Fate-in time

45

Mordred gritted her teeth.

Her face was flushed red, an internal heat she'd never felt before nearly overwhelming her as it spread up to her ears. Her lips tingled, a lingering sensation causing her mind to further blank before her hands fumbled over a tabletop, her fingers curling up one by one over the worn hilt of a sword left at the counter.
She wasn't thinking anymore, maybe because she wasn't able to. Her thoughts were fuzzy, dulling her senses as all she could see was the fiend in front of her. Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickening. They'd just met and he, he…
From Shirou's perspective, Mordred face was shifting between varying shades of red, finally settling on crimson before she found the ability to speak again.
"Y-You shameless Fiend!" she spoke in a high pitch, the muscles of her throat tightening as if strangled.
In the same instance, a sword came swinging down so fast that it generated a gust of wind from the motion alone. It was a reflexive action, something that Mordred didn't even consider before her attack was already in motion.
Seeing the sword aimed to cleave his chest, Shirou didn't have the option of dodging. He knew his physical capabilities well from his years of forging, and he didn't possess the means to evade in time.
Fortunately, he was exceedingly confident in his durability.
Shirou's arm raised itself into a guarded position, forearm bent at the elbow just in front of his chest.
He who bathed in the blood of Dragons.
His skin was steel.
His blood fraught with magical energy.
Sparks flew into the air in arcs of fiery orange as the sword grated against Shirou's forearm, yet not so much as a scratch left itself on his arm. Instead, the only damage Shirou sustained was tolerating the sword's impact, his knees forcibly bracing against the ground.
Mordred's eyes widened in surprise, blinking to see if she was seeing right.
Even though Mordred hadn't been thinking before she swung, the strength of her attack was nothing to scoff at let alone be intercepted so easily.
The sleeve of Shirou's shirt had torn where Mordred's attack had landed, and from the sound of the strike, Mordred assumed that Shirou was wearing a vambrace beneath his sleeve.
Lucky bastard, Mordred thought inwardly, pulling back her sword to stare emotionlessly at Shirou as she considered her next move.
For Shirou's part, the continued sight of Mordred's face was spreading chaos in his mind.
"Do you want the hare, or the chicken?"
"I will be your Knight."
"A promise to the stars."
Thoughts, feelings, things that he'd never even considered before were relentlessly assailing him and leaving him no choice but to incessantly rub his temples to alleviate the headache. At the back of his neck, a magic seal flashed dully before one of the sigils on the outer ring gradually faded away.
It was at that point, that he recomposed himself.
"Sorry, I don't know what came over me," Shirou forced out while grimacing.
Mordred would have no excuses.
"Do you think 'sorry' is going to be enough?" The sword trembled in Mordred's grip. "T-That was my first-"
Mordred cut herself off, stammering incoherently as the tips of her cheeks flushed red, swirls in her eyes. She was staring at him with such animosity that it was palpable. In fact, Shirou was worried that she was going to take another swing.
With that thought in mind, Shirou tried to come up with a way out of the situation.
"How do you want to die?" Mordred's tone was flat, her intentions clear as her legs spread out into a heavy stance.
"T-That sword you wanted," Shirou said hastily. "It won't do you much good if you decide to kill me here."
Something flickered in Mordred's gaze. Indeed, a new sword was the entire reason she had sought out Shirou in the first place. If one asked her if she was satisfied with the swords she tested, then she would be blunt and answer 'yes.'
It didn't matter which sword Mordred inspected in Shirou's smithy, long, short, moderate, they were all of good quality. The weights were ideal and the leather grips comfortable in her hands. Even better was their durability and sharpness, the one she tested able to slightly cut into hardstone without damaging the blade.
She wanted one.
No, she thought of all the other swords she'd broken in the midst of battle and resolved herself.
She needed one.
It was why she even deigned it necessary to remove her helmet and insist that her sword be made first despite knowing the repercussions of others seeing her face. Mordred looked too much like the King, which may lead to unnecessary speculation, but she had revealed herself regardless.
The coming battle was too important for her, and besides, she didn't think it possible that a remote blacksmith like Shirou had ever seen the King's face before to be able to make the connection.
Lips twitching, Mordred reluctantly lowered her weapon after a moment of thought.
