Fate-in time

62

A woman? That monster of a man was taken down by an unarmored woman?

The entire notion was preposterous to Hengist's eyes and even more so for the men that followed him. There right in front of them was a Noble Woman dressed in a regal dress of lavish blue and strips of gold and white, glaring at them with a stare that was piercing. The colour of her eyes was a deep shade of teal, the curves of her body perfectly outlined by the silk that she wore, but in terms of armour, she was practically naked.
She looked as if she belonged to a high-class society rather than the violent setting of war. Dead bodies littered the ground while pools of blood filled the air with the acrid scent of iron and didn't so much as even flinch.
It was the first time that Hengist or any Saxon had seen such a woman. In fact, had she been donned in full plate and possessed the wings of the messengers of Valhalla, then perhaps she could have had been a Valkyrie.
No, wait.
Hengist's eyes narrowed.
The face was familiar despite the hair being done different.
No longer was it kept into a bun, but was now let to fall freely behind her. It was hair the colour of wheat, and an expression and complexion that Hengist was certain that he'd seen before.
K-King Arthur?
The realization dawned on Hengist within seconds of scrutinization. There was no way that he could not recognize the face of the adversary that had been impeding Saxon colonization of the country for over five years.
That fierce warrior with the sword that shone with the light of the stars, was a woman?
Hengist was not an individual who looked down upon women, nor were most of his men. After all, he respected them simply because women had their own battlefields. It was not a disgrace for a woman to care for the family and keep it stable. In truth it was commendable, and in turn, the man would prevent the woman from ever stepping foot into the hell that was the battlefield. A flower that was beautiful was not meant to be sullied or trampled which was why men exhibited their strongest forms when protecting those that they cared about.
It was also true that men died for such reasons as ambition or ideals, making the role of the woman even more important to watch over the family.
To see a woman on the battlefield was a shock for many Saxons and Knights alike, but it was only for a fleeting moment. Man or woman, the only ones that stood on a battlefield were either ally or enemy.
In this case, neither ally or enemy took precedence.
"Distract them," Hengist immediately gave an order and directly pulled back from the assault. He already knew his current priorities, and he wouldn't allow himself to get mislead by his urge to battle a worthy foe.
He headed in the direction where Shirou had thrown the Gungnir and the Mjolnir, and swiftly disappeared from sight behind the ranks of the other Saxons.
Meanwhile, Shirou was just getting back up onto his feet after Arturia had smacked him to the ground. He was staring at her as if he'd been wronged and for a brief moment, even the balls of flame falling from the sky temporarily ceased.
'The Fuck is that woman doing!'
Arturia could have had sworn that she heard someone screaming at her, but she put it to the back of her mind.
In hindsight, she was feeling somewhat ashamed for doing such a thing in the midst of battle, but an unknown part of herself was feeling an even greater sense of relief and satisfaction. Besides, she was justified. Therefore, there was no need to linger on the issue. Shirou had always been saying as of late that he was durable, so she had hit him without restraining an ounce of her magical strength.
The glaring handprint on his cheek was proof enough that she'd breached his natural defences, so she hoped that he'd remember the consequence of doing something reckless behind her back and not do so again.
Knowing Shirou though, the meaning of her actions probably went through one ear and then out the other.
Expectedly, he didn't even look like he understood what he had done wrong.
"A-Arturia?" he called out to her.
As much as she shouldn't be feeling happy at him calling her name, she was inwardly delighted despite knowing that she should maintain a stern attitude. J-Just one more time. Call her name just one more time. She felt a flush working its way up her face, but she managed to contain the euphoria within her and managed to establish a neutral expression.
She shook her head to focus.
Rather than answering Shirou, she instead moved to stand beside him.
Just like in the past. The same positioning, the same tempo, there was no need to verify anything despite the change in her appearance. She was still herself, and Shirou must have had realized that because rather than questioning her any further, he readied himself for battle.
She quickly evened her breathing and lifted her lance up before her.
It was entirely plain in appearance, and nothing about it spoke of any uniqueness. It was a weapon designed to be used on horseback, but it didn't exactly matter if she used it incorrectly at this point. Her proficiency in combat itself was already at a terrifying level.
Having recovered from their earlier shock, the Saxons that Hengist had ordered to 'distract them' lunged forward without any regard for their safety.
Arturia immediately reacted by channeling her magical energy and directly piercing through the enemies around her.
Strands of golden light appeared to swirl around her lance, reflecting the movement of her rampant magical energy that she was using to bolster the lethality of her weapon. Within her was a magic core and the blood of Dragons. Her magical potential and reserves were astronomical.
Golden threads reminiscent of flowing sand amidst the dunes of a desert swirled around the lance's tip.
Swirling, and swirling still.
A spiral that stretched on for an eternity.
This lance was no different from any other. An ornament hung upon the walls of nobility, and yet it displayed a frightening prowess that no lance should have been able to perform.
She swung it forth, parrying, striking, while her legs carried her forward. Her mind soon lost track of what was around her and only concentrated on protecting her head. This was how she had always been fighting in war. Surrounded by enemies, drowning in the violence, as Avalon would heal keep her from dying.
For five years, this was her battlefield. Her burden to shoulder.
Three on the left, two on the right.
Her eyes darted back and forth before she swerved on the balls of her feet and shifted the positioning of her hands to twirl her lance.
Mana Burst.
A beam of light shot forth from the weapon in her hand, casting aside those that sought to strike her. However, it couldn't be helped that she herself had received wounds.
Enemies surrounded her from all over and she wasn't even wearing proper armour. The dress that she wore was ruined in various places, but somehow it only added to the beauty of it, the silks and clothes dancing in the light breeze.
She groaned lightly from a stab near her upper thigh, but endured knowing that Avalon would swiftly heal it.
There was only a single problem at this moment.
She parried the next attack, and moved to counter, yet faltered as her pupils dilated.
Her lance shattered.
Her magical energy was simply too much for an ordinary weapon to bear let alone a random weapon that she'd taken in haste. She clicked her tongue, but the nearest Saxons quickly noticed her situation and charged in full.
Her expression fell.
Behind.
Her last attack had defeated the enemies in front of her, but there were still many left at her back.
She moved to react, but even then, it was unneeded.
Unlike the past five years, she was no longer fighting alone amidst the battlefield to drown in her sorrows.
A fist struck out against the many that had lunged towards her back, followed by twin trails of black and white which rendered the nearby area silent.
She felt it even before anything else, more so because she wasn't wearing heavy armour.
His back pressed against hers, as if saying that there was no longer a need to worry.
She interpreted it in a different way.
I'm here.
You're not alone anymore.
I'm with you.
Your Knight is with you.
So please don't look so sad anymore.
I will protect you always.
It was like he was speaking directly into her ears and soothing the anxiety and tensions that still lingered within her with just his presence alone. For years, for how many years had it been since he had been by her side? The words that he had said before, the experiences that they had had in their youth, it was all rushing up into her head.
She felt like crying, her lips quivering as a lump formed in her throat. She was whimpering inaudibly.
"D-Does it hurt?"
She was inwardly mortified that Shirou noticed her inner turmoil and shifted her face away.
"N-No," she stuttered out, trying to speak more but failing.
When she'd first seen him again, her voice had caught in her throat due to the overwhelming urge to sob. The situation was the same as before.
She hadn't been able to say a simple 'I missed you' then, rather she couldn't because she knew that what she would say instead would just be choked and garbled nothings. Therefore, she had held herself back only to discover that the man that she loved did not seem to remember her.
It was simply blow after blow.
But now,
"T-Thanks," she directly swallowed down her insecurities. She said that they'd talk afterwards, but now seemed like as good of a time as any. She looked up tentatively at him, before quickly looking away.
She didn't dare face him, but she spoke anyway.
"You meant the world to me you know," her lips weakly curved upwards despite the battle the two were in.
Shirou paused if only a for a moment, as if thrown off with what she'd just said and allowed an enemy to reach him, but it didn't matter.
Don't you dare touch him.
This time, it was her that intercepted the attacker and punched the man in the face. It didn't matter if her spear had shattered and she was now weaponless. Within her was the phantasmal blood of Dragons. Magic suffused her every action and attack, and unlike ordinary weapons, her body itself would not break by channeling her magical reserves.
The attacker was sent flying, but she didn't even bother distracting herself any further.
Her attention was still on Shirou and making sure that she stayed by his back.
"I missed you," she whispered in a low voice her eyes downcast while swerving in between enemy attacks and swiftly countering.
"…"
Shirou wasn't responding, but if anything, the number of enemies that she faced suddenly decreased by half. She didn't turn around, but she could tell that Shirou was actively attempting to take on more enemies than he should.
Was it because of her?
He had always been like that but she never recalled ever expressing her gratitude for him even once in their adolescences. She had been both shy and embarrassed to admit something like that back then, and even more so because a man was expected to be self sufficient.
She really was a troublesome girl to love, wasn't she?
Just be herself. How many times had Sir Ector told her that?
"The most beautiful of women weren't those that tried to maintain appearances, but those that were able to come to terms with themselves and bloom naturally. Those that do not, often never bloom or receive the warmth of spring, dying by the winter without ever revealing the radiant blossom inside."
As much as she hated to admit or acknowledge it, Merlin was probably trying to lecture her too.
The emotions and sentiments that she'd always held back in fear of being judged for her frailty were no longer being restrained simply because she'd now accepted them as a part of her. There was no longer a need to put up a front or to maintain a certain image.
Be free.
Set loose the chains that constantly bound her.
Obligation. Self-restraint. Image.
You know Shirou.
You know the kind of person that he is.
So, what was wrong with being open with herself?
"I-I missed you so much," her voice sounded choked and strangled, barely audible yet remarkably clear to the ears of the listener. "It hurt so badly that even the pain of getting stabbed was incomparable."
"…"
He wasn't responding to her, but that was fine as it was. For all that she knew, he had still yet to remember everything about her. It was another blow or obstacle that she'd have to overcome, but right now it was okay. She just wanted him to hear her, about the feelings that she'd thought that she'd never be able to share.
Almost miraculously, the enemies around her continued to lessen.
"I-I thought you died." Her hands felt clammy, her brows knitting together almost subconsciously. "I-It was the first time that I ever cried so much that I ran out of tears. I-I couldn't eat anymore, I couldn't motivate myself, I even felt that there was no longer a point in saving this country."
She shivered, one arm gripping onto the elbow of her other arm. "W-Why? Why did it have to be you and not me?" Weren't they both the same? Caliburn had responded to the both of them. Therefore, why couldn't she have had taken his place? "I-It wasn't fair," she felt the sob escape her throat before she could even attempt to stop it. "Rather than living, I felt that it would have had been better if I had been the one to die."
"…!"
It was like she'd heard something snap. The enemies around her lessened even further but she thought that it was only a coincidence.
It was only when she noticed that she wasn't facing against any Saxons at all that she realized that something was odd. She turned around to the sight of veins bulging out of Shirou's face and arms from how many opponents he was trying to take on at once.
She balked before sniffling and wiping away the moisture that had accumulated over her eyes.
What a doofus.
They were already surrounded making it impossible to keep her away from attackers, and yet he was doing just that. His body had always been taller than hers, and right now, he was using it to shield her entirely.
She moved to help, but perhaps noticing her actions, Shirou grunted and forced back everyone that he was holding at bay with sheer physical strength.
Afterwards, he directly turned to look at her in all seriousness, his hands placing themselves on her shoulders and directing her gaze towards his.
"Don't you ever say that again," he spoke to her for the first time in battle, and it was to directly admonish her. "Don't you understand the feelings of a person who would willingly sacrifice themselves for another?"
She glared fiercely, wiping away the wetness over her cheeks after pushing Shirou's hands off of her. "Then how about the pain of those left behind! What your saying isn't fair!"
Shirou fell silent at her rebuke.
