Fate-in time

60

Her gaze was sharp, perhaps the sharpest it had ever been in her life. This matter simply held too much importance to her to the extent that she was willing to shoulder all repercussions of her actions. Still, she wasn't a fool and could tell that there was some underlying situation occurring within Cywryd's hearing room.

Her arms subconsciously crossed beneath her breasts while her lips pursed together, the action further emphasizing that she was not, in fact, a man.
Her eyes darted left and right, taking in the expressions of the Nobles gawking before she promptly buried the twinge of nervousness still trying to weasel its way out from inside of her.
You're beautiful, Arturia.
Shirou had always complimented her in the past. She'd always scoffed at him then out of embarrassment, but it was only when she thought that he was dead that she learned to cherish those times.
Have more confidence.
"Where is my man?" She repeated herself, taking in a calming breath to sooth her nerves. With her arms crossed, her fingers tapped idly at her elbow. She was wearing laced white gloves that extended mid-way up her upper arm and there was a sort of grace in her actions that was difficult to describe.
Rather than a King, she resembled the disposition of a High-Lady or Queen. The contrast between her past and present self was hard to swallow for many in the crowd around her.
By declaring herself a woman, it was the same as saying that everything that she'd ever lived for and built up in the guise of 'King Arthur,' would be a lie. She knew the consequences would lead to many political problems and doubts by the people in the future, but in the end, that was just her acting like a coward and making excuses.
Man, or not, it didn't change her goals or reasons for fighting.
It was better to stay true to herself, rather than hiding everything behind a thinly concealed lie.
The repetition of her question caused the crowd of Nobles to snap out of their dazes and begin murmuring heatedly to themselves, but she hardly cared about their opinions. Her gaze was on the one individual in the room who could offer her the best answer.
Cywryd's expression indicated to her that he was still somewhat caught off guard with the sudden change of events, but the man was not a ruler for nothing. He quickly regained his composure and eyed her probingly. She could guess what he was probably speculating.
"I am not, a stand in," she spoke before he could speak up. "Surely you can tell which is false from true?"
Cywryd grunted, leaning forward on his thrown and supporting his chin with the back of his left hand. "Your appearance may be different, but your bearings and disposition still remain the same. I'd be a fool to doubt further."
Cywryd's confirmation was the final straw to the uncertainty in the room.
"L-Lord Duke, are you really saying that that woman over there is really King Arthur?" A young Viscount voiced out. The man owned a small territory a short way due east of Gwent, making him one of Cywryd's vassals.
"Doubt as much as you wish, but the Wizard Merlin would not just follow a random woman, now would he?" Cywryd's rhetoric was met with a round of uneasy approval.
Arturia's face nearly twitched at the comment, and Merlin for his part chose not to notice, but really Arturia was getting him all wrong. He certainly wouldn't just follow a random woman on a whim. He had both class and character to uphold. He hummed to himself lightly. Then again, everything would change depending on the beauty of the woman. He was a gentleman after all, and flowers were meant to be followed. He still had his pride.
A small smile crept up Merlin's lips, and somehow, Arturia could almost guess what Merlin was thinking. She decisively took three steps away to stand on her own, as if trying to cut ties with the wizard beside her.
Merlin took offence, unable to understand what he'd done wrong.
Regardless, Arturia beckoned towards Cywryd again. "Where is Lord Ashton?" She finally chose to be specific, calling out Shirou by his title.
Cywryd of course could not deflect the question for any longer. Still, he found himself thinking about his impression of Shirou and he inwardly began sighing. Just when he thought he'd found a suitable candidate for his daughter, the competition already had to be so fierce. At the very least though, he had to find out if Arturia was truly serious. If not, perhaps he could leverage some leeway. It wasn't often that suitable marriage partners came by, and he did not wish for his precious daughter to be married off to a fool.
"What does Lord Ashton actually mean to you?" The question was spoken with all seriousness. Cywyrd sat up from his slouch and straightened his back. He assumed the disposition of a Duke of his station as if receiving the audience of a foreign diplomat or person of influence.
The chatter of the other Nobility naturally came to a halt.
In the midst of all the stares, Arturia did not flinch. The only person in her line of sight was Cywyrd, and no one else mattered. Her gaze was focused, her teal coloured pupils unwavering as she spoke in earnest.
"I love him more than anything," she said wistfully.
The memories that they shared since youth, the experiences that they had together.
Her insecurities and doubts, whether or not she should be allowed to be happy.
His constant presence and reassurances.
The joy that bloomed from within her when their lips first met in a tender memory of adolescence.
He was to her, someone that could never be replaced, and his loss was as unbearable as seeing a family member die. To her, Shirou was already family, someone that she wanted to share her life and future with.
She didn't want to regret anymore.
She didn't want to give Morgan another chance to ruin her happiness.
When a goal was both within sight and within reach, the only thing preventing one from obtaining said goal, was oneself.
Not anymore.
Reach down to the truest depth of her feelings, and speak out what one truly desires not out of greed or ambition, but out of affection and fondness.
A purer source of motivation.
"He's someone that I want to make babies with. M-Maybe two or three," her voice came out in a quiet murmur, and she still couldn't understand why she had said it, but the tender expression on her face could not be faked. After all, she was finally being honest with herself.
Cywyrd sighed in response, while the nobles in the crowd were rendered speechless. They couldn't understand how someone that they had once seen as a man could appear so alluring in their eyes as a woman. Some of the noble Ladies in attendance looked utterly aggrieved at the expressions that the men were making. Worse, their pride as women of high-society refused to acknowledge the fact that despite Arturia binding her chest for a number of years, that her bosom was still significantly larger than theirs. The dress she wore only made it more apparent, and she was immediately demonized from the perspective of the various ladies-in-waiting present in the room.
Cywryd was sighing for a different reason. He was starting to pity his daughter. He could understand why Arturia refused the first marriage now that her true gender was known, but the damage had already been done. Considering the flow of the conversation, it seemed inevitable that his second attempt at getting Guinevere married was also going to end in failure.
Still, he couldn't find it in himself to get mad or frustrated at Arturia. Not when she looked like she'd finally found something worth dying for other than the country. It was just bad-luck was all, and Guinevere was still young anyway.
"Ha! A suitable answer." Cywryd clapped lightly. "I always thought you to be one without many emotions, but to think that you were actually this innocent to boldly declare your love for a man. No wonder you refused marriage with my daughter. What woman would not want a child or two of her own to dote on, raise, and take pride in?"
Arturia was a tad taken aback by Cywryd's enthusiasm, but she was content all the same. The dumb smile that made its way onto her face made it impossible to hide how she was feeling.
Cywryd was a good man, and he would have had made for an even better father-in-law.
Despite refusing the marriage with Guinevere in the past, Cywryd had never been spiteful to her. Instead, most of the tension came from the Nobles beneath Cywryd who were offended on their Duke's behalf.
To Cywryd, she had never held any sort of grudge.
Even less so now that he was openly showing her favour.
"Your words are wise," she placed a hand over her flushed cheek, feeling the heat radiating from off of her face. She would have felt embarrassed at any other time for admitting her wants, but this time was different. It was a pleasant sort of feeling for her to be acknowledged despite no longer being in the guise of 'King Arthur.'
The nobles stared at her once again in silence, stunned and captivated by the elegance and charm before them.
Merlin smiled knowingly. Women were generally beautiful creatures, but they were only always at their peaks when they found someone to love. Such women were practically radiant, and that only made them far more enchanting. Arturia was no different. It was a type of grace and beauty that no magic would truly ever be able to reproduce.
Pleasantries aside, Arturia didn't wish to wait for the answer that she wanted for much longer.
"Where is he?" She pressed again, her gaze darting left and right to see if Shirou was anywhere in the crowd. She was bound to be disappointed.
"See for yourself," Cywryd called forth an aide and passed over the letter of demands Hengist had sent over. The aide then delivered the letter to Arturia.
She looked at the letter questioningly, but still opened it and began to read while Cywryd continued speaking.
"The situation is not as peaceful as it may seem within Gwent's walls. The enemy is already at our doorstep," Cywyrd's voice echoed in the hall, but Arturia didn't seem to hear it.
"H-He already went out on his own?" She knew Shirou well enough to know what he would do if presented with such a letter, missing memories or not.
Shirou was clearly walking into a trap, and worse she could understand why he was doing it.
Sir Ector.
Her lips quivered ever so slightly.
Do something, she had to do something.
Shoulders trembling, she made to leave almost in a heart beat but was stopped by a panicked group of nobility blocking the door. Cywryd grimaced at the sight, but immediately narrowed his eyes when he realized that he may be able to use the situation to weed out the traitors in his own court.
"Wait, where are you going?!" The one who spoke was Marcus Hooverdale who'd been instructed to do so by his fellow collaborators. He'd shouted out from amidst the crowd so it was difficult to determine that it was him that spoke, but this was the intention. All he had to do was instigate the cowards in the crowd and let the proceedings move on from there.
Arturia's expression turned cold in her haste.
"Do you even need to ask?" She directly scowled. "I lost him once, I won't lose him again." Moreover, Sir Ector was also involved. How could she keep still while knowing all this? There was just no way. "MOVE."
Many of the nobles wavered under her ire, but the vast majority still remained steadfast as if holding onto some imaginary leash.
"Y-You can't just leave without everyone's approval," the Noble who spoke started out strong by coughing into his hand, but he quickly buckled under the pressure of Arturia's stare. By the end of his sentence, the man was practically inaudible.
"Do I need your approval?" Her tone was flat, laced with a kind of tension that screamed that she was reaching the limits of her patience.
Fear was something that the Nobles before her did not seem to have. Some still appeared composed.
"Woman or not, the Land still calls for a King, and it was you who drew forth the sword in the stone." A Marchioness stepped forward from the crowd and spoke haughtily. From the way that she was staring at Arturia, her envy and lack of self-confidence were beyond evident. "Y-You have an obligation to take into account the opinions and interests of the hierarchy of the land!"
"That's right. Lord Ashton's already gone to settle the problem, so those of us here deem that it is best that you stay," the other nobles began to second the Marchioness's words.
Woman or not, Arturia was strong. That fact was undoubtable. In the case of an emergency, they were looking to use her as a final safety precaution.
"King?" She was not amused. "Since when was I still a King?"
They were looking towards Excalibur, and that's when she realized what they were all probably thinking. Most of them hadn't seen what Caliburn looked like, so it was safe to assume that they believed Excalibur to truly be the Sword from the Stone. Caliburn itself was the symbol of the King's right of ascension, and so long as she wielded it, from the perspective of the Nobles, she still had her duties as a King to fulfill.
A King must not differentiate between nobility and commoner.
A King must be accepting of the responsibilities of the station.
Nobility had to be protected to prevent the laws of the land from being destroyed, and disorder from spreading within the various duchies, viscounties, and lauded lands. Without law, there would be no order, and such a scenario was practically crippling in the war against the Saxons. This reason was precisely why she had been so tolerant of the nobility in the past, and this was probably their source of confidence to stop her.
Fine, then so be it.
She stabbed Excalibur into the ground near Merlin, and slowly picked out a plain spear from the decorations aligning the walls. It seemed entirely made out of steel, its shape more conical and lance-like if anything, but it didn't matter. It served its purpose by giving out a message.
King? Who decided that?
She would not allow herself to be restrained by oaths at this kind of time.
Her actions were met with gasps and blank stares, and even Cywryd was forced to frown in concern. Only Merlin seemed to be getting any sort of entertainment from the situation.
Walking towards the exit of the room with a lance in hand, the nobles parted in their sheer disbelief of what Arturia had just done, the clicking of her heels the only noise to be heard.
"Y-You can't just do this!" A noble chased after her back. From the sound of it, the man himself was still in a daze.
Arturia paused in her steps and scoffed, as if saying that 'she already had,' and that she wouldn't be changing her mind.
Marcus, feeling that the situation wasn't playing out as he wanted intervened at this moment after being prompted by Owels. Lord Ashton taking on the Saxons was worrying enough, but adding on someone with Arturia's level of strength was truly too much to bear.
"I-If Lord Ashton fails and the Saxons get into Gwent, then what about the safety of us nobles!?" Marcus spoke justly. "If we die than how can you expect us to govern and send any help from our lands! L-Lord Ashton's circumstances are unfortunate but clearly are lives should take prior-!"
For the first time since arriving in the hall, Arturia's brows narrowed into a venomous glower that silenced all opposition. Rather than help, the Nobles were more inclined to worry about their own lives and even dared insinuate that Shirou would perish?
Her brows shifted noticeably as her growing anger became palpable.
The lance in her hand seemed to momentarily shine in a golden light that caused Merlin's eyes to widen if only temporarily.
Hold it back.
Hold it back.
"Do you truly mean what you just said?" To her, Shirou's life was hundreds of times more important than the nobles standing before her. "The lot of you mean to cower here while others fight on your behalf and you even want to keep me behind out of your own selfishness?"
Marcus shut his mouth at Owel's prompting in the crowd. Someone else had already stepped up anyway and the fact that Marcus had spoke up had already drawn Cywryd's attention.
"W-When you put it that way, it makes it sound bad," a Noble said nervously. "B-But we're truly thinking about the future of this country."
The final thread snapped.
Arturia bit down on her lip while shutting her eyes tightly, but for the first time, she found herself stooping to the same level as Kay-
And it was utterly refreshing.
"In the words of my Older Brother, Fuck all of you."
She nodded her head only once towards Cywryd, and instantly left the room, her dress flowing gently behind her along with the scent of lilacs.
Man was not meant to fly.
Mordred felt that more than ever as the wind whipped directly through the opening of her helmet and struck against her rapidly paling face. Her breathing was slightly uneven, and her generally fearless disposition was tipping on the edge of shattering.
Compared to Shirou who was easily sitting down over Efret's back, she was far more tense and refused to let go of Efret's feathers to matter how much she willed herself to try.
Looking down at the ground, everything that had once appeared large before her eyes were now no more than the size of dots. She swallowed inaudibly, butterflies forming in her stomach. If she ever fell, durable as she was on the battlefield or not, she truly felt that she would die. Hence, her strained nerves.
"Careful, I've got you," Shirou placed a hand over her shoulder just as Efret maneuvered abruptly in the air.
Mordred had momentarily lost hold of Efret's feathers with her left hand, and her reaction must have had looked pitiful enough to get Shirou to act.
"W-Who needs your help anyway. This bird just hates me." She instantly grasped hold of Efret's feathers again with her left hand.
On mentioning how she believed that Efret hated her, a hand subconsciously attempted to rub her butt to quell her phantom burning pains, yet she stiffened when she realized what she was just about to do in front of Shirou. Moreover, she sure as hell did not want to let go of her grip.
"A-Anyways, I'll be fine." She tried to brush off her actions, but she couldn't help but be paranoid when she noticed the sceptical look in Shirou's eyes. He was obviously being doubtful of her.
He was just lucky that they weren't on the ground, she glowered to herself, but yelped as Efret increased its elevation.
From where Shirou and Mordred were present in the air, they had a view of the entirety of the town of Gwent governed by Cywryd. Naturally, the sight of the hundreds of Saxons surrounding Gwent's perimeter was not lost on them either.
They were divided into many groups consisting of specialities. Front liners with swords, shields, axes, or spears were in position near the front, while ranged fighters with bows and arrows took up ranks by the rear.
The groups of fighters were not the target of Shirou's was focus. Instead, he was staring at a certain gathering of Saxons that were keeping prisoners guarded at the back of the formation.
He could already see them. Sir Ector and the other Knights that had been captured.
They were stripped of their weapons and armours and were wearing nothing more than the leathers and clothes that they had worn beneath their armour.
Upon sight of Sir Ector, Mordred's expression shifted into one of worry and turmoil such that she hardly even noticed when her hands let go of their grip on Efret and moved to the hilt of her sword. She was gritting her teeth so hard that he could practically hear it.
He placed a palm over her hands and forced her to look at him.
"Relax," he spoke. He didn't want her to do anything stupid or reckless. "I know how much Sir Ector might mean to you, but we'll save him. I promise."
She stared at him, and he stared back without flinching.
Finally, she clicked her tongue and turned her head away.
He took her silence as agreement and gradually willed Efret to get closer to the ground.
The impulse to directly attempt to save Sir Ector and his men was tempting in Shirou's mind, but Efret was a sight that none could ignore. From the very moment that he made any indication of moving towards Sir Ector, the Saxons would see it immediately and may very well kill Sir Ector and the others before help could arrive.
Looking down over the Saxons, Shirou could see the designated location that Hengist had mentioned in his letter.