"It better be the best sword you've ever made," she glowered, not knowing that it didn't matter what sort of expression she made.
Shirou simply wouldn't take offense. From the moment he saw Mordred's face, nothing seemed to matter to him anymore other than a feeling that had been repressed within him for years.
A need to protect her.
To get closer to her.
He'd often heard stories from his regular customers about their experiences in love but could never relate to it. Now though, perhaps it was different.
If a man wanted to pursue a treasure before them, one always had to take the first step.
"I won't hold back if its for a friend," Shirou said in good faith.
"We are not friends."
-He was immediately shot down.
Shirou coughed into his hand awkwardly. "Then we'll eventually work our relationship up?" He tried.
Mordred stared at Shirou flatly. Try again.
Shirou raised his hand out in front of him.
"Shirou," he introduced himself.
Mordred finally reacted positively. She stared at the offered hand, hesitated, before grabbing it in her own.
"Mordred," she reintroduced herself. It would have been better though if it didn't look like she swallowed a fly when their hands met.
Shirou tried to act indifferent, but inwardly he was berating himself for leaving such a bad impression on their first meeting.
"How long will this sword take?" Mordred took back her hand and crossed her arms.
Shirou shrugged.
"However long it needs," he answered, placing a hand beneath his chin in thought, missing the way Mordred's eyes narrowed at his answer.
Shirou continued on.
"You asked for the best sword I'll ever make, therefore, I won't settle on mediocre." Shirou tapped a finger over his chin as he began to pace. "I will give you a sword that will not chip, will not bend, and will not break. One that most embodies you and suits you in all aspects, sharpness and weight. But for now…"
Shirou stopped at the edge of a work table, looking around at the available swords in his smithy before choosing one he was particularly proud of and offering it to Mordred.
"You'll have to make do with this," he said brightly.
He smiled to make himself more likable, but the smile didn't last long.
"Do you think this is a joke?" Mordred once again leveled her weapon up, the tip pointed forward. "I was of the impression that you'd be making me a weapon as of this moment? Do you intend to cheat me with a pre-made sword?"
The pent-up fury Mordred had forced down was steadily working itself up.
It was true that the sword in Shirou's hands was of good quality and design, but it wasn't custom made for her, the length being too long for someone of her stature.
Shirou could see what Mordred was getting at and could only sigh in defeat. He put away the sword in his hand before settling on a compromise. "How about this? I'll make you a tailor-made sword for now, and my best work later?"
Mordred considered Shirou's words.
She wasn't exactly confident that Shirou could make her a sword that would become renowned in the world, but as far as she cared, it would be fine as long as it didn't break with continued use. Her first choice had always been something personally created by the blacksmith of the famed Iron Forge, but that master craftsman was too elusive, none being able to find him anymore as if he had disappeared.
Coupled with the fact that she didn't know very many blacksmiths with similar skill to what she'd seen with Shirou's swords, she had no options left.
"Fine," the words grudgingly left Mordred's mouth as she turned her gaze away. The anger that swelled within her due to Shirou's sudden kiss wasn't something that was going to go away easily.
"Then we've come to a deal," Shirou nodded his head. "I'll begin the forging process now and your temporary sword should be ready in a couple days of work."
Mordred nodded and ended the discussion.
She remained within the smithy for a minute or two before coming to a decision and promptly walking out of the smithy's doors.
Seeing her leave, a part of Shirou felt like wanting to stop her, but another part knew that it was best that he gets back to work. He had too many things he had to do in a limited amount of time, and with Mordred's additional commission, he'd have to start cutting back on sleep.
Turning back to his forge, he picked up his hammer and resumed his profession, the heat of the forge dying the room in a fiery orange. He picked up several steel ores and laid them down in the order that he would process them for the highest efficiency.
It was when he was in the midst of hammering the impurities out of the steel in front of him that he heard something peculiar though.
A shuffling noise of some kind mixed in with the clattering of pots and silverware.
Shirou's brow twitched, his back straightening from its hunch to stare out in the direction of his front yard.
What was she doing?
From the corner of his eye and through an open window, he could see that rather than leaving, Mordred had instead wandered directly outside of his forge. She was currently in the midst of rummaging through a moderately sized supply bag that she'd evidently been lugging around with her before entering Shirou's smithy.
Shirou didn't know much about the army led by the King of Britain, but he wasn't a fool who'd never heard of an army tent before. It was standard procedure for Knights to bring the necessary tools to set up a camp and Mordred was no different.
The noise Mordred was making was particularly distracting. It was a cacophony of clattering noise and an oddly pleasant humming which Shirou could hear despite the distance between them. After all, Shirou had always possessed keen senses, and his hearing was not an exception.
When Shirou forged, there was a certain ring he'd grown accustomed to perceiving after a good hit of his hammer and the steel over the anvil. It was a thorough clanging noise that denoted the current malleability of the metal he was working with. In the current instance, he couldn't hear it, nor get into a steady rhythm with the distraction Mordred was causing.
Eventually, he had no choice but to intervene, and by then, he realized that he may have made a mistake that would change his carefree life forever.
"What are you doing?" Shirou's eyebrow twitched as he left his forge and stopped directly in front of Mordred.
Mordred herself turned her back on Shirou and resumed her actions, leaving Shirou with only a short response while she eventually propped up a small tent. "Setting camp," she said.
"You're setting camp directly outside my forge?" He tried to send her a hint.
"Yup," she didn't deny his words.
"Why?"
She turned around to stare at him with all seriousness as if she was looking at a fool.
"To make sure you don't run away when I'm not looking," she said earnestly.
Patience Shirou patience. You aren't dealing with the average Knight anymore.
Mordred was nothing like the other Knights Shirou had met before. She was stubborn rather than courteous, and quick-tempered rather than calm.
"Don't you trust my character as a blacksmith?" He tried to reason.
Mordred suddenly stilled, and it was only then that Shirou recalled the kind of impression he had left on her, the taste of wild berries lingering on his lips.
Mordred looked at Shirou confrontationally, evidently understanding what he was thinking about and trembling in shame.
Shirou had no choice but to sigh.
Scratching his head, he smiled wryly
"Then at the very least, can you tone down the noise?" He tried to be hopeful with his request, but the animosity he saw in Mordred's eyes was far from comforting.
"Does it irritate you?" Mordred inquired.
Shirou thought fast and knew that if he simply answered 'yes,' then she'd probably continue to make noise just to spite him. Was she a Knight or was she a child?
Shirou was inwardly exasperated.
"Not as much as it distracts from my work," he reasoned. "And the more distracting noise you make, the longer it will take me to make your sword."
"Then I'll consider it." Mordred grunted in disappointment, but at the very least, Shirou knew that this was the most cooperation he was going to get from her.
That being said, he would still compliment her where it was due.
"Your humming is beautiful though, it's soothing to the ears, and I wouldn't mind listening to it as I forge." It was a soft melody, kind of like the effect of wind chimes.
His sudden praise caught Mordred by surprise. She had only been humming because she had believed herself to be far enough from Shirou that he wouldn't hear.
The fact that he did, embarrassed her greatly.
"W-Wha," Mordred spoke incoherently, her lips quivering as her mouth opened and closed. The tent that she was in the midst of securing crumpled to the ground in her fluster.
By this point however, Shirou had already walked away, not noticing the expression on Mordred's face.
Then again, Mordred would have had no choice but to kill him to silence him if he had.
For it would have been too unbearable on her self-conscience.
A stain on her life.
Five days passed, and numerous swords were hurriedly made by Shirou in the time span.
The shipment of weapons Shirou was supposed to complete was finished the day prior, and now all his attention was on the finishing touches of Mordred's custom-made sword. The fuller was complete along with the hilt and pommel, but he had run out of wet stones to sharpen the blade edge.
Shirou held Mordred's unfinished sword in front of him and inspected it in the dim light of his forge. Even unpolished and unsharpened, its quality couldn't be doubted as Shirou had spent a great deal of time on its creation.
It was perhaps his best work so far, and it would only be better after it was complete. The primary reason he could create Mordred's sword so fast was because the feelings he had while making it differed from all the other sword he had made before. He wanted to make a sword that Mordred would have no complaints about and be able to protect her on the battlefield.
By this point, he wasn't certain if the feelings he had for her were love or something else, but what he did know was that his feelings of wanting to protect her were genuine.
Placing the unfinished sword back over the anvil, Shirou prepared himself to make a trip to the town to acquire the final materials he would need to complete the sword.
It was just after he had pushed open the front doors of his smithy that his mouth couldn't help but curve downwards.
In front of him was a small camp with all kinds of supplies and necessities disorderly sprawled out over the ground. Mordred herself didn't even seem to care, her expression groggy and hair in disarray while she stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was laying on a mat of straw which she had laid next to the small fire that she had made for warmth when she suddenly noticed him staring.
"Watcha starin at?" She scoffed, hurriedly wiping the trails of drool on her mouth in a fluster before completely ignoring Shirou in favour of making herself presentable.
Mordred had been keeping to herself, remaining completely guarded against Shirou as if he was some heinous beast, granted kissing her on their first meeting was a bit much.
Her behaviour towards Shirou had not changed in the past few days, but rather, she'd become more cautious of him the more he behaved and acted courteous towards her. Even the blankets he had offered her to sleep with in the night were taken with a grain of salt. It was as if she assumed that he was plotting something underhanded.
Mordred's apprehension towards Shirou exasperated him to no end, but he'd had to continue putting up with it because it was his own fault.
"I'm leaving," he said to notify Mordred of his intentions.
It was only then that Mordred took notice of his current attire and paid him more attention.
"Where are you going?" She asked, tying her hair up with a small band of cloth which she had held in her mouth and then tied around her hair. "Don't even think about running away. I may not look like it, but I do own a horse," she threatened.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand. Bear with it. Bear with it, Shirou repeated the phrase in his head like a mantra before achieving a state of indifference.
"Surely you won't stop me from going out to get supplies, now will you?" He said calmly. "I've used the last of my wet stones and natural lacquers I need for the sword I'm making for you."
"Fine, then go," Mordred said. He let out a breath of relief, but his celebrations were too early. "But I'm coming with you just to make sure," Mordred finished.
Shirou didn't even bother arguing anymore. He was better off trying to find a method to somehow redeem himself in Mordred's eyes, not that it would be an easy endeavor.
For the time being, Shirou simply waited until Mordred was ready to leave, her preparations completed after fastening her armour and donning her horned-helm.
"Well," Mordred intoned, gesturing towards him with a hand. "Lead the way."
Shirou slumped his shoulders, and began walking at the front, Mordred maintaining a following distance of one foot; far enough that she could react to anything unexpected, and close enough that the two could still talk.
The town of Exeter had become a gathering point for the military in recent days on a campaign against West Saxons and the decisive battles occurring near the borders. Exeter was a strategic location where the local defence force could stock up on supplies and regather their formations.
Mordred herself was probably a member of the distant army camp stationed a kilometre away from Exeter in large white tents billowing with plumes of smoke in the air. That being the case, Shirou found it difficult to understand why Mordred hadn't just issued her request for a new sword with the regiment of Knights that had visited him previously.
For some reason she just seemed disinclined to associate with her fellow Knights, but it wasn't something Shirou decided that he should meddle in without consideration.
Walking through the town of Exeter, the local townsfolk were doing their all to help accommodate the inflow of Knights in the area, donating several stores of food to act as reserve rations. In doing so, every villager knew that they'd have to limit their consumption in the winter, but none of the villagers complained when the alternative was likely death by foreign invaders.
It was a group effort on the national level.
Every local Briton understood the threat the Saxons had on their livelihoods and the bravery the Knights were showing to fight on their behalf.
This was probably why Shirou ended up holding more than he could carry at the moment in his arms.
"Didn't expect you to be with a Knight, here, take this bread."
"We've had a good harvest this year, a sac of grain for the road."
"Don't forget water. Everyone needs water."
As more and more townsfolk piled their gifts on Shirou's arm, he was considering just heading back and forgoing everything, but at the very least, his keen ears had picked up on the fact that Mordred was trying to stifle her laughter.
If she was having fun at his expense, then he could endure a couple more kilograms of weight.
The townsfolk were earnest, trying to do what they can for the people who fought for their behalf. Some even bowed their heads in Mordred's direction.
Mordred seemed used to the actions of the townsfolk and was quick to offer thanks.
It was in this manner that both Shirou and Mordred eventually reached the local trade market and Shirou got what he needed. All that was left was returning back to the forge and completing the finishing touches on Mordred's sword.
Hurried as Mordred was in obtaining her finished sword, she suddenly stilled half-way through the journey back to the smithy.
