Fate-in time

80

Shirou had once said that children were the most impressionable at a young age; was it really alright to leave them with Merlin?

Arturia could not stop herself from fretting. She couldn't not worry. This would be the first time she'd be leaving her children on their own for an extended amount of time, and her anxiety was not without legitimacy. Morgan's name was like a snake steadily weaving poison through the body. She was unrelenting and vindictive.
Lying down on the bed of the Royal Bedchamber with Artus and Annabel hugged within her arms, she nuzzled her cheek against theirs and showered them in an affection that only mothers could exhibit naturally. They each had the distinct baby smell, sweet and subtle.
They were hers. Her babies, and they were tired.
Arturia sighed inwardly at the fact that they only stopped crying in her presence when they were too exhausted to react to her advances. She placed a finger over their stomachs and began absently drawing circles, watching the way their eyes kept blearily opening and closing as sleep beckoned them to the land of dreams.
"C'mon you, two. Bed time," Arturia tried to coax them.
The two were stubborn though, much like their father and mother's personalities since they refused to just close their eyes and rest.
Artus grabbed Arturia's index finger with a pudgy hand, his grip unable to fully wrap around even half the length of the digit. Annabel did the same, but had instead grabbed Arturia's pinky finger while gurgling and blowing bubbles from her mouth.
"You're going to make a mess," Arturia chastised. Of course, she did. She was never one not to take things seriously especially when it came to the upbringing of her own children.
The bubble Annabel was blowing from the saliva of her mouth abruptly popped and made a mess over her lips and the side of her cheeks. With an experienced motion, Arturia took her thumb and began to clean her daughter's spit from off of her daughter's face.
It was at this moment that Artus decided that rolling to the edge of the bed would be fun, and Arturia nearly had a heart attack because of it. The two were top heavy and babies didn't have much of a sense of balance. If Artus fell, it would not be on his side, but on his head.
"Stop that right now!" Shifting her attention away from Annabel, she grabbed Artus by the leg when he very nearly fell off the edge of the bed.
This parenting thing was going to be harder than she thought, and Shirou seemed to handle it like he did his cooking: Perfectly. Honestly, was there anything he couldn't do? He was a jack of all traits, but she supposed he wasn't a master in all of them.
Regardless, Arturia's eyes narrowing, she decided to handle Artus and Annabel's misbehaviours the best way she knew how, by hugging them close and restricting their freedom. They immediately began to protest, and any sleepiness they had vanished in smoke as they began to kick and thrash.
Arturia's eyes narrowed. Want to escape? Then do so when you're aware enough to understand that falling and making a mess of yourself was bad for your mother's heart.
Arturia ignored her children's rebellion. She would not be swayed so easily, therefore, she just chose not to look at their faces in fear of caving.
She was running away from direct confrontation, but so what? How was she supposed to have known the kind of mysterious persuasive power babies had with just a single watery-eyed look? She wouldn't fall for it again.
Arturia's mind made up, it only took half-an-hour before Artus and Annabel began to quiet down again. They were starting to bob their heads in an effort to stay awake, and it was only then that Arturia took the chance to stare at them.
Artus and Annabel were so small, pudgy, and incapable of defending themselves. Arturia was their mother, and the instinct within her demanded that she not dares leave them unattended.
But what was she supposed to do? She wanted to stay by Shirou's side just as much.
Caught up in her musings, Arturia didn't even notice when Shirou had walked into the room after completing his day's duties. To Shirou's knowledge, Arturia should have been sleeping with the kids already since he always arrived late, but this clearly wasn't the case.
Walking up to the side of the bed, Shirou put away his King's mantle and switched into a more comfortable set of sleeping clothes.
"Can't sleep?" Shirou asked while lying down next to Arturia, his voice drawing a reaction from his daughter.
Half-asleep, Annabel squirmed out of Arturia's grip and toddled onto Shirou's chest where she made herself comfortable and began sucking on her thumb. Her features were near identical to Arturia's aside from the red hair. Artus in comparison had features from both parents, Arturia's eyes and hair, and Shirou's easygoing expression.
"No," Arruria admitted to Shirou's question, leaning her head on Shirou's shoulder.
"I'm still worried," Arturia said reluctantly. They were hard words to say when she'd been raised to always believe in her capabilities. "I…I don't want to leave them."
"…" Shirou was not fool enough to say that Arturia shouldn't be worried when the Witch Morgan was the adversary. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to show his support.
Morgan's inactivity was worrying. It always was just like a constant shadow over one's head.
"We could bring them with us," Shirou mused, prompting Arturia to seriously consider the proposition.
How did Shirou always seem to know the right words to say? It wasn't fair because Arturia didn't feel as if she could do the same for him. Regardless, her logical mind denied the impulsive nature of her feelings. She wanted to agree in a heartbeat, and she was sure that if she did, Shirou would definitely take their children with them, but…it was reckless.
In Shirou and Arturia's youth, Arturia had often chastised Shirou for being heedless to danger, and now here she was half-convinced to take her babies to a battlefield. The irony was not lost on her.
Seeking out Shirou's hand, Arturia laced her fingers with his and squeezed tightly for mental support. "You know we can't do that," Arturia said with the voice of reason despite the clear wanting in her eyes.
How could Shirou not see what sort of dilemma Arturia was in? However, it wasn't as if he wasn't having his own concerns. He cared for Arturia and his children just as much if not more than Arturia herself.
This new life was the continuation of a dream Shirou had. He wanted to make Arturia happy and keep his family safe and together. Sometimes Shirou still woke up terrified that Arturia and everything that he'd managed to accomplish in this life would just disappear.
Leaving his family vulnerable did not sit well with him at all, but what was he supposed to do? Part of Arturia's happiness was saving the country, and as the country's King, he couldn't just abandon everything.
Even under Merlin's care, a parent's concern for their children could be irrational. In Shirou's case, what was irrational could in fact be rational.
A correctional force existed within Humanity's timeline and Shirou knew he was directly opposing said history and creating a separate divergence of the path humanity would walk. A Fate-In time beyond standard human history.
What if everything he'd done, every precaution he'd ever made, ultimately became useless if the future was already set in stone?
Artus would die. Annabel would die.
Terror began to well up from within him.
Mordred would die.
A shudder travelled down his back.
Arturia would Die.
"Shirou?" Arturia's concerned stare jarred Shirou from his thoughts which had produced a film of sweat over his brows. "We can just not go, and maybe send Lancelot? He never fails a task."
"I, ugh, right," Shirou was fumbling for words, and it was doing nothing to quell the worry in his wife's eyes. Forcibly composing himself, Shirou gathered his thoughts and spoke up again without a tremble in his tone. "On second thought, sending Lancelot isn't an option. Camelot's backer's need to have faith in their King's abilities, not just the King's Knights."
Arturia pursed her lips because she could understand Shirou's argument.
It was then that an answer appeared to the couple's predicament. Alone as the two thought themselves to be, they weren't necessarily correct.
"Then I suppose it's time that I cash in on a bet." Agatha said while manifesting from Shirou's inner world where she'd been roused to action by Shirou's self-doubts. Living in Shirou's inner world, Agatha could sense the type of emotions Shirou experienced, and it was the first time she'd ever felt Shirou so uncertain, borderline fearful.
Agatha generally gave Shirou and Arturia their privacy by cutting off her awareness of the outside world, but she made a special exception in this instance.
"You lost the bet Vivian so it's time to pay up," Agatha said snidely.
The water kept in a wash-bin inside the room rippled in response before stopping as if Vivian of the Lake herself was glowering.
Agatha could care less. "Your chosen King has become a Queen, and my candidate is King. Now don't be a loser and give me that water blessing you already bestowed to your chosen. Our nephew requires it."
The water gave no response, but perhaps the observation itself was the most telling. Cool and elegant, Vivian was never one to openly show discomposure, but in this case, Agatha was a sore point. The two were both Elementals of nature and could be considered something like sisters with Lord Ashton as a wayward brother.
Needless to say, the two had never gotten along. One exuded nobility while the other reveled in barbaric practices to the point that she was labeled as the head of a blood-pack of beasts.