In the sea of Saxon soldiers before his eyes, a large field was left empty with a diameter of around fifty feet where a single brute of a man stood standing. There was an open line leading up to the open field, but none of the Saxons had expected that he would arrive atop Efret to begin with.
Efret was circling around in the air while Shirou contemplated what he was going to do.
Meanwhile, the sight of Efret caused many Saxons to grow nervous or agitated. The rumours regarding a flaming bird killing hundred of Saxons in battle had long since spread, and seeing Efret now before their eyes, it all but validated the rumours that they'd heard.
The Flaming One.
The Hell Bringer.
The temperature around began to steadily climb as the air of apprehension became palpable, but only one person was having a different reaction from all others.
I-It can't be.
Sir Ector felt his mouth going dry as his gaze refused to leave the sight of the flaming bird circling in the air above him. Efret. The guardian protector of the Ashtons. There was no way that he could not recognize it, but he'd thought that he'd never see it again after the unfortunate passing of a child he may as well have had called a step-son.
Why are you here?
The question was left rooted within Sir Ector's mind. He was battered and bruised, and he found it difficult to stay conscious, but he soon stiffened, his eyes going wide and his breathing becoming even more erratic.
Just barely, he could see it.
Disregarding the other silhouette, there was another person standing atop Efret's back.
A familiar figure that he thought that he'd never see again.
Captive as he was, he'd heard talks about how the Saxon leader Hengist had prepared a Ring in the middle of the Saxon army to combat against the wielder of the Mjolnir in honoured battle.
It was a trap.
There was no way that Sir Ector could not see it as such.
Win or lose, the wielder of the Mjolnir would still be surrounded by Saxons, proving just how much importance the Saxons placed on retrieving the sacred relic of power.
If before Sir Ector had thought that it was just a pity that someone fighting on the country's behalf would fall willingly into a trap, now he was totally against it.
He'd learned from the Saxons around him that his son Kay had not yet been captured, so it was already like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders despite the situation. Yet now that he saw that the one person that would affect his youngest daughter the most was the recipient of the Saxon's trap; it was like his spirit was suddenly being crushed under boulders.
No! Stop you fool!
He tried to yell, but his voice was muffled by the cloth around his mouth. He'd been gagged to prevent him from giving out orders or collaborating with his compatriots, Agravain being the most trustworthy.
Foolish boy, do you mean to hurt my Arturia's heart any further. Treat your life more importantly!
Sir Ector could only bitterly lament while struggling against his restraints.
Unknown to Sir Ector, seeing Sir Ector struggle from atop Efret's back, Mordred was at the point of boiling. That was her grandpa, one of the only people that she cherished and admired above all.
T-They hurt him. Her eyes were growing bloodshot, and despite her mentality warning her that she'd die if she jumped, she was actually beginning to consider it.
A hand placed itself on her shoulder, prompting Mordred to bite her lower lip while trying to restrain herself.
"You're not the only one who wants to take action," Shirou said sternly. "But stay here for now and wait for a better opportunity. It's time for me to act."
His preparations were already completed. A plan thought out that would force all attention onto him whether the Saxons wanted to or not.
Then what about his own life?
He hadn't considered that point.
It was a fact that would probably get him beaten to death by all those who cared for him, but it wasn't a part of him that could be easily changed.
"Wait! Take me with you!" Mordred glanced up at him in apprehension. "Didn't you have a plan by coming here?"
"…"
His silence was telling. His plan was literally just to make a mess and wait for Arturia's support.
Mordred felt like a bucket of ice was just poured on top of her. "H-Hey, maybe you should think this out. Y-You can't just go on your own." Her uneasiness was beginning to show.
"No time," his answer was straight forward.
The both of them could see the condition of Sir Ector and the other Knights from their vantage point in the sky. Another few hours in captivity would be enough for the more injured Knights to directly succumb to their injuries. The one's with the most severe injuries included Sir Ector who had a large cut that spanned across the top of chest. Worse, if Hengist grew impatient, then death was certain for the captives.
Mordred had nothing she could say back to his words.
Her mouth just constantly opened and closed, finally shutting and soon revealing a face of helplessness that inadvertently helped harden Shirou's resolve.
"I'll be off," he gave Mordred a single nod before moving to the furthest stable end of Efret's wing span.
Mordred reached out a hand for him in an attempt to stop him, but a voice directly spoke into her mind which halted her movements.
"Do not fear child." It was deep, yet gentle.
She didn't know where it was coming from at first until she felt the vibrations beneath her.
It was Efret.
"A Lord of flame, a keeper of the boundary beyond the parallels of the world. A mighty being of nature. A Flame of Destruction and Ruin."
Flames that guide, and flames that burn to light up the way.
Ashes to Embers, sparks to a torrent.
The passing of heritage.
One generation to another.
With a single step, Shirou fell from the sky like a crimson comet as Mordred shouted in alarm.
"Look and behold, the strength of the first-born heir of House Ashton."
Warriors of legend would always be warriors of legend.
In the eyes of Hengist, an individual who was able to use the famed Mjolnir could have had only been someone extraordinary, and his intuition did not fail him.
A crimson comet was descending from the sky, peels of thunder echoing through the air.
Just as Hengist was staring at Shirou, Shirou too was staring directly back.
Heat was building up from around him, yet he could hardly feel it compared to the buzzing sensation originating from the weapon that he wielded in his right hand.
It was his forging hammer. Something that should have had only been mundane transforming to become what others strongly believed it to be.
An object of faith and devotion.
A Tool of War.
It was registering in his mind as the Mjolnir. A Divine construct wielded by the God of Thunder, Thor, and yet it could never truly be.
His hammer was not made through the means of the divine or the gods, but by his own hands. It was the work of a mortal.
It was a fake blurred within the lines of truth.
Noble Phantasm: Mjolnir (Fake)
An object granted power, granted authority.
It was the medium of mysteries in which magecraft thrived within the Age of Gods. Mortal made weapons able to grow in strength through belief to become True Longinus that had the ability to threaten even the Divine.
The spear too that was stabbed into the body of Jesus was made and wielded by a mortal, but in time it became the ultimate weapon against the Gods.
The concept was not difficult to understand. It was just that he never thought that something his amnesiac self had made would turn out to be this kind of weapon.
In his present circumstance, it was both a blessing and a curse. For it was this very hammer that had drawn most of the Saxons to Gwent and endanger those that he cared about.
No longer.
It would be fine so long as he had the strength to protect everyone from their enemies. Therefore, he drew upon the Mjolnir's growing power.
Winds suddenly flew down from the north, bringing forth the tepid gales.
Arcs of lightning crackled over the hammer's surface, unable to be ignored in their sheer intensity as they writhed up his arms and over his body. It was as if he himself had become one with the lightning, a fierce brightness illuminating his eyes in a deep azure.
Black clouds began to form, the rain falling gently over in a thin mist that seemed to denote the coming of the Ravens that took to the air.
The Saxons eyes widened visibly.
Ravens were known as the Watchers. They who spectated only the greatest of battles and honours. The eyes and ears of the One-Eyed War God, The All Father.
"Good! Divine's bless me!" Hengist's expression grew bloodshot. May death come and take him to the Great hall of Valhalla, or may the All Father deem him worthy to live another day.
A spirit of battle. The pride of the Saxons. Death was not ruin; it was honour.
The Mjolnir was the thunder itself.
An anvil of Dawn.
Shirou crashed into the open field arena, and thoroughly cratered the ground such that it was no longer recognizable. The peels of lightning that singed the very earth beneath him left winding scorch marks for as far as the eye could see.
There were no longer any doubts for any Saxon present.
The Mjolnir.
The True fabled Mjolnir of their God of Thunder was before them.
The strength to shatter mountains.
Through battle the true chosen would stand firm.
Hengist readied his blade and axe, his entire body at the peak of its condition.
The other Saxons were no different. Even if Hengist lost, they had no intention of letting Shirou go. From the looks of their expressions, they'd attack to kill him, or die trying.
That was fine by him, but still it was not enough.
No matter how riled up he'd gotten he Saxons, the ones still guarding over Sir Ector and the others had yet to move.
He needed more.
He raised the hammer up with one arm and suddenly traced out a spear within the other. This time, true Nordic symbols lined the spear's shaft up and down with glowing blue sigils.
Runes of Man and Wisdom.
A stunned silence ensued.
"Come," he called out readily.
Arturia could see the Saxon army from where her forces were camped just outside of Gwent's walls. Which meant to say that she could see Efret gliding up in the air while all manor of chaos was occurring just over the flat plains in the distance.
Thick storm clouds had formed in the sky writhing with white tendrils of arcing light.
Shirou had already started to act, but what was it that she was meant to do?
Knowing Shirou as well as she did, he never truly did anything without considering her actions first.
In which case, if she were to think from Shirou's perspective, then who did he believe that she valued and cherished the most given the circumstances of the letter?
Sir Ector.
The answer Shirou must have had come to appeared in her mind, but it practically made her want to vent by screaming, or at least hitting something. It was true that Sir Ector meant a lot to her, but couldn't he understand that she valued him the same if not greater?
Her bangs shadowed her face.
It was the same as when they were children.
This was a problem of self-worth that she'd have to force into him, and she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Maybe if she showed him what it felt like to watch someone you love die right in front of you, he'd finally understand. It wasn't a pain that she wanted to go through again, and it certainly wasn't helping her anxiety if Shirou didn't value himself more.
In any case, taking into account that Sir Ector was the priority, and the sheer disturbance Shirou was causing, wasn't he just causing a distraction?
I'm coming, so hang on a bit longer.
She tore the fabric of her dress just near the hem of her thighs all the way up to her waist. The dress was gorgeous, but in terms of practicality, it hindered her mobility so parts of it had to go. Moreover, she didn't have the time to change into her regular armour as she'd given it to Merlin to modify its appearance. Part of the reason to modify the armour was because it was admittedly getting a tad too tight even with her chest bindings. Merlin promised that he'd do something to help the armour accommodate, but since she'd left Merlin behind at Cywryd's reception hall, she couldn't very well ask him on his progress.
There were ups and downs to acting rashly, but so long as she had Avalon at her side, she just needed to make sure to protect her head.
She was running, the hem of her torn dress whipping behind her in her haste, and drawing glances as her thighs were partially exposed during her strides. She herself wasn't aware of how captivating she appeared because she'd never put herself in the place of a woman before.
By the time she arrived at where her army was stationed, practically everyone was gawking at her, even more so for those who had not been aware of her true gender.
Tristan blanked as a sudden realization assailed him. He could still recall it, that time that Lancelot insisted that he prevent anyone from seeing Lord Ashton while he was recuperating for the King's sake.
For the King's sake, he had never understood that point until now.
Arturia's face was flushed while her gaze remained on where the Saxon army was stationed over the plains. Her worries were practically evident on her face and she didn't seem to have the ability to hide them.
It solidified Tristian's trail of thought.
He took in a breath. The King who he had once believed to be unable to understand the hearts of the people was in truth a woman who was no different from the people herself.
That expression on her face.
That uneasiness, and uncertainty on the behalf of another.
Wasn't that love? The same kind that he pursed with Lady Iseult?
Recalling how despondent Arturia looked in the times that she had believed Shirou to be dead, the contrast to her present self was practically blinding.
She was the same as him. Someone's whose love for another could allow them to push on through the toughest of battles and injuries.
He could hear the newer Knights in the camp begin to voice their doubts about Arturia lying to them about her, but at this moment, Tristan's loyalty to the King was at its strongest.
No, not even that.
When one looked passed the shadows of what it meant to be human, surely this showing of emotion was it.
Something that could only be felt by the heart.
It was not just sentience, nor intelligence, but surely it was 'this' that made one human, a race different from animals. The King had found what it meant to be 'human' in the eyes of others.
So why? Why do you bow?
It just felt wrong, and Tristan felt as if he was compelled to speak out, and yet he could not raise his voice. His mind itself seemed to be working faster than his body.
"My name is not Arthur, but Arturia. I have lied to all of you," Arturia's head was lowered as she made her way to the center of her Knights. "I was never a man to begin with nor will I ever be, and I am sorry for deceiving you all."
She maintained her position.
"I will not hold it against any of you if you have lost your faith in me and choose to leave, but to those who choose to stay," she bowed at the waist. "Forgive me, but I have nothing to give but my gratitude!"
Silence. No, no that wasn't right.
The only one who considered it to be silent was Arturia who could not see the expression of the Knights before her.