"Let's take a different route," Mordred said, pursing her lips beneath her helm. "We can circle that way," she pointed with her left hand.
"Uhm, why? It's a straight path back to the smithy from where we are now," Shirou tried to reason, shifting the weight of the items in his hands to something more manageable.
Mordred fell silent, understanding that she was being irrational. In the first place, Shirou already had his hands full with carrying everything the townsfolk gave them and making him walk longer seemed too vindictive.
Moving along, it was only after a couple of steps that Shirou was able to see what had given Mordred pause.
It was a group of Knights marching in a neat formation down the same path both Shirou and Mordred were taking. From the looks of the situation, Mordred must have been acquainted with the Knights ahead and didn't want to interact with them.
Mordred was walking unnaturally stiffly, her gaze directed at the ground as her hands balled into fists.
It was only when Shirou got within earshot of the other Knights that he came to an understanding.
"Look, its Sir Mordred," one of the Knights whispered to each other.
"D-Don't look at him. I-If he takes a liking to us out of spite were doomed," another whispered back.
"Sir Mordred's too much. No unit under him ever survives,"
"S-Shut up all of you. Just keep your heads down and follow me. We'll just circle around before it's too late."
One of the Knights in the group took the initiative and headed in a different direction, every other Knight following behind much to Shirou's shock.
Shirou turned to stare at Mordred. At some point, she'd stopped walking and was just standing in place.
A shudder passed through her body, pain flickering in her eyes as it was evident that she had heard what the Knights had said.
"Ignore them," she said to Shirou while subconsciously rubbing at her arm. "I don't need the help of cowards anyway."
Mordred didn't exactly have the best reputation.
She had always been reckless in battle, seeking to charge into the heart of the fray to earn the largest merits in her aspirations to be recognized by the King. However, her actions were suicidal for those assigned to follow her as a commanding Knight of her position. Their death-rates were a hundred-percent, earning her a notorious reputation among the Knights.
She was Mordred, Knight of One. None able to stand by her in battle.
The subject of which Knights Mordred would lead in battle was always a headache for army leaders as none wished to serve under her.
Mordred could still recall a scene in her mind, Knights standing in line behind their superiors, and she standing alone in an open field.
It wasn't as if Mordred didn't care about the deaths of the Knights assigned under her, it was just that she needed to prove herself. Therefore, she couldn't stop acting recklessly.
It wasn't as if it mattered if she was alone anyway.
She'd reminded herself of that several times already, so why?
Why did it hurt?
"Mordred you-"
"Shut up."
Mordred cut Shirou off before hurrying ahead back to the smithy, leaving Shirou behind.
With all the things in Shirou's hands, it was impossible for him to catch up to Mordred.
She reached the smithy first, and by the time Shirou arrived, it was to the sight of her sitting alone in front of her camp fire with her helmet removed.
She was hunched over her knees with her back facing him, staring dully at the flames, shadows flickering in the dim glow.
Shirou knew that it was probably best if he left Mordred alone to settle her thoughts, but her current image triggered something within him. A past sentiment directed towards someone of similar appearance.
A need to act.
Slowly, Shirou put aside the items held in his arms and made his way to stand across from Mordred. He had no words of conciliation he could offer as he still didn't know her well enough, but it didn't matter. The fact that he was there for her was evident enough.
He poked at the flame with a stick, sending up embers into the air as he fed the fire more wood, a blast of heat begining to spread out.
Silence hung in the air, neither Shirou or Mordred taking the initiative to speak.
Mordred was observing Shirou, and Shirou observing back.
"I don't need your pity," Mordred was the first to break the quiet. "Leave and just finish my sword."
"No," Shirou sat himself on the ground, ignoring Mordred's glare. "I'm comfortable right here."
Mordred sucked in a breath and something flickered in her gaze. Looking at Shirou, Mordred couldn't understand him. She was convinced that he was a Fiend that she should stay away from, but her prolonged observations of him were telling her otherwise.
She wanted to hate Shirou, to dislike him, and yet despite the clear animosity she had directed at him, he still looked at her without hate or judgement. Even in the past few days she spent camped outside of his forge, rather than growing mad, Shirou had offered her blankets and various outdoor necessities instead.
She didn't know what to feel.
