Fate-in time

49

If he was asked at any other time about what the hell was going on, perhaps he could have been more composed in his answer, but the current situation was ridiculous.

How the hell did I even end up here?
Staring around him, Shirou was straining his eyes to determine his current location. After the crowd of people had hoisted him up and paraded him around town, he had no idea where he ended up due to the crowd's erratic movements. At one point he was moving in the direction of Mordred and the camp, and in the next he was suddenly shifting in a different direction entirely as the crowd parading him around Bristol enlarged.
For the first time, he thought he understood what it meant to be kid's toy passed around without consideration in a children's gathering. Fortunately, he could be categorized as a durable type of toy much like a wooden doll made out of tough oak or cedar.
Sweeping his gaze around the area he was currently in, he was met with the awestruck gazes of women, children, and the local men who deposited him on a central plaza.
Organizing his thoughts, it didn't take him long to observe some of the familiar structures around him. The buildings, scents of food, and the humid temperature of the air were the biggest indication of where he currently was.
The Specialty District, or market place.
His lips couldn't help but twitch as he considered just how much time had passed.
Judging from the angle of the overhead sun, he had been paraded around all morning for the better most part of five hours like some trophy to be shared by the entire town.
No doubt Mordred and the other Knights would realize the abnormality of the situation, yet to investigate the cause in the exceedingly congested crowd was impossible.
When he considered the fact that he was deposited in the exact same place he began, it really did seem like a big waste of time especially when he remembered Mordred asking him to hurry back.
He felt like sighing, but he knew there was no point in ruining the mood of the crowd around him.
Who was Lord Ashton anyway?
From what he'd heard from the off-hand knowledge of the Knights talking on their way to Bristol, wasn't Lord Ashton a famous Hero?
It was hard for him to understand how a blacksmith like him could be mistaken for nobility.
He stared at his clothes, a simple brown tunic and woolen pants that were slightly rough but manageable. He was nowhere near the image of the Nobles depicted by the people in Exeter. Yet contrary to belief, the locals in Bristol seemed to look at him with even more respect.
"It's just like legends say," he heard on older man whisper. "He's different from the other Nobles."
"A Noble in commoner's attire, my admiration for Lord Ashton knows no bounds."
The chatter of the townsfolk only continued into more heated conversations, and he knew if he didn't do anything soon, he would be forced to stay for longer.
The thought that he was Lord Ashton was a difficult concept to wrap his mind around as it actually hurt when he tried thinking about it, but in the current situation, he couldn't just blurt out that the townsfolk were all having some kind of large misunderstanding.
They had given him too much for him to do so.
His attention fell blankly on the grains, poultry, drink, and commodities that formed a veritable mountain at both his left and right sides. There was no way he could carry it all with just his arms alone, and instead he'd probably need two or three full carts.
With his considerations and the uncomfortable nagging feeling in his head, he reluctantly decided to play along with the crowd.
He stood up, dusting the dirt and grime that had accumulated over his clothes before straightening them due to the rough handling of the crowd. He made his face as neutral as possible to not give away his reluctance at impersonating another individual before opening his mouth to speak.
It was then that realized that he did not know what to say.
Standing there awkwardly, he inwardly shook his head and straightened out his thoughts. He'd just act naturally and let his body do the rest. Besides, despite being the center of attention of a bunch of strangers, he felt somewhat sentimental when he stared at them.
"Thank you all for your enthusiasm!" He spoke, back straightening and shoulders broadening.
He didn't notice it, but the disposition he currently exuded with the minute movements of his body brought about an immediate effect with certain veterans in the crowd who were still skeptical. To begin with, the majority of the townsfolk had only seen Lord Ashton for a few years back in the Lord's youth and young adolescence. Moreover, this was before Bristol received a high number of immigrants for bordering towns and villages.
The amount of people who recognized Lord Ashton for who he was, was reserved only for a couple thousand inhabitants who first made up Bristol in its early days.
The veterans in the crowd were people who met the criteria as Bristol's original locals. Many were older Knights in their forties, some in their thirties, but all had a common physical trait.
Haggard and sour expressions.
They were the former Knights of the Wolf Unit before it got disbanded due to too many casualties and the enemy plundering their enchanted armours and weapons. There only around a hundred or so of them in the plaza in the Specialty Distracted attracted by all the noise, but all of them present seemed as if they were struck by lightning.
Their breathing quickened, their hearts thumping audibly from within their chests.
Shoulders long since sagged and hanging loosely gradually began to rise up once more.
"I don't know what you all see in me, or what you expect of me, but I'm not any different than any one of you," Shirou conveyed his point. He truly believed in what he was saying as he considered himself and everyone else on an equal level. "Therefore, please take these gifts back and use it to feed yourselves and your families." There was no way he'd be comfortable with taking so much for free.
However, the crowd suddenly grew silent, making him worried if he had done anything wrong. In the first place, how was he supposed to know what kind of man Lord Ashton was? He prepared himself to face a mutiny in the crowd, head turning left and right.
He hadn't been paying attention to when, but veteran Knights with unkempt greying hair and scraggily beards forcibly pushed their way through the crowd to stare at him in fixation. There was a passion in their eyes that was hard to describe, the closest word being fanaticism.
It perturbed Shirou, more so when they knelt down one knee.
"L-Lord Ashton, it really is you," they murmured such heart-felt words that Shirou was at a loss with how to respond and coughed into his hand to compose himself.
"Yes, uhm, thanks but can you stand up now? There's no need to show me such formality," he tried to reason with them, but it only made the situation worse as it solidified whatever views they had of him.
"You, all of you!" He watched one of the veteran Knights call out to the crowd in agitation. "Why aren't you all bowing!?"
As if struck by a sudden realization the crowd stilled at almost the same time.
Oh nonono. He could already picture what was about to happen and quickly intervened, lest he be the only man standing within the entirety of Bristol.
"Enough!" He nearly yelled in a panic. All he wanted was to go to town and ask the blacksmiths and craftsmen for several shipments of metal and some cooperation. Why did it always have to turn out this way for him? Was his luck really that bad?
He stepped forward, his legs carrying him to the front of the crowd where he 'helped' the veteran Knights back up onto their feet. Taken aback by his sheer strength, the Knights had no room to resist and could only stare him blankly.
"Like I said," he admonished. "I am the same as all of you and do not need you all to show me such formality. Furthermore, I do not want to trouble you all by taking your gifts which you have all worked hard to obtain."
The entire crowd was listening raptly at this point, the women covering their noisy children's mouths and the men standing cross-armed.
He took it as a good sign and decided to strike while the iron was hot.
Pulling back a short distance from the crowd, he gestured to the pile of offered gifts and began prompting people to take them back one by one. "I do not need all of these as I already have plenty of my own, but what I do need is something more important blacksmiths and craftsmen in the crowd."
The trade workers in the crowd all perked up at his words, making it simple for him to spot them out.
"I need you help," was all he needed to say before he was swarmed.
In the first place, Lord Ashton was known as the pinnacle forger in all of Britain.
The Blacksmith of the Iron Forge.
There was no way the craftsmen in the crowd would allow themselves to miss such an opportunity.
They began harking and quarrelling with each other for the chance to help, believing his transaction to be a small one. They were wrong.
"I need steel, lots of it," Shirou said insistently. "After that, I need you all to accompany me in making a new design. We'll call it a modular model."
After giving back all of the gifts given to him, the townspeople politely left, leaving behind only the craftsman who began discussing to themselves in detail about their latest assignment.
Just as Shirou was about to join the craftsman in the initial stages of smithing, a local Knight blocked his path and invited him to the Lord's estate. There was a symbol of a wolf on the Knight's pauldron, which made it evident who the Knight was affiliated to.
As much as Shirou may have wished to decline, the individual beside the Knight wasn't exactly someone he could ignore.
It was Palamid scrutinizing him from beneath his helm.
He couldn't be certain of it, but he was sure that Palamid was smiling in exasperation and expectation. Clearly, Palamid had been listening in to what he had asked the local craftsman to do.
Despite the curiousty welling in Palamid's mind, there were more important matters to deal.
"If you'd come with us for the time being, Lord Ashton," Palamid enunciated the title people were calling Shirou by in hopes of instigating some sort of reaction. Unfortunately, it wasn't what Palamid had hoped for as Shirou took it the wrong way.
Shirou frowned. He couldn't help but feel that he was being made fun of for some reason and simply stared at Palamid in silence.
Palamid shrugged, and didn't bother saying anything else before taking the lead and beckoning for Shirou to follow.
Staring at Palamid's back, Shirou steadily increased his pace. There was just something about Palamid, Bristol, and the townsfolk that constantly had his head throbbing the longer he looked at them.
It really wasn't comfortable and before he knew it, he had overtaken Palamid, his body seeming to be on auto-pilot as it walked towards the large estate near the center of town.
Noticing his subconscious actions, Palamid's expression brightened without his knowing.
The gazes of many townsfolk followed after the group, and only stopped when they entered Duke Wolfred's manor. The sound of celebrations would continue within the town for the rest of the day at the return of a local Hero.
Said local Hero was currently brought within a study busy staring in a daze at the familiarity of the room and the people within it.
The room was tidy and only possessed the bare essentials necessary for practicality. The floors were made of slabs of granite and the walls were made of sturdy brick. The furniture in the room itself seemed refurbished for comfort, but Shirou couldn't take the time to enjoy anything about the room.
Like he had experienced in the plaza, he was being stared at again.
The entire study was in complete silence from the moment Palamid had stepped in, dismissed the escorting Knight, and beckoned for Shirou to enter.
It was so silent, that Shirou could hear the breaths of two individuals within the room hitch every so often.
"…"
"…"
"…"
No one was speaking. Palamid himself was content to just watch the situation play out as he himself had been unable to maintain his composure in the army camp. So, what if it was a bit petty? He'd wait for the Son of Wolfred and Emily's minds to catch up to the current situation before explaining anything. Besides, seeing was believing.