"I know it isn't much, and there's no true worth in it, but, please," she shut her eyes tightly, afraid to raise her head and face the people she deceived. "I-I want to help him. I-I don't want to lose him again."
The 'him' that she was talking about could not have had been anymore clear to the Knights in the crowd. It was the Lord Ashton who had brought light once more into their King's life.
"I'm being selfish, not putting the interests of the people first, and perhaps endangering even more lives, but, but I was told that it was okay to be happy," her voice grew weak, hesitant, almost reluctant to express her true feelings out of fear of rejection, but that too was human. To rely on others.
Arturia bit down on her lips.
Wasn't that what Shirou had been trying to impart to her in their youth all along?
I'm with you.
I'm by your side.
Depend on me.
The message he had taught her not just through words alone, but through actions time and time again.
"I didn't have to bear everything alone." She didn't know what she was saying anymore, nor was she even consciously thinking about what to say. Sometimes just being honest was enough. "Please fight with me!"
She no longer held any bearings as a leader, a King, or even a Queen. For an instant, what everyone saw was just the form of a normal girl putting aside her very image and speaking her heart out.
It was powerful.
More than just some speech or command to mobilize by some higher authority.
The King too, was Human.
A thunking sound resounded within Arturia's ears, but it was only when she tentatively raised her head to stare at those around her, did she realize where the sound had originated from.
The flag of the Red Dragon stationed within the army camp billowed strongly in the wind, hundreds of Knights kneeling in her direction in official salute. The clinking of their armours seemed to have had sounded off in tandem with how resolutely they had knelt.
Closest to her, were her personal Knights whose eyes seemed to regard her in a new light.
"Tristan, Knight of the Round," Tristan bowed formally, crossing an arm in front of his chest. "At your service, Milady."
"Bedivere, at your service."
"Percival, at the ready."
"Gaheris, awaiting."
"Hoel…."
"Lionel…"
Arturia stood momentarily stunned. Her eyes were moist and her lips were quivering ever so slightly to the point that it became apparent that her voice would break if she spoke. Her shoulders were trembling, and if one listened hard enough, they'd be able to hear the faint sound of sniveling.
This was the face the King should have had from the beginning. An expression of life worth fighting for.
"I knew he was too pretty to be a King," the Son of Wolfred spoke mirthfully from his position kneeling just a short distance away from Arturia. He was speaking to a certain Knight beside him who was still wearing a helmet. "Shouldn't you do the same, commander?"
"…" I told you I'm not a woman. Palamid's brow twitched. If he were to follow the chain of events and reveal his appearance now, wasn't that the same as renouncing his true gender? His father had treated him as a woman growing up, but he'd always called himself a boy due to his upbringing as a Knight. He was a man, a man, he all but convinced himself. Now if only he could corner that damn philandering Wizard to solve the missing problem between his legs.
Palamid's expression was dark. "…I am a man," he argued.
The Son of Wolfred shrugged. "I just wonder what Emily's thinking right now."
Emily was staring silently at Arturia, many emotions crossing through her eyes, but she kept her mouth closed. This wasn't the time for her questions anyway.
Caught up in her stupor, Arturia had to take many deep breaths to compose herself from the feelings of contentment within her, but to no avail.
Shirou had been right.
Mordred had been right.
There had never been anything wrong with being herself from the beginning.
She wiped the moisture formed over her eyes using the sleeve of her white gloves and gradually steeled her expression to once more assume the role of a leader.
"Mobilize," she gave forth the command.
The Knights quickly formed up into ranks and assumed military discipline while Arturia spearheaded everything from the front.
She'd first lead her Knights to save Sir Ector.
Then she'd give Shirou a piece of her mind.
Those were her two priorities.
And yet, she glanced at the faces of the Knights around her and pursed her lips.
Hengist was the enemy, which meant that the Saxon army before her would inevitably be composed of elites.
In which case, elites needed to be dealt with by elites otherwise she'd risk pointless deaths.
The Knights of the Round were the strongest of her elites, and somehow the most peerless of them was missing.
Worry flashed across her face out of concern for a long-time friend.
With how pressing the situation was, just where was Lancelot?
"Woman be gone! I can't stay here!"
The muffled lamentation of a certain Knight of the Lake in the battle of Gwent would forever be unheard of throughout a different kind of history.
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