A minute passed before a small orb of glowing water hovered towards Agatha who quickly snatched it in her hands with a grin. The light and anticipation in Agatha's eyes reminded Shirou too eerily of a certain money grubber he used to know. He shuddered.
Arturia raised her brows in curiosity. "How is that water blessing supposed to help with the situation?"
Agatha stared at her nails, feigning disinterest despite the grin forming on her lips. With a casual wave, the ball of glowing water formed into a mirror that reflected Artus and Annabel's sleeping faces, much to Arturia's shock.
"This water blessing should allow you both to keep in contact with your babies in this room so long as you carry a pool of water around," Agatha leisurely explained. "It's cheap for a blessing, but it would suit your issues if you could still see your kids every night while out fighting, right?"
So, a long-distance scrying spell? Shirou thought up in his mind. Despite his strengths, it was a feat of magic that Shirou knew he wasn't capable of. He nodded to Agatha in gratitude while Arturia was all but beaming in relief. Merlin would be a strong care-taker, and Shirou and Arturia could now verify their children's safety every night.
Excitement swelled in Arturia's eyes, she made to bow her head in thanks to Agatha but stopped when she and Shirou noticed something peculiar.
Agatha made no motion to actually 'give' the water blessing. "Nuh uh, not so fast," she waved a finger. "There's a price to everything, and I prefer payment in the form of amusement. Blood-stained battlefield and slaughter are all good and all, but I've thought of something better after witnessing the influence of rumours."
Shirou suddenly had a bad feeling. The twinkle in Agatha's eyes was dangerous. Speaking of rumours, the only one Shirou knew Agatha must be referring to was the one about Merlin. All it took was a single derogative rumour about Merlin's womanizing ways for it to blow up and get out of hand over the years. It was said that just staring Merlin in the eye could make a woman pregnant because of the mystery of his magic.
It was enough to get Merlin to despair when he considered what sort of effect it would have on his legend years later. If enough people believe in a lie, a legend can portray that lie as truth.
"Repeat after me," Agatha said sternly while feeling for the royal maids stationed outside to help Arturia on her whims. It was they who would be the spreaders.
"Vivian. Pads. Her. Chest," Agatha said word for word.
In the distant corner of the room, a bucket of water began to violently swirl and broke the very bucket it was held in. Agatha dismissively waved her hand, but Arturia looked scandalized. Shirou carefully maintained a neutral expression.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Agatha grumbled.
Both Arturia and Shirou had to think.
Something that could benefit their children, or offending the Lady of the Lake?
The choice was already settled for any parent. The two's shoulder's sagged.
"Vivian pads her chest."
Elsewhere…
Lancelot perked up as a film of water formed the shape of words as if to impart to him a quest. There was only a single individual Lancelot knew of who could do such a thing, and he could hardly refuse her. With a raised brow, he carefully read the task the woman that had raised him wished for.
'Slaughter. Shameless. Shadow Bitch.'
Vivian was not amused.
Moments before the official departure to the Eastern front, Mordred found herself walking alongside Shirou. She trailed at his right and proudly puffed up her chest as the King's Royal Guard. She made extra care to align her steps with Shirou's own, and actively intimidate any Nobles that attempted to curry the King's favour outside the courtroom. Rather than intimidate however, it was more accurate to describe Mordred's proud glare as innocently stunning.
Mordred thought herself as intimidating, but in recent months, Shirou had convinced her that it was okay not to wear her helmet outside the battlefield. Needless to say, her glare was not as frightful as the visage of her helm, but was instead endearing in its innocence. She was trying too hard, and the glower in her eyes almost always subsided after Shirou praised her for her efforts. Not only did Mordred and Arturia's faces look identical, but the way Mordred's face reddened as she puffed up her cheeks from the praise carried its own charm.
Due to Merlin's mischievousness, the name 'Moedred' was secretly being gossiped throughout the castle and Kingdom. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside.
Moving on, but it was no secret that Mordred and Arturia were related at this point. One of the biggest reasons Shirou had managed to convince Mordred of taking off her helmet was simple. To foster genuine trust, there was no room for secrecy. People would gather to Mordred for who she was, not for whose blood she carried.