"Perhaps we can work our relationship up."
The words that Shirou said before surfaced in Mordred's mind. Was he actually being serious when he said that?
Mordred bit her lips, but maintained her vigilance.
"Those Knights before, none of them wanted to fight with you?" Shirou inquired.
"None of your business." Mordred was reluctant to speak on the matter.
However, Shirou didn't pay Mordred any mind. Although he phrased his words like a question, it was more of a statement if anything.
"Listen, Mordred," Shirou called out while continuing to prod the fire with a stick.
"Yeah, what is it?" Mordred asked curtly, expression irritable. She really didn't want to talk about the topic and yet she saw something in Shirou's bronze coloured eyes that weren't present before.
A will of steel. Unbending, and imposing.
An expression that the current King of Britain would know all too well.
"If no one is willing to fight with you," Shirou spoke softly under the crackling of the flame, his arms out in front of him. "Then although these hands are only good for swinging hammers and mending steel, let this blacksmith fight alongside you."
Mordred was stunned.
In that moment, it was impossible for Mordred not to see or feell Shirou's sincerity, something no one she knew of had ever directed towards her. Inwardly, she was moved, a single act of kindness and concern causing her mind to blank.
It irritated her to know that she obtained some sort of happiness from Shirou's words though.
She glowered.
"S-Shut up, who needs a fool like you anyways," she stuttered out. "I'd have to be wary of those in front of me and behind me."
Shirou grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment,"
Shirou's reply left Mordred at a loss.
"Y-You bastard," Mordred murmured under her breath, her words lacking any ill intentions and more subdued if anything as her eyes seemed to shimmer in the light of the fire.
He stared at her, and she stared back in the silence, her fingers fidgeting before she heatedly scratched at her head. Her wheat coloured hair became ruffled as a result, but Mordred didn't seem to notice nor care.
The expression on her face was a mixture of contentment and unease, as if unable to understand what she was truly feeling.
In the end though, she stared at the ground in silence moments before clicking her tongue.
"Do what you want," she spoke softly, her tone unable to be described. "See if I care."
Staring at Mordred, Shirou smiled wryly. He'd met all kinds of people in the town. Some open, others more secretive, but Mordred was perhaps the only one he'd ever met who had trouble expressing herself to such a degree. It was as if she didn't expect anyone aside from her family to truly understand her or be concerned for her.
Seeing Mordred hunched over in front of him, he stood up and sat directly next to her, his sudden action jolting her.
Mordred glanced at him wearily, yet all he did was cross his hands behind his head and lay his back on the ground.
"I'll do as you say and do as I want then," Shirou said while looking up towards the sky. "And right now, I think I've already decided."
The image of a field of long grass flashed across his mind, a girl standing within it, golden tresses of hair blowing gently in the wind.
A deep yearning.
And a smile he felt it impossible to have had forgotten.
Calling out to him.
Shirou.
"Shirou?"
He blinked, Mordred's face a foot away from his own as she had leaned over from where she was sitting to inspect him curiously.
Noticing that she had gotten his attention, Mordred scoffed before pulling back and crossing her arms.
"What did you decide on?" Mordred inquired.
He made eye contact with her before rubbing his temples to sort out the mess in his head. Too many memories appearing without context hurting his mind.
At the moment though it didn't matter.
He sat up and thumped a fist to his chest in earnestness, making sure he had Mordred's attention.
"I will be your shield to ward away all obstacles," he stated.
Mordred froze for a moment before rolling her eyes.
"Is that so?"
Mordred didn't seem to take Shirou's statement to heart, even snorting when she heard it, but at the very least, it was the first time Shirou saw her smile.
And that was all he needed.
The following day came with a surprise for Shirou.
Mordred was packing her supplies hurriedly as if she was in a rush, not even noticing the finished sword Shirou had made for her in his hands. It was made of standard steel and forged meticulously for increased durability.
Currently, the sword was sheathed in a long wooden scabbard bound with tight leather.
"Is something wrong?" He called out.
"We have to leave now if we we're going to make military protocol," Mordred said to Shirou as he walked out of his forge. "I've been told through a letter to arrive at the central camp to begin the march to the front lines."
Seeing Shirou's lack of a reaction to her words, Mordred felt a bout of unease well up from within her.
"You are coming right?" Mordred inquired.
It was only after noticing Mordred's apprehension that Shirou collected himself to nod his head.
"Of course," he spoke.
Mordred's sudden call to battle had left Shirou momentarily at a loss as he didn't expect that he would have to live up to his previous words so soon.
Shirou wondered what expression Mordred would make if he played a fool and pretended that nothing happened the previous day. Then again, Mordred didn't seem the type to take teasing very well, so he decided against it.
"Give me a moment to get ready," Shirou said while rushing back to his forging room. "I have a few things I have to grab."
Mordred nodded before standing and waiting as Shirou disappeared back into his smithy.
Moments later, Shirou returned.
"A hammer?" Mordred said in disbelief. "Why not take a sword?"
Shirou shrugged, securing the metal hammers he had brought with him on a leather utility belt around his waist.
"It wasn't that I didn't consider bringing a sword, but from what I can remember, I don't think I've ever had any practice with one. I'm more used to my hammers, and besides, I'm confident in my physical capabilities. They've always been tougher than most," Shirou explained.
Mordred was still doubtful, but she dropped the matter due to the urgency of time.
"Let's go!" Mordred called out while leading the way.
In the army camp gathered at Exeter, Palamid was the name of the commanding leader of the army. Although Palamid was young, none of the Knights he commanded looked down on him or dared disrespect him.
One reason was because of the relation Palamid had with King Arthur. The two had known each other since childhood and maintained a steady friendship. King Arthur trusted Palamid, and in turn, Palamid had already fought and commanded many battles in King Arthur's name.
The current campaign on West Saxons was no different.
Palamid still wore full plate armour and a helm, but different from his youth, he now donned silks embroidered with the image of a welsh dragon over his front.
Not only had Palamid led several victories in his years leading, but his reputation as a former member of the Knights of Wolfred, now formally known as King Arthur's Wolf Unit, granted him a certain prestige.
King Arthur's Wolf Unit was said to be the strongest spear, a cavalry force able to pierce though the toughest of enemy lines.
Their weapons able to cut through stone like cheese and their armours unbreakable, they were the nightmare of all Saxon forces who tried countless means to counter the unit.
Only Palamid and a select few others understood the secret of the Wolf Unit's armaments, and the fact that no other Wolf Unit could ever be created without his presence. Merlin could do something similar of course, but the man remained adamant in his position as a simple 'watcher.'
Palamid shook his head as he thought about the past.
It wouldn't do to linger on such matters for long.
Clearing his mind, Palamid stretched a hand forward and pulled back the flaps of his personal tent to observe the formations of the army he would march with to West Saxons. He had made the decision for the army to restock provision and equipment in Exeter so that all units would be at their best before a decisive battle.
The army Palamid was leading was spread out into four units of a thousand and further segregated into groups with hundred-man commanders and ten-man commanders. This setup allowed for the army to remain stable even if a commanding officer was killed.
Palamid was currently in control of four-thousand men, and from where he stood, he had a view of everyone. They stood orderly upon an open field while waiting for instructions as he had ordered them to do prior.
Palamid had grown over the years, and his current stature allowed him to stand on equal footing with all the Knights present. His hands were behind his back and he exuded the aura of a commanding general.
From behind Palamid, he could hear the bickering of the officers he had promoted approaching him.
"Sir Palamid," an officer called out to him.
Palamid turned around to face a man named Marcus Freid, one of the four thousand-man commanders in the army. Marcus was short in stature and had a rough beard growing down past his chest. His eyes were always composed and despite his rugged appearance, he was actually quite intelligent.
"You have a report?" Palamid inquired.
Marcus hesitated before shaking his head.
"Its not a report, but it's about the matter concerning the placement of the Knight Mordred. No one is willing to fight under his command," Marcus explained.
Palamid let out a sigh before turning his back on Marcus to think.
Palamid couldn't understand what Arthur was thinking in regards to Mordred. It was hinted from the last time Palamid had spoken with Arthur that Arthur disliked Mordred, and yet Arthur had still decided to make Mordred a Knight of the Round table.
Palamid didn't know what was going on between the two, and he didn't want to either. He was fine as long as Mordred could help him get results.
"I don't know how well Mordred's fought in his previous battles, but Mordred's still a Knight of the Round. If no one wants to fight under his command then force a few of the soldiers," Palamid suggested. "I've not met a single Knight of the Round that was weak after all."