The silence continued before the Son of Wolfred abruptly sat up and glared at Palamid. "W-Why didn't you tell me sooner you fucker?" The Duke's son cursed before shaking his head. It wasn't worth it when he could see that Palamid was only smiling back at his actions.
He turned towards Shirou.
In both the Son of Wolfred's and Emily's eyes, there was no doubt of the identity of the individual before them. Appearance, temperament, and the commotion he had caused outside were all enough pieces of evidence to come to a conclusion. Only Shirou could cause some sort of problem wherever he went, and it all but verified everything.
"It's really you isn't it? Where the hell have you been?!" The Son of Wolfred took in a breath before composing himself. "Do you have any idea just how much your 'death' affected the King? For the past few years, the King has recklessly gone into the battlefield without the slightest heed for his safety. And you know what? I heard from Lancelot, but it's all because the King is drowning away his sorrows through constant battle."
The Son of Wolfred reeled himself in as he cooled his head. "Forget it. None of that matters anymore now that you're back. With you, we can once again turn the tide on the current stalemate against the Saxons after coming to the King's aid. Afterwards, I'll be relying on you to talk some sense back into the King to take better care of himself."
Seemingly done with his rant, the Son of Wolfred put on a refreshed expression before sitting back down and leaning his back over his recliner. The words that he'd not been able to say for years on the King's behalf finally released in full.
Emily was far simpler than the Son of Wolfred, she simply stood up and walked directly in front of Shirou. Thereafter, she fiddled for something in her pockets and produced two items, a bag and a medallion with a prominent crest engraved in the metal.
"A few coppers in the past really do go a long way," Emily said fondly, opening the pouch and revealing the worn pieces of currency inside as she brushed back her hair. "It was the motivation and hope I got from these that allowed me to persevere through my training."
Nodding her head, Emily put back the bag of coppers she produced from her pockets before reaching out for Shirou's hand and placing the medallion within it. "On behalf of the sixth-generation heir of the Barthomeloi Family, I hereby pronounce you as an Honorary Guest and Friend of the family."
Emily was making a vow, her words carrying a magic that formed a type of contract different from Geas. The Medallion she had given was a form of proof for one recognized by the Barthomeloi which formed a magic circle that braded itself within the item.
"May your enemies tremble at the strength of the house, and may none dare tread lightly on your steps, for House Barthomeloi will remember all grievances," she finished with a solemn nod as he stepped away.
For his part, Shirou had been in a daze as Emily and the Son of Wolfred talked to him. Images of a young girl being extorted by an equally young noble entering his mind before he began to wince.
Emily's eyes narrowed when she noticed his clear discomfort.
Something was wrong.
The fact that Palamid expression was so solemn should have tipped her off earlier.
"Are you alright, Shirou?" She asked, moving towards him to check on his condition. From the tenderness of her actions, it wasn't hard for Palamid to see that somethings of the past never change.
The King wouldn't be happy.
Palamid had always known about an odd quirk the King possessed in childhood.
The King didn't like it when other girls drew near to Shirou. Even in the past when they had once travelled in a group, Palamid could still vividly recall the dark glower over the young King's face when Emily hung onto Shirou's arm.
Then again, Palamid would rather have the King angry rather than sad.
Putting away his internal musings, Palamid knew what was coming form the moment Shirou opened his mouth.
"I'm fine," Shirou was quick to force away the pain. He stared at the occupants in the room with apprehension before speaking again. "This may come as a shock to you all, but I really think you guys have the wrong person. Even if the townsfolk called me Lord Ashton, it might just be some mistake," Shirou tried to explain.
Both Emily and the Son of Wolfred's expressions stiffened, the happiness and mirth they obtained from the situation suddenly vanishing.
Palamid sighed in the corner, already expecting such a result. With his eyes, he mad contact with Emily's and moved his lips to word out a lingering suspicion.
'Magic?'
When Palamid had first found Shirou, he didn't have Merlin around to verify anything, but now with Emily present, this was as good of a chance as any.
Emily nodded her head to convey that she understood what Palamid was asking of her and placed a hand over Shirou's shoulder. With a single thought, she poured her magic into Shirou's body in the form of a deep scan to detect for abnormalities.
Furrowing his brows, Shirou stared up at Emily, but by the time he looked up at her, it was to see a dire expression on her face.
"T-This is," she pursed her lips and signalled back to Palamid.
The room fell into silence again.
Seconds passed followed by minutes.
It was at that point, that the Son of Wolfred couldn't take it anymore. Unlike Palamid who was exposed to magic due to his occasional encounters with Merlin, the Son of Wolfred was different. The only magic had ever seen was the type Shirou had done, and even then, he didn't have enough background to understand the meaning of Palamid and Emily's previous exchange.
"This is bullshit!" The Son of Wolfred smacked a fist down over his desk while glaring. Right before he could launch into a tirade of profanities, Emily signalled for him to stop.
Emily then gently stared down at Shirou. "You really don't remember us, the friends you grew up with?"
Pain once again assaulted Shirou, but all he could recall were vague images. In which case, they were still better than nothing. "I think," was the only response he could give.
Emily's eyes brightened somewhat at his response. "Then please keep thinking. Deep and hard."
Shirou nodded his head in agreement. "I understand. I'll keep it in mind, but is there anything else needed of me at the moment?"
The Son of Wolfred bristled, but Palamid and Emily stepped in, shaking their head. "No, you're free to go," they both said.
Moving from where he had been standing, Shirou stared long and hard at Emily and the others before finally leaving by closing the oaken doors behind him.
The Son of Wolfred exploded at Shirou's departure.
"What are you two trying to do!?" He seethed, fingers curling one by one into fists while he looked back and forth at his two friends. "You can't possibly not see that that's Shirou can't you? Lord Ashton, the one we all know can change the current situation in the war for the better!"
Sighing, Palamid allowed the Son of Wolfred to vent before offering Emily a chair to sit on. Emily accepted with an unreadable expression as Palamid sat across from her.
"So?" Palamid inquired. "What did you discover?"
Emily raised a finger.
"Firstly, he is indeed our Shirou," she said with certainty. "I used a dispelling magic to negate any kind of magical disguise which resulted in no obvious changes. The feel of his od is also the same as the magic imbued to reinforce the swords the both of you carry."
With Emily's admission, it gave the Son of Wolfred all the more reason to justify his thoughts of dragging Shirou back and beating the sense into him. However, Emily wasn't done.
"Secondly, there's a magic seal blocking away his memories." Emily's admission caused both the Son of Wolfred and Palamid to reel back in shock. "I suspect that the magic seal is a result of the event the King refuses to divulge. He shuts up and puts on an anguished expression at any mention of it, kind of like a mental trauma."
"Then what do you suppose we do?" The Son of Wolfred asked.
Emily bowed her head low.
"I don't know. I've never seen a magic seal quite like it," she clicked her tongue while tapping a finger over her thigh. "The thing is, I detected two kinds of magic in the seal with two different functions. One of the magics supply the magic seal to store away Shirou's past memories, but the other magic within the seal is more volatile and dangerous. It was almost as if one was keeping the other at bay."
The point that didn't make sense was the need to create a magic that targeted the mind with counterintuitive functions. A magecraft that destroys the mind, but contradicts itself by storing away that which was important? What sane magus would create such a thing?
It was a practice that Emily had not been taught of. She needed a senior's knowledge.
Merlin, she had to get him to Merlin!
Emily bit the nail of her thumb in agitation, but Palamid and the Son of Wolfred were still waiting for a response.
"Can't you just remove it?" Palamid asked.
Emily shook her head. "It's too complex, and even if I were able to, the problem is the seal itself. If I remove the magic seal, the destructive aspect will flow directly into his mind and kill him."
"Then deal with the destructive aspect first."
Emily let out a sigh. "I would if I could, but the destructive aspect is 'within' the magic seal. Think of it as a box with an object inside. One can not reach for the object within the box without first unsealing the box. In this case, the object is like smoke and the moment you open the box, the smoke will drift out and suffocate everything."
Emily gestured with her hands before falling silent, her fingers clasping over the hem of her dress in distress. What reason did she have to be a magus if she do nothing for the one she cared about?
She was vexed, but unlike the Son of Wolfred and Palamid, she could hide it better.
"Then there's nothing that can be done." The Son of Wolfred slumped in his chair, reaching for a bottle of wine which he poured into a cup, his expression forlorn. "With the situation as it is, it'll probably be better if we didn't inform the King. I'm sure it would just pain him more to discover that the friend he so cherished can't even remember the time they spent together."
Palamid was wordless, but his silence expressed his agreement.
It was only Emily who continued thinking.
Her thoughts began to whirl as her emotions spurred her to further inspiration.
For the man who saved her when she needed it the most.
Compassionate.
Kind.
Loyal.
She wanted him back just as much as the King and everyone else.
Think.
That was all she could do before getting touch with Merlin.
"There's nothing we can do, but it's different if its Shirou," Emily spoke, her mind working on overdrive. "The analogy I made was destroying the destructive magic from 'outside' the box, so what would it mean if it was destroyed 'inside' the box?"
Palamid's eyes widened. "Then that would mean that the we can safely lift he seal."
Emily nodded. "I speculate that what we need to do, is push Shirou to such an extent that he has no choice but to recall his memories. The more memories he repossesses, the more likely he'll recall how to use his magecraft and vanquish the destructive energy on his own."
The Son of Wolfred cleared his throat before staring at Emily and Palamid in the eyes. "Therefore, beat him up right? I told you my method was the way from the start. Guards! Guards where are you! You're Lord is calling!"
Before the Son of Wolfred could call out anymore, he was suddenly met with Emily's smiling face and a purple ball of magical energy forming on the tip of her finger aimed at his groin. "Try calling one more time. ~I'll castrate you?"
