stared up at the glowing stars above.
He recalled the scene of a particular night, staring up at the same sky while holding her in his embrace, a choice to be made, whether it was a mistake or not. In the end, all he cared about was still her, the woman in his arms.
With this trail of thought, and the results that may occur at the expense of his actions, he could only resolve himself for a future even he couldn't predict.
"I think I've done something I shouldn't have," was all that he said, his voice hesitant, vulnerable even.
It was unexpected then when Arturia pulled back, staring at him in the eyes with an affection that was impossible to hide.
"Even still," she said slowly, glancing at the ground as her cheeks flared red.
It was something she had thought over for numerous years, what she wanted to do both as a King and as her own person that Merlin had sent her out with Shirou to discover. An answer that she could believe in expressed only in a simple sentence.
"I will stay by your side."
That was enough. It had always been enough.
Thanks for reading!
It was a shorter update than I had intended, but I was hit with a surprise visit by friends and family for Thanksgiving and I couldn't just ask them to go away after a long trip. My apologies.
P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious