Fate-in time

61

It was the cawing of the Ravens, as if a flock of them had suddenly appeared just to look down upon the world. To witness and behold. To record and write down history.

Why did it suddenly rain?
Why did the lightning and thunder suddenly roar with the strength of an insurmountable storm?
That answer was found within the center of the series of unnatural events.
Uruz, the strength of will.
Hagalaz, of the hail, destruction and chaos.
Tiwaz of Victory.
Nordic Runes spread ominously through the eyes of the Saxons in a dim azure over the steel surface of a single hammer further imbuing it with the kind of strength that should not have had been wielded by mortals.
It was the power of heavenly thunders. Of roaring winds and gales that stripped away the very heat from one's skin, leaving nothing but cold chilled husks reminiscent of the work of the ancient horde. The Frost Giants.
It was a hammer known to have had slain countless legendary enemies in myth. Its mallet was bigger than the handle itself, tendrils of lightning crawling up its metal surface.
A tool of war.
The Saxons tried to approach in any possible way, but even Hengist was having difficulty approaching the storm's epicenter. However, how could any Saxon give up, no, they refused.
Their eyes were bloodshot, their arms raised before them to shield their eyes from the heavy turbulence, but in a single instance, that hammer was swung, and in its wake, the ground ruptured.
Hengist could only watch as hundreds of his men were thrown back so high into the air that it was a given what outcome awaited them at their landing. He was inwardly aggrieved. Of the Saxons present, a majority of them were his best and most elite forces. Losing them was the same as losing years of investment to raise them.
"This damn wind," Hengist cursed as he proceeded onwards. Veins popped over his skin, and his face was beginning to flush red from the exertion, yet so what?
Before there were Noble Phantasms, before there were such concepts as Demi-Gods, there was only Humans.
Humans that slew monster.
Humans that created legends.
Servants of Man and Earth, and within this unique category existed another concept.
Humans with the attribute of Star. They who changed the flow of mankind's history, the founders and inventors of countries and technological civilizations.
He was Hengist, King of the Jutes, founder of the first Saxon settlement in Britain whose influence would later spread throughout the country in another timeline.
He was not a human whose worth was the same as a common man.
Hengist and his brother Horsa were the pioneers of a new age for their people.
Both were far from ordinary.
Hengist raised his axe, his muscles bulging as he stared into the gaze of his opponent. Almost subconsciously, the faintest traces of magic could be felt originating from him.
He swung his weapon down, and the winds and gales seemed to cleave themselves in half.
It was a stunning sight that Shirou could not believe had happened.
Shirou stared grimly as Hengist and his men poured into the opening Hengist had created directly towards him.
As hard as it was for him to believe what had just happened, he soon came to a viable answer.
His presence in the past was changing everything.
What he'd done before were minor actions that the world could still adjust to maintain a set future timeline. His legends and feats for example could still just be categorized into mere myths like the Legend of King Arthur and eventually forgotten, but this was different.
Hengist was not a human that was meant to die.
In this battle, he was not just up against Hengist and the Saxons, but the corrective force of the world. The Will of Humanity.
Should Hengist die, then the future was bound to head into an uncharted direction. He was a pillar of Saxon support and leadership. Without him, a new history would form. A path of uncertainty where it was not guaranteed that mankind would survive.
The future that Shirou had lived in was a place where Humans populated the entire world, therefore, why should the Will of Humanity forego that guaranteed outcome for one with uncertainty.
The Will of Humanity did not care for Shirou, Arturia, or anyone's happiness. It was simply a collection of mankind's collective-will to survive. One of the driving forces resulting in the decline of the Age of the Gods.
In some ways, the Will of Humanity was already aiding Hengist and the others.
A normal man should not have had been able to withstand the magical energy that the Mjolnir (Fake) was outputting let alone several dozens of them. Which meant to say, that his task of distracting the Saxons was not going to be simple.
He braced himself.
'Wisdom comes not to those with age, but by those that have seen.'
An old yet weary voice echoed within Shirou's mind.
The current era of the world was set in a time just before the Age of the Gods completely ended. The Gods themselves still existed, but only in lesser Divine Forms known as Divine Spirits that existed in a higher dimension only able to observe the Earth without interfering.
And yet this instance in time was different.
Gods could only walk upon the Earth by possessing the bodies of compatible humans, but in the final moments of the Age of the Gods, they were simply too weak. However, Shirou's ability to create objects that flowed with the power of a God's Divinity created an exception.
'Even if it's fake, in the eyes of others, it could be as real as real could ever be.'
A voice continued to echo within his mind
'Our time is limited, our help no more than a little push against an ebbing tide, but just this once, honour this old man's name once more in battle as you have done for my child.'
A new rune formed upon the shaft of the spear that Shirou had traced at the beginning.
'Eihwaz,' pronounced with the meaning of an eye that sees all.
The Ravens soaring through the air suddenly began to caw.
Shirou himself could feel a substantial difference in the spear that he had traced. What was originally nothing more than a prototype seemed to have had become a weapon of unimaginable destruction.
At the face of the oppression of the Will of Humanity, the last remnants of a bygone age suddenly deemed it within their power to offer a final fleeting resistance.
And it showed.
Hengist and the others suddenly felt chills travel down their backs.
They'd already had their suspicions about what kind of spear Shirou had traced, and right now, they felt utterly exposed as the spear's tip was directed at them.
It felt as if it didn't matter what kind of defence that they put up or what strategy that they employed, that spear would surely reach.
It was an inherent fear born from recognition.
The flashing Nordic Runes all but proved it.
"T-The Swaying One," Hengist heard the stuttering of his fellow countryman beside him. "T-The Nordic Spear that never misses atop the mythic stallion Sleipnir."
It was only a moment's distraction, but that alone was enough.
One second Shirou was standing before Hengist's eyes, and in the next he was gone.
Hengist's pupils dilated, red arteries bulging atop his sclera.
"Move! Do not show any openings!" His warning was delivered in a loud bellow that echoed for all his allies to hear, but even then, it was too late.
Like a snake crawling amidst the grass and the swaying of the reeds, the silver blade struck from angles unheard of.
The spear pierced with unerring accuracy. A weapon that had taken countless lives and was the hallmark of the forefather of all Nordic Gods.
"Gungnir, the Spear of Odin."
It really wasn't just the Mjolnir in Shirou's possession.
Blood showered past Hengist's face as a metal tip directly pierced through the chest of his nearest comrade.
Fuck.
Hengist swung down his axe, chasing after nothing but shadows.
Fast. So fast that it was inconceivable.
No matter what move Hengist made, no matter what decision or order he shouted, it was if he was being utterly read through.
It was an all-seeing eye.
It was said that for the price of vision, Odin cast aside a single eye to obtain wisdom.
It was not strength that purely made up a warrior, but the knowledge to see through even the deepest of magics and deceit.
A Mystic Eye.
Amidst the raging of the battle, a faint silhouette could be seen striking terror into all; a reaper beyond reach whose means were akin to an Old Norse saying.
'When the spear is thrust, it will surely hit.'
Chinks in the armour, wide and narrow gaps, it was if Shirou could see all of them within his field of view. More than that, it was like he could see everything. The eyes of the Ravens soaring above or perched atop the distant trees flashed with traces of Divine Energy.
Legends told of the Watchers of Odin, that even if he sat upon his throne in Asgard, that he could see everything occurring within the world through the eyes of his familiars.
This property was being displayed in its entirety through the Gungnir in Shirou's hands.
Eyes.
Arms.
Legs.
Torso.
Targets appeared one by one, striking down enemy after enemy despite the bolstering they received from the Will of Humanity.
It was a nightmare.
One Elite Saxon closely following behind Hengist's back was a veteran of many battles, but even he was beginning to grow shaken. His legs felt stiff, and even the grip he had on his sword was clammy. It was like he was helpless, that no matter what sort of defence he put up, it wouldn't change the end result.