Good. Dumb bastard. Did he finally get it into his head?
She pursed her lips, not knowing how close Shirou was to blurting out 'you did it first,' or 'of course I do' but in hindsight, it definitely wasn't the best idea, nor would she be able to understand it anyway.
He kept that response to himself and quickly composed his mind.
"I'm sorry," was all that he said. "Let's just talk about this later."
Hesitantly, she nodded. "Fine."
The two were still surrounded, and now that Arturia was without a weapon, she was severely ill equipped. Unlike Shirou, her body wasn't as durable, making her unable to parry and block steel with just her flesh alone. All that she had going for her was potent healing and physical capabilities.
One had a body that seemed almost immortal, and the other had a body that appeared neigh indestructible.
The Saxons facing the duo weren't looking at the two as if they were human anymore.
It took one monster to defeat another monster.
They swallowed before resuming their attacks.
During the brief respite, Shirou quickly passed his white sword for Arturia to use. He had wanted to Trace her a more familiar weapon, but using both Gungnir and Mjolnir had taken a lot from his magical reserves. The two were both pseudo Divine Constructs in the form of Noble Phantasms after all. He had to make due with what he had.
"It's not much, compared to Excalibur or Caliburn but hold onto it," he spoke as he passed one of his swords over to her.
She hesitated if only for a moment, taking the sword into her hands before being convinced with Shirou's final line.
"Do so, and I guarantee that even amidst the most chaotic of battles, we will not part," he said.
A shudder travelled down her back. Even from just holding the white sword, she could feel a certain attractive force. Better yet, she could tell that the properties of the sword would allow her to channel her magical energy through it for a far longer duration than the lance that she was using previously.
The swords were known as Kanshou and Bakuya.
The married swords crafted by the fabled imperial blacksmith with the support of his wife.
Arturia readied Bakuya in her hands while Shirou brandished Kanshou in his.
"We have to regroup with the others," Shirou observed the area around him.
Mordred and Efret were preventing the Saxons from forming ranks, therefore, numerous openings could be exploited within the chaos caused by the flames.
"Go!"
The two wasted no time.
They moved with tacit understanding of the other.
In all her life, the only one who understood her the best was Shirou.
She didn't even need to glance in his direction for him to understand what it was that she wanted, and in turn, she was the same.
If he went left, she followed after. If he ran straight, then she was already by his side. She no longer wanted to lose sight of him
I won't lose you again.
She wasn't staring at him, but his presence alone was motivating her as if in resonance with the sword in her hand.
Bakuya, the Sword of the Clouds, named after the woman whose life was willingly sacrificed for the sake of her husband.
Devotions, affection. Love.
They were the same sentiments as what she was feeling right now.
Then hold upon the heavens together and soar upon pinioned wings.
A black blade and a white blade shone with a luster beyond common means.
The married blades, that would never part.
It was said that no matter how far one sword was from the other, they would eventually reunite. A magnetic property.
This aspect was fully captured in the moment.
The battlefield was chaos, the probability of losing sight of one another, unimaginably high, and yet the sword in her hands carried her forward towards the matching pair. The two seemed to weave in and out of enemy lines, unable to be detained.
It was like they were dancing.
Watching on from afar, Sir Ector and his group of Knights who had been escorted to safety by Tristan and the others were rendered breathless. It was more so for Sir Ector. The man was heavily bandaged and being supported by two other Knights, and yet he'd still not passed out from excessive injuries.
"Are you alright Sir Ector? Your injuries may seem to be more severe than they look," a Knight spoke to Sir Ector in concern. "Lord Tristan and the others have already left to aid Lord Ashton and the Queen so there's no need for you to push yourself further."
"No! There's no way that this old man can pass out now," Sir Ector released a breath while forcing his eyes open. The two little chicks that he'd been looking after since childhood had finally matured and grown out their wings.
His little girl looked the freest that he'd ever seen her before, and if his suspicions were correct, he was looking forward to what she most likely had in mind after the battle. Having cast aside her title and duty as King, what else could she possibly be thinking about doing in this moment if not 'that?'