Palamid watched as the Son of Wolfred's face paled considerably and couldn't help but sympathize with the fool. Even if the Son of Wolfred grew more mature, since when did he ever think that it was prudent to threaten a woman's perceived man in front of them? More so when that woman was a Witch?
Still, the Son of Wolfred was Palamid's friend.
"Enough enough, he surely didn't mean it," Palamid intervened.
Emily stared at the Son of Woflred with a neutral expression before sitting back down.
"Other than such barbaric methods which surely won't work, our best option is to trigger Shirou's stronger memories. The kind that the mind itself refuses to let go of, but the problem is, finding that memory. What memory would be something he cared about the most?"
No one in the room had an answer, but Palamid did have a suggestion.
The place where Shirou's magic shone once again.
The Battlefield.
Palamid stared at the Son of Wolfred and Emily before re-propositioning his plans to recruit new Knights into a new Elite Wolf Unit.
To relive the times of their youth, their young adolescence when everyone was together.
Palamid voiced the thoughts hidden in their hearts.
To save the King and return a friend's memories.
"Let's go on another adventure."
In the midst of Bristol's specialty district, Shirou finally ended up having some time to himself after instructing the other craftsman of how to forge the steel he had asked them to gather into certain parts.
With the sheer enthusiasm the craftsmen possessed, by the time his meeting with Palamid, Emily and the Son of Wolfred concluded, an entire mountain of steel had been procured.
All he had to do upon arrival at the specialty district was oversee the production and explain how everything was to be built and stored for the Knights to wheel out onto the warfront.
Having been working for several hours, most of the blacksmiths in the smithy he was currently occupying grew too exhausted to continue and dismissed themselves for the day. Meanwhile, as his endurance had yet to deplete, he stayed behind to finish his preparations for the King's rescue.
What he was envisioning was a defensive concept found from a time of great technological upheaval that could work even on the open plains given ample preparations.
Hammering away at the sheets of metal in front of him, the sheer density and weight of his hammer made it so it appeared like he was molding clay rather than steel.
Blasting the heat of the furnace over the metal, he placed aside his hammer and forcibly bent the heated steel into the shape he wanted. The glow of the metal hardly affected him with only parts of his skin tanning due to the temperature.
In the forge, near the flame, sparks, and cinders, he really did feel the most at ease.
Placing the steel piece down with the rest, he continued forging without a care until he heard the distinct sound of the front door opening.
Glancing behind him, it was then that he realized that he'd forgotten about someone in his haste to complete his task.
"Mordred," he called out softly in guilt.
She was standing at the front entrance looking at some of the finished modular products laying off to the side before turning to him with a pout. He said pout, but it was more of a glare if anything.
"So, this was where you were," she grumbled while pulling off her helmet and trying to cool herself off. With him forging just a few feet in front of her, the temperature was near sweltering.
"Had enough fun for the day?" She asked sarcastically.
To be fair, it had probably been several hours since the time she was expecting him, so she had the right to be ticked off. Then again, everything he was deciding to do today was on her behalf, so maybe she could show just a little gratitude?
He didn't think too much about it. Knowing Mordred, she just wasn't being honest with herself anyway.
"Sorry, it really wasn't supposed to take this long," his apology was met with rolled eyes.
"Oh really?" Mordred crossed her arms and continued her observation of the surroundings. She was particularly interested in some of the swords laying about, but he knew that she probably just didn't want him to notice that she had been bored after leaving her alone for too long.
His mood couldn't help but lift when he understood that he was the man that she'd come looking for by her own initiative.
"Yeah, its just that I literally got caught up in something before this." Memories of being paraded around town caused him to laugh dryly.
Mordred raised a brow in inquiry.
He let out a sigh of defeat.
"D-Did you happen to notice a large crowd in town?" He asked slowly.
Mordred nodded her head as she drew closer. "They were too densely packed together for me to investigate though."
Shirou lips curved upwards in fatigue, the window of his eyes seeming to relive the day's experience. "Did you happen to see the person tossed up and down in the air in the midst of that crowd?" He asked.
Mordred didn't even consider it before speaking, her eyes narrowing in his direction. "You mean that fool who has the mind to make merry in a situation where the King's life is in danger? Of course, I noticed that bastard even if it was only from a distance. In fact, I was contemplating about teaching him a lesson with my fists if I ever run into him."
Mordred's words caused him to shudder as her felt a gaze on his back. She knew. She definitely knew.
He stared blankly at Mordred as he considered if he should run or just take a minor beating. Considering that he'd wasted too much time being paraded down the streets already, he resolved himself to trust in his constitution.
He put aside away his hammer, moved away from his anvil, and presented his face directly in front of Mordred, his eyes half-closed in preparation.
She stared back at him in confusion, her brows scrunching together as she couldn't understand the meaning of his actions. However, her mind quickly recalled what had happened the last time that she had been alone with Shirou in a smithy.
