Fate-in time

65

Cywyrd's castle hall was silent, the only noise to be produced originating from hanging pieces of debris falling down from the shattered roof and impacting against the tiled floor. The venue that had once been prepared in preparation for the Noble's gathering was in ruins. Large slabs of rock had crushed the tables, and dust from the ceiling coated the remaining food in an unappetizing greyish chalk colour.

Even if this was the case, it wasn't as if anyone was in the mood for fine dining and banter now anyway. Everyone was still staring at the crater left behind in the distant battlefield with rapt attentions.
The Ashton loyalists integrated into numerous Noble House Factions were practically pumped with adrenaline from how agitated they looked in their excitement. In contrast, the Nobles that had seen an opportunity at Lord Ashton's death and poached away Lord Ashton's followers had mixed feelings. On one hand, the country needed someone of Lord Ashton's strength and prestige to rise up once again in the present time of turmoil, but afterwards was the problem.
Just like Lord Ashton before him, if the heir of House Ashton were too strong to contend with then the balance of power would surely change. Worse, the heir of Ashton's current status was ambiguous. Not only was Shirou the heir of House Ashton, but it was unquestionable at this point that he too had the Divine Right of Kings.
Caliburn the King Chooser had been forged once again in Shirou's hands, and the sword had not rejected him. Proof was found in Shirou's ability to hold and toss the sacred sword high into the air.
For example, those that were deemed unworthy would never be able to lift the sword at all. Held within a stone, the sword simply would not budge, and even then, should one wield it when not in the stone, the sword would reject the wielder's grip.
Caliburn was a sword of light similar to Excalibur. By concentrating its heat values, the hilt and sword itself could emit a heat that any deemed unworthy would fall subject against.
The heir of House Ashton was proven to be a King's candidate.
More than that, it wasn't just the heir of Ashton.
Arturia Pendragon.
Shirou Ashton.
Mordred, the Knight of One.
Three people were presently known to have the right to rule the land under a just Kingship.
If the heir of Lord Ashton were made King on top of his family heritage as a Duke, no Noble could hope to have enough political power to rival him. Every noble present knew this, but so what?
Cywyrd didn't care for the opinion of others so long as the land was ushered into another era of peace and prosperity.
Cywyrd stood up and motioned with his hands in a small gesture to gather everyone's attention. He inclined his head towards the distance.
"Hail, King Ashton! Long Live the King!" His voice was thunderous, leaving no room for debate even amongst the Dukes, the Earls, and the Marquises present in the castle of Gwent.
Arturia had directly forfeited her Kingship by revealing her status as a Queen; a Princess to be more technical due to her heritage as the daughter of Uther. Regardless, all of her Knights still supported her, but if her words about the heir of House Ashton were true, then she really wouldn't take up the mantle of King again. The words, 'Where's my man?' could not have had been anymore direct about what kind of relationship she shared with Shirou Ashton.
In regards to Mordred, it was simply out of the question.
The Nobles had heard of Mordred's brashness and impulsiveness in the face of battle and decision making. Although Caliburn had found Mordred worthy, it was probably due to Mordred's personality traits and beliefs rather than leadership abilities. If Mordred was made King, it would not be Mordred who would apply domestic and civil policies, but those extremely talented individuals that would naturally gather around the crown. William Orwel was one such individual. He was a Knight, but he was also the respected son of a Duke known for finance and governance.
Although the Nobles were right in that William Orwel would aid Mordred in a Kingship, William's probable motivation to do so would not be because of the influence of the crown.
Different from Arturia's natural Charisma, Mordred had her own type of appeal, perhaps a Secret of Pedigree skill that Arturia had not been able to develop due to her forward character.
The more Mordred tried to push others away and put up a front, the more others were willing to fight on her behalf even to the death just to see her smile.
Merlin would later describe this effect with the terms 'Moe' and 'Tsundere;' deathly curses targeted at the protective feelings of humanity to protect something precious and untainted. In the distant future, far from the present circumstances, Mordred would later become increasingly vindictive at Merlin for spreading the name 'Moedred' around, but this was a story for another time.
With both Arturia and Mordred out of the picture, there really was only a single person left.
The Nobles glanced at each other, many who were apprehensive about their livelihoods broke out into heated whispers.
The vast majority who favoured Lord Ashton or had a connection with the famous Duke of King Uther broke out into cheers.
"Hail the King!"
"Hail Lord Ashton the Second!"
Owel Rivers, one of the main collaborators with the Saxons appeared increasingly pale amidst the shouting. He aged visibly, the immaculate smoothness of his skin becoming wrinkled along with his deflating spirit. He began to sway but directly placed a hand over his temples to steady himself.
No.
This wasn't the end.
He couldn't tolerate it.
Grabbing a glass untainted by dust, Owel moved to one of the many barrels of alcohol in the room, poured himself a cup, and then downed it in a single chug. He then wiped his mouth and straightened his back.
That's right. So, what if the Saxons had lost? They had nothing to do with him unless his backhanded transactions ever came to light. This was the same for his fellow colleagues.
It was only a crime if one got caught.
"Long Live the King!" Owel joined the calling of the crowd around him, prompting the other Saxon collaborators to imitate him.
Cywyrd was watching.
Owel could not allow any flaws.
With the defeat of the Saxons, the odds were no longer in Owel's favour. He'd made a fatal error and had already dispatched a 'cargo' of supplies for the Saxons as a victory gift to relieve themselves after battle. Most likely, his compatriots had offered similar gifts or food to express their fealty, but with the Saxon army routed and scattered, there was no doubt that the offered supplies and cargo would be discovered.
At most, Owel had three or four days before Arturia or Cywyrd's forces cleaned up the battlefield and investigated the Saxon army camp guarded by another group of enemy soldiers.
Two days, no a single day was his time limit to retreat from Gwent. He'd be safe only when he crossed back into his own territory. Before then, he had to keep out of suspicion.
The cheers only grew louder with time.
For his part, Merlin felt entertained for the first time in years while watching the proceedings. Everything, regardless of how unexpected it was, would become utterly bland when he already knew what would happen with his clairvoyance.
The tale that Shirou was revealing to him was both novel, and something that Merlin delighted in observing. More so when he had the ability to directly intervene and 'spice' things up a little at his convenience.
A little joke wouldn't hurt anyone anyway.
Merlin mused to himself before clearing his mind.
Cywyrd cleared his throat to speak, calling first to the guards stationed at the doors of the castle hall. "Open the gates! Slaughter the healthiest cattle and prepare a victory feast!"
Regardless of Cywyrd's inner thoughts, it was a joyous time when one's oppressors were defeated.
Under Cywyrd's instruction, the audience hall was gradually cleaned with most of the debris and dust swept up onto one side. The remaining tables were reorganized, and food ordered to be made by the castle chefs.
Merlin walked to a place where he could rest easy as he did not prefer mingling with other men. Their wives however, were more to his liking and he directly made his way over in calculated strides.
There was a reason why Arturia refused to acknowledge Merlin as her teacher at times, and this was one of those moments.
Merlin didn't care. A man liked what he liked. Honestly speaking, wasn't it more admirable for a man to not care what others thought of him in pursuit of his own happiness? Therefore, knowing what he wanted and taking action because of it, naturally made Merlin the sole winner in his mind.
Rules, etiquette, and customs were only made by those who wished to constrain themselves where as he was a free spirit.
Almost as soon as he started walking towards them, they began slinking away from him. The smiles on their faces were strained, and they looked moments away from fleeing.
Merlin's lips twitched.
He was handsome, wasn't he?
He smelled good too, and his allure was top class.
What he didn't know was that Arturia had often badmouthed his womanizing habits and hardly censored herself in regards to her surroundings. Word had spread through gossip and proliferated wildly and Arturia did nothing to stop it in her grief at Shirou's supposed loss.
Merlin's current reputation with the ladies was at rock bottom with some stories exaggerating his magic which could make any woman pregnant with a single touch regardless of age.
Shield your daughters, hide your wives, the Great Wizard Merlin approaches.
It didn't help Merlin's case when his past flames, one-night-stands, and previous lovers saw an opportunity and all rallied against him throughout the country. Merlin was a man that had travelled through various walks of life, his reputation built off of his numerous deeds and wondrous magic. Now though, he was not only famous, but infamous.
Merlin took another step, and sure enough, all the ladies ran away from him like they'd seen something repulsive.
He was utterly dumbfounded.
Comparing his love life with Shirou's made him almost want to kill someone. Worse, Arturia had pleaded for him to help in her wedding preparations. Dress, chapel, invitations, she'd asked him to have a hand him in everything due to her trust in him as her teacher. Of course, he could not disappoint his only female student, but his motivation hit rock bottom when he considered just who Arturia was making all this preparation for.
The lucky bastard.
With the roof still blasted open, waves of jealousy suffused his eyes while staring at Arturia's distant figure straddling Shirou's. By the dazed expression that he could see on Shirou's face, Arturia must have just outright proposed.
Being forward really was the only piece of advice that he could give to Arturia to get her feelings across to Shirou. Shirou was many things, strong, observant, level headed, but when it came to Arturia and her well being, he could be an idiot at the worst of times.
It wasn't as if Merlin couldn't understand Shirou though. He knew that Shirou dearly loved Arturia, yet it was because of this that Shirou would subconsciously ignore Arturia's feelings in favour of keeping her 'safe' from all kinds of harm.
Arturia's long-term goal of fighting by Shirou's side.
'It's too dangerous.'
Arturia's desperate attempts to be noticed and not be a burden.
'I'll protect you; I promise even if worse comes to worse.'
Shirou's past comments which he had spoken reassuringly to a young Arturia only fostered her determination more. All throughout her childhood and adolescence, Shirou had always been there for Arturia doing what he had thought was best. This was the feeling that any man would have in regards to protecting their family and loved ones.
Shirou cherished Arturia.
Merlin had seen it in Shirou's eyes.
Which was why Merlin decided to change things up. Instead of having Arturia always wait, he had directly reversed the roles and had her swoop in for the kill.
His mind must have shut down by now. A small smile crept up Merlin's lips.
Who would have had excepted Arturia of all people to directly kiss him? It was far too amusing.
Suffer you bastard.
Seeing Shirou out of his game gave Merlin a pleasant sensation akin to euphoria. He could get used to this, and he knew many ways in which he could mess with the two. It could be his new hobby as there was no way that he could determine the result of a prank against Shirou. His clairvoyance simply would not work, which made things all the better.
He would just be playing jokes anyway. No harm done.
The grin that made its way onto Merlin's face served to push away the ladies around him even further. Noticing this development, Merlin felt utterly despondent, unable to understand where he'd gone wrong when he'd only ever been true to himself.
Regardless, Merlin used a hand and brushed back his hair, combing it down over his shoulders before sighing ruefully.
No matter how he currently felt, he knew that it was his two student's day to be happy.
Now to solve all other matters.
Merlin's gaze narrowed sharply.
There in the hall leading to Cywyrd's audience room, maids were running at full speed. They were panicked, their faces stricken with grief, self blame, and concern.
The nobles took notice of the commotion just from the shouts alone, but from the moment that Cywyrd scrutinized who was causing the disturbance, his breath hitched in his throat.
The maids screaming for help were none other than Emma, Marie, and Grace, Lady Guin's personal care takers.
"M-My Daughter, where's my daughter!"
It was the first time that Merlin had seen Cywyrd so ill-composed. The complexion of his face had rapidly paled, and his fingers were trembling such that he could no longer grip properly. The goblet of wine that he held in his hands dropped over the floor and rolled beneath his feet.
"An attack, it's an attack!" Grace was the first to speak. For how reserved she generally was, she was actually the most emotional. "Saxons have gotten into the castle!"
"No, that can't be," the nobles began to back up in fright. Many of the nobles that had gathered under Cywyrd had done so because Gwent's defenses were sound. Not once in the entirety of the Saxon invasion had Gwent's walls been breached let alone the inner castle.
"My daughter! Where's my daughter!" Cywyrd cried out again.
Emma, Marie, and Grace could not meet Cywyrd's eyes. Their hands were clasped in front of their waists and their backs were hunched over trembling.
"The bell system was tampered with," Marie swallowed audibly. "Someone must have told the enemy."
'There were too many Saxons, but we still tried to help Lady Guin," Emma spoke next. "B-But Lady Guin blocked us off. The only thing left that we could do was rush here for help as soon as possible."
"…" Cywyrd didn't speak nor question how the Saxons infiltrated his castle. He was furious simply because he knew there had been spies amongst his followings and he'd not been fast enough to cull their numbers.
It was his fault, and his daughter was suffering for it.
Right now, before he was a Lord, a Duke, or whatever title or accomplishment that he possessed, Cywyrd was a father above all else.
"My sword, GIVE ME MY SWORD!" Cywyrd yelled while strapping on his armour located at the far wall. The entire hall fell into pandemonium. Cywyrd pushed aside anything in his way and silenced all opposition with a bloodshot glare.
"With all do respect, my Lord, but you can't be planning on going by yourself," Merlin chimed in while lightly tapping his staff over the floor; his magic clearing a path for him to walk forward through the clutter of the room. "You've stationed most of your military personnel to Gwent's walls, leaving behind only a few armed guards. That being the case, might you need a Wizard's assistance?"
Cywyrd took his sword and then glanced at Merlin.
It was clear that if Cywyrd agreed to Merlin's aid, then he'd owe Merlin's King a favour, but so what? What favour was worth more than his devote daughter's life? Not once had she ever complained to him about his strictness of deciding her best course in life.
'I'll support you father.'
His little Guin had always been that kind of girl, and she deserved all the best like her mother who had passed on before her.
A Wizard's magic was beyond mortal means. If Merlin's aid could guarantee Guin's safety, then nothing else mattered.
"I will return this favour two-fold," Cywyrd's tone was resolved. He didn't even wait for Merlin's response before sprinting out through the door and towards the direction that Emma and the other maids had escaped from.
Merlin shrugged before leisurely following along, not once losing sight of Cywyrd.
Left behind, the other nobles glanced at each other before following one by one. The battle with the Saxons had already been concluded with a Saxon defeat. Therefore, most of the nobles found no danger true danger at spectating. If worse came to worse, they could always run away in the direction of Arturia's army base camp.
For Owel Rivers and his colleagues however, they followed not out of curiosity, but of necessity. It was them that had allowed the Saxons in and compromised Cywyrd's bell system.
Owel had an ominous feeling at the back of his mind, but he played it off.
Although Owel knew that it would be glaringly obvious just who had betrayed Lord Cywyrd, he was already making plans to leave by the end of the night much like his collaborators. He was banking on the fact that he'd be able to escape far enough before Cywyrd's army could catch up to him and the rest.
He just needed time; however, time was the one thing that he wasn't going to have.
Owel's footsteps gradually came to a halt after following the trail Merlin and Cywyrd had taken to Lady Guin's residence.
Saxon bodies were strewn all around him, a vast majority eliminated with a single precise strike. Still, this wasn't the main concern.
Owel felt his body stiffen while staring at a Saxon that had not been killed but instead captured.
This wasn't what was supposed to happen. A hostage changed everything simply because the hostage would be aware of his dealings to allow the Saxons entry.
Owel bit down on his lips and gritted his teeth.
Lady Guin had never had any able guards around her estate, therefore, just who had been able to defeat so many Saxons? It didn't make any sense.
If you were going to kill so many, then why couldn't you have had just killed all of them?
Owel was inwardly fuming while on the surface, he began isolating himself near the back of the group.
Meanwhile, a short way away from Owel, Cywyrd stared in stupefaction as Guinevere held tightly onto the back of Lancelot's armour. She was trembling, her expression pale and haggard, but her grip around Lancelot was steadfast.
"Papa," she called out weakly.
Ignoring everything else, Cywyrd tossed aside his sword and ran to embrace his daughter.
Lancelot on the other hand did not know how to react. Furthermore, Merlin was giving a knowing stare that greatly irritated him. It was if Merlin was categorizing him on the same level as another womanizer.
No. He was in no way a womanizer.
Lady Vivian had raised him better than that.
Besides, he started counting in his head the number of women that he knew. First there was Arturia, but she was already taken so she was safe. Then there was his squire Gareth whom he was keeping her gender secret. Now there was his involvement with Guin but he felt like he'd only been doing his duty, but wait, why did he feel a strange sensation of satisfaction?
He'd come back to rescue Guin from the moment that he'd detected the Saxon's movements and methodically began cutting them down on his way to Lady Guin. He owed Guin a favour. That was all. Nothing more, and nothing less, and yet, she was still clutching tightly onto the back his armour despite her father moving to comfort her.
