Fate-in time

66

Happiness was fleeting. It comes and goes just like the cycle of the seasons, and a part of Shirou still wasn't certain if what he remembered was just a dream or reality. His mind was utterly blank; the kind of blank that seemed to stretch on for an eternity simply because he had neither thought nor word to fully express himself. Of course, it could just be said that his mind overloaded.

For anyone, hearing that their significant other loved them back for the first time was an attack that dealt true damage passed any form of magical or physical defence. In short, it was cheating.
He felt heat creeping up to his face at the suddenness of everything.
He simply could not understand what caused the change in Arturia when he himself could not yet recall doing anything to convince her. A small part of him still refused to accept that something that had taken him years to subtly accomplish had somehow been completed in a span of a few weeks without his knowledge.
It was hard to change Arturia's mind on anything; more so because she was stubborn and rooted to a single goal in front of her, and yet, she had gone passed her barriers and directly proposed to him? He'd definitely missed something here. The Arturia that he knew in his youth was one that hesitated on whether or not she could show affection in the first place.
She had gone from a girl hiding away and smiling dumbly at the presents that he'd given her in secret, to a woman who strode out into battle in a torn dress of all things.
To be frank, he still didn't know what to make of it. However, that didn't mean that he didn't approve. Arturia's happiness was all that ever mattered to him. In which case, he couldn't grow complacent yet.
The tragedy that he had seen through Saber's memories had not been averted. He'd already changed certain parts of history to diverge away from a set path, but he wouldn't put it passed the world to try to correct itself nonetheless. The more changes he'd make, the more resistance he'd have to deal with.
Right now, there were still the issues with the Saxons, government of country, and most pressingly, the Mage Association's Clock Tower.
He could not rest until he'd made sure that everything was safe.
At least that was what he was telling himself given the current situation.
Beneath his back, he could feel the soft sensation of a warm feather bed and sunlight pouring down over his face. All things considered, the sensations were perfectly normal for any given morning, but the difference was, he could feel someone clinging onto his right arm and snuggling up beside him in loose clothing.
Yes. As one could imagine, right now he was pretending to be sleeping to buy more time to consider how he should handle Arturia's proposal.
He was as still as a log, his breathing forcibly evened despite the rapid thumping of his heart within his chest.
Keep it cool.
Knowing Arturia, her senses and intuition were monstrous. Just the slightest indication of awareness would make her suspicious.
In the end, he was still just making excuses.
Of course, there were things that he had to do, but most of them could definitely wait.
He loved her, and she loved him back, what was there to even consider at this point other than the size and venue of the wedding reception hall?
Things were never that easy though. In either timeline, he'd never actually experienced his own wedding, and therefore, even he was slightly nervous. He had been the one who wanted to propose to her but she'd already beaten him to the punch despite her glaring personality flaws.
It was with this reasoning in mind that he decided that it was his turn to take the lead.
He blinked his eyes open and noticed a pair of clear teal coloured eyes also blink back in his direction. Arturia's arms were entwined on his right arm, and her left cheek was pressed to his shoulder. Her hair framed her face, and golden coloured threads drifted under soft breaths. From the looks of it, she hadn't been expecting him to wake up yet if the redness forming over the tips of her ears could act as a form of indication.
He stared for a solid second.
How long had she been staring up at him for? Evidently, she'd woken up first and had opted to just watch him for God knew how long. However, that wasn't the problem.
The more that he looked at her, the more his thoughts began to run away from him. By now, he was already unable to form words, and the greeting that was just off the edge of his tong had evaporated entirely.
He promptly closed his eyes again.
Maybe she'd buy his act and give him a redo?
The creaking of the bedframe was the only indications that Arturia was moving. Part of him couldn't tell anymore because she'd pulled away from where she was snuggling up to his arm and retreated a small distance back.
He opened his eyes again, and her face was now just mere inches away from his own, the shuffling of the bedsheets direct evidence that she had indeed climbed up on top of him. Her legs were on either side of his waist, and her hands were placed on either side of his head to support her upper body staring down at him.
There really was no getting away.
Her expression was unnaturally calm given her actions, but perhaps because it was unnaturally calm, she must have had really been feeling the opposite.
That was the kind of face that she'd make when trying to avoid revealing her own intentions.
He had to hand it to her. Arturia had perfected her poker face. However, she could not consciously control the pallor of her flushed complexion and therefore, much of her seriousness was mitigated due to the tomato-like colour of her face.
She wasn't saying anything, but it was clear that she was waiting for an answer.
In truth, she looked nervous.
His eyes could spot the minute trembling of her hands on either side of him. She was still under the impression that he hadn't remembered everything and as such, she was banking on the gamble that his love for her was still there.
Turning her down now would devastate her, and he had no intention of doing so.
It already pained him mentally to see her suffer, therefore, there was no need to contemplate any further. Love didn't have to be rational. Surely, he could work things out in the end.
In which case, she was getting the roles wrong here. Why was he making Arturia who was perhaps the least experienced in displaying her love take the lead in their relationship? Out of everyone in the present world, he could confidently say that he knew Arturia the best.
He flipped her around such that it was now him leaning down over her.
Her poker face finally shattered apart as the red crept up from her neck down to her body.
She swallowed nervously. Any woman would when the topic concerned their own marriage and happiness.
He didn't say anything, and in the silence, she was beginning to squirm.
Actually, this was quite amusing.
Courage was a strange, very strange kind of emotion that had to be worked up, not found within a fleeting moment. The courage that Arturia had had before had waned the longer that she thought of her previous day's actions.
In that moment, he placed his forehead against hers and whispered into her right ear. "I love you, please marry me."
She stilled.
A trembling hand went up to cover her mouth as she felt a lump forming in her throat. Her eyes were watering.
She'd waited so long. So utterly long.
She felt like crying, but her joy was too much to be expressed in words.
The hands that would never hold anything, felt the warmth of life.
He was the bone of his sword.
A body of steel.
Blood of fire.
Striving towards utopia.
He didn't know how long that the two of them just stared at each other from that point on, but he did know that when he lowered his head and kissed her, she was his world.
Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, and she gasped as he gently kissed her again, leaning himself down to embrace her. He could feel the heat of her body and the racing of her heart mirroring his own. She was looking at him in yearning, the feel of her skin against his own sending shivers down his back. "Shirou," she called out to him softly, her chest shifting up and down in tandem with her breathing.
They were older now, far beyond the age of children.
Human instinct was kicking in, and the love that they shared for each other was only making it unbearable. Worse, the image of her own future children firmly etched itself into Arturia's mind.
She subconsciously began to loosen the threads of her dress from the previous day, her expression dazed, almost intoxicated. He didn't even notice as her legs slowly wrapped around his waist. By the time that he did, Arturia was panting, her lips glistening from a layer of saliva. "Shirou," she called out his name again, her voice enthralling.
It wasn't fair.
It really wasn't.
Hearing such a tone at such a time was critical.
He was losing his sanity and reasoning. His blood was pumping furiously from within him. However, just as he was about to snap, a loud 'bang' resounded as the door to the room was kicked open.
Shirou quickly snapped back to reality and pulled away, leaving Arturia to stare at him with a lost countenance as if unable to understand what had happened.
Merlin happened. He had an odd smile on his face, equals parts jealousy and envy.
"There's an urgent matter that you must attend to, Shirou," Merlin spoke stiffly, moving fast to 'help' Shirou off the bed and onto his feet.
Shirou was still dressed in the previous day's attire, so it was good enough. There was an urgent matter that required Shirou's immediate attendance in the form of a morning council.
Merlin placed an arm around Shirou's shoulder and used his other to friendly gesture for Shirou to move ahead. Subsequently, the long sleeves of his wizard robes obscured Shirou's view of the bedroom behind him. It was then that Merlin absently turned his head around so that only Arturia could see, his chin turned upwards as he apologized. "Sorry for 'interrupting.' I won't do it again."
From a third party's perspective, the voice sounded entirely sincere, but from Arturia's perspective, it was anything but.
Her mouth remained hung open in disbelief, her expression stiff; the redness that clung to the tip of her cheeks flared no longer with passion, but with rage.
Fuck. The bastard did it on purpose!
The entire situation felt somewhat odd to Shirou, but Merlin's insistence on the urgency of the matter left little room for questions. Besides, he felt guilty in regards to Merlin.
He probably shouldn't let Merlin know, but it would seem that the side-project that he'd been working on before his supposed death was now taking effect. The Merlin of a different time-line was set to be trapped by the ploys of a woman, however, what if no woman approached him to begin with?
He'd specifically asked Arturia and those close to her not to limit the spread of Merlin's reputation with woman, and the results were practically stunning. For the first time in Merlin's life, he'd abstained from any nightly activates for over a year, and if anything, they were only periodic.
Merlin hadn't been saying anything, but he must have had been affected. He was definitely more subdued or cranky as of late, but fortunately, Merlin was anything but weak-willed. His mental fortitude as a wizard was formidable.
Still, Shirou was regretful that he was meddling in Merlin's love life, but at least he could comfort himself by reasoning that it was for Merlin's own good. In truth, Merlin should have had just found himself a woman to settle down with rather than continue his ways as a notorious philanderer.
It was with this consideration, that Shirou's self conscience was gradually eased.
Merlin walked nonplussed as the maids actively avoided him, but Shirou could tell that the Wizard of Flower was currently being dealt a heavy blow.
Noticing that he was looking at him, Merlin gave out a small yet playful sounding reminder. "Remember that when you first walk into the audience room, don't be too surprised, your Majesty."
Shirou balked, nearly tripping on his own feet.
"Your Majesty?" He asked to clarify, suddenly feeling like a bolder had struck him. "What are you talking about?"
"You, of course." Merlin pointed at him with his staff.
He shook his head.
"I think we're having some miscommunication here. I don't remember calling myself a King nor do I recall taking over the position."
"Your memory would be correct, however, sometimes perspective is all that matters." Merlin shrugged. "In the eyes of the Nobility and the people of Gwent, you are already the King."
Shirou's brows furrowed together in consternation. "Then clearly we have a conversation topic for this gathering. I shouldn't be King."
Merlin raised a brow.
"And why not? Is it because the burden is too great or because the only King in your heart is Arturia?"
"Does it matter?"
"In some ways, it does indeed." Merlin tapped his staff idly on the floor, sprouting flower with each step. "Caliburn acknowledged you. That sword does not lie about the qualities of a true King."
"But I wasn't the only one. Surely there are better."
"Do you mean Mordred or Arturia?"
"You already know who I mean. Is there any need to ask?"
Merlin stopped walking, his gaze turning solemn. Merlin's current demeanor was no longer that of a womanizer, but that of the teacher that had taken both him and Arturia in their youth as students.
Shirou could feel the shift in the air, starting from how serious Merlin sounded. His feet naturally stopped form under him, and he placed more attention on what Merlin had to say.
"Would you actually be so cruel or have you not yet thought it over? The life of a King is not a blessing, but more of a burden than a privilege. Moreover, would you really insist that Arturia once again take up that mantle after finally expressing herself?"
He fell silent.
Now that he realized the truth in Merlin's words, he realized that no; he would not do such a thing even if it killed him.
"Furthermore, you should know Arturia's personality well. Why don't you try to guess the only reason why Arturia could so easily give up the throne when she's stubborn enough to resolve her own life to save this country?" Merlin stared up at a butterfly flying across the trail of flowers that he'd left behind him. It was beautiful, strong, yet utterly fragile. Any sudden attacks or simple applications of pressure could crush it to death. "She believes in you. Greatly. Much more than you could ever imagine. Therefore, as the man that she chose and placed her faith in, will you crush her happiness before it could even begin?"
Merlin was basically cornering him by stating the fact and setting him straight. Rather than the importance of the meeting, perhaps Merlin's real purpose was to have this talk. Now if only he could convey that to Arturia instead of antagonizing her.
As annoying or troublesome as Merlin could be, he took care of those that relied on him and viewed him as friend.
"No." Shirou's answer was firm.
"Perfect, then we've come to an agreement." Merlin grinned good-naturedly before he resumed walking. "This works out better anyway because like it or not, your influence is not in any way weaker than Arturia's had been. Perhaps its even greater. People will rally to you, and that's all that matters in the long run. In your case, other than the duties as a King, you only have a single job."
Merlin patted Shirou on the back in earnest. "Keep her happy. Take care of my student."
If it was for Arturia's sake, then fine, he would become King.
His lips curled upwards.
He reached the entrance of Cywyrd's audience hall.
"Will do."
He pushed open the large oaken doors and entered the room with determination while facing Cywyrd and the other Nobles. Lady Guin was seated by her father, and the room was loud with chatter as a nobleman announced his entrance.
"The King has arrived!"
Hours later, an individual quietly hidden behind the back of Bedivere entered a side resting room adjacent to the castle's audience hall.
"This is ridiculous, Sir Mordred. Surely you don't plan to act like this forever?" Bedivere felt like a migraine was coming on. He was constantly rubbing at his temples in exasperation. "Sir Mordred, are you paying attention?"
"Yeah, ugh, right," Mordred mumbled softly. She was staying crouched with Bedivere facing the castle hall. Her short frame made it so that it was relatively simple for Bedivere to obscure her form from view as she made her way around the castle.
"Just shut up for a bit and smile, I hear people nearby." Mordred duck her head down lower.
Bedivere sighed and waited for another few minutes. "There's no one there. You can relax."
"Finally." Mordred pulled away from Bedivere and slouched onto a nearby recliner. She eyed the food on a nearby table and swiped a few loaves of buttered bread and a few apples to munch on. She hadn't eaten yet after waking up from falling unconscious because eating had been the least of her concerns.
"Can I leave now?" Bedivere watched Mordred eat the food at an astonishing rate and tried to meander towards the room's entrance.
"No. I need you just in case I need to move to another location." Mordred stopped Bedivere in his tracks by grabbing onto the back of Bedivere's armour.
"I'm not a horse." Bedivere felt indignant at the situation. He was just the Knight unfortunate enough to check in on Mordred's condition right when she'd regained her awareness.
"Then be a mule. I just need someone to hide behind that won't draw suspicion. Do you think I like this any more than you do? Hell, I would have had asked William instead but Shirou knows that William's a part of my Knight Corp."
Bedivere felt a vein pop over his forehead. "The fact that you're avoiding Lord Ashton is the entire root of this problem."
"I'm not avoiding him."
"Can I call him over then?"
"Go ahead and try. See if I care."
Bedivere was exasperated. "I would, but would you first kindly move your hand away from the hilt of your sword?"
"Tch." Mordred clicked her tongue, but she didn't have a reasonable rebuttal. She was forced into silence.
Bedivere looked at Mordred and scratched at the back of his head. Out of all the Knights, he alone was perhaps the most in tune with human emotion. He was a bleeding heart. Once he saw that a fellow knight or person was feeling troubled, he'd be damned if he just left it alone.
"Look Sir Mordred, what exactly is the problem here? You were always on good terms with Lord Ashton. I can't understand just why you'd be avoiding him. If you confide with me, perhaps I can offer you some advice?" He sat across from Mordred to convey his sincerity.
Mordred stared at him for over a minute, but for the most part, his actions seemed to garner an effect.
"Fine then." Mordred put away the food that she'd pilfered from the table into a sack that she was carrying tied to her waist by thread.
"Look, I have a friend whose friend feels that someone's trying to take her friend away and that they can't spend time with each other freely anymore." Mordred was frowning uncomfortably, her legs shuffling from side to side beneath her.
Bedivere stiffened.
Oh God. Why did this 'friend' sound so oddly familiar.
Bedivere's mouth shut closed. He was recalling another conversation that he'd had with another woman unable to freely express herself. Right now, he could see certain similarities in more ways than one in regards to his current conversation partner.
Bedivere stopped thinking about it. He just hoped that Mordred wouldn't be as difficult to deal with. Her problem was actually quite simple.
"Then perhaps this 'friend' should stop over thinking things and communicate before jumping to conclusions." He smiled charmingly.
"Fuck off- I mean, you have no right to say that when you don't know anything." A trace of red appeared over Mordred's cheeks beneath her helm.
"Then why don't you explain?"
Mordred scratched her head, trying to find the best words to convey her point.
"Look, my 'friend's' having a hard time because the person that's trying to take her friend away is another friend that my 'friend' respects. She doesn't know whether or not its okay to continue acting the same way or quietly just fade away into the shadows." Mordred's voice began to lower in volume. Her dejection was evident. "My 'friend' thinks that there's nothing truly good about her other than being too abrasive and unfeminine. She's a brute who acts confident only because she's afraid of what others would think of her."
Bedivere looked at Mordred who was no longer facing him. Far from the blood-thirsty savage that the other Knights had once described her as, all that Bedivere could see was a lonely individual whose back was hunched in indecision. He didn't know what Lord Ashton meant to Mordred, but it was clear enough to Bedivere that Mordred did not wish to part with Lord Ashton.
That observation alone was enough.
"Sounds rough, I guess, but let me state this on your 'friend's' behalf." Bedivere hardened his features. "Never sell yourself too short. If your 'friend' truly has nothing good about her whether personality or capability, then why would Lord Ashton care for such a person? The maids said that he was looking for you, you know?"
"H-How did you, forget it. It doesn't matter." Mordred shook her head and fell silent.
"Talk to him, Sir Mordred." Bedivere pressed. "You know the kind of person that Lord Ashton is. He cares for you," Mordred looked up blankly at Bedivere. "That much I, and everyone else can tell for certain."
Mordred shuddered. She was opening and closing her mouth, but her throat felt too dry to speak. She swallowed after her instincts conveyed to her Bedivere's honesty.
"Fine. I'll talk to him," Mordred pursed her lips. "But not yet. Not now. I need some time to mentally prepare myself."
Bedivere's expression went from hopeful at the beginning of Mordred's words, to flat by the end of them. "I'm not going to be able to leave today, am I?"
"No. I don't think I'd let you." Mordred admitted honestly.
At that moment, the door to the resting room suddenly opened as Lancelot dove inside and hid behind one of the room's recliners. Following after him, Gareth entered and gave a small apology on Sir Lancelot's behalf.
"Lady Gareth? Sir Lancelot?" Bedivere spoke in surprise.
Gareth was in a standard noble's clothing. She wore a brown tunic overlaid with a blue blouse and belt at her waist which carried the magical ammunition that she used for her lance. She was in simple baggy trousers.
Mordred and Lancelot glanced at each other indifferently.
"The hell are you doing here?" Mordred crossed her arms while speaking.
"I can say the same to you." Lancelot remained indifferent. "It's a violation of the Knight's code to be inattentive in one's training."
Gareth stood by the door; peaking through the small crack into the hallway outside before closing the door behind her. "The hall's clear Sir Lancelot. Lady Guin must be in the reception room."
Lancelot gave out a sigh of relief, but stiffened when he felt the piercing gaze on his back. He couldn't see Mordred's face, but he knew that she was smirking at him with a judging expression, not that Mordred was any better.
Mordred grunted at Lancelot. "Avoiding a woman? What kind of Peerless Knight are you?"
"Better than a 'friend' who can't come to a decision," Lancelot rebuked.
"Bastard you eavesdropped! My 'friend's' situation's complicated, so it doesn't count." Mordred instantly tried to defend herself, a pit forming in her stomach.
Lancelot was not convinced.
"Maybe you're just indecisive."
"Yeah? Well maybe you're just a fucking coward."
Mordred and Lancelot were butting heads.
Bedivere placed a hand over his forehead and sighed. His exasperation was mirrored by Gareth who was twiddling her thumbs while her gaze was lowered to the ground. She kept shifting between the words 'Oh' and 'Uhm' as her mouth repeatedly opened and closed. Lancelot was her idol and senior Knight, and he meant far more to her then what she let on; therefore, she was utterly unable to voice her thoughts.
Maybe it was her fault?
As far as Gareth could remember, the issue concerning Lady Guin had only occurred after Lady Guin had found out that she was Sir Lancelot's squire and personal aide. It was only normal for Gareth to always remain by Sir Lancelot's side, but Gareth could tell as a woman that Guin was somehow feeling threatened.
In short, Bedivere could not rely on Gareth for help in this situation. He dared not mediate by fighting either despite reinforcing his crown jewels with protective metal plate. He'd learned his lesson. Lancelot was fair and honourable in combat, but Mordred 'kicked' in the least expected of times.
It was up to him.
Sir Mordred and Sir Lancelot were moments away from breaking out into a duel in their heated bickering, but such an outcome was highly unfavourable given the tension already present in the castle. The only way that Saxons had infiltrated was without a doubt through the work of traitors.
Causing a commotion now would only escalate the problem and start needless accusations as Cywyrd's men were in a state of agitation.
Then so be it.
He had no other choice.
Directly before Mordred and Lancelot's view, Bedivere kicked open the door leading to the primary castle hall where he knew that a large procession of nobles was still gathered from the morning council. Naturally, his intended targets were assumed to be in the room.
"Ah, greetings Lady Guin, and Lord Ashton," Bedivere put on a charming smile and suddenly shouted. "Over here! Let's catch up a bit over here!"
Mordred and Lancelot blanked.
They then stiffened into boards before falling into a panic and bolting away.
"That was mean Sir Bedivere," Gareth spoke up after a moment of staring after Lancelot and Mordred's back. "Lord Ashton and Lady Guin aren't even there. Actually, now that I think about it, which direction did they run?"
Neither Shirou or Guinevere had spent much time in the morning gathering before leaving to attend to their own matters.
The smile faded away from Bedivere's mouth. Fooling Lancelot and Mordred was one thing, but the direction that Mordred and Lancelot had run to was the location where both he and Gareth had last seen Lady Guin and Lord Ashton move towards.
"I need to hide," Bedivere spoke without hesitation.
Gareth blinked. "Surly you jest? Sir Lancelot is a man of utmost dignity and honour. He isn't one to hold grudges and he certainly wouldn't make your life difficult."
"Your brother Gawain calls Lancelot a pansy, all looks, but not enough power."
"My brother's an idiot," Gareth clasped her hands together while lights sparkled in her eyes. "He just doesn't understand! The regal form, the elegance, the technique, aaaaahhh," Gareth looked like she was melting.
Bedivere's lip twitched. He'd forgotten how much Gareth adored Lancelot to the point that she chose Lancelot over Gawain as a Knight mentor. Still, they were getting off topic here.
"Ahem," Bedivere coughed into a hand.
Gareth awkwardly realized her fault and began blushing in her over enthusiasm. "Sorry," she apologized. "But still, you advised Mordred to face problems head on, but now you yourself are trying to run away by hiding from your own? Are you a hypocrite Sir Bedivere?"
"No, I am not," Bedivere was adamant. "You just don't understand the fundamental difference in context. At most, Lancelot and Mordred will be affected in the mind, but me? I have to protect my bloodline!"
"B-Bloodline? Are you ill Sir Bedivere?" Gareth gawked.
"You just don't understand," Bedivere backed up and winced while recalling a bitter memory.
"Then let me understand." Gareth placed a hand over her chest in a gesture of sincerity. "Surely, I can be of help. My family's rich and if anything, I can run to my brothers Gawain or Gaheris. They said that they'd always protect me and that my problems were their problems. Gawain's a goof and a brute at times, but he and Gaheris have never failed on a promise."
Gareth looked utterly serious, the roundness of her face making it appear as if she was pouting.
Bedivere creased his brows, but did not relent.
"You are a gentle knight lady Gareth, but there are things better left unsaid." Bedivere tried to smile, but past trauma was rearing its ugly head. "I will handle this on my own."
Phantom pains began to assail him, but he held fast even in his suffering.
A man must still have his pride.
Bedivere directly left.
Gareth could only wonder why Bedivere had suddenly started limping.
Although it was true that civility was the best form of action in a society, Shirou really did prefer a battle over complicated politics. In which case, he really didn't wish to stay around for much longer after the events of the morning gathering with the nobles that Merlin had attended with him.
Naturally, Shirou had left the very moment that the meeting was concluded and went on to deal with the day's activities. Knowing that Arturia was fine, his thoughts had shifted to Mordred and he'd been looking for her throughout the duration of the day with little luck.
Well, he did run into Mordred, but far from being able to call out to her, she'd bolted like a frightened rabbit at first sight of him while furiously cursing Bedivere's name.
Mordred seemed to have the same issue as Arturia in her youth. Rather than share her feelings and confide with him, she was far more prone to keeping them bottled up. In truth, it made it difficult for him to understand what she was thinking, and that was a problem because Mordred was impulsive.
There was already definite proof that Mordred had already changed from the Mordred that he had seen in Saber's memories. That proof was Caliburn, the King Chooser. He couldn't leave her to stray from the proper path. He cared for her too much to act indifferent towards her to the point that he feigned continued memory loss.
He'd have to find some time to corner her and start a meaningful conversation. To begin with, he couldn't understand why she'd be avoiding him to begin with. Women were hard to understand sometimes.
Rather than Mordred though, Lancelot was acting even odder. Upon sighting Lady Guin, he too had run away, while Lady Guin wordlessly gave chase like hunter and prey. He was certain that he'd definitely missed something in his time outside of Gwent's walls, but the development was definitely positive.
The Lancelot that he knew in his old timeline fell into ruin due to his immoral love with Guinevere. If they could officially get married in this new time line, then all the better. Everyone could be happy.
Now, perhaps it was his turn?
The evening had come, and he now found himself standing back in front of Arturia's room where he had evidently woken up within during the morning. At first, he had gone to his own sleeping chambers, but Sir Ector seemed to understand him too well and was already there barring him entry. Vigour had returned to Sir Ector after verifying Kay's safety and relishing in Arturia's developments. Sir Ector was old, but the man gave off the energy of a thirty-year old.
Sir Ector did not say anything, but the fact that Sir Ector pointed for him to turn around and head back in the direction of Arturia's room gave him little choice but to do so.
Here he was now, equal parts nervous and bashful.
The woman that he loved was separated from him by only a thin wooden door.
She was waiting, and he knew that he'd kept her waiting long enough.
He'd already found his Avalon.
He pushed open the door.
Arturia was sitting on the corner of the bed on the opposite side of the room while staring out at the full moon through the window. A blanket was spread out over her legs, and her back was pressed up against a pillow.
She noticed him from the very moment that he'd pushed open the door. Tranquility was found in her eyes, and slowly, gradually, she beckoned him forth.
"I'm back."
The familiar greetings of a forgotten time.
He closed the door behind him.
"Welcome back."
The familiar response, gentle yet firm.
It was all enough to make him stop thinking about anything else.
He moved towards her, and she smiled back in response.
He sat by the bed and hugged Arturia close. She reciprocated his actions, but her attention was momentarily elsewhere.
"What are you looking at?" He asked her.
"Nothing. It doesn't matter," she mumbled before pressing her face to the nook of his neck. For all intents and purposes, Arturia had been looking at the door. If who she was suspecting was already standing behind there waiting for an 'opportunity,' then she swore to all things living and dead that she would not let the transgression rest. Of course, she'd never been one to hold a petty grudge, but perhaps she'd learned from the best?
"Are you alright? You look like you're planning for war."
"How can you even see what I look like?" Her voice was muffled by his shirt.
"I can feel it," he replied back simply, using one hand to draw circles on her back. "You were tense just a second ago."
Admittedly, Arturia nearly lost herself in her growing vindictiveness.
It was fine. No matter what, he would always do his best to ease her. One hand continued to draw circles on her back, while the other cupped the back of her neck and held her close. "I love you," he whispered again in continuation from the morning.
She was melting, a shudder travelling down her spine.
She raised a finger. "O-One more time, please repeat that again." Her fingers clung lightly onto the clothes of his back.
He chuckled fondly. "One time, ten times, it doesn't matter. I love you, Arturia."
Her lips quivered.
"Artus," she suddenly said almost inaudibly. "Artus," she repeated louder, clutching tighter onto him with her hands.
"What are you trying to say?" He asked her to clarify her meaning.
She pulled her head away from the groove of his neck and craned her neck up to stare at him. Her face was heated. "A son, I want a son." She could not have had been anymore direct.
"…" Something exploded in Shirou's mind, but Arturia's bashfulness dragged him back to reality. "Why not a daughter?" He asked, trying to buy time to compose himself.
Arturia shook her head. "I'm not ready for that yet. I don't know if I could teach her how to grow up as a woman." Arturia's insecurities were showing.
He shook his head and leaned in closer. "It doesn't matter. We can deal with all that together."
Arturia stared up at him and nodded. "Together. Just like how you cook, and I eat. A team."
That wasn't quite what he was going for, but it probably had less to do with Arturia understanding his meaning, and more to do with how little Arturia had been eating over the past few years. He was probably going to have to cook up a feast at this point.
Arturia lied herself down on the bed, pulling him along with her.
Her intentions need not be said at this point, but as if to deny her once again, her ears perked up to the distinct sound of someone approaching her door.
"There's trouble." The door abruptly opened while Merlin stepped in with a report in his hands. "Well, not trouble per say, but the request of a woman by Sir Kay's side who urgently needs to see you, Shirou. She says it's of the utmost importance."
Fucking bastard!
"You couldn't choose a better time?" Arturia was no longer blinking, her expression somewhat stiff. Merlin did not notice in the dim lighting.
He truly did not know that he was currently playing with fire.
"Well, let's just say that my clairvoyance tells me that this matter's actually fairly important. There's sadly no time to wait and this matter is directly related to the Saxons." Merlin was being serious. Shirou could see it in Merlin's demeanor as there was no playfulness in Merlin's body language.
Anything that Merlin could take seriously was not something that Shirou could lightly ignore.
"Rest here for a while, Arturia." Shirou gently pulled away from her. "You've worked hard enough. If you trust me, then just let me take care of this alright? And don't worry, if it gets bed, I won't hesitate to call you."
"It always gets bad," Arturia huffed.
Shirou had no response. Arturia wasn't wrong. His past history spoke volumes.
Merlin scratched his head and intervened. "I assure you, Arturia, this matter probably isn't too hard to deal with. I do not sense any phantasmal beasts or traces of magic in the area, therefore, it's probably just the work of a simple human conspiracy. In short, there's really not a need for you to come."
Merlin offered his honest opinion.
"See? Even Merlin says so." Shirou nodded his head.
Precisely 'because' it was Merlin though, Arturia's expression darkened.
Shirou kissed Arturia's cheek and moved away from the bed before she could get another word in. He would not pretend that he could not see that Arturia had not fully recovered from the day's battle yet no matter how hard she tried to hide it. He cared for her too much, there was no way that he wouldn't notice her body's exhaustion.
Avalon's regeneration, though exceedingly potent, was not without great physical cost.
Merlin and Shirou both knew this.
Shirou nodded towards Arturia before gradually leaving.
Arturia opened and closed her mouth, an arm reaching outwards, but Shirou pretended that he didn't see.
Shirou left and the room fell silent.
Arturia swallowed as her bangs shadowed her face.
Again. It happened again.
Just this morning, she'd already been slighted.