"B-But Sir," Marcus attempted to argue, but Palamid silenced Marcus with a small gesture.
"You're a thousand-man commander Marcus," Palamid said with a nod. "I'll leave Mordred's matter to you and the other thousand-man leaders to handle."
Hearing Palamid's words, Marcus had no choice but to accede and begin bickering with his compatriots as to whose men would be forcibly repositioned under Mordred's command.
Palamid sighed as he turned his attention back on the armies just behind Marcus and the other three officers. He already had a plan in mind for the battle at the border of West Saxons and all that was left was to march out.
As he was silently contemplating, for an instance, Palamid was sure that he'd seen someone familiar at the corner of his vision.
A shade of red hair and a carefree disposition.
No, it couldn't be.
Palamid furrowed his brows, pushing past the squabbling officers near him to get a better look at the army gathered in front of him.
One second past, then two, and before Palamid even understood what was happening, he was running. Running so fast that not even Marcus and the other thousand-man commanders could keep track of him; Palamid zeroing in on a back he didn't think he'd ever see again.
The King said he was dead.
A shudder travelled down Palamid's neck.
From his initial vantage point overseeing the gathered army, he had only noticed a few minor details that he couldn't have been certain of, but the closer he got, the surer he became.
It's Him! Fuck it's actually him!
One could argue that it was impossible for Palamid to have spotted a single figure in an army of thousands, but as luck would have it, his target was standing next to Mordred who many Knights distanced themselves away from. It created a glaring hole in the army's ranks that Palamid exploited.
As Palamid drew near, the number of Knights he was pushing his way passed became thinner and thinner until there was nothing at all. By the time Palamid pushed passed the final Knight in his way, it was to the sight of two people standing in front of him and looking at him in bewilderment.
Mordred for her part felt confused. As she had spent all of her time outside the army camp, she had yet to know what Palamid, the commanding leader of the army, looked like. In her perspective, a random Knight had just come running from out of nowhere to stare at her and Shirou in silence.
Palamid pulled off his helmet, convinced that the visor over his face was making him see things, but in the end, nothing changed. The man in front of him was still there.
Palamid's action of taking off his helmet sent the entire army into a daze. Long and silk-like hair fell down his back like a water fall, his naturally effeminate face having grown more mesmerizing in the past few years. His complexion was both smooth and free of blemishes. There was even a flush on his cheeks due to his previous exertion of running, making him all the more captivating.
It was a beauty like none other that bewitched all including the Wizard Merlin once upon a time. Left unsaid, Palamid had a death feud with the famed Wizard that he would never let go.
In the current instance however, Palamid wasn't thinking anymore as he looked at Shirou with a piercing gaze.
Shirou frowned, feeling it odd that he was being stared at so fervently by a woman he didn't even know. Granted the woman herself was stunningly beautiful, but he already considered himself a taken man.
Mordred who was standing near Shirou scoffed, inwardly feeling miffed for reasons she couldn't understand. So, what? Even if her impression of Shirou had risen a few levels for his declaration to fight alongside her, it wasn't as if she cared about what he did in his personal time anyway. Regardless, her countenance darkened irritably.
"Do you need something?" Shirou finally couldn't take Palamid's staring anymore and inquired.
It was the blow that shattered the daze Palamid was in, and before Shirou could react, he was enveloped in a bone crushing hug.
"You Fucking Bastard!" Palamid laughed even as he yelled out.
If you were alive, why the hell did you never contact anyone!
Caught up in the moment, Palamid failed to notice that his prompt actions had triggered something in Mordred she'd never felt before. Jealousy.
Although Mordred didn't think very well of Shirou, he was the only one who had ever actively stood by her and even put up with her. He had said that he would be her Shield, in which case, a shield was a possession?
Someone was stealing her possession.
Mordred attempted to justify herself even as she pried Palamid away from Shirou with her hands.
Palamid for his part didn't resist Mordred's forceful intervention. After all, he'd noticed something after taking a closer look at Shirou's face.
Why was Shirou looking at him like a stranger?
A cold feeling inwardly assailed Palamid and he couldn't help but ascertain.
"Y-You're Shirou aren't you?" Palamid stuttered out questioningly.
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