Life had greatly changed for Mordred ever since the events of the past year with her mother's influence no longer affecting her. She was more confident and prideful. She laughed and smiled more often, and was in turn building rapport with her fellow Knights.
She was being accepted, and no longer isolated.
"You've worked hard, Mordred," Shirou couldn't help but praise after watching Mordred from the corner of his eye.
Mordred spluttered, nearly tripping on a stone tile on the floor, but seeing the warmth in Shirou's gaze, she quelled her outburst and took the compliment for what it was. "T-Thank you," she said while coughing into her hand, her eyes glancing away as she acted tough in order to maintain her image. However, there was a noticeable hop in her strides.
Some things just don't change.
Even if Merlin was the one spreading the name 'Moedred,' it was Mordred's actions herself that was only serving to propagate the title.
Presently, the two were on their way to see Merlin. Merlin had asked to see Shirou before his departure after Arturia took a solid three-hours to lecture Merlin on how not to negatively influence her babies.
By the time Shirou and Mordred arrived at Merlin's room, the Wizard looked utterly drained and listless. There was no life in his eyes since Arturia had constantly drilled that the best method not to influence her babies was if Merlin just did nothing. Said lecture lasted for hours, and Merlin had had enough of it.
It was only when Shirou and Mordred arrived in the room that a twinkle of life appeared in Merlin's eyes. Shirou shuddered. There was something vindictive about Merlin's gaze that was clearly being directed at him behind a disarming smile.
"If you want to pull this mission off, you need to look like a Nordic Warrior of Legend," Merlin said knowingly before his features lost all emotion. "Now. Strip."
Mordred choked; her mind blanking as she processed what Merlin had just said.
Shirou looked less than comfortable. "What did you just say?" He asked to clarify.
"Strip," Merlin repeated in monotone. "A little magic here and there and it will be perfect."
This was Merlin's payback. He wondered how Arturia would feel when other women started ogling her husband.
Serves her right.
One does not blackmail the Great Wizard and get away with it unscathed.
Arturia has to understand that she doesn't have her teacher fully under her thumb just yet.
"What the hell do you think you're asking!" Mordred stepped between Shirou and Merlin, her face flaring red with swirls in her eyes. "Even I've never seen him na-no Shut up! Look what you're making me say?!"
Mordred drew her sword at Merlin's approach. It was the first time Shirou and Mordred had ever seen Merlin so serious. It was unnatural. A Serious Merlin.
"You want to be stripped too?" Merlin said darkly, causing the hairs on the back of Mordred's neck to raise in her alarm. Subconsciously, she began to back away, her earlier bravado fading quickly.
"My reputation clearly precedes me. You see this finger?" Merlin raised his right index finger up, flicking it back and forth suggestively. "One flick and you'll be stripped right in front of your King,
Mordred's eyes became bloodshot as Merlin began moving his finger forward with tendrils of magical energy exuding from it. Mordred had no way of knowing if Merlin was being serious or not, but she didn't want to take any chances. If Shirou saw her in her birthday suit in such a shameless display, she'd probably start crying.
"W-What? N-No you can't! Stay away from me you bastard!" Mordred panicked before a broad back stood protectively in front of her. Childishly, she clung to it and hissed at Merlin's form, sticking out her tongue in provocation.
"Leave her alone, Merlin," Shirou said with a sigh. "If it's for the sake of this mission, just hurry up and get this over with."
"My pleasure," Merlin said with a grin.
The bastard was enjoying this.
War had plagued Britain's fertile fields for years. The green pastures and quiet countryside marred by pools of blood and the stench of death. This wasn't the promised life many Saxons had envisioned.
Beyond the turbulent seas and towards the distant hills was supposed to be a land of plenty. Where warriors both young and old could gather together upon a great hall and drink of the finest wine and mead.
Instead, there was only more hardship in the form of local conflicts escalating into a bitter war.
When was this all going to end?
The constant fighting showed no signs of stopping, rather, tensions were only beginning to grow with the emergence of a ruling King in the British side. The structures of command abruptly improved, and what many Saxons had once seen as a guaranteed victory was no longer certain anymore.