Her eyes naturally, zeroed in on the proximity of his face to hers as heat caused her cheeks to redden, more so in shame when she realized a certain expectation jumped around excitedly within her. She forced the feeling down with an indignant fury but her constantly blinking eyes still gave her away.
"Y-You bastard back off," she tried to push him away, but found that there was no strength in her arms. She was mortified.
Panic welling up from within her, she became dumbfounded at Shirou's next action.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked, leaning his face forward further in reluctance.
The red on Mordred's face instantly erupted.
W-What the fuck did he mean? C-Could he possibly be suggesting that she be the one to initiate?!
No. NO. Utterly impossible.
In her fluster, her feet were unconsciously stepping back, as her hands waved frantically in front of her.
Noticing the movement of Mordred's arms, Shirou prepared himself and steeled his expression.
The beating was sure to come.
Contrary to expectation however, he watched in a daze as Mordred simply stared at him, her eyes two teal-coloured swirls that couldn't meet his face directly. Did her mind overload?
Shirou couldn't have been anymore confused than he already was.
Given the fact that Mordred had seen him paraded by the crowd, she was certain to already know it was him, right? Why else would she have narrowed her eyes at him in accusation moments earlier?
Still, with no movement on Mordred's part and feeling like this lesson of hers wasn't worth wasting anymore time on, he opened his mouth.
"What are you doing Mordred, hurry up already?"
"Y-You, h-how can you say such words with a straight face!?" Her voice came out unnaturally high, her throat tightening in her agitation as she pointed with a finger. "W-What kind of Knight do you think I am!"
One who starts brawls for no reason?
One who's perfectly happy to disobey military protocol?
Someone who's quick to anger?
Instead of answering Mordred's question, Shirou simply sighed. "Weren't you going to teach me a lesson?"
Mordred blanched, her entire body freezing up as her hands paused in midair.
"Huh?" Was the unintelligent word that spilled out from her mouth.
Shirou scratched at the back of his head. "That person in the crowd, the one paraded around and constantly hoisted into the air, that was me." He pointed at himself with his thumb. "I thought you already knew and were implying for me to receive my punishment. Was I wrong?"
The quizzical expression on Shirou's face instantly caused all the expectation within Mordred to erupt into an embarrassed rage.
"Y-Yeah of course. That's exactly what I was planning!" Mordred stuttered as she balled her hands into fists. However, she didn't lash out in favour of turning around to cover her face. "I'll only give you a warning this time, but make sure it doesn't happen again. Why the hell would they even carry you around like that anyway?"
Shirou could easily see through Mordred's curiosity. She was glancing at him at the corner of her eyes while waiting for his response. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest in bravado.
"Well I'll have you know that this entire town thinks of me as some Noble named Lord Ashton."
The sound of clanking armour alerted him to the fact that Mordred had snapped her head back to face him. "Lord Ashton?" She asked.
"Yes."
"The Lord Ashton?"
"Yes," he verified again.
Mordred stared long and hard at him before bursting into laughter. "You? Lord Ashton? their clearly just misunderstanding like the way the Saxons think your hammer is some holy relic."
Shirou nodded in agreement, relieved that someone finally agreed with him. Just from looking at Palamid, his Knights, and the people of Bristol made it evident that none would agree that he wasn't Lord Ashton.
At least Mordred understood.
"Yeah, to be honest I've been thinking about it. Bristol and Exeter are too far apart in the first place and therefore there's no way I can be Lord Ashton. I'm just a blacksmith and the Shield of Mordred."
Mordred balked at his words, turning her back to him faster than he could even call out her name.
"U-Ugh Yeah. It's your misfortune to be this Third-Rate Knight's Shield" Mordred tried hard to not look pleased with his words, but the smile she couldn't quite force away made it simple to read her true thoughts. At the very minimum, he didn't have to worry about her fists raining down on him anymore.
Speaking of which, it was time to move on to relevant matters.
"Mordred, what does your Coat of Arms look like?" He asked.
Mordred perked up at Shirou's question and produced a small crumpled piece of dried sheep skin. Over the sheep skin was what resembled a five-year-old's drawing. It resembled Mordred's helm with a fiery red background reminiscent of flames, yet it didn't look intimidating at all. Instead, it looked kind of cute with the helmet's sharp points slightly rounded over due to a wobbly hand that painted the design on.
Looking at Mordred's proud expression, it was evident who the artist was.
He closed his mouth, and simply chose not to comment as he wordlessly took the design and recorded it to memory.
A Coat of Arms was the symbol of a Knight.
No matter how 'unique' Mordred's was, it would do its job and show just whose merit the planned project involving the craftsmen of Bristol would belong to on the battlefield.
For Mordred, The Knight of One.
Or as Sir William Orwel would like to call her.
Mordred, Knight of Brash Affection.
-Several days later.
Memories were recollections of past events stored within the recesses of one's mind. Sometimes they were cruel, other times cherished, but regardless of anything, it was the ability to recall them and the emotions one had once felt that made them remarkable.
For even in the future Arturia would always remember the events of her youth, the lessons she had learned, and even her greatest regrets.
From Sir Ector she had learned to be a Knight, one of character, grace, and etiquette; the rules of chivalry, honour and its oaths, ingrained into her very being.
Justice for the weak.
And honour for one's character.
Through Sir Ector, she embodied the concept of what it was to be a Knight.
From Sir Kay she had learned to wield her sword; not for pettiness or personal disputes, but for the sake of her convictions and ideologies, forging a path made of her own actions.
A path of the righteous and the noble.
Such was the passion Sir Kay had imparted upon her through the will of his sword and the clashing of steel.
There was no doubt that Sir Ector and Sir Kay had played fundamental roles in her development as her guardian figures, but perhaps more than them was the impact that just a single individual had had on her.
The memories she had of him were perhaps the most fond and idyllic, stemming back towards the time of her own adolescence and never failing to stab at her like daggers. For they were memories of a past that she had been unable to protect.
If Sir Ector and Kay taught her what it meant to be a Knight, then from Shirou she learned what it had meant to be human.
To be more than just a King without emotion.
And that fact made it all the more painful.
She was seated within the center of a make-shift camp located in the midst of East Saxons near Wessex. Her army was camped around her and busy manning the hastily made fortifications within a circular area. Looking at their shabby appearance, there was no way they would hold. The only real deterrent they had was the fear of her sword.
She was in the middle of enemy territory fighting over a flat expanse of land adjacent to a large hill. The entire situation wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't led the army in too deep but her emotions which she had been bottling up had finally gotten the best of her.
The army was besieged on all sides. The Saxons had set up camp near them as well and were simply biding their time until her army's supplies ran out. By then, the lack of food and energy would be fatal in battle. She had to break out of her situation before then.
Other than the messengers that had managed to flee before full encirclement, the entire army was like a sitting duck.
Her eyes drooped, the fire and passion that had resided within them in her youth greatly diminished until it was almost hollow.
She no longer aged, her appearance fixed in her mid-twenties due to the reservations she had of taking up Excalibur after the loss of Caliburn.
She looked down at the Holy Sword on her waist and forced down her grief. She didn't feel as if she had been worthy of it.
It should have been him.
Her hands balled into fists as a shudder travelled down her body.
She had already lost one of her most cherished people.
She didn't want to experience the feeling again, no; rather than experience, she didn't want to endure any more than what she already was.
She'd gone against both Merlin and Sir Ector's advice and led her army out to what she knew to be a trap, yet she had no choice. Kay was being held in the main castle of Salisbury which was deep within enemy territory. She refused to accept it when she had heard talk that Kay was bound to already be dead.
If she couldn't save Kay either, then she didn't know if she could take it anymore.
Bags were forming under her eyes due to the mental strain but it was only because of the strength of her constitution that they weren't noticeable.
Suddenly, the flaps of her tent opened to reveal a man she trusted as an honest advisor.
"Bedivere," she called.
It was the Knight she had met in her youth in the town of Roan. Having grown older since then, Bedivere's silver coloured hair had only grown longer, reaching passed his shoulders. The new set of plate-armour he wore also paired nicely with the short mantle hung over his shoulders.
His current expression was one of concern.
"You should at least eat, you know," he spoke as politely as he could, gesturing towards the uneaten rations Arturia had left to the side.
She didn't even look in the food's direction.
Bedivere sighed, but he wouldn't force his King.
"Report," Arturia said.
Nodding his head, Bedivere dropped to a knee.
"The enemy is still waiting for the army to starve itself, so nothing new on that part," Bedivere explained the current situation part by part. "In regards to our rations, we're starting to run low as it is. It'll only be a matter of time from now."
"Hmm, I see," Arturia's expression became unreadable. "You are dismissed, Bedivere."
"By your orders."
Saluting, Bedivere took one last look at Arturia before shaking his head in concern. There was nothing left for him to say, and all that was required of him and the other Knights was to adhere to the King's will.
Alone once again, Arturia leaned her face on her palm and trembled.
It was hard.
The entire situation appeared out of control.
What would 'he' have done and said?
Left alone, all she had were her thoughts to get herself by, and more often than not, it hurt. A gut-wrenching pain without cure.
I want to see you.
I want to be with you.
I want to hold you and never let go again.
Why hadn't she been able to say the words that mattered to her the most?
I love you.
Ever since we were small.
Us two together.
A Kingdom for two.
She was a fool for not realizing it before. A sob burst out from her mouth, no louder than a whisper as tears gently trickled down her cheeks. The sound of droplets echoing as they hit the floor resounded even as she silently wept, her lips trembling.
Caliburn didn't just acknowledge her or just Shirou, Caliburn acknowledged both of them. Neither of them had to have had ruled individually. W-What if the future had actually intended for the emergence of a King and a Queen, not just a King alone?
The more she thought on the topic, the more regrets she had that slowly piled up over her shoulders.
Drinking no longer helped.
Eating no longer helped.
Fighting no longer helped either.
Merlin, Sir Ector, and her Knights were constantly on her side, but even then, it was still unbearable. Vengeance and Duty were the only two emotions driving her on, but even then, she no longer felt like herself. That part of her died and was buried the moment she failed to protect what mattered to her most.
An hour passed by, followed by another.
She wiped away her tears and steeled her expression.
Based on what Bedivere had said regarding the rations, she had no choice but to try and lead a breakout at the eve of tomorrow morning.
She glanced at the food left at her side.
Hunger was the enemy.
She swallowed, not out of hunger but due to the lump that was forming in her throat. It was the reason she no longer ate as much as she used to. Food reminded her of what she'd lost.
Moisture once again forming in her eyes, she convinced herself that it was a trick of the dust floating within the tent.
Reaching a hand out, she took her food, and finally took a bite.
She shuddered as she chewed, unable to tell if it was her lack of appetite, or because of her mood, but the food praised as the best the army had on hand, could no longer satisfy her.
Nonetheless, she forced it down her throat along with her reservations and doubts.
It was a bitter taste.
The dawn of the next morning was the dawn of battle.
Crows flew through the air, circling amongst the clouds while peering down over the land that would soon be filled with corpses.
Staring up at the crows, Arturia's grip tightened around her sword.
Was she watching?
Anger welled up from within her like a roaring flame, mixing with her panic, anxiety, and desperation, but she didn't let it show on her face.
Her camp had long since positioned themselves in an arrow-head formation. The remaining cavalry of three-thousand strong placed at the front while the infantry of six-thousand was ready to follow after the horses.
They would only get one chance, and failure wasn't an option.
Lancelot, Tristan, and Bedivere rode by her side, the only Knights of the Round she had on hand.
Her friends.
She would not let them fall.
Excalibur shone with a light reminiscent of the stars.
The glowing beacon in her hand that would guide the way forward.
"Charge!" She bellowed.
The make-shift walls obscuring the cavalry and her army from view collapsed as Arturia led the entire army forward.
In front of her eyes were waves upon waves of Saxons that seemed endless in the flat expanse. Their shields were raised, their spears pointed at the ready.
Immediately her countenance darkened.
There were far more than what she or anyone had expected.
Too many spears stopping the horses of the cavalry.
"Lancelot, Tristan!"
A simple command was given.
"Understood."
The two Knights led their own respective units and split the cavalry in two.
There was no longer any room for escape.
All that was left was war, and a hope that they would prevail.
Lancelot charged to the left, Tristan to the right as she took the middle position to form a three-pronged fork. Her goal was the enemy commanders before her. If she could take them down, then there was a chance that she and her army could escape in the chaos.
"Let's go Llamrei," she whispered softly to her horse.
Llamrei neighed as it kicked off of the ground at break-neck speeds.
O Sword of Promised Victory, show me of the end.
She charged without regard for safety. That part of her stopped caring long ago when her only true happiness was torn away from her life.
The world was grey.
Varying shades that no longer produced the same vividness it once had in her naivety.
Perhaps this battle would be the end?
She didn't know, but the concept of death itself wasn't as frightening as she thought it would be.
Because maybe, just maybe, he'd be there to welcome her.
He who wasn't just a retainer but someone worth more to her than anything else.
Her Knight.
The one she had always dreamed of as a little girl in her youth.
Would he be waiting?
She didn't know, but it didn't matter.
His words. His teachings. His ideals. Through her, she would carry them on.
As a King of the people.
Caught up in her musings, she didn't notice it when a change occurred on the far south of the battlefield far beyond visible sight. A place too far away to possibly get involved in the main battle.
The Saxons positioned there were visibly shaken, their eyes darting back and forth at each other in uncertainty while their legs felt exceedingly weak.
For the better most part of the last hour, they had noticed something odd with the ground.
A minute trembling that only seemed to grow stronger and stronger with the passing of time. The vibrations themselves travelled up their legs and shook their bodies to the core. Their knees constantly buckled and before long, some had given up standing and had dropped onto a seated position.
Ten minutes passed.
Fifteen.
By now the vibrations had turned into minor earthquakes, no Saxon able to maintain their balance due to the weight of their armours. At that moment, all suddenly stared to the heavens.
A Godly roar accompanied by an eerie whistling noise.
Something reminiscent to a shot arrow.
An object piercing through the sky, shattering the sound barrier.
Otherworldly might.
A weapon beyond common means, forged for a specific purpose.
A tool of war.
The clouds parted at the falling of steel.
Cratering the ground, the vibrations this time produced a miniature plume of dirt and gravel that acted as shrapnel. The nearest Saxons died before even understanding what had happened, and by then, all were staring.
Short in handle, yet large in mallet.
A weapon that fell from the heavens signalling the coming of an ill omen.
The vanguard of an army that had been on the march for days.
Buried within the crater it produced, was something no Saxon could tear their eyes away from.
It was a hammer.
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