Fate-in time

54

The area sweltered with a kind of heat no different from a furnace, the air shimmering in a faint mirage of red that captured all in a vivid inferno. Ash met ember, the dense congregation of smoke pooling into a black cloud that dimmed the light of the sky, like smoldering rocks on a volcano, fiery lines of molten sediments flowing beneath taloned claws that gouged the earth.

She stood there dumbly, unable to understand, to comprehend why things had played out as they had.
Mordred winced, a sharp pain assailing her mind that forced her to grit her teeth and endure. The blaze around her did not feel hot in the slightest, but rather, the flames seemed to ward away all harm, tendrils that swirled around her body yet did not touch. A protective film that completely covered her. Even though she could not feel the intensity of the flame, the armours melting beneath her feet were enough of an indication of the temperature, and it astounded her.
Her mouth opened and closed inaudibly; the entire battlefield silent to her ears.
Why had it come? Why for her?
The ginormous bird in front of her stared her down in silence. The way its eyes seemed to be able to stare right through her almost made her breathless, as if the armours over her body were non-existent. It made her uneasy, and it showed in the way she was beginning to fidget.
What are you? She wanted to ask, yet felt that it wasn't appropriate given the realization that she had been the one to call out to it, and it had answered. It stood less than a foot away from her, its head lowered to inspect her at eye-level, its wings spread around in a protective curtain of ether-like feathers.
She could almost feel the various thoughts in its mind as the deep cerulean of its slitted pupils zeroed in on her own.
It would not harm her.
It would keep her safe.
Sentiments conveyed not through words, but from a connection buried within.
Subconsciously, her hand reached forward, touching against the bird's beak, a gasp escaping her lips as the seal hidden beneath her gauntlets made contact.
Efret, the name appeared in her mind along with a flash of radiance that seemed to connect the two together at a stronger level.
Efret's body shuddered, the familiarity it felt through the connection verifying its previous thoughts.
It folded its wings and straightened its back.
The ash and embers began to drift and dance wildly amidst the crackling of fire.
More than just Mordred, for the first time since its arrival, Efret's neck suddenly craned sharply towards the direction of the castle made of steel modules, lowering its head deftly before releasing a drawn-out caw.
It had spent years following after the young Lord Ashton's side, there was no way it could be mistaken, and that was why all doubts cleared away from its mind. At first it was in disbelief, recalling the events of the past and the dense build-up of magical energy that had consumed his master, it felt highly likely that Efret was mistaken.
If the world had taken his family away, leaving it with nothing left to protect, then let the world burn.
Yet everything was different.
Life.
The constant rhyme of a heartbeat, steady and strong.
It could feel it as clearly as the first day Lady Ashton asked it to look over the tiny bundle in her hands wrapped in silk cloth. The bond made between a pair of bronze-coloured eyes and cerulean unable to be broken.
The world became bright once more.
Its flames spread out toward the heavens, spiraling into a sea of red clouds that showered flickering sparks upon the earth.
It hadn't failed like it assumed. Not yet. And that was why, it would not blame itself again. If it was too weak in the past to deal with the machinations of a hated witch, then all it had to do was grow stronger to the point where its vengeance would be enacted.
In a single deft motion, it clamped its beak over the nape of Mordred's neck and gently hauled her onto its back. Regardless of the properties of the helmet that Mordred wore, the eyes of a pinnacle Phantasmal Species would not be so easily deceived.
Mordred yelped in surprise at Efret's sudden action, clinging on to Efret's feathers for dear life as it took to the skies. Her face paled considerably, the high-speed winds that buffeted her face making it difficult for her to keep her eyes open. She scrunched them tightly, pressing her forehead over Efret's back while clenching her teeth as Efret increased in speed.
It was a comet of red streaking up towards the skies, overlooking all.