Was he supposed to do something in this situation?
Lancelot felt confused, and Merlin's knowing smile was only getting worse.
The maids who'd escaped earlier suddenly returned and began flocking around Lancelot.
"You defeated them all!" Emma placed a hand on his shoulder.
Grace was far more forward.
"I was wrong about you. You actually aren't so bad," she muttered softly before tipping onto her toes and leaning in closer to Lancelot's ear. Her lips were practically just millimeters away. "I won't tell the others that you were in Lady Guin's room. It will be our little secret that you even entered her bed."
Lancelot's eyes widened before his cheeks flushed in shame. He had always been a righteous man. Just thinking about his past actions caused him to reflexively grow dour. With his cheeks flushed, and Grace at such a close proximity to him, Lancelot suddenly felt a sharp pain on his side from a chink at the joints of his exposed armour.
He glanced down and saw Guin glaring at him while held in her father's arms. Right now, Cywyrd had his back turned to Lancelot with Guin's head resting over his shoulder, therefore, Cywyrd did not notice his daughter's action.
Lancelot was another story.
Did she just pinch him?
What did he do wrong now?
His mouth began to hang open with no words coming out.
Grace's lips curled upwards in amusement while noticing Lady Guin's subtle actions and Lancelot's blank response. She then nudged both Emma and Marie, the three sharing a silent message.
Lancelot visibly twitched. He was surrounded by women. Not too far away from him, there was even a hint of comradery forming in Merlin's eyes along with admiration and envy.
No. Don't you dare get the wrong idea.
Lancelot wanted to sort things out with Merlin, but he practically died inside when he saw the water within a wash basin suddenly ripple violently and take the form of a noose on the water's surface.
No. Stop please. Mother it's a misunderstanding.
His spirit was leaving him, but more than anything, Lancelot just decided that he didn't 'see' anything. Ignorance was bliss, and so was convincing himself that nothing was wrong.
"Lancelot of the Lake, you saved my daughter?" After a full minute of holding Guin in his arms, Cywyrd resumed his disposition as a leader.
Lancelot nodded. Although he knew that he had his duty to his Queen, he couldn't just leave an innocent woman in danger.
"You have my gratitude. She's all that I have left," Cywyrd had his right arm around Guin's shoulders, temporarily unwilling to leave her out of sight. "I will reward you generously for the trouble and I'll owe Madam Pendragon a debt. For the time being though,"
Veins popped over Cywyrd's temples.
"SPEAK!" Cywyrd glared at the sole Saxon that Lancelot had captured. "How did you get in?!"
Lancelot had left the last Saxon alive out of policy. In war, enemies were more valuable in regards to information if they were alive rather then dead. Agravain insisted on this point vehemently. It was why he was in charge of the intelligence networks arranged through a complicated set of letters and coded intel.
The Saxon spat out a glob of blood in response. "Glory to Lord Hengist. A Warrior does not beg for mercy. You can kill me now, but Lord Hengist will soon raze Gwent to the ground!"
The Saxon was heavily injured, a cut over his chest which was profusely bleeding. His outburst only served to worsen the wound.
Cywyrd began to laugh.
It was quiet at the beginning, but it soon turned into a deep baritone.
"Hengist?" Cywyrd glared coldly. "Hengist is dead."
"What?" The Saxon's mouth hung open loosely in disbelief. "Impossible you lie! Lord Hengist is the Ruler of Kent, a Warrior King of the Jutes!"
"And?" Cywyrd lowered his tone. "Do you not know just who it was that your Lord Hengist faced?"
The Saxon felt like he was suffocating.
"It must have been that damned King Arthur!" The Saxon gradually began to compose himself. There was no way that he would believe Cywyrd's lies. "There's no way that Lord Hengist would lose to that weakling."
Lancelot straightened his back in indignation, a hand moving towards his sword.
Cywyrd was unperturbed, and shook his head.
"Have you heard the name of Lord Ashton?"
The Saxon stilled in disbelief. "He's dead. He's been dead for years."
The initial battle that general Gale Tate had fought by the river Gleinn was one fraught with uncertainty. Flying beasts, monsters, and the re-emergence of the heir of the strongest Dukedom that had once existed in Briton.
Beast hunter.
Forger.
Leader.
The Heir of Ashton had been a target worth far more in value then the young King Arthur of the time. He could not be allowed to grow up in fear of amassing the mythic Beasts of the Blood Packs once more.
The Saxon's eyes gradually lost their luster while drawn towards the sky where a flaming bird soared freely. A symbol of house Ashton.
Was Hengist truly dead?
The Saxon did not wish to believe it. His shoulder's slumped, and his resistances waned.
"How did you get in?" Cywyrd demanded again. "Answer and I'll grant you a quick death."
The Saxon hesitated, but regardless of what he thought or did, his fate was already decided. He eyed the nobles in the crowd. If Lord Hengist had died and he was going to die, then he might as well drag those treacherous bastards along with him.
The Saxon stood up, clearly looking for people within the crowd of nobles. He soon opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly began gurgling.
"Y-You bastard," the Saxon's head slumped forward as Owel Rivers pulled out the knife which he had jabbed into the Saxon's neck. The Saxon's body soon slumped and fell over the ground.
Cywyrd immediately bristled at Owel's actions. "You damn cur!"
Cywyrd struck Owel in the jaw, knocking the Duke over to the ground.
Owel rubbed his face, before shakily getting up.
"With all due apologies Lord Cywyrd, but I had thought that the Saxon may attack you. He should have had spoken on the ground rather than stood up. Besides, can we really trust the words of an enemy?" Owel pointed at a random noble in the crowd. "You! You let the Saxons in!"
"N-No I didn't?" The noble fumbled for words. "I was with the rest of you."
"Exactly," Owel nodded while rubbing the bruise that had formed on his cheek. "We can't just base everything upon the judgement of a Saxon."
The nobles nodded at Owel's insight, and to his credit, Owel had just proven a point.
Cywyrd clicked his tongue and withdrew his anger. Still, he stared at Owel with suspicion.
Owel could feel Cywyrd's stare, but the man felt that it was a necessary risk. Moreover, Cywyrd would not kill under the witness of the other nobles without definite proof of wrong doing.
Owel sighed in relief that he'd temporarily averted the inevitable, but he froze in that same instant.
Lady Guin's estate was composed of three guest houses used primarily to house Guin's maidservants. At this moment, Owel was staring stiffly at the face of a Saxon woman he did not think that he'd ever see again after his last trip to Kent.
Having accidently pushed open the door of one of Lady Guin's guest houses, Natalie, the daughter of Hengist stumbled out into the open.
Natalie had heard the commotion happening outside and had been quietly observing everything from the safety of the house. However, she'd blundered by exposing herself.
Her gaze met Owel's, and the two shared a flash of recognition.
Owel's face twisted while Natalie's paled in horror while running back into the safety of the house.
The exchange was brief, almost instantaneous, but true to his calling, Merlin was the only one to notice the detail. He'd promised Arturia that he'd take care of everything so that she could focus on the matter at hand: The dense wall that was Shirou Ashton.
Merlin hummed in thought, but he soon spotted another peculiarity.
Was that Kay resting on the bed of that guest house?
Arturia and Sir Ector should be delighted at the news.
However, Merlin's expression was dark even as Cywyrd began directing a clean up of Lady Guin's estate.
Shirou, Arturia, and Mordred.
Lancelot, Guinevere, and the maids.
And now Sir Kay and Natalie.
All of them were with women while he, the famed 'womanizer' had no lap to rest his head on.
This wasn't fair. He was the one presently doing all the miscellaneous work, and making sure that everything turned out perfect as the Court Wizard.
As such, where was his woman?!
Yup. That was it.
The last straw.
It was time to be petty.
If everyone else could have a stable relationship except him, then he was going to enjoy messing with everyone.
Still, he thought back to all the struggles that Arturia had been through, and every action that she'd taken to reach her goal. As a teacher, he wished her well.
Good luck little dragon.
I'll turn him into a woman if he refuses.
Arturia was all that Shirou could see before his eyes.
A light brighter than even that of the sun.
A warmth more wholesome than the heat of a gentle flame.
He felt his breath leave him.
Yes. Yes. There really was no other answer in his mind.
Even if she had never asked, he'd never even considered leaving her side again.
His body felt weak; depleted of magical power and utterly exhausted, and yet still he mustered the strength to lift up his hand and place it over her cheek.
He could no longer even count how long he had waited just to be with her.
'I love you.'
Searching endlessly, finding nothing, yet searching ever more. Was that not the barest, yet sincerest form of devotion?
You were my everything. My hopes. My dreams, and my aspirations.
Every sword must too, one day perish like the fleeting light of a flame. Every purpose had an end. Every beginning, a conclusion.
He was tired. So tired.
She was so close that he could feel her breath press over him. So close that he could distinctly hear the rapid beating of her heart echoing his own.
Truly there was nothing else that he'd ever wished for more than the need to fulfill the promise that he'd kept in his heart to the present day.
"I'm back," the simple phrase filled with such emotion that his voice cracked left his mouth before any other word. It didn't matter if Arturia didn't understand.
It was a good dream. A miracle found in perseverance.
He travelled for so long. Endured many hardships such that the blade that was once pristine was now rusted and dull.
The one hand that he'd managed to place over Arturia's cheek, gripped softly.
She'd always been there, but he'd never once pressed her to love him back.
She was Saber, yet not, but in this moment, the image of the Saber in his mind, and the Arturia in front of him whose eyes were filled with the same kind of love that he'd seen on that day of parting were identical.
An endless journey.
An endless struggle.
It all led to this.
He'd found his Avalon.
His lips opened and closed, his heart speaking, but his mouth inaudible.
The hand on Arturia's cheek gradually fell back onto the earth, his eyes drooping. The exhaustion of his body, the mental overload in his mind, and the overwhelming happiness within him were too much to bear at once.
The sword, brittle and worn away through repetitive use had found its sheath.
He passed out, a smile over his lips above all else.
Arturia swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. She did not understand what Shirou had meant when he said 'I'm back' but she felt moisture forming over her eyes.
A good dream.
"You coward, you can't do that." She softly beat on his chest, her eyelids similarly drooping downwards.
The courage that she'd had to build up.
The anticipation at seeing the love in his eyes.
"That's cheating," she complained feebly, and yet it wasn't as if she couldn't understand.
Just like Shirou, she'd exhausted everything that she had. Avalon's healing was potent, but each time that she'd drawn on the sheath's power, she'd lost more and more stamina. It was taking all the reserves that she had just to keep her arms from giving out from beneath her.
Now that Shirou had directly passed out, there was no longer a need to push herself either.
She directly hugged him, no longer willing to let go.
"This isn't over," she whispered tiredly, her head lulling to rest over his chest.
She passed out over top of him.
The others watching in the distance didn't have the heart to separate them and instead began to work on cleaning up the battlefield. Dead bodies would attract predators and bring about disease. They needed to be buried and mourned in peace.
Tristan watched as Agravain looked at Shirou and Arturia before walking off silently to survey the battlefield clean up. Bedivere and the other Knights followed after Agravain to aid him.
Tristan considered following to, but he didn't yet have the heart to move his gaze away.
That was not the face nor reaction of someone devoid of emotion.
A King that did not know love?
Rather than that, perhaps it was the King who had known what love was the best.
Why else would she be crying while unconscious?
Tears were streaming down Arturia's eyes while she desperately clung to the love that she cherished the most.
Silently, Tristan pulled out Failnaught.
Failnaught was not just a weapon, but a harp.
He sat down over the grass, leaning his back over the foot of his horse before he began to play a gentle tune. His fingers plucked the strings one by one, producing a melody of deep yearning and eventual reunion.
Across the blood-soaked battlefield.
Across the chaos and the mayhem, the only spot that remained tranquil and almost entirely pure, was the spot in which Shirou and Arturia lied. Beside them, Kanshou and Bakuya laid together at last.
A Melody for two.
Tristan played, not even minding when his fingers eventually began to tire.
The Queen had perhaps been the most human of all.
As Tristan played, only a few others remained near him, and this included Mordred.
She'd been standing stock still since she'd heard Arturia's proposal to Shirou. She didn't move, nor did she seem to react to anything.
"Mordred?" Tristan called out.
It was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Mordred directly collapsed onto the ground.
Concerned, Tristan walked up to Mordred and assessed her condition.
She'd fainted, and by the looks of it, she'd fainted from the very start. Her body had just been standing so still, that she had remained upright in her unconsciousness.
"It's alright Sir Tristan. Please leave these three with me," Sir Ector's voice sounded.
Tristan nodded briskly. Sir Ector was a veteran Knight respected by all. He would not disobey the man.
"Take care then," Tristan took his leave.
Meanwhile Sir Ector placed a hand over the bridge of his nose while staring at the three reckless fools in front of him.
He sighed before adjusting Mordred's posture to lie down properly.
Even in his old age he still found himself taking care of children.
His back hurt, but well, he wasn't dying yet.
Not until he'd spent enough time with chubby-cheeked grand kids.
He stared hard at Shirou and Arturia as a small smile graced his lips after what had been a bitter five years of watching his little daughter drown herself in self-ridicule.
Now then, Sir Ector began to contemplate to himself.
Even though Shirou had yet to answer Arturia's proposal, Sir Ector was no fool.
So, hurry up and get to work.
He had no intention of living forever.
Not too far off, a crow's eyes suddenly bled in the distance, its body convulsing before crumpling to the ground in a twitching heap.
Ridiculous.
Ridiculous.
Shards of glass shattered into smaller fragments that clattered dangerously over the ground of an underground workshop.
Why was it always her?
Why did she always get everything?
Morgan's rage had been enough to overload and kill her familiar with her magical energy.
Arturia had clearly discarded her guise as a male and was still followed by loyal subjects.
What was the point being King then if gender did not matter?
She calmed herself, placing a hand over her face and laughing hollowly.
She had thought that everything was finally falling into place, but now everything was ruined with Shirou's reappearance. She had to revise everything from the ground up.
She'd wanted to make her little sister's life hell. Only then could she be satisfied. Only then could her little sister feel a fraction of the despair at being neglected by her own father.
Why?
There should have had been no difference.
Why couldn't she have had been King?
Both she and Arturia were women, and yet one was set to have the entire kingdom within her hands while the other was due for nothing of value. Arturia was treasured by Uther, while she, the eldest daughter had no place in her own father's eyes such that she was due to simply be married off.
The treatment was too different, and from the very moment that Arturia was born, Morgan no longer felt like she had a place in the Pendragon family.
The time before Arturia's birth had been the time when Sir Ector had described Morgan as the 'perfect' Noble lady.
No longer.
With a swish of her hands, Morgan pushed aside everything over her work desk except the things that were relevant.
She wanted Arturia to taste despair like she had. She'd started by taking away the one person that Arturia was developing feeling for. She thought that she'd been successful, but the Ashton was still alive and Arturia no worse for wear if only slightly traumatized.
It wasn't enough.
That kind of revenge wasn't enough.
It was that damn Philandering Wizard's fault that she'd been unable to do anything more to Arturia in the past.
Ever since she'd intervened on the matter regarding the Ashton inheritance and utterly 'broke' Arturia's heart, Merlin had not once slacked off ever again.
The crows that she'd use as her familiars were almost always strangled to death by flower vines before they could get too close. Moreover, her scrying magic was blocked by an even higher level of magic.
Merlin was protecting Arturia twenty-four-seven. In the past without Shirou, Arturia's mental state was pitifully weak, her confidence shattered at her inability to protect the person that she loved.
Morgan had wanted nothing more than to kill more people close to her little sister. Doing so would thoroughly shatter Arturia's mind. No one would be strong enough to watch everything that one loved and held dear die in front of them.
However, Merlin did not leave any gaps to exploit. He was watching her, waiting. So long as she slipped up, he would definitely intervene.
The one time that Merlin had been too caught up in other matters was the one time that Morgan had been able to isolate Sir Kay.
How else had Sir Kay been captured by the Saxons so easily?
Right now, Morgan was vexed, her jealously unable to be contained.
After observing Arturia's situation, she really just couldn't stand it.
What right did Arturia have to be happy when Morgan herself could not?
She was done waiting for an opportunity.
If an opportunity did not yet exist to strike, then she'd make one.
Regardless of anything, the Wizard first had to go.
A plan gradually worked itself into her mind.
The best way to deal with an Incubus, even a half-breed, was glaringly obvious.
"Enjoy your happiness, little sister," Morgan balled her hands into fists and activated a magic seal that she'd been tampering and revising on her desk.
"It won't last."
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