Grunting, Sir Ector forced himself to remain conscious by using the pain in his body to jar his mind. Something worth celebrating was bound to happen soon, and knowing his little girl, she would definitely be blunt.
Until then, now wasn't the time to sleep.
"If I close my eyes, hit me," he ordered in all seriousness. The others around him looked at him as if he was crazy but he was dead set on having that order followed.
Sir Ector's other Knights hesitantly agreed, but one man in the group had yet to respond to anything since his capture at enemy hands if at all.
It was a Knight whose face made one think that he was constantly glowering to the point that frown lines creased his forehead and the sides of his cheeks. He had black hair that was slicked back with a light sheen of wax, and also wore matching black armour with a heavy pauldron lined with a blue mantle overtop.
The Knight's name was Agravain, a Knight of the Round and someone who could be considered a chief strategist in Arturia's Round Table and served as the King's secretary.
Right now, that man looked devastated, as if a part of his world had crumbled right in front of him.
"A woman?" Agravain's tone sounded entirely hollow, as if he'd been winded by an exceedingly heavy blow.
The one figure that he had looked up to, and once again it was another deceit.
He clicked his tongue, and did his best to look inconspicuous, but if one looked closely, the pallor of his complexion was unnaturally pale.
Blood bled from his palms from how tightly he was clenching his fists.
He was glancing up at Arturia's distant form with conflicting emotions.
These feelings of his, this deep animosity born from treachery.
A woman.
Nothing but vile snakes spreading poison to all. The culmination of his life's entire existence led to no other conclusion.
He should have had been angry, appalled at the revelation of the King's true gender.
And yet the memory of a single figure reaching out to him entered the forefront of his mind.
It was blinding. Stunning.
What exactly was he feeling, and more importantly, what exactly was it that he truly wished to do? He had been given a single mission whether he liked it or not. Death was the only other alternative.
He treasured his life enough to endure years of torment, therefore why was he even hesitating?
What was it that he truly wanted?
Pondering, his expression soon grew unreadable.
Back in the castle of Cywryd of Gwent, Merlin's eyes absently shifted left then right as he hummed. He was currently still within the confines of the Duke of Gwent's reception hall, but the previous din of chatter was no longer existent within the room.
Well, wasn't this interesting?
Arturia's abrupt words and exit had rendered the entire area silent.
Merlin was entirely amused. Due to his clairvoyance, there was absolutely nothing that would generally surprise him or catch him off guard simply because he already knew of what was coming. Would one fall prey to a trap should they know where it was placed? Or would one willingly traverse forward knowing of what was to come?
Those were the only two options that Merlin ever had to debate with in the entirety of his life. However, in this case it was different, dare he say novel?
His clairvoyance had no effect whatsoever on the future that Shirou would bring as if Shirou himself was an existence beyond the current time period. That, or his ties with the Reverse Side were preventing Merlin's ability from functioning. Considering what Merlin knew of Shirou's origin, he was leaning more towards the latter option.
His lips gradually curved upward.
Truly it was a good time to be alive.
The fact that his clairvoyance did not function in regards to the future Shirou would bring meant that what he was experiencing right now, was something that he'd never experienced before. Even though Shirou wasn't present, the restriction on Merlin's Clairvoyance skill stretched to the futures of all Shirou's acquaintances and friends, and that included Merlin himself.
Arturia openly declaring herself to be a woman? That upright fool who so readily cast aside her happiness for the sake of her country?
A hand placed itself beneath his chin.
His clairvoyance never revealed to him such a future, and it was brilliant.
The only aspect that Merlin was truly doubting was if Shirou himself possessed a type of clairvoyance skill above even his own. After all, why would Shirou warn him to stay away from women as if he knew something unfortunate was bound to happen? Moreover, Shirou even compromised and said to just stay away from women for a period of ten years just to be safe.
It truly was a conundrum that needed solving, but Merlin had already put it to the back of his mind.
He was too busy enjoying the present to think about the future anymore. Life was boring like a spoilt movie or play if he already knew the contents.
Eventually, the Nobles in the room regained their awareness after Arturia had so thoroughly cussed at them.
"Preposterous!" Ah yes, here comes the outrage.
Merlin stood with the ever-present aura of a veteran. He didn't need clairvoyance to understand how Nobles reacted at times. Kind of like how veteran playwrights could predict each others script.
"Even if she's not really a King, and is instead the Daughter of Uther, she can't just up and leave like that!"
By leaving so abruptly, didn't that mean that Arturia had deemed them all useless?
It was like she was treating them like dirt or dust left to pile up on a shelf.
Isn't that exactly what you are though?
Merlin was monologuing the thoughts of the nobles in front of him in his mind. It brought him no end of entertainment, but there was another place more worthy of his observations.
He looked towards the location of where Arturia had stabbed Excalibur to the ground and soon sighed. He'd never known that girl to be so hot-headed, but maybe it was because she was keeping her frustrations bottled up inside for too long? That or, hard as it was for him to accept, she truly was deeply in love and couldn't tolerate anyone leaving Shirou for dead. Regardless, he couldn't just leave Excalibur where it was. Therefore, he walked up towards it and directly took it into his hand.
His actions were blatantly apparent to all, more so when he turned to leave the room.
"You, where are you going at such a time?!" One of the Nobles called out to him.
He grinned back genially.
"Oh? I did not think it mattered whether I stayed here or not," he admitted as if troubled at their questioning. "Were you hoping that I'd try to convince Arturia to reconsider her actions just because I hold the title of 'Wizard?'"
Many of the Nobles ready to debate against Merlin were rendered unable to answer due to their intentions being blatantly revealed, but several forewent their shame to insist from another angle.
Owel Rivers was one such man. He had been hiding in the back of the circle of nobility for the longest time, but he found that he had no choice but to stand out now.
"Regardless of her thoughts, Arturia was still acknowledged by the sword. You as the Wizard by her side must act as her advisor, making it your duty to step in when she makes a mistake."
Owel was eyeing Merlin intently. He had only a single objective, and that was to prevent Merlin from leaving. Merlin had picked up Excalibur, and the only thought in Owel's mind was that Merlin was going to give back that sword to Arturia.
Owel could not allow that to happen. Better yet, if he could convince Merlin to instead pull Arturia out of the battle, it would be an even better outcome.
Owel knew his crime of conspiring with the Saxons. Any chance of the Saxons getting defeated had to be averted.
Unfortunately, Merlin wasn't one to be easily be swayed by other.
"And what makes you all think that she's made a mistake?" Merlin replied back languidly.
"..." Owel tried to speak out a reason. He had many prepared in his mind, but the look on Merlin's face said that he had no intention of letting Owel do so.
"That child is a pitiful child," Merlin directly cut Owel off. "Never once knowing what it was like to experience the joys of a regular life. She sacrificed it all at the moment that she drew forth the Sword in the Stone for the sake of the country."
Merlin tapped the staff he held in his left hand over the floor, the hollow echo of wood resounding within the room and silencing all that sought to speak over him.
"You are correct to say that my role is to advise her when she makes a mistake, but is she really making a mistake?" Merlin's gaze shifted towards the opposing nobles while only Cywryd himself maintained neutrality on the matter. "What gives you all the right to criticize her actions without first understanding everything?"
None answered back.
Despite Merlin questioning them, many Nobles including Owel could tell that they weren't meant to be answered, only listened to.
Arturia had supposedly cast aside her humanity upon drawing forth the Sword in the Stone, but there was still one individual that tethered her to her human nature.
That person was the person that she loved above all else.
Even if Merlin tried to lecture her, all that would be awaiting him was Arturia's ire.
That rash girl was making things difficult for her teacher once again, but Merlin supposed that it was the teacher's duty to accommodate the whims of a student from time to time. More so because the prophecy that he had foreseen was already skewed.
Merlin chuckled inwardly, and directly moved to leave. "I'll see you all later, I have a battle field I must go to."
Owel was beginning to panic.
T-The Wizard was getting involved.
Owel Rivers could not help but grow nervous while considering Merlin's course of actions.
This was bad wasn't it?
Merlin was a Wizard.
Wizard's were not existences whose strength could simply be measured by the amount one could lift. They could alter the course of a battle in an instant. They were akin to walking natural disasters that could freely choose between aiding a country or razing it to the ground with their sorceries.
Owel bit down hard on his lips, his muscles tensing.
It had been reported that Merlin was not an individual who participated in any sort of war despite being King Arthur's Advisor. The man said it himself, he was simply an 'Observer,' and yet why then did it appear that Merlin was just about to contradict his own words?
In simple fact, Merlin was not truly getting involved, rather, he just wished to get a better view.
Unaware of Merlin's true thoughts, Owel could only plan for the worst and discreetly signaled to his men mixed in among the nobility to begin the mission assigned to him. If the Saxons lost, then it was basically over for him and his fellow conspirators.
Merlin was making the situation even more complicated than it already was with Lord Ashton and Arturia's involvement. Whether he liked it or not, Owel had to reveal his hand. He could only hope that they could succeed in time, but for the time being, Owel had to focus on Melrin.
"Wait! You can't just go," Owel raised his voice once more, causing Merlin to pause in his steps.
"Oh? And why is that?" Merlin glanced behind him at the assembly of Nobles.
"You are the 'King's Advisor,' you yourself have already admitted this!" Owel felt like he was grabbing at straws, but he had to try anyway. "Arturia has cast aside her title as King, therefore, you have no obligation to enter the battlefield! The King you serve is no more!"
Owel knew that he was contradicting his earlier words of advising Arturia, but there was nothing else that he could do.
"King?" Merlin grinned. Of course, he noticed Owel's contradiction but he didn't care. "What if I let you all in on a secret?" He asked instead.
Owel and his fellow conspirators felt an ominous chill travel down their backs.
"Listen here, and listen well, the reason as to why Arturia could so readily cast aside her position as King."
Merlin thought back to the impossibility that he'd seen in the past. Of a particular night in which he simply could not comprehend how such a thing could have had happened.
A single truth.
"Arturia was not the only one able to draw forth the Sword from the Stone, nor was she the first to truly be acknowledged." Merlin admitted. "There was another."
Silence resounded, and even Cywryd could no longer stay neutral. He was a smart man, an intellectual. The rumours of Lord Ashton and King Arthur growing up together in childhood were wide spread and known by almost everyone. It was also said that Lord Ashton had been present when Arturia had drawn forth the Sword from the Stone. The meaning of Merlin's words.
I-It couldn't possibly be!
Cywryd directly sat up from his throne.
"And right now, you ignorant fools were perfectly willing to let this other candidate for the position of King fight on his own."
Some of the other smarter Nobles widened their eyes in realization, many in disbelief yet unable to completely deny.
"You all are skeptical, unable to believe, then see for yourself." From out of Merlin's sleeve, he drew forth the broken shards of a sword that could no longer be re-forged again.
The remnants of Caliburn.
The King chooser.
"This sword, cracked, marred, and shattered, still holds within it the property of Kings."
Merlin absently tossed the shards up into the air where the individual pieces shone with a radiant glow of pure light. Broken, he funneled his own magical energy to give those remnant pieces purpose for one final time.
"A sword of Man." Merlin didn't seem as if he was speaking to the Nobles in front of him, but rather to himself. "'For whom so ever draws forth this sword, is the rightful King of Britain.'"
The prophesy of the land. One that Merlin had once spoken.
Something that shouldn't have had been able to be changed, and something that was now beyond the capability of his own clairvoyance.
"In the end, unimaginable as it is," Merlin blinked as the shards of Caliburn shot off to blast a hole through the roof of the castle, creating a clear view of the battlefield. "The prophecy has already changed."
It was a future uncertain.
Truly something that was worth observing.
"See for yourselves where the light reaches." The Nobles and even Merlin himself could only watch on.
"For the true King lies beyond the horizon."
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