Her hands were trembling, her gaze sharpening into a frosted glare. There would be no mercy. In her frustration, a hand 'tugged' off the ahoge over her head.
Feeling that something was off with the 'air' in the room, Merlin coughed and turned to excuse himself, yet the door was promptly slammed shut right in front of his face.
Injured? Exhausted? Why could Merlin not see that any longer?
Arturia was standing in front of him.
Her stare was entirely cold and unfeeling, the kind of cold that crept into one's bones. Her skin looked pale in the moonlight, but for a moment, Merlin could have had sworn that her eye colour was different from normal. It was almost sinister in appearance.
Despite only wearing light sleeping wear and carrying no armour or weapons, Merlin felt the all too familiar chill of danger.
Arturia was mad right now, furious even.
Merlin could guess why.
Yet, he really didn't have any intention of interrupting this time, or at least partly. It was just that it was the first time in months that a woman actively asked a favour of him and there was no way that he was missing the opportunity to impress.
"Now now, this is clearly all a misunderstanding?" Merlin tried to explain. His hands were raised up in a gesture of peace.
Arturia would not have it. Peace? There would be no peace.
She stepped closer; Merlin stepped back.
The process continued until Merlin's back was up against the hard rock wall and Arturia was right across from him.
He smiled awkwardly.
She stared unflinching.
"Y-You, why are your eyes suddenly golden?"
Silence.
The moon hung up high, and outside, a pair of sentry watchmen stared up in disbelief, not knowing if they were imagining what they were seeing. One was a maid, and the other was the chief steward.
"Is that person trying to jump out a window? He's on the third floor. He's going to kill himself," The maid's eyes widened in shock. "Should we help somehow?"
"No," the steward shook his head before pointing up. "Look, someone's already holding him secure."
The maid scratched her cheek. "He looks like he's crying though?"
"A trick of the light," the steward huffed. "Men do not show their tears lightly."
"I think he's sobbing."
"In joy?" The steward clasped his hands behind his back. "Our side did just win an astonishing victory earlier today and he might be one of Lord Ashton's men. In which case, let us salute him in respect."
"Is that how it works?" The maid looked confused, a hand moving to rest by her chin before she imitated the steward without any other question.
"We salute you!" The steward and maid yelled in respect while in a formal bow.
The man stiffened at their words, as if in disbelief before breaking out into profanities that the two could not hear. Idiots! Could the two not tell that a murder case was right in front of their eyes!
The hell did they mean 'we salute you?' Wasn't that the same as cursing him given the situation?
"Look, he's practically caught up in emotion!" The young maid beamed excitedly while on the balls of her feet. "Let's do it again! Louder this time!"
The steward nodded with dignity, finger's straightening his waxed mustache. "I like your enthusiasm, young one. Together now,"
"We Salute You!"
"WE SALUTE YOU!"
"…"
"Oh, he jumped?"
The maid squinted her eyes in the dim light. "It seems like he broke free."
"No, look closer. There's a hand still grabbing him by the leg?" the steward furrowed his brows while scratching his temple. "Wait, isn't that the Wizard Merlin? Is he performing some sort of ritual magic?"
"It is," the maid verified the steward's conjecture. "He's a bit hard to make out from here though. What a hard worker. I think that the ladies were wrong to detest him on rumours alone."
The steward nodded. "As expected of the court Wizard, he works diligently even in the dead of night. Shall we salute him again? His work ethic alone is admirable."
"Wait, something isn't right here. Is he calling out to us?" The maid pursed her lips.
The maid and steward's eyes had adjusted to the dimness at this point.
The steward and maid widened their eyes.
They could now see the faint silhouette of a man flailing his arms in their direction. As they were hesitating on what to do, the man was forcibly dragged back in through the window.
A familiar face then looked out and stared down at them impassively in warning.
Despite the distance, that face was unexpectedly clear while offset by the moonlight.
The steward and maid immediately shut their mouths and pretended that they saw nothing.
The window shutters were tightly shut closed, the sound of banging and pitiful muffled shouts distinctly clear despite their low frequency.
That room was death, the scorn and tension were palpable.
No, it must have been cursed and taken over by an unsatiated demon.
The maid and steward shuddered from an unmistakable chill and hurriedly retreated.
Wizard Merlin, be strong.
"We salute you."
Those three words suddenly took on an entirely new meaning.
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Next Update: Fate: Alternative
Sorry for later update: Family's visiting and its been hectic in the house
Let me know if this story's Rating should be changed to M as suggested by a viewer, or if it's still within the bounds of T
P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious