Disclaimer: Don't own Worm or anything from the Nasu-verse. This is a non-profit work of fan-based parody, written SOLELY for personal enjoyment and the perusal of the masses.
AN:
Alright, since some people seem to be confused, allow me to clarify.
The setting goes that Taylor died in the Locker and was reincarnated as the fate/stay female version of King Arthur, otherwise known as Artoria Pendragon. Unfortunately, in fear of the slowly returning memories of her past life and of becoming the person in them, she rejected them and ended up going about her time as the King, trying to stick strictly to the tales and uphold King Arthur's legend from the few bits she did grasp from her past life's memories, before rejecting them. As can be expected by following the same path, she met the same end Arthur did. She dies and does not go to Avalon or get summoned in the Grail War by Shirou. For reasons she is still unclear about, she finds herself once more in her Locker in the modern era, but with noticeably boosted versions of her abilities as Artoria as well as the body she got them in. As far as why any of this is happening...
Does there need to even be a reason? It's basically an alt-power fic with a twist; there doesn't need to be more. I am frankly violently opposed to including the Holy Grail (or subsequent war) in this story. It's been done many times over, and I want something fresh. As far as anyone should be concerned, a bored Zelretch is responsible for all of this in combination with Earth-Bet's Alaya and/or Gaia, unless I think of a better reason.
As far as the lack of more magic-users, I'm blaming the Entities and/or Cauldron working in unknowing concert. Or, there's just no more magic users left by the time of the Entities' arrival on Bet. It's the multiverse; if it can happen, then somewhere it has. This Earth-Bet is one of those "somewhere"s. In other words, they've been hand-waved away, and/or if they do still exist they'll be having nothing to do with my story.
Also, I don't know why someone wanted to be super technical about what constituted as the "modern era", but whatevs. *shrug* People know what I mean by it, and, while I do appreciate and even encourage constructive criticism, nitpicking at little things like that is decidedly not... unless you can tell me what the "current" era would technically be called.
ALL CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS HAVE BEEN RECEIVED AND CONTEMPLATED!
Undeen, "Rex", & Seikah: In particular, Undeen, Seikah and an anonymous reviewer, named "Rex" pointed out that it would likely have been extremely out of character for Taylor to do nothing, even at risk to the future, if she thought she could make things better. I saw the validity of that, and -though I'm usually violently opposed to memory loss-type plots (even temporarily)- Undeen's suggestion (with a little twist to it) worked too well for the plot for me not to integrate it. Therefore, edits to the first chapter have been made! And yeah, I'll be working to find a way to keep this story from being a generic curb-stomp, because well... Saber class. 'Nuff said.
A Guest reviewer commented that they would like to see Mordred in the future, even if only in an Omake. When I first started this story, I was intending for it to only be Artoria!Taylor brought into the modern era, but now that it's mentioned... Well, no guarantees about it being integrated into the story's canon, but I'll see what I can do on that front. I'm interested in seeing that too now. ;)
KingHoborg: I'm tempted now.
mr I hate znt nobles kill em (geez, that long name tho, lol): Yes, I will be trying to base the world more on Canon than Fanon, but this is a crossover, so there will probably be divergences. Right now, I'm currently wondering if YOU have even read Worm Canon, considering you had to actually ask me what Taylor looked like. No, she returned in Artoria's body, which replaced her first one. Artoria is both short and blond with green eyes, while Taylor is tall, brunette, and I believe hazel-eyed.
bissek: Ah, you caught that, didn't you? Oh yes, she is going to be something of a star in that particular fight. ;) And yeah, she's someone, who thinks in terms of cities now, when she considers making progress in war. Brockton Bay's villains are in for a surprise. Of course, she's not really enthused about being put in a position of power again -or being commanded for that matter, so she'll likely leave things be at first, until they inevitably start interfering with her life. A+ Rank Luck or no, she's still Taylor, and this is Brockton Bay of Earth-Bet.
Return 1.2
(If this story had an opening theme, it would be the OST, Unlimited Blade Works. Really sets the mood of the first chapter with a sort of mournful, yet having hope for the future, kind of vibe. It's basically what I listen to while writing this.)
It was a few minutes of rather frustratingly intense and fruitless memory searching later, before Taylor thought to locate her father in a more roundabout fashion. She could still remember him working with a union of dockworkers, which... she also had no idea how to find. She assumed their offices -and thusly, her father- would be near the docks in the east, so that became her planned course.
An hour and change later, the twice-over temporally displaced and physically young woman could be seen roof-hopping (minor inward squeal there, because it wasn't like she could have indulged in this random childish impulse before with Mana Burst, what with being a King, who had a reputation to uphold) across the roofs of the derelict dregs of the city that were collectively known as the docks. She hadn't been having much luck in her search for her father's place of work, and, despite her speed, there was only so much ground one could cover, when they had no idea where the hell they were supposed to actually be going.
This had led to multiple cases of backtracking on her own path, involuntarily going in circles, and just generally being really, really lost. It was tedious drudge-work that grated at her patience. Truly, she had never been the most patient of individuals during her royal tenure. She had always been the first to act, the first to charge into battle at the head of her army, and the first to exact righteous vengeance upon the foes of her people. She had lead with both ferocity and decisiveness, and being delayed in this way thoroughly vexed her. All in all, it was annoying, but it did give her more time to think and experiment.
It wasn't just speed that was increased by a significant degree. There were many leaps she would have been unable to make without also currently having the lower body strength required to execute such maneuvers, strength she was still having to hold back in order to prevent causing quite a bit of property damage. In addition, her reflexes were on a hair trigger, and no matter which way she moved or at what angle, she always rather instinctively got a sudden, powerful sense of how to move next to ricochet off walls like a demented bouncy-ball and run across the sides of buildings in defiance of gravity... at least for the short time that momentum lasted.
Truly, her own mobility astounded her, and her stamina was just as positively effected. Even with her training, dragon blood, magic, and experience in long, dragging battles, she would have been sweating from this sort of exertion by this point, but she wasn't even winded. It was slightly unnerving.
As she cleared another rooftop in a casual leap from a shorter perch to another that was larger by over two stories, Taylor couldn't help but marvel again at the speed and power she now possessed. At the same time, however, she was more than a bit wary of whatever force was behind the boost to her abilities, one which she was beginning to suspect as also being behind her reincarnation. Unfortunately, further investigation on those lines of thought were perhaps going to have to be left for a far later time, she decided; right now, she needed to locate her dad. Another jump to a roof of a similar height, and she paused to try and ascertain her location once more and/or, if she was lucky, recognize a familiar landmark.
She moved on. Disappointing. It was beginning to seem lik- Out of the far corner of her vision, something immediately caught her attention.
She skidded to a stop abruptly, gravelly roof scraping roughly against steel boots. The former ruler turned sharply to her left for a double-take at the sight of sign that had only come into view from an angle at her new position.
In faded white paint on a blue background, it read, "Dockworkers Association."
Well, what were the odds of that? Finally!
The building said sign was attached to looked to have once seen better days, but was nonetheless visibly active, with many tall, well-built men of a multitude of demeanors and ethnicities, hurrying about the yard outside the facilities, hauling all sorts and sizes of building materials she couldn't name to where they needed to go, be that into one of the nearby storage warehouses or onto a large vehicle for transport to a contracted location.
The noise that echoed throughout the entire nearby district was fantastically loud in the form of rumbling construction vehicles and all manner of power tools, and the sharp scent of oil, gasoline, and sweating men hard at work pervaded the air with a genuine and intimidating, but somehow welcome, feel.
It was almost like being right back in Camelot and overlooking her men, whilst they were training to better themselves in service to their country.
She blinked in surprise and triumph, shaking off the feeling of familiarity. The past was the past, and she had wasted her chance to change it. Now was the time for the future.
Artoria grinned and swiftly repositioned herself to drop into the deserted ally she had just leapt over moments prior, landing effortlessly with a light, far softer than should be possible clank of steel on concrete.
That done, she considered her next step.
At the very least, it occurred to her that it might not be the best of ideas to simply stride straight into the facilities bedecked in full plate armor... or armored at all. She recalled that it was not uncommon for 'capes' to attempt to cow the workforce her father managed into following their vile ways. He had mentioned it multiple times in the past and the troubles it had caused for many of his fellows, whom were considered "impure" by the filth preying on the defenseless citizens of Brockton.
And, in particular, she felt it might be unwise to approach at all bearing a knight motif. The memories were foggy and rusty, but she could recall the impudent "Empire" gang that had dug its foul roots into the bedrock of this city had a fondness for the "knightly" archetype in a unsightly attempt to project a veneer of civility to the masses.
Really, the first thing any one of these good men would assume at her approach was a new 'cape' making their first impression in the name of whatever gang they now served. She couldn't help but scowl in personal offense at how the chivalrous reputation of knight-kind was being degraded so badly in this city by those degenerates and vagabonds. Disgusting.
She shook her head. Enough contemplating righteous vengeance, Artoria; there art a proper time and place. I am aesthetically unwelcome to these good men. So, what art I to do in regards to mine appearance?
That was the question, wasn't it? She could remove her armor, but that would still leave her with a fanciful, just below knee-length, royal-blue combat dress that was most certainly far out of place for publicly presenting oneself in this era.
Her brow furrowed in frustration, as she stared across the way towards her goal, relegating an armor-clad right hand to supporting her chin in thought. So close, yet so far.
Besides which, where was she supposed to keep her effects once removed? It wasn't like she had an armor rack or squire available, so the only answer was to leave them in the ally.
Artoria scowled. Like hell. And allow some lucky bandit to snatch the only things she had left to her from Camelot? Not a chance.
She sighed and glared reproachfully at her innocent garb. Of all the times that she needed magic and didn't have the dexterity or training to construct even a pathetic bounded field to shield her things from dishonest sorts.
She could still feel the changes in her body, and she could vaguely tell that some sorcery had been committed upon her armor as well, but she couldn't quite place...
She dug a little deeper into the feeling with all of her meager, combat-specialized ability.
The magic, which currently infused her entire being and now empowered her base abilities beyond even her old Mana Burst limits, was also interwoven heavily into her armor, providing it with what she assumed was even greater strength -though she'd, of course, yet to test it- as well as a nearly insignificant link to her own magic core. In all truth, she might not have ever noticed the link were she not deliberately searching for it, but her own monstrous reserves of magical energy had blown the link up far wider than it would otherwise be.
Artoria poked at the connection curiously with a little burst of mana and was baffled to witness her armor practically light up with energy in quantities even she had no trouble sensing. A bit startled and worried for her armor's continued integrity in the face of further reinforcement, she grabbed onto the prana and jerked back on it roughly and clumsily, much like an impatient and inexperienced fishermen reeling in their very first potential catch.
She was baffled rather more-so, when she was engulfed in a small tornado of her own mana, that nearly filled the entire ally with its cerulean glow.
When the near-blinding light show -that she was inwardly praying had gone unseen- died down a moment later, she found herself rather distinctly lacking in armor and clad only in her combat dress with a pair of black boots fitted to this era, replacing her armored ones.
She shut down the panic at the abrupt loss of her protective attire before it could begin and dug back inwards with her senses, looking for the connection she had recklessly tampered with.
To the King of Knights' relief, she found it. The end connection, where her armor had been metaphysically tethered to her body was an interesting thing. It projected a sense of almost... fullness, when she prodded at it, and she got the immediate notion that her armor was actually more than safe right where it was, inside her body.
She frowned in thought. She'd never recalled her armor retaining such an ability before and felt rather confident in even her meager magical ability to have noticed the link to her body the moment she used Mana Burst at full throttle. That meant the ability had been bestowed upon her...
...again almost certainly by the force behind her return.
The former king of Britain scowled and shook her head. Still more questions that would likely never be answered.
She "looked" inward once more and prodded at the link to the... expanded, yet compressed...? ...space inside her. She wondered if it was only her armor she could do this with...
Her lips pursed together.
Well, she knew she hadn't been wearing these particular boots under her armored ones, so they had to have come from somewhere. Were there other unknown effects stored inside her new magical... space for stuff? (She really had to come up with a proper name for this metaphysical thing that was bigger on the inside, yet somehow also fit inside her.) Regardless, there was only one way to be certain.
She reached for her link to the... stuff-space (so she was fumbling for creative names, so sue her) and then reached for the link that she heavily suspected existed, which connected to her combat dress... She found it. With a huff and a metaphorical crossing of her fingers, Arturia floated about the concept of "modern" in her head and pulled.
In another veritable explosion of mana that otherwise did seemingly nothing untoward to her surroundings, a bright, cerulean light-show whisked away the last of her Middle Ages garb.
Her emerald eyes reopened with a few blinks moments later, having been shut during the disorienting transition, and gazed warily downward...
In all honesty, she had half expected to find herself clad in naught but her undergarments... or worse (For truly, it never could be certain whether or not Merlin had had a fell, perverted hand in any unknown magic she encountered.), but she was more than relieved to see that this happened to not be the case.
In the place of her one-piece, combat dress was a white, long-sleeved blouse with a collar and blue ribbon tied in a bow beneath said collar. The half-way up to knee-length black boots had persisted over black, skin-tight leggings she couldn't recall the name of. And above that to finish it all out, there was a conservative, blue, knee length skirt, which her white blouse was tucked into the waistline of and secured with another, larger, blue ribbon, which was, itself, wrapped around her waist and tied into another large bow at the back.
All in all, the outfit was a bit too eye-catching and feminine for her tastes -she who had rejected her own femininity for so long, practically since the moment she knew what gender was, and had hardly had any better reason to display in her first life, but it was modern and of acceptable decency. It would suffice for her needs at the moment. She nodded to herself in relative mollification and strode out of the ally with a reflexive self-assured gait, getting more than a few unwelcome looks from passerby, whom she studiously ignored or warned-off with a sharp, pointed glare.
Several rather decidedly uncomfortable blocks later, she found herself more than a bit baffled and annoyed at how easily she drew attention.
Since nearly the minute she'd left the ally, it had been a subtle itch at the edge of her senses, constantly setting her on edge without any real danger to react to, but she could almost physically feel the gazes of the other pedestrians. She resisted the urge to check for any remaining filth from The Locker in response.
As a king, she was used to garnering attention, both good and bad alike, but it was almost like... She could have sworn some of these people were actually looking at her in mild awe, but that couldn't be right. There should be no reason for people to be watching her at this moment. For heaven's sake, she had just arrived in this time! She had committed no great deeds, defeated no mighty foes! As far as they should be concerned, she was just another everyday citizen going about her unremarkable business.
Was she doing something wrong? Was what she was wearing terribly unusual, even now? No, the clothes weren't the issue, at least. She'd seen other women wearing far more... comely garb in the open, since arriving here, baring bellies and long stretches of leg. Artoria kept her face impassive at the urge to wrinkle her nose in remembrance. She huffed. How improper. Even the wenches of her time had the sense to limit their dealings to the nightly crowd or an established whorehouse.
She chanced turning her head to return the glance of a young man, who was walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the street with his arm linked with a young blonde of apparent equal age, and raised a questioning eyebrow. She blinked in surprise, when he nearly tripped at her attention, only being saved from the embarrassing public display by his... girlfriend halting his fall almost before it could begin.
The other blond flicked a glare over at her, before looking startled, then visibly perturbed. The other girl twisted her face away and then seemed to hurry her pace in the opposite direction.
Worrying.
Artoria resolved not to repeat the incident and straightened up with a sniff, regaining her composure and subtly hastening her pace.
She finally entered the main yard of the Dockworkers Association's facilities and hesitated only briefly, before entering the tallest and most presentable structure present, which she assumed was the offices.
With a light squealing of the doors on their hinges, she entered an apparent reception area -complete with a middle-aged, brunette secretary or some-such worker, sitting behind a desk directly across from the pair of swinging, glass doors, which was lined on both right and left sides of the room with leather couches in variants of blue, black, red, and brown. She smiled minutely in satisfaction; this looked to be the place. Only moments later, she had to suppress a frown, however, when the secretary looked up and jolted subtly, upon catching sight of her striding up to the desk. The woman remaining struck silent for an awkward moment, akin to the people she'd passed by on the street but more noticeable, blinking multiple times as if trying to clear blurry vision.
The King of Knights sucked in a calming breath to ward against her mounting confusion and frustration and cleared her throat loudly enough to border on impolite without quite making the jump, startling the hapless secretary from her observation.
"Ah-! Er, excuse me, miss! My, I don't quite recall having a habit of zoning-out like that," the receptionist suddenly chirped out far more perkily than Artoria felt prepared to deal with.
The King of Knights sighed and just shook her head. "No harm was done; mine self... hast been getting many a strange look this day. The fault is mine." She grumbled under her breath. "Methinks this attire twas a mistake."
The receptionist -"Molly" if the name tag was not mistaken- waved her off and smirked. "Oh, I'm sure you've been getting those glances for good reason, young lady." She shook her head in amusement at the subtle evil-eye directed at her in response. "But I'm sure you didn't come here to gossip, yeah? So, what do you need, miss...?"
"Pendragon," was the reflexive answer.
Molly blinked. "Eh? Wait really? Pendragon, like the King Arthur? That's your actual last name?"
Artoria's expression could hardly have been flatter.
"Ah, I guess you would get that a lot, wouldn't you? And you'd probably get real tired of it real fast. Well, cool. Small world, where people still get interesting last names. The more you know," Molly shrugged. "So then, miss Pendragon, what do you need?"
"I would like to request an audience with a..." She struggled briefly to recall the long-unused term of address, especially when a part of her reflexively wanted to call him Dad. "Mr. Hebert to discuss a rather private matter, regarding his daughter, Taylor, and something that happened at school. Is he available perchance?"
All technically true, and it was vague enough to not even remotely hint that she was said daughter. Of course, the usage of her second life's familial name might ring bells of suspicion in her father's head. For someone to be actually be named "Pendragon" in this day and age was either the height of arrogance or absurdity, and someone claiming that as their name would almost certainly be a fake and liar.
Molly nodded and pushed a button on a desk-top intercom, eliciting a short crackle of static. "Hey, Mr. Hebert, sir..?"
There was an audible shuffling of paper for several moments, then silence.
"Yeah-huh?" came the response after a pause.
Taylor's heart squeezed at the voice, but she kept her response from effecting her outward expression of indifference.
"Yeah, there's a girl here, going by a Miss Pendragon. Looks about the age of that Taylor of yours. She says she wants to talk to you about her and something to do with school."
There was a moment of silence, accompanied by the shuffling of more paper. "Ah... Yeah, sure, anything for an acquaintance of Taylor's; just give me a minute to sort things out up here, Molly. I'll let you know when it's presentable." With that, the intercom's crackling ceased.
"Whelp, you heard the boss-man," Molly chirped. "Why don't you take a load off, and have a seat on one of the couches, instead of waiting around. Mr. Hebert's got a poor habit of trying to multitask documents, so it could be a while, before he's done sorting them out."
Taylor simply nodded in response and ambled over to one of the brown, leather couches, lining the left wall of the reception area. She gave the seating arrangements a critical once-over before settling down, and nearly melting from the sensation of sinking slightly into the soft material. If there was one thing this era had over her prior one, it was modern, creature comforts, such as these. She sighed and closed her eyes, falling into contemplation.
She thought back to the strange looks she been receiving, since presenting herself to other people in this era for the first time. More than one man had given her obvious wanton glances, while others had tried to be more subtle. However, the women had been even odder. Most of them had acted like she'd committed some slight against them, while some rare others had leered at her in a remarkable mirror of the men... She knew and grudgingly accepted that she was a physically attractive example of the fairer gender (she'd had to work pretty hard to hide it from her subjects, after all, and was still regarded as a "pretty" male), but this was a bit much, even for her.
It was odd. As a King, she had commanded both respect and admiration from her subjects and knights; in the beginning, at least, she added sourly. However, it wasn't an innate thing to her. She had had to earn that admiration and awe through her own deeds. After all, it hadn't truly become apparent to her subjects that she no longer aged till a good ways into her reign, so she hadn't had that absurd reputation as a "holy, and immortal" King to draw allies to her. No, she had built her kingdom from the ground up and earned the respect of those she commanded, earned the oaths of loyalty sworn to her. However, today...
It almost seemed like people around her were innately inclined to show her that same awe, grudging respect, and even fear that she had earned in her second life for no reason other than because she existed. It was as though she carried with her to this era all the authority she no longer deserved, and people would involuntarily act in regards to that, more inclined to pay her attention, less inclined to disagree with her suggestions, even if they were only mere suggestions.
It disturbed her.
There was a label for people in this era with powers like that, a category she couldn't currently put name to, and they were feared and mistrusted almost as a whole... for good reason too, unfortunately.
Both parts of her, Artoria and Taylor alike, were in agreement on the matter. It was a troublesome situation.
She, Artoria Pendragon, was already resigned by this point. She had had her chance to save her kingdom and had wasted it completely. She was no longer that king in this era, just a foolish girl with too much power and the inability to use it right. She didn't deserve any of the regard these people were affording her; if anything, she deserved only their scorn. She didn't want to be looked up to. She didn't want to be asked for direction. She didn't want to stand out. It was as though this strange power had been bestowed upon her simply for the sake of cruel amusement.
A long, frustrated exhale escaped her nostrils.
All she wanted now was to reconnect with the last of her living family and live an average life out of sight, till such time as she could sort out her-
"Hey hey!" Molly's voice rang out, jolting the former ruler from her moping. The receptionist pointed towards the staircase to her desk's right. "Fifth floor; then, just take the last door on the left. Easy."
Arturia stood and nodded in acknowledgement of the directions, swiftly going about following them without hesitation.
The door she stood before was plain and practical in design, with chipped, black paint that hadn't been refreshed in too long. A grey plaque on the front stated, "Head of Hiring."
A steadying breath was taken in and slowly let out, as Taylor fidgeted indecisively.
It had been over twenty five years since she had last spoken with her first father, whilst it had only been the morning of this very day for him.
She felt... uncomfortable, to say the least. She was, despite her looks, a fully-grown and matured woman, forged in the fires of hardship and war. She wasn't certain how to feel about the man, who had been left to parent her alone, and she wasn't at all sure how he would feel about her.
How would she feel, she wondered, were her own child to be sent off to distant lands to grow up without her over the course of many years, only to be returned at the moment they first left?
It would be as though dealing with an entirely different person!
She grimaced. Would he even believe the tale she had to tell? Would he accept her as she was, or would he reject her... like she had Mordred.
Guilt churned in her gut, ugly and raw, at the remembrance of one of the greatest, most impulsive mistakes she had ever made.
She had looked at Mordred then and seen only a plot against her, living proof of a grave violation dealt to her. She had been near physically sick at the moment of the revelation of the girl's heritage, and she had unthinkingly lashed out with cold, cruel, temper-fueled words.
A mere child, who had admired her for years, practically from the moment she'd heard of her, was hurt badly enough for that admiration to turn to utterly seething scorn and the most bitter of hatred. Because, in the end, Mordred had only been a child, had never grown up right, never matured properly through human experiences, and she didn't understand, couldn't understand Artoria's irrational hatred in that moment, didn't see what Morgan had done. And as any child, she took it all very personally.
One of the only times in her entire reign, where she had allowed her emotions to get out of hand, and, henceforth, her kingdom's fall had been all but assured.
Artoria shook her head, violently dispelling those thoughts, and huffed out a calming breath, rolling her shoulders and rapping twice on the door.
"Come in."
Forgoing further hesitation and straightening her posture, she returned her icy mask to its proper place and did so, the door creaking softly on well-oiled hinges.
The girl couldn't help feeling a bit of welcome nostalgia, as she examined the room, shutting the door softly behind herself. It had been so very, very long, since she had last laid eyes on this place, but, somehow, she felt she could say with confidence that it hadn't changed in the slightest.
The smoky smell of ink, paper, and pencil lead along with the fumes of coffee grounds pervaded throughout the room; a single, large desk dominated the northern end of the room from the door and was joined by a pair of swivel chairs, one before and behind said desk. The far wall was dominated by office cabinets, several with open drawers, which were near filled to the brim with a multitude of multicolored binders, and to her left...
She blinked. "Why is there a coffee machine in the same room that you mean to hire new laborers in? What if they are driven away by the smell?" A moment later, she inwardly cursed. A tiny part of her had always wondered, and the question had already been asked, so there was nothing to be done about it now. Said coffee machine rested atop another, smaller table, bedecked with several stacks of styrofoam cups, some napkins, plastic spoons, and a bowl of sugar cubes.
To her mild surprise, her father only chuckled with an amused twinkle in his eye. "Well, first, it's just convenient that way to have it here; all-nighters, you know? Second... Sometimes, a potential hire also enjoys a good cup of joe, and if they don't... Well, if they can't put up with the smell of coffee grounds for a few minutes without complaint, then I'm not sure if I can be confident in their ability to handle our more strenuous work, not that that's a real deal-breaker as far as hiring goes... but it factors in."
Well, that certainly wasn't the way she'd wanted to open this conversation, but it would have to do. At the very least, there were far worse topics they could have started their discussion on. On another note, the answer that had been provided made enough sense to satisfy her. She turned to finally lay her full attention upon her father for the first time in decades.
Sitting in the swivel chair behind the large desk in the center of the room, holding a mug about half-full of the aforementioned coffee in it, Danny Hebert was at first glance a tall, skinny specimen, even from his reclining position. Dark-haired and lightly balding, the bespectacled man wasn't exactly an outstanding presence, but he still exuded a sense of being of an intellectual bent, due to the sharp, green eyes peering over his glasses with the glint of a strategist.
Truly, in the field of business and managing other men, who could snap you like a twig, where he couldn't, this was not a person to be underestimated. Looking at it another way, Danny Hebert, Head of Hiring and Union Spokesperson for the Dockworkers Association, could almost be considered an unofficial leader of yet a fourth major gang in Brockton Bay. He was a man, who had seen Brockton Bay at it's worst and come out alive, if a bit unavoidably emotionally scathed.
She blinked. Where in the hell had that internal monologue come from? Looked like some of her old memories were shaking off their cobwebs.
"Come on, go ahead and take a seat," Danny prodded, setting his mug on a napkin and gesturing to the chair across from him. Taylor accepted the offer and sat, folding her hands in her lap. "This is about school, right? Are you a friend of Taylor's? She hasn't been talking to me much about what's going on over there, not about her friends, teachers, or even projects. She hasn't even had Emma -you known an Emma Barnes?- over to visit since she started going either- Ah, I'm rambling. My apologies, but this is a unique chance for me." She could see the minor stress lines tighten with false humor, as he took a sip from his mug.
Taylor's lips pursed tightly. He just seemed so... eager to be involved in her life. Had she really ostracized him so much back then that he felt he couldn't just be this open with her directly? She grimaced; it was time to burst his bubble, and she wasn't going to enjoy it.
"Emma Barnes..." she started slowly. "Why dost you suppose she hast been absentee from your daughter's presence for so long, Mr. Hebert?"
His lips tightened in response, as did his grip his mug.
"Tis a simple deduction; you hast likely guessed correctly for a while now, but you never pressed for answers, deciding to let her come to you in her own time, correct?" she continued. "They are no longer friends, haven't been for some time; in fact, they are quite bitter enemies, and that is only the beginning of it. I came here for a reason today, Mr. Hebert. Her troubles are far bigger than that. The animosity displayed is entirely pointless and one sided on the part of the Barnes girl, and she has resorted to an expansive bullying campaign that has persisted since their first day at Winslow."
Danny's eyes squeezed shut, face reddening in palpable, explosive, worry-filled rage, and he exhaled a long breath, before turning sharp, green eyes on her identical pair. He exhaled explosively once more through his nose, as his face regained itself a far healthier color. "Tell... Tell me everything."
"Emma Barnes has effectively turned the entire school against Taylor, made her a social pariah, and her new 'friend', Sophia, acts as an enforcer of sorts, contributing the most physical abuse to Taylor's torment and keeping others in line with the threat of the same treatment. There is another primary tormenter, who's rather insignificant overall, and I can't recall her name. She's simply a petty lapdog of an airhead, who conducts a constant series of 'pranks' to whittle down at Taylor's patience and ability to resist the more serious bullies while goading others to do the same. Things like spitballs, spilled juice, glue on seats, and ruined homework are both daily and relentlessly pursued, and they aren't above using the same 'prank' again the day after, if not multiple times in the same day."
"Why... has nothing been done? Why didn't she tell me about any of this? I should have gotten a call about this; this can't have all gone unnoticed if it's as bad as you're describing!"
"Verily, that tis perhaps the most insidious part of this whole debacle," Artoria replied, sighing. "The school is very much aware-"
"What?!"
"Taylor has pleaded with the faculty, but they have written off plainly obvious infractions. Other times they have given far inferior punishments than the crime warrants, or they have called her a liar to her face. At one point, she even tried to submit a transfer application to a different school; they shredded it in front of her. Mr. Hebert, this goes beyond mere bullying. The staff are aware and complicit, deliberately favoring Taylor's tormenters. Whom is coercing them is unclear, but the fact remains that they are almost certainly being bribed or blackmailed by someone with an investment in either Emma Barnes or Sophia Hess. No one else fits the scenario, and they'll play as dirty as they need to in order fend off any attempts to change the status-quo."
Danny might as well have been frothing in rage. Sitting there, trembling in fury, his glasses seemed to have actually fogged up a bit from how much hot air he was exhaling. "Barnes...," he growled.
"Act not rashly, Mr. Hebert. Suing the school or the girls with your monetary situation is unwise. More to the point, the only lawyer, who might give you enough of a discount for their services to make such a venture profitable, is the father of one of your daughter's primary tormenters."
"Those fuckers!" His fists slammed against his desk, rattling his mug dangerously.
"Again, think before you act! Mr. Barnes may not even be aware of his daughter's frankly criminal level of harassment of yours; he could very well be in the same situation you are! Approaching this with your temper at the helm, can only make the worst of the situation. There is every chance that bringing this to him the right way will preserve your friendship and see Emma Barnes punished in a fitting manner!" He blinked and considered that, before grunting in reluctant agreement; she sighed. "That said, unfortunately, it gets worse."
"How can that get worse?!"
"Today, they took her locker, filled it with rotting garbage and used feminine hygiene products, and then stuffed her in there." He stilled. "No one said anything; no one did anything; no one let her out, even after her tormenters left; and not a one of the faculty was notified. Or, if they were, they left it be. She was left in there for hours, gathering cuts, terrible infections, and being bitten by all manner of pests."
Danny was up out his chair with roar of fury, and his seat tumbled to the floorboards in a terrible clatter. Taylor tried not to flinch and mostly succeeded, as he hurled his mug against the wall with a ringing crash. "I'll kill those little shits! Fuckers! Who the hell do they think they are! And the school-! Those bastards!" It sure was lucky they were so high up, or, surely, they'd have gathered some unwanted intruders to the conversation. On the other hand, Danny Hebert's fierce temper, once invoked, was infamous in its intensity, and those with experience with it would probably wait to let it die down on its own.
"There's more."
Danny's shoulders abruptly slumped. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, looking defeated, as he leaned down and righted his chair again with a grunt. He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His silence seemed to encourage her to continue.
"As I recall, there are sometimes 'capes', whom are afflicted with permanent, physical mutations upon gaining their powers?"
Face paling, he rounded on her and started to look even more concerned. "Why... would you ask that sort of question?"
"You call her 'Little Owl'," she spoke.
His brow furrowed. "Again, what does that-?"
"There is a broken step on the porch; the plumbing is poor; and the coal chute has gone unused for years."
He was starting to look concerned and slightly angry. "Why are you telling me this? Did Taylor tell you these things? You haven't even been-"
She forged on; at this point, she was just carelessly throwing around any knowledge that would solidify her claim. "She was an English professor." He stilled. "Taylor looks just like smaller version of her... There was a lot of yelling the last night you saw her..." His face turned thunderous. "Cellphones are rather taboo around your house now, considering Annette Hebert died holding one."
His face purpled with rage. "How do you know those things?! Are you a cape? A Stranger, maybe? Talk! The next thing out of you mouth better be answers, little miss 'Pendragon', or I swear-!"
"Father, I am she."
"What?!" Momentarily, his rage was replaced with disbelief at the bold statement, and then seemed to gain a whole new life, as veins actually bulged across his forehead. He looked about ready to strike her in fury, but he was holding back his temper admirably.
"I am Taylor, your daughter," she stated, clenching her teeth and staring him down evenly from across the desk. "When I freed myself from that... filth, I bent my locker door near in half. When I stood alone in a deserted hallway, where no one remained to assist me, I was clad in fine silks and armor of the greatest make. When I freed myself..." She paused, unsure whether to even tell him the next part. In the end, she decided, it mattered little. She had been permanently, physically altered; there was no point in trying to conceal what had happened to make her as she was. "When I freed myself, it was as though I had dreamt an entire lifetime in that locker, as though I had been someone else... When I came out of that locker, I wore the body of someone else, someone, who was not Taylor Hebert. Over twenty-five years, I lived there in another place and time; it was a dream too visceral and painful to be an illusion, filled with war, and knights, and so much death. A family too... I had one there. They are all dead now." She took a deep breath. "Perhaps it was fake, but it was as real as it could be for me. For all intents and purposes, I died... and was effectively reincarnated, and I lost everyone I cared about all over again. I thought I had died again... and for the last time, but for some reason... I've been sent back, and I have not seen my father in decades..."
After a moment of silence, Danny ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling explosively to calm himself. For a solid minute, they remained silent, aside from the deep breaths of the elder of the two, Danny standing with eyes pinched in thought, occasionally shooting her searching glances, and Taylor looking him straight in the eye, presenting herself as completely open for judgment and acceptant, no matter his ruling. This was how she chose to conduct herself. There would be no argument, no spite. Should he reject her, well... she would find another path in this world, but she hoped it wouldn't come to that. Regardless of his decision, however, she would not be the Mordred in this situation, at least in regards to her illegitimate progeny's temper. She refused to go that route.
With a low sigh, Danny closed his eyes and turned away, and Taylor found herself finally looking down, twisting and tangling her fingers in distressed motions.
Her teeth grit together tightly, even as she maintained outward composure.
So, that was it, huh? That was the end of it.
Well, that was probably what she deserved in this situation. At the very least, Danny was a better parent than she had ever been. Mordred... It always came back to her, didn't it?
Really, there were so many ways things had gone wrong with that child, and she certainly hadn't helped matters. Mordred had been physically of an equal age to Artoria's unaging body, but she had been more than a little bit younger mentally. Mordred couldn't have even been called a teenager in mind. She was quite literally a mere child! That was why, no matter her crimes, no matter her role in the rebellion and the fall of Camelot, Artoria couldn't bring herself to truly hate the little girl, who had been a pawn from the start, a tool of spite and vengeance. No, the only one she could hate in that situation was Morgan.
She started a bit, when hands placed themselves on both of her shoulders, and looked up to meet the questioning gaze of her father.
"If... you... went through all of that, dealt with that since the beginning of high school, why? Why did you never tell me? Why did you never ask for help? It took your own supposed death to get you to come to me! Why?" he begged, bespectacled eyes imploring her for answers.
She looked down again, cheeks burning with renewed shame. "I- It was... I was foolish. I was selfish. I was prideful. I saw you working so hard, struggling to keep your coworkers afloat, to do something good for this city, and I decided that you didn't need anymore problems. I decided that my issues were too insignificant at the time to bother you with, and then... Then when they got out of hand, I decided they were no longer issues that you could handle, even if you tried. I- I decided to just tough it out, turn the other cheek to those bullies. I decided that I was better than them, so I didn't need to fight back. All I had to do was endure, scrape out decent enough grades, and graduate; and then, I would be free of them... It got to the point that I might have even refused help, if it were offered; I was obsessed with proving myself superior in the one way I believed they didn't out-pace me... Where they had good looks, friends, and athleticism, I believed I, alone, had goodness, purity, and I refused to compromise it. Hah! Pathetic, I only made you worry more, didn't I?"
"Silly girl," he muttered tiredly and roughly sighed, couching down to pull her into a full-on hug. She could smell the lingering scent of coffee, the sweat of stress and fading anger, and the scent of fresh ink. With her ear pressed against his collarbone, she could hear the low thumping of his heart. She could feel something slowly dampening the thin fabric over her left shoulder and realized with a start that those were tears being shed for her. "I'm your father, Little Owl. No matter what you think, no matter how old you are inside that noggin of yours, it's my job to try."
"Yeah, I got that now," she huffed wryly, her own arms hesitantly reaching up to return the gesture, pulling herself closer. For a quiet moment, the father and daughter pair allowed themselves to bask in the shared comfort of a long-frayed connection gaining a small thread of solidarity.
After a minute or so, Danny chuckled and tightened his grip around his daughter. "So let's say I believe you completely... We're going to be having a long talk about what kind of life you lived to have yourself a surname, like Pendragon of all things."
"You caught that, did you? I didn't even reintroduce myself to you personally. You must have been paying more attention than implied to your receptionist's call," she remarked lowly. Her lips trembled, seemingly trying to decide whether to smile in happiness or spread wide so she could bawl, as she hugged her father back as hard as she dared, careful to restrain her new and monstrous strength from crushing him. At the same time, she studiously ignored the prickling at the corners of her eyes and slow blurring of her watery vision.
"I try not to make a habit of missing things," he responded, rubbing the small of her back. She could have responded with a comment about her school troubles, but that would have soured the mood and obliterated it with an asteroid for good measure. Besides, that was old news, old problems that she could care less about now. This was the time for moving on, for looking to the future and enjoying the present.
So, the former ruler of Britain said nothing. And as she snuggled further into her father's embrace, Taylor Hebert allowed tears of relief and joy to run freely down her face. It felt as though, no matter what else happened, so long as this moment existed, everything was going to be all right.
No matter the cost to her foes, no matter what others thought of her, nor the swift deaths she may be forced to deal, the King of Knights would protect what belonged to her...
Nothing would interfere with this happiness.
AN:
Lol, I'm going to be having fun messing with Artoria in the future. She really just wants to try and have a "normal" life right now and stay under the radar as much as possible, but -in combination with her natural looks- that Charisma B of hers is doing work(read HALPING)! XD
Damn, I had trouble writing this ending scene. It just kept getting longer and longer, as I felt like I had to continue to flesh it out. I wanted the interactions to feel... real with believable emotions and reactions and shit. I don't think I do emotional stuff too well, but I'm trying my best. Once I finally finish powering through this arc, we can finally get to the interesting stuff about actually using powers for reasons... that will become apparent later. One thing that is similar between Taylor and Artoria is that Pre-canon Taylor and Post-Camlann Artoria have almost non-existent senses of self-worth, so they both find worth in saving/helping others. Artoria no longer has a kingdom or people to protect; it's only Danny she currently considers to be under her aegis, and all the gods help anyone, who dares to poke at the one thing she believes she has left to protect...
Meanwhile, writing Danny is hard, mostly because the Wiki didn't have good description of his personality, other than the fact that he has an explosive temper, but he never releases it in front of Taylor. That meant I had to incorporate it into all Artoria's interactions with him, up till he realized her identity. Other than that, I had to rely on how he's portrayed in fanfiction, along with taking into account his situation and how anyone else might act in his position. I think I've done fairly with his portrayal, but I would appreciate advice on how to improve it. Meanwhile, Danny isn't really effected by Charisma so much, because he's a leader in his own right, and he sees her as just Taylor, not some great person to look up to. I mean to incorporate this mechanic into other interactions. Those who lead others are far less effected by Charisma's HALPING! machinations.
Alright, I've got a bit more of the future plot decided as of now, but I'm not going to be giving hints, besides saying it's regarding some things people have asked me about already in both Reviews and PM's. One thing I will say I have changed is that she doesn't currently possess Avalon, but she WILL be getting it back, and I've already decided how. Also, she's got quite few weapons to choose from in her legend, and I'm having trouble deciding which one(s?) she'll start off with in her possession. You might immediately shout that Excalibur should be the obvious choice, but I'm keeping the mechanic that anyone who sees it will almost certainly know who she is on an instinctive level, without even being Servants. So, it really wouldn't make the best starter weapon, till she knows she actually HAS a weapon (or two) in her pocket dimension. ;)
As an extra little bit of info, I'd like to elaborate on what Servent-like abilities Artoria!Taylor does have. For one thing, she will not have the ability to form contracts with other people to receive mana (that one's pretty obvious). She also can not enter an astral form, much like Artoria never could in canon. She also does not heal over time like a Servant, via simply applying mana; only Avalon gives her that regeneration. She does, however, have the ability to create clothes from mana, to summon and store away her clothes and armor, and to store weapons in a Servant-style pocket dimension.
Also, as far as other Round Table members showing up, I will only allow it to be Bedivere, Mordred, and maybe Merlin, if at all (because Bedivere+Excalibur=Interesting Things; Mordred=Character Conflict/Progression+Worthy Opponent; and Merlin is just plain crafty enough to have lasted that long). And this is in order of most likely to appear, if I finally decide to do it. No other members will show up at all.
As a last little detail, I intend to be referring to Artoria!Taylor as Artoria and Taylor alternatively, each respectively during moments, where she acts more like one or the other. For the most part, she'll be Artoria, however, since she's lived about twice as long with that name than she has her former.
I'm not sure if the next chapter will be an Interlude or not, but I'm leaning toward "yes". If so, it will be a multiple POV Interlude, which will establish a good bit of the future plot. I'm thinking about finally going with one of my reviewer's suggestions, so good for them! I wouldn't have ever done it, if they hadn't made the suggestion, but it will be revealed during the Interlude, whether that is next chapter or the one after that.
As always, I welcome and invite constructive criticism that will help me write better, but I rather discourage pointing out small faults without offering a solution. One thing I would appreciate in particular are some shout-outs to any good sites I could use to learn how to write proper Medieval speech for Artoria!Taylor. And as always, I am writing for fun!