By the time Mordred realized that Efret wasn't moving anymore and stared around her, her complexion paled. She'd never been flying before, and the spectacle of seeing the castle of steel look no smaller than her clenched fist was terrifying. In comparison, the Saxons and the other Knights appeared to be no more than ants crawling over the ground.
"…" She swallowed, the dryness of her throat only becoming more pronounced as Efret dived; the weightlessness of her body causing her to go into a panic. "F-Fuck this shit!"
I-I'm going to die!
Her eyes bugged out, death flashing before them as the grip she had over Efret tightened to the point that she could no longer feel her muscles. Contrary to her expectations however, the sensation of weightlessness did not last long as Efret stabilized, blasting torrents of flame at the boulders hurled by the catapults towards the steel castle.
Mordred blinked, her fears alleviating when she noticed the way Efret was looking at her weirdly. Efret had made sure not to fly too fast or too slow to prevent any danger of falling. It could not understand why the pallor of Mordred's complexion appeared so deeply shaken.
"W-Watcha looking at?" Mordred turned her gaze away in embarrassment, finally realizing that she was in no danger since the beginning. In which case, recalling her earlier reactions, she felt like digging herself a hole to jump into. Her only saving grace was that she was alone atop Efret's back.
She huffed, taking the time to survey the battlefield below after swallowing down her nervousness. Everyone was staring up at her, at Efret gliding within the clouds. The King was no exception.
From her vantage point, Mordred could see it, the sheer number of catapults the Saxons had lined up in all directions. Most of them were gathered in the East and West while only a few remained where Palamid and the others stood. Totaled, the catapults were too much for the King alone to defend against.
They had to be dealt with.
For the King.
For Shirou.
Her muscles tensed, her determination causing her to let go of her grip on Efret's feathers and stand up shakily on two feet.
Even without her speaking, Efret already knew her intentions in much the same way it had communicated with Shirou in the past. It was through the power of the link transmitted through the Ashton Crest.
Swerving its wings, Efret maneuvered through the air and breathed down flame over the enemy siege weapons.
Eadwald's expression faltered at the sight, the ambition he had fostered within him to kill the King of Britain and to retrieve the Mjolnir fading quickly into smoke.
He could already see it, the unease in his soldier's eyes. Efret's sudden appearance was daunting, a monster of legend.
That which many believed to exist only in story appeared to oppose them.
With careful consideration, Eadwald knew that he had to mitigate his losses. He'd already lost his vanguard to the unexpected enemy formation, and now his catapults which he had urged to be secretly brought to him from the other Saxon War-Chiefs were being reduced to cinders.
There was nothing left to be gained by charging blindly other than the death of his comrades.
He hesitated no longer, the scent of burnt flesh permeating as Efret finished up with the catapults and moved onto attacking the nearest Saxons.
"I-It's too strong!"
"Our attacks can't reach!"
"Run, it's coming!"
Morale was collapsing, the army in disarray.
No matter how they tried to shoot at Efret above, the Saxon's arrows would not reach, and even then, many doubted if the arrows wouldn't just burn up in the air during flight. Worse, using Efret's distraction, Lancelot and the others led a charge into enemy ranks at the King's behest.
The situation seemed utterly hopeless in Eadwald's eyes.
"Withdraw," something was telling Eadwald that the day's battle was far more than just some victory for the King of Britain. It was simply the prologue of a very bitter campaign.
He had to report the situation to the central powers in East and West Saxons. Preparations needed to be made.
"Keep the scouts nearby. I want notifications at the slightest movement of the enemy." Eadwald's expression was grim. "All men retreat!"
With the order given, the Saxons wasted no time in vacating the area, leaving behind a sea of trampled grass, burnt bodies, and blood-stained reeds swaying in the wind.
All was silent, Tristan and the others too stunned at the battle's events to cheer in victory. More than that, many were still looking up at Efret and Mordred who steadily floated back down to the ground.
At the very least, Mordred's expression mirrored the confusion of the other Knights as she made her way off of Efret's back, nearly stumbling yet catching herself at the last moment.
In the next instant, Efret shone with a dull light and suddenly shrunk in form, standing only as tall as Mordred's shins. Cawing, it flapped its wings and perched itself on Mordred's head much to her chagrin. No matter how she tried to coax Efret off of her, it simply ignored her.
This stupid bird, what did it think it was doing?
Blood was rushing up to her cheeks, reddening them substantially due to the attention she was drawing. Her shoulders trembled, hands moving to pull Efret off but being swatted away by an agile wing. Glaring up with her eyes, it was to see Efret staring at her with a look of superiority.
In the words of the late Lord Ashton, 'the young and inexperienced must be trained.'
Compared to Shirou whom Efret viewed as its master, Mordred was still a child in comparison, and children must endure hardship to grow stronger.
Tucking its legs in, Efret made itself comfortable on the flat top portion of Mordred's helm, pecking her head in admonishment with each of her attempts to knock it off.
"T-This stupid bird," Mordred was beginning to grow flustered as more and more people stared at her and Efret. It didn't help that the ringing of her ears caused her to feel disorientated. Her hands struck at the top of her head faster in a bid to get Efret off, but all it did was make the ringing worse when Efret retaliated.
She slumped in defeat, head bowing low while Lancelot and the others stared in silence, unsure of what to think. They would have laughed had it not been for the way that they had seen Efret scorch a person alive mere moments ago. The common Knight didn't wish to take the risk of offending the bird.
Still the situation wouldn't last. As the Saxons fully retreated and all that was left to do was clean the battlefield, it was only then that the King approached. Arturia pushed past Lancelot and the other Knights until she came face to face with the friend of her youth.
"H-Help! It's tasting me!"
One of her earliest memories flashed across her mind as she made eye contact with Efret, a hand moving towards her chest to calm the rapid beating of her heart.
Efret had left her without a word after Shirou's supposed death. She didn't know it at the time, but Efret had left out of guilt and regret for not being able to protect its master. The problem was however, that it had no way to replenish the magical energy it required to maintain its combat-form without the energy from the Ashton Seal. Therefore, it had bided its time to grow stronger and recuperate by tapping into a large leyline located near London.
It would be the first time Efret and Arturia met in years, and to Efret, it already recognized Arturia as the Young Lady Ashton.
It bowed its head courteously in greeting. Considering that Arturia was its Young Lord's mate, then the brat whose head it was sitting on must be exactly who Efret thought it was.
Yet why did it feel like something was off?
Efret furrowed its brows at the tension that was suddenly forming in the air.
It was palpable, and Arturia was the direct source.
Efret tilted its head to the side in confusion, but the oddness in the air remained.
Mordred was oblivious to it as she was still too preoccupied with pulling Efret away from her head, but Lancelot could see it clearly. He looked between Arturia and Mordred and simply shook his head, suddenly feeling completely out of his depth, similar to how he felt when he first laid eyes on Guinevere.
Utterly incomprehensible.
The lands of Britain conquered by the Saxons that fell under the names of East and West Saxons could be broken down into other denomination based on the political aspects of the Saxons.
At the center of Saxon territory were the lands of Mercia, to the left Wales, and the right, Anglia. Wessex was to the south and Northumbria was explicit in its name.
Each land was dominated by prominent Saxon leaders. The local resistance at Wales and Wessex by the remaining Britains was the hardest to quell as Arturia had focused her battles in those areas. Yet it was in Wessex that the main armies of Saxons were gathering under the brothers Hengist and Horsa at the heart of Kent.
Information was hard to get around instantly, but the rumour of the Mjolnir being found in the battlefield had long since begun circulating. Many were sceptical at first, but as more and more reports were being turned in by different units of Saxon groups encountering the fabled hammer, the news could not be ignored any longer.
In a certain building made up of hard brick and lined with wood, a man in fifties glanced at the letters in front of him sent by his scouts and hummed in thought while scratching a scraggily beard. His complexion was a ruddy tan, and several prominent scars marred his arms and chest, but none of his injuries hindered him. Instead, it only made him more intimidating, his naturally bent brows and unruly hair making him look serious yet wild at all times.
The man's name was Hengist, the first Jutish King of Kent.
The more the man read, the more a vein seemed to pop at the furthest right of his forehead.
It was more bad news after another. Loss after loss, the numerous men and equipment lost to the enemy's hands utterly daunting.
Hengist paused as he read over the information regarding the Mjolnir with a keen interest. It had been sent to him by a messenger several weeks ago and he hadn't bothered to pay much attention to it until it kept appearing over and over again on his desk. Therefore, it was highly likely that the news wasn't fake.
At the very least it gave him something to think about rather than the previous matter. The headache he was sporting grew worse as he recalled the actions of one of his daughters. He knew that something was wrong when she had escaped in the battle of the river Glein with Troop-Commander Gale Tate several years ago. He just didn't expect that only now it would cause him problems. Gale's army had suffered a routing from the enemy leaving no chances for anyone caught within to survive. As such, wasn't it odd that his daughters had been able to get away?
The truth of the matter was only revealed recently when his eldest daughter noticed the Knight that Hengist had captured with difficulty at a battle near the East of Wessex and freed him.
The Knight's name was Sir Kay, and as it would turn out, it was due to Kay's mercy in the past that allowed his eldest daughter to live. What was worse was that his daughter didn't stop at just freeing Sir Kay, but she'd even had the audacity to run away with him, stating in a letter that her maiden heart had long since been captured.
When Hengist had heard of the news, he shattered the very desk he sat upon in two, unable to contain his anger. Only he alone knew to what extent it had taken to capture Sir Kay, and all of his efforts were ruined at the whims of his very own flesh and blood.
It was beyond infuriating, but at the very least, the greed he started to feel towards the Mjolnir mitigated his fury.
With a single motion, he raised a hand and called forth for his attendant.
"Send a messenger to Eadwald. Judging from when this letter was sent to me by the survivors of the border skirmish in West Saxons, Eadwald should have encountered the enemy by now. I want the details." His voice carried a strong charisma that gravitated others towards him.
He was one of two legendary brothers that singlehandedly led the Saxons on the first invasions of Britain's lands, and the time had come for him to lead once more.
Standing up, he stood at a height of over seven-feet tall, a massive double-headed axe slung over his back.
"Inform my brother that I'll be heading out. We've a debt to settle with the enemy."
A messenger had arrived at Castle Mordred in the following days to deliver advance notice of the approach of the main army led by the Wizard Merlin and Sir Ector. It was a piece of good news in a time of constant setbacks, but to Arturia it just meant that she had to wait that much longer.
She had never believed that there would ever be a time that she would be waiting so anxiously for a womanizing mage, but her current anxiety was proving her otherwise.
They were supposed to be here today.
Her thoughts were running rampant, no longer able to recall if the messenger had said one day or more.
She was currently pacing back and forth within the room Shirou was resting at, her attention fully focused on him and the way his chest moved up and down.
Admittedly, a part of her was still paranoid, fearing that if she took her eyes off of him he'd vanish or stop breathing altogether. Yet could she really be blamed?
She'd dreamed many dreams of the events of the past. His lifeless body laid sprawled in front of her, Morgan's laughter echoing in her ears, she could not forget any of it, nor her inability to do anything towards an overbearing guilt.
She let him die.
Before she even knew it, she was standing beside him. Efret glanced at her from where it had remained perched by the windowsill, but it quickly resumed watching after its Master. Efret was beyond elated when it felt Shirou's presence, but from the moment it realized that Shirou would not wake, it cast aside everything else to look after him. Moreover, after tapping into its supply of power the previous day, Efret had to rest and recuperate its missing energy it had borrowed from a leyline.
A minute passed, then two with Arturia just standing there staring. There was a blankness on her face that would have had been concerning if not for the dim flickering of emotions within her pupils.
Since the retreat of the Saxons, Castle Mordred had only been left to deal with scouts that carefully kept their distance. The main Saxon army did not return, perhaps due to a lack of preparation, but in the meantime, it just meant that there would be no danger of an attack any time soon.
Kay's matter aside, only Shirou occupied her mind.
At any point in the day when she'd completed her tasks as a King, she'd find herself gravitating back, hoping that he'd be awake. Surely the next time, she continued to console herself. However, with the news of Merlin's fast arrival, her impatience finally got the best of her.
She hadn't left Shirou's room for the entire day, and the other Knights were beginning to question her absence in court. If not for Lancelot serving as an intermediary, then the defensive preparations around the castle may not have had progressed as smoothly. Pits were dug by hand around the castle before water was levied and drawn from the nearby river to create a moat.
Fortifications lined the areas just outside, serving as preliminary watch posts to give advance notice of enemy approach. She hadn't said anything, but to Lancelot and the others, Castle Mordred had certainly become a strategic location in the midst of Saxon territory. If they could keep it manned, then they could use it as a base of operations in the war.
The more effort they used now, the better it would be for the future, but the King's heart did not seem to lie in battle any longer.
There was no longer a need to drown her sorrows away through violence.
Her face hovered over Shirou's, his breath tickling her skin before she leaned back and turned her head towards the door quietly creaking open.
"Do you intend to keep this up forever?" Lancelot questioned calmly as he walked into the room and closed the door behind him. "The Knights need their King. Even if they don't say it, you are their support."
"…" She didn't answer, unwilling to open her mouth as she was unsure of what things she would say in her emotional state. Sir Ector had always taught her to remain calm and think everything through, but at this point it was too hard. Love wasn't something that could be so easily rationalized.
Lancelot was both a smart man and friend, he could see it in Arturia's eyes, the flashing of disinterest and doubt. Whatever she was thinking of right now, it was probably better that he pretended that the current conversation didn't happen. He was proven right in his judgment when Arturia could hold her tongue no longer.
"I shouldn't have been the King."
The words resounded in the room, and for his part, Lancelot did well to keep a straight face. "I beg your pardon?"
Arutria pursed her lips and shook her head, glancing down at the floor. "You know as well as I do what I mean. You were there to see him back then at the battle of Colchester. Didn't you say that he was the Knight that you admired the most?"
Lancelot sighed, moving to lean his back against the wall while he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "This and that are two different things, my King. The Sword in the Stone chose you for a reason."
-It chose Shirou too. Arturia prevented her sharp quip from leaving her mouth. Lancelot was not intentionally trying to oppose her, but it didn't mean that it was easy to hold herself back.
"It was a mistake." She bit out. "If Shirou was King, then things would have gone differently. Sir Kay would not have been in danger, the Nobles and Aristocrats would not have had been impossible to recruit, and maybe even now the Saxons would already be routed and sent back to their own lands." From the way Arturia was speaking, it was like her words were all but guaranteed. There was no doubting them, rather, she'd probably glare at anyone who spoke otherwise. She'd never experienced it before, but she was acting in the same way a woman would if anyone dared belittle their significant other.
Lancelot would have none of it. He was blunt by nature, and the affairs of women had always been out of his reach due to his upbringing with the Lady of the Lake who preached virtue and truth over lies.
"And what of your own accomplishments, my King?" he said bluntly, like a hot knife through butter. "Surely you would not so easily dismiss them?"
"You mean breaking that bastard's face with my fists at the Dukes Assembly, earning their grudges and making new enemies?" Arturia huffed, her tone biting.
Lancelot closed his eyes, the very picture of patience. "To be fair, Sir Kay seemed just about ready to lash out with his sword. Your fists were thereby the greater mercy as at least you didn't kill the poor bastard."
Lancelot saw Arturia open her mouth to rebuke, but he was done listening to the King belittle herself. Shirou was a person that he admired greatly, but in the time that he had spent serving under Arturia, she too had become someone worthy of his admiration.
"You provided a banner for our countrymen to rally under in a time of civil unrest. Where others refused to put their lives at risk for the safety of the common people, you were there fighting in the midst of it, throwing yourself into the heart of enemy armies." Lancelot pushed off from where he was leaning his back on the wall to walk closer to Arturia and stare her in the eye. It didn't matter if she was his King. At the moment, he needed to get her to understand her own importance.
She opened her mouth again, and again Lancelot interrupted her by assuming the words that she would say.
"You did it for yourself? To drown your sorrows away through the heat of combat? Who are you trying to fool?" By now, Lancelot was directly in front of Arturia who was unable to meet his gaze. "The man you loved did not love a woman who could be so selfish. You can convince yourself that your actions were out of self-interest, but there's no way that the King who would not abandon a single Knight could have such morals. Caliburn was not wrong."
Lancelot turned his back on Arturia, already knowing that he'd gotten his word across. To admonish Arturia further would be a slight against his King. He's said what he'd needed to say and that was all that he cared about. Moreover, there was on last thing he needed to say.
"Whether or not Shirou would have made a better King is something that you alone can't decide on, but in regards to the two of you together," Lancelot thought back to the days when he had journeyed with both Arturia and Shirou, and the feats that they had accomplished. "There's no doubt that the lands of Britain will prosper. I look forward to the day I may call you my Queen rather than my King, but until that day, please recall the reason you drew Caliburn from the stone."
Although Lancelot was not proficient in understanding the hearts of women, by growing up by Lady Vivian's side, he was adept at driving home the crux of a matter.
The sound of the door clicking behind at Lancelot's exit was the only noise that echoed across the room.
Arturia was biting down on her lips, her hands balled into fists before she slowly unclenched them.
She could not find the will to refute Lancelot's words because she believed in them in the truest sense of the word.
Two is greater than one.
Caliburn had chosen both of them, and when Shirou was separated from her, it was almost symbolic in the way Caliburn was lost to her in the following battles.
Merlin was coming, and surely Shirou would get better. At that point, she would do what she'd not been able to do in the past. It was something that she'd only learned to accept after maturity.
Lancelot was right.
The duty of a King did not have to be hers to shoulder alone.
She clasped her hands over her chest and slowly composed herself. She could not allow her emotions to carry her away if she was to attend the court-meeting scheduled tomorrow morning.
Still, the fact that she'd lost herself to her impatience meant that for the duration of the day, she'd abandoned her busy schedule. It wasn't something that she really minded due to being able to stay by Shirou's side, but there was a problem that was unaccounted for.
The hours that she'd normally be caught up in her duties were the same hours that the Knights were allowed their breaks from training. Naturally, this was the time a particular Knight would sneak past Tristan to a room that Lancelot insisted was off limits. The only difference was that Tristan did not see any harm in allowing a single trespasser in and said trespasser was now standing directly outside the room.
Arturia raised her brow as she noticed the door slowly creak open.
By the time Mordred stepped inside in full, Arturia's expression became utterly blank. Efret in comparison waved its wing in greeting, but Mordred didn't notice. Instead, she was stunned to see Arturia standing by the foot of the bed Shirou was resting at.
Neither of the two spoke.
No matter how Arturia wished to address the topic that was Shirou, the paranoid part of her refused to allow it. Mordred was one thing, but she had no guarantee that Morgan had no way of acquiring information from Mordred. Mordred herself was ignorant to the fact that Shirou was the last heir of House Ashton, making it impossible for Morgan to get anything concrete. The only other method was for Morgan to see Shirou personally but Arturia would never let that happen. Rather than ignorant, it was better to describe Mordred as skeptical.
This was how Arturia wished it to remain until Shirou regained his memory and was strong enough to contend against Morgan's machinations.
Until then, Mordred needed to remain ignorant.
Yet despite how hard she tried to rationalize everything, Arturia still couldn't get the thought that Mordred was stealing Shirou away from her out of her mind. Even if it wasn't part of Morgan's plans, it was still working given that Shirou had already called Arturia 'Mordred' to her face.
She couldn't allow Mordred to believe in Shirou's true identity just yet so she had to force Mordred out in a way that wouldn't raise suspicion. Of course, she could outright order Mordred to leave, but that would only make things worse.
She had to act natural, Arturia finally decided, using a great deal of her will power to prevent herself from lashing out.
From Mordred's perspective, she couldn't understand why the King would be in Shirou's room. Given the rumours she'd heard about Shirou being Lord Ashton, she simply assumed that the King was trying to verify the information. The King would probably leave after ascertaining that Shirou was, in fact, not Lord Ashton but a blacksmith posing as him.
More than just Shirou though, being so close to the King gave her both a feeling of excitement and expectation. Ever since she'd come to the King's rescue, she'd noticed that the King's attention always fell on her.
Was she perhaps being recognized for all her efforts?
Was she being praised in secret?
The thought was uplifting, her mood at an all time high now that the danger to Shirou and the King was temporarily nullified.
The answer in reality though, was no. Rather, Mordred was being glared at.
Giving a bow to the King, Mordred made to move to look over at Shirou in concern only for the King to somehow impede her. Mordred furrowed her brows, a twitch forming on her lips. She had to have had been mistaken. There was no way that the King was actually blocking her from getting closer. The image of the King that she had in her mind was an individual who embodied the principles of chivalry. A thoroughly upright individual who fought on behalf of the people of Britain.
She moved left, and then right, stepping out with her legs in either direction, but faltering whenever she discovered the King spontaneously appear in front of her; either to pick up a book that was conveniently dropped with a flick of wrist or finding interest in the misalignment of the brick floor and arbitrarily hindering her approach by cutting a line on the ground.
"There, nice and even," The King spoke flatly as if there was nothing wrong for her to use Excalibur for something so mundane.
Mordred's mind blanked, her expression growing dazed.
"Is there something wrong?" The question entered Mordred's ears, but she didn't dare speak out against the King.
"N-Nothing," she stuttered, moving to sit at the far wall where she could still see Shirou form.
The pure belief Mordred had in Arturia allowed her to take Arturia's actions as a series of coincidences. In fact, a part of her was even happy that she was able to spend time with both Shirou and the King as it had never happened before.
Still, there was an awkwardness forming in the air that was making Mordred uneasy.
It was right after Arutria opened her mouth to speak that the both of them suddenly noticed a movement on the bed laid out within the room that had them both on their feet.
It was the twitching of a finger.
With each sword he sent towards the cloud of miasma in front of him, he regained more and more of what he had lost. The whole process only completed when he recalled the use of Rule Breaker and utilized its nullifying effect to dissipate the purple haze completely.
He stood rooted in place, taking in everything that had gone on in his life following the conclusion of his assimilation with the Ashton Anchor. The world around him was still, the monolithic gears in the sky the only objects rotating within the area above accompanied by a large gate sealed in chains.
A door to the Reverse Side that had formed in its entirety over the years.
Gradually, he remembered; the parts and pieces of his mind converging together to form memories that made him who he was as Shirou Emiya. Yet at the same time, he could not discard the life he led as Shirou the Blacksmith either. Therefore, his goals, his motivations, and his future plans, were all skewed off course.
Mordred. The Treacherous Knight that led to Arturia's downfall, she wasn't what he had been expecting at all. The recent experiences he'd shared with Mordred since Exeter flooded his mind, filling him with feelings of uncertainty for the girl whose only goal had been to be acknowledged.
His lips thinned, expression growing vacant as he felt himself at a loss.
Mordred wasn't evil.
She wasn't an enemy.
No.
He thought back to the happiness Mordred had displayed when he was simply by her side, masked behind her brash attitude.
His hands balled into fists.
The Mordred he had seen in Saber's shared memories, and the Mordred he had met in the present were far too different. At the very least, the Mordred he knew of had done no wrong. Therefore, he would protect both her and Arturia, to make sure that the future written in history would not occur. Moreover, wouldn't they all be family one day anyway?
The thought caused his lips to curl upwards, but he knew that it wasn't the time to fantasize.
The problem was how he was going to handle things presently.
Glancing around the world of his soul, he knelt down on a single knee and carefully hoisted Agatha up from where she'd collapsed in exhaustion on the ground. One hand went to support her back, while the other placed itself beneath her knees as her head rolled to rest on his chest.
"Thank you," He whispered softly, brushing back the locks of her hair damp with the sweat that creased her brows. He didn't know what would have had happened if Agatha had not intervened. Most likely, the aspect of Shirou Emiya that made him who he was would have been fully preplaced by a carefree aspect that followed the way of forging.
As for what Arturia must have been feeling, he knew that it must have had been hard on her. How much did she have to endure to completely lose her composure and break down in front of him?
"I'm the real one!"
The desperation in her tone, the anxiety on her face, he could picture it clearly as the last thing he'd seen in his life as Shirou the Blacksmith.
Did she blame herself? Was she living well?
These were the questions that he wished to know the most, but at the same time he understood that there were things that he still had to do in order to protect the woman that he loved.
Mordred wasn't the enemy. He repeated the line numerous times in his head while carefully propping Agatha down to rest her back on the flat of a large broadsword.
The true enemy was Morgan, a witch whose magic could potentially rival that of Merlin in her prime. Even with all his past efforts and experiences, there was no changing the fact that as a Magus he was only a Third-Rate. The means that Morgan could use could not only elude him, but lead him entirely astray.
The only real advantage he had over her was destructive capability and versatility in his Tracing. All else, magecraft and otherwise, she was the superior.
He didn't want a situation like the past to reoccur, and to prevent it, the only way was by confronting Morgan directly. In a head-on battle, he was confident in suppressing and detaining her.
Many of his Traceable weapons had anti-magic properties that could enable him to nullify whatever mysteries Morgan had at her disposal. It was to the point that Merlin had called him a 'cheater' when they sparred in the past when he got the upper-hand for the first time.
Battling aside, the true problem lied in locating Morgan in the first place. She would not easily walk into a trap due to her cautious nature. Instead, she was more likely to wait or create a situation where victory was guaranteed for her. Why else would she move to torment Arturia only after he was incapacitated?
Morgan was a sly woman, and the only way to locate such an enemy was if she became careless which was highly unlikely. Therefore, the only method available to him was to think outside the box.
If he could name only one individual who had a large enough certainty of allowing him to run into Morgan again, then it could only be Mordred.
Something told him that she would be the key to everything in the future.
He closed his eyes, and in the next moment, he opened them to a room whose three occupants snapped their necks to stare at him immediately.
He'd finally woken up.
Thanks for reading!
Author's note: Summer's finally arrived and for those interested on update times for different stories, there should be weekly posts about whats going to be updated each week and on what day. On another note, I've now experienced how much of a pain it is to forget to hit 'save' before deleting my word pad. It was such a noob error and I never thought it would happen to me. This is why Google docs auto save is the best. In any case I got all the deleted stuff back after a few hours researching how to go about doing it. (The fact that I'm writing about this goes to show just how much this accident frustrated me today and how simple it actually was to fix. Oh God I wasted way too much time on this.)
At the very least I got it done. Hope you all enjoyed!
Next update: Fate: Hero and Sword
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