Gale Tate sighed listlessly within a Saxon camp in the Eastern front filled with hundreds of Saxon Warriors under his command. Ever since his encounter with who he suspected was a descendant of the Nibelungens, he'd returned to the army. His insights and tactical skills allowed for him to quickly regain his position as an admired general, and for years he fought within an unending conflict.
The Saxon leaders refused any form of surrender or concession, while the British forces fought until death despite their smaller numbers.
To Gale, it was already clear that the war would not end until one side was exterminated down to their roots, and there was nothing that he could do about it.
"Commander, will you not partake of the feast?" the voice of Gale's military advisor called out to him.
Gale furrowed his brows. "Not now," he responded without facing his advisor. He could already picture the worried frown on her face. "I'm not in the mood."
Said advisor lowered her head in order to conceal the worry in her features. Although women on the battlefield were frowned upon by Saxon men, Gale did not allow gender to override qualification. After all, he already knew of a woman who could single-handedly slaughter an entire platoon of soldiers. As a result, the advisor he'd requested to work with him was filled with an insatiable desire to meet and surpass his expectations of her so that Gale may look her way.
Her name was Cwenhild, derived from the Saxon words, war and woman, and she wasn't happy. She was worried.
Wearing a heavy brown tunic, and dirt-coloured trousers, she hid her agitation shown in her trembling hands within her pockets. She tried again to convince Gale to join in on the celebratory feast, her features obscured by curled strands of ginger hair. It was a Saxon custom.
"Will you not join us, my Lord?" Cwenhild lifted her head up, her clear grey eyes imploring Gale to reconsider. "This recent victory was due to your efforts, and you will lose out on your honours during the obligatory offerings to the Gods."
The Gods? Would they intervene to stop this war? Gale thought bitterly. No. No they wouldn't. Not when fighting and dying a warrior's death was the sure method to Valhalla.
"I won't go," Gale didn't change his mind. He did not need honours. He fought only to replicate the feeling of awe he'd seen at the hands of a true hero. The enemy he'd faced at the battle of the River Gleinn was the same one who rescued and uplifted the spirits of an entire Saxon stronghold.
Not everyone has to be an enemy. People were still people.
"Dismissed, Cwenhild. I don't need any further convincing," Gale said, keeping his gaze forward.
Cwenhild pursed her lips, but relented. "By your orders, Captain."
Cwenhild made to leave, but abruptly froze while staring at something in the distance. Gale's keen instincts and alertness screamed at him that something had changed in the air.
Quickly, Gale turned to face in the direction Cwenhild was staring at. There in the distance stood a lone figure whose features Gale could barely make out only because the silhouette was familiar.
He knew that figure, that face, but how? Gale thought that she was dead after the events of the River Gleinn.
Natalie, Daughter of Hengist. What was going on?
"Notify the men and send a horse to fetch the Lady," Gale ordered sternly.
Cwenhild saluted. "By your order," she quickly dashed off into the camp and began yelling. Meanwhile, Gale stood still, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. His intuition told him of change, that the present stalemate between the Saxons and Britain's was about to shatter.
Northward it came, a bolt of lightning streaking with the sound of thunder in the sky above Natalie's head.
The wind began to stir, cold wind pressing against the skin and causing goosebumps to travel down the arms and legs.
Heralder of the Storms.
It began to rain, the clouds above writhing with tendrils of light that began to zap down from the heavens.
War God of Battle and Tenacity.
A figure fell from out of nowhere and cratered the ground, accompanied by the strike of lightning. The world began to shake, tremors travelling through the earth.
What was going on?
Gale raised a hand to cover his face from the pouring rain and squinted.
The figure was red-haired, half-naked, and wearing only a black battle kilt around his waist. He stood at over two meters tall and the sheer muscle definition of the figure's body seemed to be his strongest armour. His abs rippled with every movement, and the Nordic Runes etched across his pectorals glowed amidst the storm.
Gale and his army gathered together in muted shock.
That poise. That demeanor.
"Mighty Mjolnir," the rugged voice echoed throughout as if enchanted with magic. "Come."
From the heavens, a hammer came soaring into the figure's hands wreathed in lightning that singed the earth in tendrils of static.
"Pave the way to Valhalla."
A Nordic Warrior of Old.