However, a part of him like many of the other Saxons was still determined. There was no fear in death, only the terror of losing their sacred weapons of belief to the enemy, and that was why, he held strong.
If the spear would surly hit, then all he had to do was make it predictable. This was the wisdom he'd gained from experience.
The Saxon Elite left everything else open for attack other than his heart and head.
His chest was too heavily armoured along with his arms and legs, which meant that the only opening was the narrow space of his armpits where he was only lightly armoured for mobility.
To reobtain the weapons that should have had belonged to the Saxons, no sacrifice was too much. Lord Hengist would surely reward him anyway.
Readying his plan, it didn't take long before it proved its effect.
A spear directly stabbed into the groove of his armpit and pierced through his shoulder.
"AGH!" The Saxons Elite muffled a groan, but he was smiling despite the pain. "Got you."
The Saxon Elite held fast to the spear's shaft with his remaining hand, refusing to let go. "Attack!" He called out to the comrades around him. However, his shout died down an instant later.
He'd neglected an essential fact.
Shirou did not simply wield a spear alone.
"H-Hammer." The words came out in a stutter, but even then, there was no way that the Saxon could react in time.
'Mighty Mjolnir, release the power of the storms.'
Arcs of electricity created a shower of sparks as the Mjolnir came down with the furor of an unrestrained explosion. The Anvil of Dawn, it crushed the man into paste buried within the ground.
Other experienced Saxons who'd come to the same decision as the Elite Saxon suddenly paled as they realized that the method wouldn't work.
Hengist grimaced.
Shirou though was beginning to breath heavily.
Man was not meant to wield the strength of the Divine, and even with his magic core, he could not sustain such activity for long.
No matter how many Saxons he took down, more seemed to just take their place.
This power wouldn't last, but for the time being, it would be enough.
He drew forth magical power from the Ashton Crest for the first time in years, and as if in excitement, the energy burst into flames around him that coated both Mjolnir and Gungnir up and down. Half of his blood seemed to come alive. Hard as it was for him to believe before, he now understood that he was an individual with the same kind of heritage as Merlin, the Wizard of Flowers. In his blood was the blood of a member of the Reverse Side, the Fire Elemental, Lord Ashton.
The flames made the two weapons stand out even more as Holy Artifacts in the eyes of the Saxons.
For fire was of nature itself, much like the storms and thunder that the true Mjolnir commanded.
That's right. I have both the weapons that you all desire, so come at me. Shirou wiped the sweat of his brow and immediately kicked off the ground to draw the bulk of the enemy even farther away from where Sir Ector was being held.
He'd just have to hold out for a bit longer or get far enough away that he could release the true strength of his Noble Phantasms without getting innocents caught up in the blast.
Either way, he could see it from where he was surrounded by enemies, a cloud of dust being kicked up by horses bearing a familiar banner.
Arturia, she was coming.
The scene before Mordred's eyes stunned her.
"H-He's so strong."
The word strong itself was an understatement.
Mordred was still tightly clinging onto Efret's feathers from atop the air while surveying the battlefield below. The Saxons looked inconceivably tiny from her perspective and most of them were ignoring her despite the sight of Efret's appearance.
It just went to show how focused the Saxons were on Shirou alone.
Mordred gradually loosened her grip enough to crawl up to the edge of Efret's back to get a better view of the battle below.
Quite frankly, she was stunned.
The Shirou that she thought that she knew was only a dumb fool who insisted on being her shield and using his own body to block blows for her. Spears bent and swords shattered, he always did boast about his durability but this was simply too exaggerated.
"H-He's not even caring anymore."
Shirou blocked swords, spears, and axes with his bare skin as if it wasn't worth the effort to dodge the Saxons attacks compared to throwing out his own.
Efret weaved skillfully through the air. From time to time, Mordred would stare in disbelief as dozens of Saxons were propelled to her altitude. She'd even stared one right in the eyes before the man descended, and for a moment, she shared a common feeling of empathy. Even she would not dare to fall from such a height.
The heat of the flames below her were fanned by the turbulent winds that Shirou's hammer produced.
The sight was enough to take her breath away.
Subconsciously, she tried to inch closer, but she soon remembered just how high she was and immediately clung back onto to Efret's feathers.
Shirou had brought her in order to do something, but how was she supposed to do anything if she couldn't pry herself off of Efret's feathers even if she wanted to?
She was fine when Shirou was near her because she trusted that he would prevent her from falling and would take care of her. Now that it was just her and Efret though, a more paranoid part of her was thinking that the damn bird would toss her off and mess with her in the air just for sport. She still hadn't forgotten what Efret had done to her, attacking her whenever she let her guard down. She could still feel the phantom pains on her body.
Standing up on the back of such an untrustworthy bird?
There was no way in hell.
Still, she couldn't just do nothing.
While lying flat on Efret's back, she caught sight of something interesting.
Flames constantly surrounded her due to Efret emitting them, but she felt no pain nor heat at their touch. Instead, it was kind of soothing.
Experimentally, she tried touching it with a free hand and discovered that the flames themselves were mouldable in her grasp.
She'd never been afraid of fire since she was young, but she never thought that she had this kind of ability before. Possessing no aesthetic sense at all, she just gathered a large clump and started compressing it with her fingers into a small ball until the density was high enough to shift the colour of the flame blue.
She failed to notice it at the time, but faint markings shone over her hand that was still gripping tightly on Efret's feathers.
Suddenly, Efert did a sudden nose dive to avoid another shower of ejected Saxons and caused Mordred to yelp. She completely forgot about the ball of fire that she had made and directly used both hands to stay on Efret's back.
Meanwhile, the released ball of fire slowly fell to the earth where a pillar of flame soon exploded outwards into a dome.
Mordred blinked in disbelief.
D-Did I do that?
She looked entirely bewildered, but the Saxons took the sudden explosion of flames in another way entirely.
"Watch out, the bird is attacking!"
The Saxons and everyone else completely believed that Efret was the one who had attacked, but only Efret was nodding in a different kind of approval.
Craning its neck to stare back at Mordred, Efret began emitting more flames for Mordred to experiment with.
At the very least, it made Mordred feel as if she wasn't going to be useless in this battle.
She pictured Shirou and Sir Ector praising her in the end, and quite suddenly, she grew increasingly motivated.
It would be the first time that Shirou would see Efret so drained by the end of a battle.
As Shirou, Mordred, and Efret kept the majority of the Saxons preoccupied, another group was steadily making their way forward on horseback without rest. It was an entire army, the banners flying in the air making it impossible not to determine just whose forces were about to join the fray.
It was Arturia and her forces. From the very beginning after Arturia had asked for aid, she had ridden of immediately to maintain her position at the front. None could keep up with their pace
To Tristan and the many other Knights urging their horses to keep up, it was perhaps the fastest that they'd ever seen her travel.
She was practically wearing no armour at all. A Woman riding into battle in a stunning dress of all things whose hem was ripped up to her waist on one side simply because she was to hurried to care.
Her clothes were flapping violently behind her even as she urged Llamrei to gallop faster. Her anxiety and apprehension were inconceivably evident, to the point that Tristan was smiling bitterly at his own lack of understanding for his King.
A King without emotion?
Someone who could never understand the feelings of the people?
What kind of bullshit was that?
Tristan inwardly berated himself. He understood that he'd been too quick in his inner judgements in the past, but no longer. The King was in fact a Queen, and that changed everything.
All the mystery involving the King and Lancelot's recent behaviour was suddenly made clear. Was the sudden change in attitude towards Mordred not solely because of her merits but more because Arturia had been jealous and unable to voice it?
Tristan recalled the sour expression on Arturia's face when he had brought up the topic of Mordred visiting Shirou in castle Mordred. She had appeared as if she was just barely able to hold herself back, finding Mordred, then suddenly shouting 'he's mine!' right up to her face.
Of course, this was all still just a part of Tristan's imagination, but he really was starting to consider its true authenticity. Maybe if he composed a new song or piece regarding the topic he could get into the crux of the matter?
He contemplated the idea, but flattered when he pictured both Arturia and Mordred smiling eerily at him for his efforts.
He shuddered, and abruptly reconsidered.
Now wasn't the time to think about such things anyway.
He could see the clouds forming in the air where Shirou battled while accompanied by miniature explosions of flames that broke up the ranks of Saxons seeking to corner him. A bird of flame was also constantly standing watch over the skies.
What kind of battle was this?
It appeared to be just one man and a single bird taking on an army by themselves. The sight was something that rendered most of the Knights that Arturia had brought with her breathless.
Only a select few such as Emily, Palamid, the Son of Wolfred, and Arturia were unaffected. They had known Shirou in the past and the kind of strength that he could exhibit, but they also knew that he was a fool.
Of the group of friends that had all originated from Bristol, it was the one was seemingly the strongest who had been pronounced 'dead' first. The reason for such an outcome could be summarized in a single phrase, 'he didn't care about himself as much as he cared about others.'
It was a commendable trait, but loathsome at the same time.
"Damn it Shirou," Arturia urged Llamrei to gallop faster.
She could already see where Sir Ector and his Knights were being detained by a small regiment of armed Saxons in the distance. Arturia and the others heavily outnumbered the Saxons standing guard since the majority of the Saxon forces including Hengist had been drawn farther away.
If only this weren't a field. Arturia clenched her teeth while holding tightly onto Llamrei's reigns.
Due to the geography of the battle ground, there was no way that Arturia could lead a surprise attack on Sir Ector's captors. Just as Arturia noticed them, they had noticed her and the sheer difference in numbers.
They began to panic, but soon gained the advantage by holding Sir Ector and the other Knights hostage. Sir Ector and the others were bloody and wounded, and majority of them left in an unconscious state.
Arturia's speed began to slow to a halt at the sight along with Tristan and the rest of the Knights.
"Cowards," Palamid spat on the ground.
No matter how fast they were, none were confident that they were quicker than the enemy's blades. They could kill Sir Ector and the others in an instant and not even Emily who was readying her magecraft had any means to instantly shorten a gap.
From the moment that Sir Ector saw Arturia, his eyes inevitably widened. He tried to speak and shout, but he was immediately silenced by a man who punched him in the face.
Arturia's expression darkened, her fury burning from deep within her.
Her brows narrowed, as shadows lined her face.
Sir Ector was family.
He was her guardian, her surrogate father whom she'd never even had the chance to call 'papa' after many years. They hurt him right in front of her.
Attack. She wanted to attack them above all else, but what was she supposed to do?
In this moment of crisis, when she found herself at a loss once more, he had always been there to help. This time was no different.
A shrill cry pierced the tension of the air. Arturia and the others craned their necks up only to see two weapons sailing violently across the sky before shooting downwards.
The impact of the two weapons sent a cloud of dust miles high into the air, leaving behind a deep crater in which the gravel, dirt, and rock suffused with tendrils of lightning charred everything around.
In the silence, Arturia was the only one to understand what had happened in an instant, her neck turning sharply in the direction that the weapons were thrown from.
There he was. She could see him still fighting in the distance.
That figure that she'd been chasing after for years, right now she felt like she could finally reach out to it while freed from the burdens of her own self doubts.
Her goal.
Her dream.
Her future.
If one did not strive for that ideal end, then surely one would never succeed.
Yet, yet again!
He was doing it again.
She was looking at him, and he back at her with the same expression of love that she'd once seen in their youth. Somehow, someway he must have had remembered her on a deeper level. The affection within those eyes were the very same as they had been when he had once held her in his arms, and this was what affected her the most.
For her, he had done everything.
For her, he'd once more placed himself in danger.
Those objects in the crater still crackling with the potent thrum of magical energy could not have had been anything else.
For her, he'd tossed aside his weapons in the midst of battle.
He looked exhausted, but even then, he had the gall to mouth to her that 'he was fine?'
Despite the strength that the combination of the Mjolnir and Gungnir provided Shirou, he didn't hesitate to toss it aside for Arturia's sake.
The Saxons that had once been so tightly guarding Sir Ector at Arturia's approach grew inconceivably disorganized. With the strength that Shirou had displayed, many Saxons aside from Hengist were beginning to grow helpless at the prospect of not being able to recover what they viewed to be their people's sacred weapons.
The crater created by the weapons descent was intentionally located closer to Arturia and the others rather than the Saxons holding Sir Ector hostage.
Neither Arturia nor the Saxons were fools.
What Shirou had done was offered a choice.
Sir Ector, or the weapons that the Saxons desired.
Should the Saxons continue to keep Sir Ector captive, then Arturia and her forces would reach the crater first. Worse, no Saxon other than Henigst was confident in defeating Arturia in single combat with the feats that she'd displayed as 'King Arthur.'
In the eyes of the Saxons, what was the life of a single company of enemies compared to the importance of their beliefs?
The Saxons restraining Sir Ector and his Knights made their decision just as Arturia made hers.
The Saxons dashed for the crater. The Saxons didn't dare kill Sir Ector and the others before making their way towards the crater. Without keeping Sir Ector and the others alive, there was no stopping Arturia from attacking and barring the way towards the Mjolnir and Gungnir.
Simultaneously, Arturia and her knights resolutely moved passed them to secure Sir Ector and the others who were left behind.
All the while, Arturia's gaze never broke away from Shirou's.
She balled her hands into fists and pursed her lips in frustration.
Again, and again, it always seemed to be the same.
She was worried. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was worried, but in the instance that the enemies blocked her line of sight, she saw Shirou arm himself with familiar pair of black and white swords.
She soon lost sight of him amidst the sounds of battle.
For now, he would be safe simply because he was strong.
Still, if Shirou wasn't as strong as he actually was, then – she bit down hard on her lips.
She wouldn't be able to bear losing him again.
She had to help him. There was nothing else that she wanted to do more right now but she couldn't move recklessly.
It wasn't just her that was participating in the fight, but her Knights who still chose to follow her despite her deceit at concealing her true gender. To them, she was eternally greatful, and that was why, she didn't want to see them die.
Her rationality was perhaps her strongest restraint.
After securing Sir Ector and the others, Arturia did not immediately give any orders but just stood in place with a pale face.
The Knights were staring at her in confusion while wondering why they had yet to attack, and this included Tristan, Palamid, and the rest.
It was only one man present that was able to understand just what was going on inside Arturia's head. She'd already come so far, but she naturally found herself restrained by another shackle of her own making.
"You stupid child," Sir Ectors voice was both weak and strained, but it was piercing. "Such a large change in yourself and you still have the nerve for rationality? You dishonour those who would lay their lives down for you."
"Sir Ector I-" Arturia tried to speak up but was abruptly cut off.
"Enough." Sir Ector pushed away from Emily who had moved to support him and directly walked up to Arturia where he fell onto a knee. "I raised you. I know you. All the good and the bad. So, you do not have to explain."
She didn't want the people that finally acknowledged her to die. However, it was even more selfish to take that choice away from them.
Sir Ector looked Arturia up and down, the emotion welling up from within him threatening to break his image as a valiant Knight. First and foremost, he was still a father.
For the first time in her life, Arturia had finally stepped out of her shell and directly passed the barriers that were barring her from her own happiness.
"Look at yourself." Sir Ector's eyes directly conveyed the gratification he was feeling. "How you've grown. You almost remind me of your mother back when I served as a Knight under Uther and had the honour of attending to her. Despite not knowing what had brought this change, you're just as beautiful as I believed that you would be. However, why is it that after such a change you still can't find your way?"
Arturia stiffened at Sir Ector's words, her hands trembling.
"Even as a child, it was blatantly obvious that you loved him, and it was my fault in how I raised you that it was difficult for you to understand what you were truly feeling." Sir Ector directly blurted out a piece of information that Arturia hardly wished to be shared. Her mind directly blanked. "You followed him everywhere, always coming back home saying 'me and Shirou did this and this and this today,' or Shirou was 'so cool,' or that Shirou taught you something new."
Arturia coughed awkwardly into her hands, tinges of red forming on her cheeks. She didn't turn around, but she had the distinct feeling that Tristan and her other knights were silently staring at her.
Sadly, Sir Ector did not get the message and simply continued.
"Hell, there was even a time in Bristol when you suddenly started bragging so much about your 'First Knight,' that Shirou had to go around with people staring at him oddly for days before I had Kay put a stop to everything."
Stop. Make it stop.
If before it was just a feeling that her Knights were staring at her, now it was a certainty. She could practically feel her ears going red while her face flushed with heat. More so when she started hearing all the murmuring.
Yes, she loved him. She loved him dearly.
It was a fact that was easier to admit now that she'd had the experience of losing him.
Yet, what was the point in Sir Ector saying this now? The situation was pressing.
Sir Ector stared Arturia in the eyes.
From a father to a daughter.
"At your age, do you still need the lecturing of an old man to understand?"
Sir Ector pointed out into the distance where Efret soared through the air and the clanging of steel resounded for all to hear. "He's there Arturia. Fighting. You once told me as a child that you wished to grow stronger and always fight by his side, but where are you right now?"
Arturia sucked in a breath, feeling utterly exposed under Sir Ector's lecturing.
"You think too much, prioritizing others even before yourself. In the end, what makes you different from him? The reason Shirou has my respect and trust as a father is because while you are out sacrificing yourself to save this country, he would always be the one to save and support you." Sir Ector grinned ruefully. "What else could a father ever look for in a son-in-law other than the ability to take care of a father's most cherished treasure."
Arturia lips quivered ever so slightly.
"Where is it that you truly want to be right now?" Sir Ector directly questioned, watching as Arturia's gaze shifted to the battlefield. "If you're heart and mind already know, then there's nothing that should hold you back. Those that follow you do not follow you simply out of duty or obligation, but because of who you are as a person. To restrain yourself on their behalf, there could be no greater insult."
Sir Ector forced himself back onto his feet, a hand pointing forward. "Go child! Do not anger this old man any further! Your brother is already in for a heap of trouble when I find him so don't you dare force my hand either!"
Arturia opened and closed her mouth, but in the end, all she got out was a simple "Thank you," before moving in the direction of the battlefield.
She looked once at Tristan and the others, and saw no hesitation in their gazes as they followed.
Live or die, that was the strength of their belief in her.
If she didn't want any to perish, then didn't that mean that she'd only have to get stronger?
The lance in her hands was not a weapon that carried any true significance. It was merely an ornament placed out in display, but upon injecting her ample magical energy into the weapon, a golden brilliance seemed to shine around it.
In a single motion, she charged forward far ahead of Tristan and the others while atop Llamrei in her anxiety.
"Shirou!" Her voice carried in the wind.
She would fight by his side, and nothing would stop her this time.
Lance, show me of the end.
Magic burst from within her core and funneled down towards the tip of her lance.
Mana burst.
A beam of golden light burst out form the lance's tip and obliterated all impeding her path. She only had a single destination, a single goal, and she soon found it.
She only needed to pave the way forward.
Once more she could see Shirou again.
A straight line had formed in which she directly urged Llamrei to jump through, she herself pushing off of Llamrei's back to tumble by Shirou's side.
Hengist and the other Saxons looked on in dumbfoundment at Arturia's sudden entrance, but none were more taken aback than Shirou himself who was suddenly met by a pair of glaring eyes.
It had always been the same time and time again.
This time, Arturia had finally had enough, and she would make her thoughts clear.
Knowing Shirou and his stubbornness, she'd have to be direct.
"YOU SELF-SACRIFICING BASTARD!"
She directly slapped him in the face so hard that he tumbled onto the ground with a red hand-print on his cheek. "WE WILL HAVE WORDS AFTER THIS!"
Saying that, she glared at the Saxons around her, all the while, Shirou rubbed absently at his cheek. He was both mentally exhausted and tired.
What the hell did he do wrong now?
Thanks for reading!
P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious
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