After 158301 words, 11 chapters, ten months and a lot of revising, we finally get our very first look at Saber.

That's right, baby, you heard me. Arturia Pendragon, the King of Knights, the Once and Future king of Britannia, owner of Avalon and Excalibur is in da house!

The reason why I haven't included her in the story yet was because I didn't want to ruin her entrance with meaningless filler. Arturia was probably the second most interesting person to write in the chapter, with Gawain being the most interesting. I just find the knights in Fate to be so damn interesting!

The Omake in the end was something I came up with after marathoning the fourth season of ERB (Epic Rap Battles of History). Just something I thought was interesting.

Special thanks to BPZ for being my Beta.

For now, please enjoy!


A blade of splendor, held by a girl of delicate features. The sword in her hands was wielded with hopes and dreams of a unified Britannia and the happiness of her people. Regardless of what the lords around her said, the girl was the greatest of all knights and she showed her skill and magnificence through her valor on the battlefield. Even as the former allies of her father mocked her as a child and refused to acknowledge her claim to the throne, even as she assembled her army and rode to battle, her heart would forever carry the wish of true peace.

Her kingdom, once united and proud, had fallen apart into several warring nations which constantly battled with one another. As the small girl who donned the armor of a knight drew her sword for the inevitable clash with the hostile army, the light of her people steadied her hand and guided her heart. The king would never hesitate, for hesitating was the bane of humans on the battlefield and she was not a human.

If the people needed a king who would not fall victim to the weaknesses of humans then she would no longer consider herself a human. Above her gender, above her race, above her life, she would always remain a king and a king could not rule a kingdom if they fell for a human's vice.

Driving the blade of marvelous beauty into the chest of the enemy, she vowed to seal away all traces of her humanity, to turn her heart into steel, cage it in iron and to act with only the kingdom's interests first and foremost. For that is the true nature of Britannia's true ruler, to always remain inhuman for the sake of her subjects, if being human meant failing them.

But even as she locked all emotions and desires away to never feel them again, she knew she could never remove her love for her people, for one could not seal away their love if the act of sealing was made out of that very same love to begin with.

Such a foolish king.

Such an utterly foolish king.

Still, the figure of that petite girl clad in steel, standing with her knights behind her and ready to act, was so stunning it could not be described in words. As if the moon and sun did not dare to interrupt the scene, the light emanating from the king was enough to shame them both.

Such a foolish girl.

And yet…

Such a beautiful king.

That was why it was a shame, that the sword in her hands would never be wielded again.

AOB

Shirou had the strangest feeling when he woke up. Like the oddest sense of déjà vu, he felt as if he'd seen that dream many times before, despite that he couldn't even remember what he'd dreamt in the first place. He knew he'd dreamt it over and over, but he could never remember a single thing about the dream once he woke up. A maddening feeling, like someone was deliberately holding his dreams in a place where he could not reach them.

Not that it mattered all that much anyway, he just didn't like the feeling of waking up and not remembering something. It was an awful way to start a day since it made him paranoid of forgetting anything else. Every time he left the tavern he needed to triple check everything he required, something which drove Rowland nuts it seemed.

Today appeared to be one of those days, a day when he'd have to second guess himself at each turn. His bag would need to be inspected to make sure he had everything Vortimer had told him to bring with him when they left…

They were leaving today!

Vortimer had informed him they were leaving for the Western Forest today before dawn. He'd been so nervous for his first battle against a human that he hadn't been able to sleep at all. He'd tossed and turned in bed the entire night, only managing to fall asleep when his exhaustion proved too much for his teenaged body to handle. His eyelids felt heavy and his movements sluggish so it was likely he hadn't slept that long either, despite his desire to do so. A quick look at the window showed a few rays of sunshine rising from the horizon, telling him it was morning. He couldn't have slept for more than a few hours then, judging by the extremely tired state his body was in.

Flipping his legs off the bed, he sighed when he tried moving his arms. The numb feeling in his right arm told him he'd somehow managed to stop the flow of blood in his arm while sleeping, most likely from his awkward sleeping position. Shaking his heavy right arm to hasten the blood flow into the numb limb, he used his left arm to pick up his shirt. Getting dressed with a partially paralyzed right arm proved to be a challenge, but when one had the willpower of Emiya Shirou, the task of putting one's clothes on didn't even faze him, although it took a full ten minutes before he was done and by then the arm had already returned to normal.

Picking up the bag he he'd bought the day before, he began packing the various items he'd been told were necessary for traveling. Some were understandable, others were not so understandable. He knew he was in the middle ages, but it seemed so very odd for a knight to tell him he should bring his own bedsheets, since there wouldn't be enough tents for everyone and those who did not bring their own would be sleeping outside. Luckily he didn't have that problem since he could simply trace a tent, but he still found it improper for the army not to supply its soldiers with proper equipment. Even an overcrowded inn would be better than to sleep in the cold night air.

Although the alternative was even worse, considering the nature of the army. If a force of four-hundred people marched into an inn and demanded service, then it wouldn't be long before the soldiers started taking advantage of the owners and servants. He had seen plenty of soldiers try to cop a feel on a serving girl in the tavern when they thought nobody was looking. He thought he would have to intervene, but Rowland had beaten him to it. A single smack on the head had sent the soldiers stumbling to the ground. When they angrily demanded to know who had been so brazen as to attack them and Rowland stepped in, the tavern owner's muscled and gigantic build coming into view, the soldiers had wisely retreated to the camp. After all, why risk your life in a tavern when you will have to risk your life on the battlefield in just a few weeks?

Shirou was pretty sure Rowland would have only hurt them enough so that they wouldn't be making a fuss, but would recover in time for the invasion.

So perhaps camping was the best alternative for the army, considering the impoverished state of the southern villages. Instead of the invading army, most villagers feared their own army when they came marching through, demanding food and shelter. The villagers didn't have any choice in the matter, since it was law to aid the duke's army in any way they can, but some soldiers took their new privileges too far. Rape and pillaging was expected of the enemy, but to think that the defenders would go so far as to do it made Shirou's mind freeze.

That appeared to be why Ludvig had set up camp a distance from Blackbay and why Vortimer told his troops to acquire their own tents and equipment. Even if the duke did not care about the welfare of his people, the duke would notice if his gold and food suddenly disappeared because his subjects were too hungry or poor to pay the taxes put on them. If the reason the profits decreased was because of them, then the duke would undoubtedly vent his anger on the ones in command of the army.

At least that's what he thought Ludvig's reason was. He was pretty sure Vortimer did it because he didn't want the people to suffer needlessly. Compared to Ludvig, Vortimer seemed more social and just in his treatment of the commoners of Albion. He was certainly nobler than Ludvig, that was for sure. The younger knight had argued with Ludvig more times than he could count on the treatment of the surroundings area and its people, something which had somehow split the camp into two factions; Ludvig-faction and Vortimer-faction. Shirou had so far been unable to actually do anything to sway either side since he had no idea what they were talking about, but he was technically sworn to honor the deal he had with Ludvig. If there was a chance that Ludvig wanted him to support his decision then he'd make sure he held up his end of the bargain, since he needed to ensure freedom of the saxon prisoners. Doing anything which could be perceived as betrayal would give Ludvig grounds for going back on the deal, so Shirou would have to make sure he didn't do anything which could even remotely be considered as protesting to Ludvig's orders.

Argh, why did everything have to be so complicated? He had to worry about the invasion and training before, but now he had to think about politics and manners as well. Couldn't the Saxons just invade and fight so he could be done with everything already? He was tired of tiptoeing around everything like it was made of glass. He had to make sure the archers were ready to fight and make weapons for the infantry, why couldn't they just leave him alone so he could focus on those two things? Instead he was capturing criminals and executing them on the orders of some guy he didn't even like and who was fighting this war out of greed. Kiritsugu didn't mention anything like this, his stories were always short and to the point. Sneak into the country, assassinate the leader of the conflict, ensure the next leader wasn't going to follow in his predecessor's footsteps to cause another civil war, and then sneak out of the country. Those kinds of stories were what Kiritsugu had told him, not this political agenda-nonsense.

Stuffing socks and underwear into his bag, he sighed in frustration. There was nothing he could do about the situation right now, aside from killing Ludvig and the entire Saxon army before the invasion commenced and he doubted he could do either of them without causing the downfall of the Southern Army. Ludvig was the reason the army had been so successful to begin with and his death (while it would help the more honorable knights to take command) would cause chaos in their ranks. They would without a doubt lose when the Saxons arrived to begin their invasion. The only way to stop that would be to destroy the saxon army, but he had no way of doing that short of unleashing Scarface on them. He didn't have any Scarfaces to spare at the moment, his last one had met an untimely death just a few weeks earlier.

Grabbing the sword he'd been given the day before, he drew it from the scabbard. The silvery steel gleamed in the morning sun, the metal shining like a cold star in the dark of his room. He'd be wielding Cortana in the upcoming conflict fighting with his life on the line. How many lives would he be taking with the sword in his hands? Dozens? Hundreds? He didn't know, all he was able to say for certain was that he'd be doing it for what was right. He'd be doing it to protect the people of Blackbay, to protect the innocent people who would be sure to suffer if the Saxons were to win the battle which would soon be upon them.

Sheathing the sword, he secured the scabbard's belt around his waist. He didn't have time to waste, not when he already knew he was late for the departure. Vortimer wouldn't leave without him, but it would cast a bad light on him if he was late for the mission. Picking up the leather gloves Rowland had given him, he went through the checklist on last time.

Merchant cloak AKA The Donkey Coat? Check.

Sword, shield and dagger? Check.

A blanket in case the night gets too cold? Check.

Emergency rations (oats and dried fruit)? Check.

Med kit? Double-check.

Extra sturdy boots? Check.

Under normal circumstances the checklist would have been far longer, but with the amazing power known as Magecraft he could simply trace anything he needed, removing the need to carry otherwise pointlessly heavy equipment, such as pots and pans. The army possessed their own overly large cauldrons to cook meals for the entire army, but those meals took a long time to make and the lines were usually equally long once the food was done. Most soldiers tended to bring their own cooking equipment, prepare their own meals, with their rations, combined with whatever they could gather from the area they were in. Shirou had been thinking about trying to sneak into the army's kitchen to cook for them, but the chefs had been rather adamant in not letting him. From what he could gather, the chefs were not obligated to fight since it took a lot of time to prepare food for the entire army and cooking was a tough occupation in itself. The lack of decent cooks had given the men a reason to avoid the battlefield, but Shirou's presence was a threat to that safe haven. If Shirou was able to cook enough food for the army, then the value of the chef's job would decrease and they'd have to fight on the frontlines, a thought which would send a chill down anyone's spine.

Despite his best efforts, he'd not been able to convince them he couldn't create such an outrageous miracle. Create weapons by the dozens? He could do it in his sleep. Cook enough food for an army? Not a chance, at least not with medieval methods. In his modern kitchen with lots of time and practice perhaps, but not in this day and age.

Picking up the leather bag , that he'd bought from a traveling merchant, he left for his first official mission with the army.

He just hoped the uneasy knot in his stomach would dissolve already.

AOB

The white walls of Camelot never ceased to amaze Arturia, even as she looked out from the top of the highest wall for what felt like the hundredth time. Never in a thousand years would she ever be able to see such a sight again. The stone could have been carved from alabaster, but it still would not have been as impressive as what her ancestors had built when they laid the foundation of Camelot. Not the castle, of course. She had been the one to order the construction of Camelot, but the walls protecting it. The purity of the white stone which protected her fair city was beyond the talents of mortal men of her age, that she knew as surely as the mountains and valleys were beyond the skill of those before her. She had spent enough time up here to be certain of it.

From the sheer height, to the immense width, the walls of Camelot were without equal. It was why the southern wall was the favorite corner of her kingdom. While the guards came and went, the only sound she heard when she looked out at the sea was the wind, carrying with it the salt of the ocean and the raw youth of the sky.

She more often than not came here to think. The silence offered by solitude was sometimes more rewarding than the advice her knights would sometimes give her. Ever since she had pulled Caliburn from its marble sheath, and claimed the throne of Britannia, she had been surrounded by people bombarding her with advice and warnings. It had been hard to make out the actual meanings of what the lords and knights had said when everyone was saying it at the same time, each trying to make their own voice heard over the cacophony of noise. Today had been one of those days.

The decisions she had to make as the king affected the entire kingdom, from the highest of lords to the lowest peasant. How was she supposed to decide when she couldn't even hear herself think over the shouting match the nobles had made of her court? When even Lancelot and Gawain, men who had spent their entire lives in and around the courts of their homes, started to reach for their swords in barely repressed anger, she knew the court was over for the day. Thanking the lords and ladies for their time, she had walked to the wall as fast as the king was allowed to walk.

Now she was here, basking in the soothing calmness which was her haven. The caress of the wind and water in the air revitalized her, for she needed it after the news she had heard today.

"Out here again, Your Highness?" Gawain's cheerful tone broke her from her thoughts. Turning around, she saw the Sun-Knight standing by the door. Clad in armour shining like silver in the sun, Gawain possessed the appearance of a king and the charisma to match. He had however no desire to rule, his wish instead being to serve her as her stand-in and knight. She could never thank him enough for his loyalty.

"Do you really need to ask such a thing, Sir Gawain? It should have been obvious I would come here after the court was over." She said, her voice formal, but not unkind. A king could not be seen being too friendly with one knight and neglect another, even if the knight in question was her substitute whenever she left the castle.

"But taking anything for granted when it comes to a king, or especially when it comes to a king can be hazardous for one's health. The other knights think so as well, they have made it a habit not to linger around the wall after court, lest they disturb you in your thoughts." Her knight explained happily. He might have meant it to cheer her up, but it didn't have the effect he had been hoping for.

"Why would they do something like that?" She said. Her presence should not have any sway over their activities. If the knights avoided the southern tower simply because she liked to spend here evenings there then it would simply become a weakness in the castle's defences. Her solitude was not worth the risk of losing the castle.

"They believe anyone who disturbs you would fall out of your favor and lose their status as nobles. Not an admirable fear, but one all noblemen possess at one point in life." The knight of the sun said, a smile tugging at his lips. The knight in front of her had no such fear, he was far too noble for such a thing. To Gawain, a man who shined as brilliantly as the sun, fear was nothing more than a distraction.

She grimaced at the revelation. Status was not something to hoard like a dragon would a treasure. Status and nobility was a reward for hard work and dedication. For them to shirk their duties for the sake of their pride was contemptible. It was just another piece of bad news, albeit not even half as bad as what she had previously heard when she was holding court.

"You are troubled by the news sir Lancelot brought back?" Gawain asked, when he noticed her expression. He was very observant for a man who cared little for politics. It must have been his talent for battle which allowed him to notice her troubles. He was one of the greatest swordsmen in Britannia and it showed in his daily life. He never went anywhere without his trusted blade, not even when they had hosted a feast for sir Lancelot did Gawain leave behind his sword.

Not that she could blame him. Caliburn rarely left her hip either.

She schooled her features into a perfect mask, hiding any traces of worry behind a wall of iron. "I found the implications to be far more troubling than initially feared, yes. I had hoped for something else, though I would much rather know about it than to remain ignorant." She revealed. If what Lancelot had said was true then dark times would be sure to follow.

For years they had used birds to deliver letters, ranging from pigeons and crows to hawks and falcons. Each bird had its specialty and was suitable for its own purpose. Urgent news was delivered by crows and falcons, due to their speed and ability to blend in, making them useful for military letters. Up until now that is…

Sir Lancelot and his men had been traveling near the border to Cornwall when he saw a falcon get shot down by an arrow fired by Cornish archers. After a short confrontation involving Lancelot hunting the archers down and questioning them, he found out that they had orders to shoot down any birds flying near the borders to prevent any communication between Britannia and Albion. Stopping the messages between allied kingdoms was not an unusual thing to do, especially not when peace was strenuous at best, but to disrupt the communication between two kingdoms completely spoke of war more than anything else. King Mark of Cornwall did not want Britannia to contact Albion, or vice versa.

The timing was also suspicious. Albion was on the brink of war, with an invasion looming over their shoulders like a tactless parent. Even Mark, spiteful as he was proud, could see that allowing Saxons to gain a foothold on Britannian soil was a foolish idea. Without knowledge of what was happening in Albion they could not create a plan to help their allied land. Even if they had not been allies, Arturia would still have been bound by her blood to help her uncle in times of need. He had been the only duke not to declare his duchy a kingdom independent of Britannia. For that, if not for the blood she shared with him through her father, she would aid Albion. She would not let her last non-hostile relative fall victim to the Saxons.

In order to help him however she needed to know what was happening. She could not march her entire army over to Albion just to help him, not when the political climate was as hazardous as the sea in a storm. Not only would it leave Camelot unprotected and vulnerable, but because she would have to fight her way into either Cornwall or Ritho to reach Albion. It was either that or to go through the Nevermoon Forest, but that could take months with an army behind her. She would have needed to prepare a force ages ago if she would have had any chance to aid Vortigern in battle.

Was this why Mark had ordered the messages to be intercepted? For months she had received replies assuring her everything was under control, but what if those messages had been fake? A ruse to leave her thinking Albion was safe and to give Mark the chance he needed to invade, it would have been a perfect excuse. Rather than to let the Saxons gain power, he would swoop in and chase them away. Albion would of course fall under Cornish rule, giving Mark total control of the south and the trading routes to the continent. As if that wasn't bad enough, if the rumours about Mark and the princess of Ireland were true then soon both the west and the south would be under hostile control, an outcome which could not be allowed to come to pass.

How could she have been so foolish?! She had been so focused on Ritho and Rheged that she had completely ignored Cornwall. The negotiations and peace summits with Mark had not been all that successful, but neither had there been any conflicts. In that small gap between hostility and respect, Arturia had found herself wishing for that possibility of a truce. Was she not allowed to hope for a peaceful solution with her father's former vassals? Was hope too much to ask for?

The mere notion of hope felt so ludicrous in hindsight she wanted to kick herself for it.

"I agree, though truthfully I still find it hard to believe Mark would do something as heinous as this. Even if Albion isn't allied with Cornwall, to go so far as to weaken them before the invasion, I'm at loss for words to describe the cowardice of the act. To think a lord of Britannia had become such a craven…" Gawain said morosely. Arturia couldn't help but to agree with his words. Even if it was a viable military tactic to allow two enemies to weaken themselves out before invading, for Mark to use it on a fellow lord was inexcusable.

"It hardly matters if Mark is honourable now, not when lives are at stake. We cannot afford to stand by when our allies are overrun because of cowardly tactics." She steeled herself for the coming storm. "We must ensure Albion does not fall at the hands of the Saxons or the Cornish. Are you fit to travel through Nevermoon forest anytime soon?" She asked the knight of the sun.

Gawain smiled at her question, as if he had been waiting for the question all along. "Give me a day and I will ready to spill saxon blood at your command." He said, kneeling in respect.

"I want you round up five -hundred men and head through The Nevermoon. Find out what's been happening and send a messenger back. I leave whatever happens in your hands, whether you decide to call for reinforcements or to return to Camelot, the judgement is yours to make. All I ask is that you show the Saxons what a true knight is capable of." She gave the order with finality, her eyes harder than granite. She would not allow her kingdom to fall into ruin. She would fight hellfire and brimstone before that happened.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Gawain replied, his own eyes filled with resolve and determination.

Mark of Cornwall had mocked the dragon and the dragon had awoken.

Now he would learn to fear the flames.

AOB

"What's wrong, sir Emiya? You look like someone just shoved a blade in your gut." Vortimer asked somewhat amused. The knight was riding a pure white stallion, slightly larger, but less muscled than Kuro. He was dressed in a blue shirt and dark pants under a long cloak. A large golden lion covered the cloak, its shining form taking more room than the crimson fabric the cloak was originally made from.

"Nothing's wrong." He said quickly. "I'm just not… used to riding long distances. The longest I've ever ridden a horse before was an hour at most so my legs are kind of dead right now." He admitted, his legs agreeing with every lance of pain they were sending each time Kuro took a step.

They had been marching for six hours by now and, even though Shirou was riding a horse, he felt like he had just run a marathon at top speed. His legs had been rubbed raw from the friction between his thighs and the horse's sides and sometimes Kuro would change pace without Shirou meaning it, resulting in an unexpected impact of Kuro's back and Shirou's groin. He knew he hadn't developed the skin for long durations of riding, but he had expected more out of his body. He'd spent the last few days riding several times a day in order to prepare his muscles for the strain of horse riding, but it seemed to have been in vain.

"Ah!" Vortimer exclaimed. "I see. If it's any consolation then know that everyone who has ever ridden a horse has felt the same pain you're feeling right now. It is an inescapable agony if you're a horseman in times of war, to spend many hours in the saddle without pause. Trust me, in a few days you'll be fine and a few hours on the trail won't be an issue. It's the first few days that are the most troubling." He said, offering a smile filled with sympathy and amusement. How the knight could be as sincerely sympathetic as Vortimer while drawing pleasure at other people's misfortune was beyond Shirou, but he accepted the gesture either way.

"Thanks, but I'm currently in the first few days so I'm probably not going to be much fun to talk to right now. Shouldn't you be inspecting the company right now?" The task of ensuring the entire force arrived in time was the responsibility of the Commander and his second-in-command. Since Shirou was another captain, but not in charge of the company he was traveling with, it was up to Vortimer and his 'Lions' to round up the stragglers.

It was quite interesting to see how a medieval army marches to its destination. Since they were supposed to be as inconspicuous as possible (a task made difficult by the large number of them), using drums and other instruments to keep up the pace was kept to a minimum. Even if it would take days for the army to reach the western forest (more than a week to be precise) news of an army on the move travels fast and they wanted to take the Cornish forces by surprise. The only auditory signals allowed were the Commander's trumpet (meaning START and STOP) as well as the many yells the different soldiers used to be heard. Otherwise they were meant to be as quiet as possible, aside from the loud marching of four-hundred men wearing armor and carrying weapons. The loud clanking of metal could be heard for miles, but they were safe since they still had days of marching left.

"I left it to Samson, The Hammer of the Lions. He's the man who looks like one of his grandparents was a giant, if you're curious." He said jokingly, but Shirou wasn't sure it was far from the truth. The giant man made Rowland look tiny in comparison and his weight was no small joke either. Shirou hadn't seen him ride a horse because there wasn't a horse large or strong enough to carry him. Instead he simply walked ahead of the army whenever he needed to, his long legs carrying him three times the distance a normal human could in a single step. His only weapon was an enormous war hammer, larger than anything Shirou had ever seen in his life. The handle alone was longer than he was tall and the metal used in its creation must have cost a fortune. He could make hundreds of spearheads if he was able to get his hands on that war hammer, although he doubted he would be able to convince the man to give him the weapon. The half-man, half-something guarded his hammer with more zeal than Taiga guarded her shinai.

"So that's his name? I didn't know, he felt so out of place I was afraid to ask," Shirou admitted without a single shred of guilt. There was no precedence for dealing with giant humans so his hesitance could be understood.

"Aye, he looks like a monster, but he's as gentle as a puppy. The kids in Londinium love him, probably 'cause he lets them ride on his shoulders all the time. He's the kindest soul I've ever met, unless you attack him of course. Then he's about as nice as a hellhound with a toothache." Vortimer explained, chuckling at the last part. Shirou failed to see how the monstrous beast of a man could ever be called gentle, especially after he had seen the man rip the head of the cow meant for the camp's dinner, but something Vortimer said interested him.

"He's from Londinium?" He asked.

Everything he had heard about Londinium had been odd to say the least. It was Albion's greatest city, mostly due to the fact that it used to be a roman settlement before the romans left and merely continued to grow afterwards. It was where the duke's court was held and where the most famous and skilled knights resided. For Samson to reside in Londinium without being hunted down like a monster was… yet another mystery.

"Yes, all of my lions live in Londinium. They are part of my household after all, it would be strange for them to live elsewhere." Vortimer answered his question without a moment's hesitation.

"So you own land in Londinium? Like a noble?" Shirou asked hesitantly.

Most knights were of noble birth, but a few knights could have been commoners before they were knighted by the duke or his vassals. He had learned early on that asking someone if they were noble was a rude question, because it meant they looked like they were commoners if you couldn't tell they were of noble blood right away. It was made even harder to tell noble knights apart from the commoner counterpart since he only saw them in their armour and all knights wore fancy plate mail. Finding out if someone was a nobleman had gone from a simple question to a series of complicated investigations, an entirely unnecessary change if you asked him.

"Quite so, my estate is to the east of Londinium, a few miles past the Great Wall. It's a place of rest for weary souls, and any soldier is weary after a war. When they are not training their skills, my lions help to tend the field and livestock. Most of Londinium eat crops from my lands." The knight boasted proudly and Shirou smiled at the exaggerated act. His curiosity had still not been satisfied though and he continued his questioning. '

"So what's the name of your family? It must be a famous one, considering you own land so close to Londinium. I don't think you've ever mentioned your family, aside from you mother." Not a single name or title, with the only exception being his mother's status as magus. Not even the other knights had revealed his family name and they were more than eager to refer to other knights by the status of their blood. Shirou was lucky if he could go a day without hearing someone exclaim the name of some count or marquis who was addressing another noble. It was odd that not a single knight had even made a single mention of Vortimer's family, aside from Ludvig's comment about his mother.

"Oh, uh… Umm…" Was all Vortimer had to say. It was as if someone had removed the knight's confident façade and replaced it with pure anxiety. The confident captain looked nothing like his usual self, his eyes avoiding contact with Shirou and a forced smile fighting its way through the shocked expression on his face.

"Is something wrong?" Shirou asked, unsure how to react to Vortimer's hesitation. Even though he had not known the man very long, Vortimer was a very honest person, or so he had come to believe. It was easy to get to know him since he was polite and cheerful most of the time, but it was obvious he was hiding something. That something just so happened to be his family, one of them being a rather heartless magus. Shirou had heard no mentioning of any magus aside from Merlin and Morgan, neither of which had been known to sire a child according to Rowland. Morgan was apparently one of Rheged's rulers and had never set foot in Albion aside from when she had met with Ludvig.

Ludvig had also regarded Vortimer or his father with disdain, not that he viewed Shirou all that favourably either. Did Vortimer's father know Ludvig? A former knight perhaps? Ludvig desperately wanted to become a nobleman, had Vortimer's father done something to elevate him to nobility while leaving Ludvig behind as a knight? It was a possibility, but why wouldn't any of the other knights mention him if that was the case? They could simply be doing it out of fear or respect towards Ludvig. Shirou had seen the Commander chew out a squire just a few days earlier, yelling and insulting the boy until the teenager soiled his pants. Ludvig could be very vindictive when he wanted to be, even when it was over something as trivial as the right combination of wine and water. The squire had not been seen around the war council since, instead leaving his tasks around that are over to another squire, who looked equally terrified of sir Ludvig.

But why would Vortimer not want to talk about his family if they were nobles? Even second generation nobleman he had seen liked to boast of their parents' achievements. Vortimer didn't seem the type to boast about their family's heritage, but he was more than proud of his soldiers. If his men were worthy of being bragged about, then why not his parents?

Could they be disgraced? It would explain why Vortimer was hesitant to talk about them and it would most certainly explain why Ludvig treated Vortimer with such harshness. No knight would want to associate themselves with a disgraced noble, even if the noble in question was a knight as well. Vortimer's hatred of the duke might also be related to it, since it was the duke who decided if a family was to lose their status as nobility, or have their rank lowered as the case was more likely to be. It'd be hard to like the duke if the duke in question was the one to punish one's family for whatever reason, justified or not.

At least that's what Shirou thought was possible. He could be entirely wrong, as was the case every time he tried to solve a mystery in a novel or movie. His intuition wasn't the best, according to Taiga and her grandfather Raiga. He was too trusting of what people said, despite the clear warning signs in the culprit's behaviour.

"No, nothing's wrong! I was merely surprised by your question, I was not expecting you to be interested in the names of nobility. To answer your question, my father is in the upper ranks, though my own rank is much lower due to my mother's actions. In terms of titles, I stand as a baron. I would prefer not to say much more on the subject, it's a private matter, not something you'd want to talk about in the open for all to hear." The knight said stoically.

"Oh, okay then." Shirou said diplomatically. So Vortimer's status as a noble had been reduced because of his mother's actions? That explained his hatred for the duke, being punished for the sins of his mother wasn't something a knight would appreciate nor tolerate under normal circumstances.

He probably shouldn't try to bring up the subject again.

Having avoided the powder keg which was Vortimer's family, he now faced another problem altogether. He had no idea what to talk about! Each time he thought he had something, his brain automatically replaced it with questions of Vortimer's family. Why, or if, they had been disgraced? What were their names? Where did they live? They latched onto his mind like a leech, refusing to let go, refusing to surrender. It took away any chance to start a conversation again.

He was better than this. He could always strike up a conversation with a person, no matter what circumstances they had. It was part of his personality, his charm. If he couldn't be the friendly person who helped whoever asked him to then who was he?

Something to talk about! He needed something to talk about! A topic or such, it didn't matter as long as it wasn't about the weather, he simply needed something to break the awkward silence which had settled.

"Sir Emiya, are you familiar with any Cornish or Irish warriors?" Vortimer asked suddenly, surprising Shirou in his internal search for something to discuss about. Although the question Vortimer has chosen was as random as random could be.

"I don't think so, Rowland might have mentioned one or two, but I wasn't all that interested back then. I know the names of the kings, but that's about it." He answered truthfully. He had never thought Cornwall or Ireland would attack them so he hadn't considered investigating them to begin with. It was ironic, he realized, that the first humans he actually fought in the saxon invasion were to be Cornishmen, not Saxons. There must be a deity out there who had a grudge against him, someone other than Wyrda since she had little reason to carry a grudge.

"I'd find out more about them if I were you. On the battlefield, where men die by the dozens each second, famous warriors like Morholt and Dane, the Ogres of Ireland are seen as pillars of strength more so than their own commanders. Soldiers rally behind them and are empowered by their visage. As long as these warriors stand, the battle will continue. According to military logic, the best way to end a battle would be to defeat these warriors and their commanders. Unfortunately, until now we have not possessed one of these warriors ourselves aside from Samson over there." He said, nodding over to the large man carrying two tired soldiers on his shoulders. The sight was amusing, and perhaps a little bizarre. The soldiers looked more terrified of the man than the prospect of fighting for the first time in their lives.

"Until now, that is to say before you arrived." Vortimer added with a meaningful look.

"Oh."

He didn't know what to say. On one hand, he felt proud over the fact that Vortimer considered him to be one of those 'warriors' men rallied behind. On the other, people would be relying on him to protect them by the hundreds. He was always willing to help someone, but he was only one teenager. How was he supposed to protect an entire army with just two arms?

He could always try to wield two swords…

"Yes, 'Oh'." Vortimer laughed. "I realize I might be putting too much pressure on you, but know that I'm not doing it because I want to. You have become a symbol, Sir Emiya, whether you like it or not. Just like Merlin represents Camelot and Morgan represents Rheged, you have become the magical symbol of Albion faster than anyone could have predicted. Unlike those two however, you actually fight on the frontline, are capable of using a sword and bow, and the forces appreciate it. Even if you weren't a saint before this war started…" he said the last part in a whisper, so that only Shirou could hear his words. "The feats you have performed would certainly make you one after the war is over."

"I hope I'm not seriously being compared to Morgan Lefay and Merlin. That's like comparing a kitten to a lion and a tiger, you know? I'd be mincemeat if I had to fight one of them." He pointed out. Even if he had gained a boost in prana and physical abilities since he had arrived in the Middle Ages, those two were magi from another age when humans were far stronger and Magecraft was closer to magic than it was to modern Magecraft. Humans in his era were weaker and more fragile than ever, he would need a body and Magecraft from the Middle Ages to be able to…

He was an idiot.

He wanted to slap himself, that's how much of an idiot he was. He had been wondering why people were so strong in this age and why he was stronger for some reason when the answer had been in front of his face the entire time. He was in another age! It had been one of the first lessons Kiritsugu had taught him when he actually started learning Magecraft. As the human species grew larger and larger, the essence of Alaya in each human lessened with each generation. Medicine and science had made life easier and therefore more people survived, removing the 'survival of the fittest'-mindset the human race had evolved from.

Shirou had grown up in the Age of Man, but now he was in the Age of Fairies. Of course the humans were going to be stronger and magic was going to be more potent, it came with the territory. The reason he had missed it was because it had been such a long time since he had actually thought about it. Why would he read about the research some old magus had written decades ago when he could be training his projection or reinforcement? He was a practical magus, not a theoretical one! His workshop was a mess of kitchen appliances and training weapons, the last time he had anything resembling research inside the shed in his yard was when he had been practicing alchemy and had been reading about homunculi.

It had been Kiritsugu's idea to learn about them, saying something about his former allies turned enemies. Alchemy had been one of Kiritsugu's demands he learn, whether it was because one didn't need an abundance of magic circuits to learn it or something else he didn't know, but learn it he did. He had more books about alchemy than any other subject in his workshop, though he didn't own too many books in total. Unlike a traditional magus, he barely bought any texts or research about Magecraft at all. Partly because he didn't know any magus aside from his dad, meaning he had to comb through flea markets and bookshops for whatever he could find, and partly because he was careful not to catch the eye of anyone who had a bone to pick with his dad.

It was why his progress in alchemy had been slow as of late. It was hard to learn Magecraft when you only had random books on different aspects to help you.

"You have nothing to worry about. Even if they put you on a pedestal, Morgan and Merlin are legends among men. It'll take years before they start comparing you to them." Vortimer assured him.

"Good, I wouldn't want to disappoint them." He sighed in relief. Something in the forest caught his eye and he reinforced his eyes to investigate. There, a hare was munching on some kind of herb. It had been hiding in the bushes, but had gotten tangled in the branches, shaking the entire bush as a result.

He materialized his bow and notched an arrow. Rabbits and hares were perfect when on the march, due to their large number and quick reproduction. They weren't fat or large by any means, but an army could catch almost all hares in an area without worrying about hunting them to extinction since they could recover within a two or three seasons. Compared to deer and boar, both large and could feed several men, a hare was preferred because of the lack of concern for the local wildlife.

Letting go, the arrow struck the rodent with the force of a rifle, carrying it through the air and pinning it to the tree behind it. The hare was dead before it knew what had happened to it, the arrow having pierced its skull and destroyed the brain. The only sign of it having been recently alive was the twitching of its legs as the animal's energy left its body.

The entire 'hunt' had taken less than two seconds and the surrounding soldiers were staring at him like he was mad. He could understand their confusion though, they had not seen what he had been aiming at, the hare had been hidden by leaves. Jumping off Kuro, he sighed in relief as the blood returned to his legs. Shaking his legs to wake them up, he walked towards today's catch.

It had been an old hare, with a pelt of grey littered with scars. Unlike the rabbits he had caught near Blackbay, this one looked as if it had already one foot in the grave when he had killed it. He'd have to make stew with it, he doubted it would make a good roast, thin and old as it was.

"Catch anything?" Vortimer asked over the sound of soldiers marching. Dismissing the arrow, Shirou turned around and held up his quarry.

"Just tonight's dinner. Feeling hungry?" He yelled back, careful not to get blood on his new clothes. Blood might not be easy to notice on black, but he would feel filthy if he knew he was walking around with hare blood all day.

"Famished! I believe it's time to set up camp, yell if you see a clearing fit for the night." He replied as Shirou tied the hare to the side of the saddle. His backpack had been secured there as well, tied to the back of the saddle, along with his blankets, shield and sword. Despite being a war horse, Kuro carried the weight without issue, displaying the strength several generations of careful breeding had accumulated in. A single hare would make little difference.

"Aye aye, sir." Shirou copied Geoffrey with a smile. He was looking forward to cooking again. Neither the chefs nor Rowland had allowed him to experiment with the different ingredients he had acquired so the chance to finally cook to his heart's content was mouth-watering. He had brought a bunch of spices with him from Rowland's kitchen for the sole purpose of experimenting. He intended to milk this mission for all it was worth.

That said, they continued to ride for another hour before they found a good place to set up camp. When they found a clearing with a relatively large stream flowing nearby it was obvious they'd be resting there for the night. Water meant fish and other animals were nearby, ensuring food for the troops, but it also meant water for the soldiers and the animals they'd brought with them. Horses and livestock needed sustenance just as much as humans did, they require more so in fact. As the soldiers began to fish or took out bows to hunt, some of them led the cows and sheep out to graze. Since they couldn't set up an enclosure each night, a shepherd had been given responsibility of supervising the animals.

Shirou didn't have any responsibilities in general, his particular skills revolved around fighting and were unsuitable in tending to livestock and organizing camps. He'd help if someone asked him, but he doubted they would. People avoided disturbing him as much as possible ever since he revealed his magecraft. He didn't know if it was out of fear or respect, but whenever he made himself useful by helping with a task, the soldiers would insist on doing it themselves and that he shouldn't dirty his hands.

Since he wasn't busy with any tasks concerning the camp, he started his preparations for supper. Firewood was the first step and by far the easiest. Dry wood was preferred, but the small amount of dry firewood they had brought with them was reserved for the kitchens since they would be serving the majority of the army and therefore needed a hotter flame to cook food faster. Shirou had to go into the woods to collect his own fuel, unless he wanted to eat raw meat of course.

Tracing an axe and a backpack for holding the firewood, he began to cut off branches and collecting fallen ones for the fire. Memories of the last time he did this began to emerge as he worked. When he had first arrived in this age, wounded and exhausted, he had made a fire in order to boil the water needed to clean his woods. That had been rough, cutting wood when his ribs were nothing more than splinters barely connected to each other. Now he felt as if he could chop down trees by the dozen, thanks to a healthy diet and plenty of healing spells.

Once his bag was filled with branches of varying sizes, he returned to the camp. The time he had been gone was less than thirty minutes, if his knowledge of the setting sun was correct, but large tents had already been erected. These tents belonged to the professional soldiers, those that had spent their entire lives on the battlefields as a part of a company. Soldiers like Shirou, those who had joined the army for the sole purpose of defending the country, had to bring their own tents or share with others.

Judging by the smell, the kitchens had already started preparing dinner, the smell of grain cooking in the air. Judging by what he had seen the cooks serve the last few weeks, he was willing to bet his right hand that today's meal would be gruel made from cereals again. He couldn't deny the nutritional value, but the taste was as bland as bland could be. Some of the more intelligent men had gone into the forests to look for herbs to add some flavor to it while others added only salt and ate it as fast as possible to get it over with. Lighting the fire, Shirou thanked the stars he wasn't eating the kitchen's meals tonight.

He left the water over the fire to boil, his traced pot resting over three rocks in a three-stone stove. As he traced a cutting board and a knife to skin the hare he had caught earlier, the sound of footsteps alerted him to the presence of another. Glancing back, he was met with the sight of…

A woman and a child wearing civilian clothing of blue and white stood behind him. The woman, he'd guess she was a few years older than him, eighteen at the most, bowed deeply when she noticed his stare. The most stunning feature was her light silvery blue hair, unlike any other natural hair colour he had ever seen. The closest he had ever come across was the different dyes he had seen people use in modern Japan. Her face was the very image of expressionlessness, a stonecold blank gaze which seemed to haunt his very soul with just a stare.

The girl on the other hand sunk down on the knees and did the European version of the dogeza, her face deep in the grass. Judging by the behaviour, the girl was of lower standing than the woman. Both of them had dark skin, but whether it was from long hours under the sun or genetic he had no idea. The both of them looked foreign though, Asian perhaps?

"Can I help you?" He asked politely.

"We were hoping you could." The woman said with only the faintest traces of an accent in her voice. "My name is Rani and this is Mari. I am the wife of Jerad of Shamblefields." She said calmly, her face still facing the ground.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh!

"Oh…" he said intelligently.

This was a strange turn of events.

AOB

"Thank you." Rani said as she accepted the bowl of stew. Handing over a similar one to the girl, Mari, Shirou took a seat with his own bowl. The stew would have been rather thin serving for three people hadn't Rani offered to share the ingredients she had brought along with her. Carrots, potatoes, onions and mushrooms were soon boiling along with the hare in the large pot, the steam wafting the smell in his direction.

He'd be enjoying the meal a lot more if he wasn't so nervous over what they had to say. As it were, the stew tasted like cardboard and the milk he had received from the shepherd tasted more of water than anything else. That his first homemade meal he cooked himself ever since he had been tossed into this time period would taste like this was depressing, but he didn't care that much about the taste right now.

What did they want? Revenge for Jerad the merchant? He was their husband/master, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think they would want to avenge him, but how would they do it? He had checked the ingredients for poison with structural analysis and they were as clean as a whistle after a quick check. If they had been going for the dagger in the back-approach then they shouldn't have gone together and made so much noise, since even an untrained person would notice them. He was also carrying a sword while he couldn't even see a dagger on any of their persons. No matter how you looked at it, they were probably the worst assassins in the history of mankind.

"So…" He said innocently. He needed to know why they had wanted to talk to him. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Smooth, Shirou. Real smooth…

If Rani thought his excuse was transparent as well she did not show it. Her face could have been carved from rock and it would have shown just as much emotions as she currently was. Instead of answering right away, she instead finished her bowl spoonful after spoonful. When the bowl was empty and she had swallowed the last piece of meat she had been chewing on, she put the bowl down and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I was looking for you, Sir Emiya." She said simply. He would have said she was emotionless, but that wouldn't be quite true. She did have emotions, he could tell by the gleam in her eyes and the posture her body was in, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what they were. Trying to read her emotions was the equivalent of sticking his hand into a hole and trying to find out if the furry thing he was feeling was a fluffy bunny or a rabid wolf. It'd be impossible to tell until it was too late.

"And you're looking for me… Why?" If he had to be the driving part of the conversation then it was going to be long talk. He was awful at questioning people, his lessons with Kiritsugu about interrogations had been one failure after another. He still got shivers whenever he remembered Kiritsugu telling him how to break someone's fingers in the most painful way. He had nightmares about that lesson for weeks.

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning." She offered and Shirou agreed.

"Perhaps." He said, a lame attempt at humour, one Rani did not seem to register.

"Mari and I hail from a land in the distant east called Chera. My husband was a merchant who would sometimes trade with my father. After they decided to merge their affairs into a single company, I became the wife of Jerad to ensure the pact was upheld and the company would run in the family." She explained, her voice never wavering or betraying her emotions.

So this teenager was married to Jerad? The old merchant old enough to be her grandfather was married to someone who had barely completed her second decade on this Earth? The thought sent a shiver down his spine and it made him aware more than ever that this was the Middle Ages. Even so, tt wasn't common to find such a mismatched pair. There was a possibility that it was more because of the country she was from rather than Britannia as a whole. But he had never even heard of the country before.

'Chera'… it sounded Indian-ish. Or perhaps a little Middle-Eastern. To be honest, he knew little of India or the Middle East in the twenty-first century and even less about its medieval predecessor. What little he knew about the India was based on Buddhism and mythology, not the best source of knowledge. He knew even less about the Middle East, only that Islam was the most common religion in the Middle East and they had been very fond of scimitars. It was currently in chaos, but that was it. His knowledge of India was slightly better. He had heard that the India had been divided into several smaller kingdoms similar to Britannia and that it had been one of the first civilizations ever created along with Mesopotamia, China and Egypt. Other than that, who knew? It could have been the world's first bubble gum manufacturer and he couldn't tell you it was wrong.

"And he brought you to Britannia after you married him?" He asked. That was a very long and dangerous journey, especially so considering the primitive ships the medieval shipyards built. At least now he understood where he had gotten the exotic spices from.

"When the trade in my homeland began to wane and our trading partners disappeared, my father and he agreed it was for the best if I followed him to Britannia. That was a few years ago and I've served more as his assistant than as his wife ever since. While he spent his days whoring and drinking, I was trapped in the shop counting coppers and trading wares. I am now an eighteen year old widow with no children trapped in a foreign country of the wrong skin colour and my husband was executed for treason, leaving me and my servant to fend for ourselves. Do you understand my troubles, sir Emiya?" she said coolly, contradicting the meaning of her words. Had any other person repeated what she had just said Shirou would have no doubt they would either said it filled with rage or despair.

Somehow he still couldn't get a single emotion out of her, even when she admitted to her life being ruined for all intents and purposes. He'd be impressed if he wasn't feeling like it was his fault to begin with.

"I think I do. Or not completely, I don't think I can understand what it is you're going through without going through it myself, but I see where you're coming from," He admitted, staring down at his reflection in the steel bowl he had traced earlier.

"Then is it possible for you to help?" For the first time since he had heard her speak, a tiny fluctuation of her voice could be heard, revealing her hope for help.

"What can I do? Just because I'm a magus doesn't mean I can bring people back from the dead. Jerad is gone, no matter what I do," he said hastily. Nothing short of achieving the third magic, Heaven's Feel, would bring him back. She had probably wanted him to bring back her husband to help her leave Britannia. A woman without husband or children didn't possess much status in the middle ages from what he had seen.

"I'm not asking you to bring my husband back. He was a whoring bastard who betrayed his homeland for profit. Even if you brought him back I would not stay with him. His acts as of late have proven what kind of man I married and I do not want any association with that man," She replied, shaking her head. "I want you be my patron."

"What's a… patron?" The unfamiliar word rang in his head. It could have lots of meanings, considering the context.

"You don't know what a patron is?" she asked, amused at his ignorance. The corners of her lips rose slightly in what was most likely the largest emotional reaction he had warranted from her. If he wasn't annoyed at her for poking fun at him he'd be patting himself on the back.

"I'm not from around here," he said shortly.

"Neither am I, but I know what it means," she replied. He frowned at her answer.

"I'm from a place far, far away." Whoever said Star Wars jokes weren't applicable in all situations had no idea what they were talking about.

"Further than Chera? I doubt it." She snickered, concealing her smile with a delicate hand.

"Trust me, it's a lot further away than Chera," he said swiftly, ending the topic. "Will you explain what being a 'Patron' means or should we say our farewells?" he asked, his tone agitated. He had no problem in admitting his ignorance. It was when people tried to rub it in his face that he got angry.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean it like that. A patron is similar to a lord for an unmarried woman without a father. Women don't have the rights needed to own a trading company or a shop unless they're of noble blood so to circumvent this law a loophole was found. The patron would be the owner of the woman, acting in the same way a father or husband would, as he would be the practical owner of whatever the woman owned and he would negotiate for her dowry. In return for his help, he would receive a part of the profits and partial ownership of her belongings after she marries," she explained, her face once again as emotional as stone.

So a patron would be a legal guardian, like Fuji-nee had been after Kiritsugu had died? It sounded good on paper, but…

"Wouldn't it be risky to make someone you don't know your patron? You said they would be an owner of that woman. It doesn't sound very safe to me," he pointed out. Forget safe, they were basically gambling away their future on someone they had only met once and who had been there to arrest their husband/master. If someone he knew thought it made sense then he would have forced that person to a therapist since they were clearly not sane.

"I would have preferred making someone I know my patron, but after Jerad was arrested for treason we have become something akin to a plague in our village. People avoid us out of fear of being seen as traitors by association, a label Jerad put on us without second thought apparently. The only way to get a reliable person to become a patron would be to remove that label, but the only way to remove the label would be to get a reliable patron associated with the shop. We're stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I'm afraid you're the only person who can help us." She laughed bitterly, a dark laugh made even sadder by the fact that her voice was undoubtedly beautiful. "Will you help us? I promise to make it worth your while. We have trading contracts with almost every country from here to Chera, I'm sure you would benefit handsomely from the position as patron."

He didn't even need to think about it. A widow was coming to him, asking him for help because her husband had died and marked her as the social pariah. How could he deny her the help she needed and still call himself an Emiya? Helping people was what he did, it was as large a part of his personality as cooking and swords were.

"If I became your patron, what would I have to do exactly?" He needed to know what he was supposed to do as a patron. He couldn't stay in the shop all day if that was required of him. He still needed to find a way home after all.

"Nothing much, aside from the occasional visits to make the village associate the trading company with you. You would have to add your coat of arms to the building's sign, to show the village that it's under your employ and you would of course need to inspect the wares the shop trades with. The rest would be left to us, the workers of the company. Luckily for us, Jerad was as lazy as he was greedy. He left all the actual work to me, meaning I have been managing the entire company in all but name the last few years. His absence won't make much difference, quite the opposite actually. Now he won't be spending all our money on wine and cheap women, giving us a chance to earn a profit. Thank the gods for small mercies," she muttered wistfully.

Coat of arms?

"I don't have a coat of arms. Sorry," he said apologetically. Rani stared at him in shock, her mouth wide open.

"But you are a knight, are you not? And the captain of the archers? And a magician? How can you not have a coat of arms and still be all of those things?" she asked in disbelief.

"Because I've been in this country for less than a month?" he offered weakly. "And I'm not an actual knight, just a knight-apprentice."

"I see…" she mumbled thoughtfully. "If that's the case then you might have to visit the shop more often to convey the message. Would you be so kind as to enquire why you have not been given a coat of arms? Even as a knight-apprentice, a captain and a magus should have the right to bear one, even a foreign one," she asked while bowing, her bright hair cascading from her shoulders.

"Sure, but it'll probably take a while. We have orders which take us elsewhere right now so it might take a few days before I can talk to anyone who knows anything," he explained, hoping she wouldn't take it the wrong way. If she did then she made no effort in showing it.

"That would be agreeable. As long as you can give me an answer by the end of the month I'm sure it will work out. Under normal circumstances the shop would have been confiscated by the army, but since I'm a foreigner they hesitated on doing that in fear of upsetting any nobles I might be associated with in my homeland. So far they have only taken about half of the cattle and crops we sell, but if a powerful patron doesn't help us soon then they'll confiscate everything we own," she said sadly, a sliver of fear escaping her lips. Realizing she might have said too much, she immediately sobered up." If you'll excuse me sir Emiya, Mari and I must leave. We left the shop because we were hoping to catch you before you left, but it has been left unattended for far too long. We bid you a pleasant journey," she said as she curtsied, the girl besides her kneeling deeply instead.

"Of course, it was a pleasure meeting you. If you need anything when I return you can find me at the tavern in Blackbay. It's where I spend the nights so I should be there if you ask the owner," he informed her, bowing his head in respect.

Watching them leave, Shirou sat back down on the rock he had used a chair for the entire conversation. A stray thought appeared in his head and he jumped back up.

"Before you leave, let me ask you this: Why me?" he asked them, raising his voice slightly to make them hear him. The duo stopped walking, the older of the pair turning to look at him. She smiled, an honest smile devoid of bitterness or grief.

"Because you stayed behind to fix the door," she said, as if that explained anything. Rather than to elaborate, she began to walk away once more, leaving Shirou with his thoughts.

AOB

"Are you ready to depart, sir Gawain?" King Arthur asked him. The petite (because not a soul in Britannia could deny that he was petite, even if his skill with a sword surpassed all) king was dressed in a blue robe which could only be described as painstakingly beautiful. A thick cloak of fur hung from the king's shoulder, shielding him from the cold winds of winter.

"There is not a drop of blood in my body which is not ready, My Lord," he replied, turning his horse in the direction of the forest. "I only wish the Saxons will put up a decent fight before they die. My shoulders have been getting stiff lately, they could use the exercise," he jested, a smile on his face.

The king gave him a wholehearted smile. "Then I leave everything in your capable hands, my knight." Taking a red scarf wrapped around his delicate neck, the king tugged it loose and handed it to him. "The nights in The Nevermoon can be cold," he said. "I wouldn't want my knight to get sick before the battle can even begin."

Laughing, Gawain took the scarf and wrapped it around his own throat. "That would indeed be embarrassing, wouldn't it? Very well then, with your blessing, I shall now head for Albion and defend it in your name." Turning to the men behind him, he yelled out to the armed soldiers. "Glory to Britannia, glory to King Arthur!"

The storm of voices which greeted him filled his heart with joy. They loved their king and his commands were law. They would set out for Albion and trample the Saxon invaders under their boots. No continental vermin would be allowed to settle down on Britannian soil, not if the king had anything to say about it.

Kicking the horse's sides, he galloped into the dark abyss called The Nevermoon Forest, the forest where it was always night, but no moon was ever visible.

Sir Gawain was on his way.


Omake

"Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen!" Taiga screamed into the microphone. "MC Tiger here, bringing you the first installment of EPIC DISS BATTLES OF THE HOLY GRAIL WARS!"

"Master, ripping off one of the most popular Y**tube-channels is wrong! We'll be taken off the net, sent to jail and be forced to watch Monty Python sketches for the rest of our lives if you keep this up!" Student No. 1 yelled frantically.

They were in the Taiga Dojo, but they weren't alone. All around them stood men and women, almost all of them heroic Spirits, glaring and hissing at each other in hostility.

"Fool!" Taiga screamed. "After the way my mix tape flopped and my political career ended, this is my only chance to get some cash before Grandpa makes me take over the family business." She wept crocodile tears. "It's so boring to sit at home all day and look at reports!"

"But what about Kotomine Kirei? I thought he was the supervisor of the Holy Grail War?" No. 1 asked confused. Taiga smiled at the question.

"The man was so tired of covering up for all the damage caused by the war he gave the responsibility to me. He didn't want to cover up a humongous extra-dimensional demon-god trying to devour the entire city of Fuyuki, especially not when he already had a servant with more mood swings than a 'Pregnant woman on her period'. His words, not mine," she answered, copying the priest's expression and voice when saying the last part.

"Still, you could at least put some more effort into concealing what it is you're copying. I mean, all you did was to change 'RAP' to 'DISS' and instead of 'HISTO…'" Student No. 1 began, but whatever she was about to say was lost to the readers as Taiga swung her faithful Torashinai at the young girl's skull. Blacking out, the girl fell into the arms of her master.

"I'm sorry, Student No. 1. I couldn't allow you to finish that sentence, the copyright lawyers are just waiting for an opportunity to sue. They're like sharks in the water, able to find the smallest drop of blood for miles," taiga said, her eyes narrowed and cold. Putting the girl on a sofa, she once more picked up the mic.

"Well then, I'm sorry for that slight delay! A little interruption in our management, but nothing to worry about. Before we begin the first round, let me explain the rules. Rule No. 1: No physical violence! The use of Noble Phantasms is not allowed so to enforce that rule we asked Zelretch to create a Bounded Field which eliminated any and all Noble Phantasms inside the battle arena."

"Rule No. 2: Only verbal attacks are allowed! These attacks can be in the form of insults or jokes, but the goal is to make sure you have more VP (Verbal Points) than your opponent. Any and all jokes, insults, disses, raps and sounds are allowed so long as rule No. 1 is not broken."

"Rule No. 3: Repeating the same thing over and over again is against the rules and means disqualification once the match is over. Likewise, not saying any insult at all also means disqualification. Besides that, let the disses begin!" the hyperactive teacher/MC yelled.

"In true Fate/Stay Night-spirit, the first match will be Archer VS Lancer! Begin!" A bell was struck and a counter from the ceiling descended, the large sixty counting down to zero one second at a time.

Two figures moved to the center of the room, one blue and one red.

"Hah! This will be a piece a' cake!" Lancer laughed. His red opponent did not find it as amusing however.

"What's the point of having this kind of battle? It's not like there's anything to gain by winning," Archer mumbled. At his words, the loudspeakers boomed to life once more.

"Actually Archer, the winner is given a wish to do anything they want, including severing their contract with Alaya. So I wouldn't be so quick to back out," Taiga's voice roared. Having heard those words, Archer gained a competitive gleam in his eyes.

"Now that you mention it, I've been rather bored lately. Maybe kicking your blue ass around will alleviate my boredom somewhat," he said, grinning in excitement.

"Hah, as if you could do that. And my ass isn't blue, whitehead!" Lancer growled out.

"No, judging by your all male circle of friends, I'd reckon it's your balls that are blue. Haven't gotten any action since Bazett left you, have ya?" Archer teased. Lancer who had been so calm before the match looked ready to kill.

"Shut up, you… You Dickwad!" Lancer said through his teeth, his eyes unnaturally red.

"Speaking of action, do you know what they say about Lancers in bed?" The red-clad warrior asked the blue one. The question seemed to stun Lancer as he hesitated in answering.

"Uh, no?"

"Their 'Lance' might be long, but they're way too fast to make their partners enjoy the 'match'," Archer answered with a grin. Lancer's face turned red, a stark contrast with the blue of his attire.

"Oh yeah, well… Do you know what they say about Archers in bed?" he said, breathing heavily to refrain from attacking his opponent.

"We have longer range than Lancers, we are a lot slower than Lancers, we have multiple shots in us before we finish and we make our opponents 'come' for us. Don't believe me? Go ask Bazett, she's the one who told me that," Archer smirked and Lancer saw red.

"That's it, them's fightin' words!" he yelled as he jumped at his opponent, materializing Gae Bolg in the air. Hurling the red spear, he roared in anger…

Only to realize the Noble Phantasm had penetrated his own heart instead.

"Oops!" Taiga said through the loudspeakers. "I forgot to mention, if you use your Noble Phantasm inside the bounded Field then the Noble Phantasm will attack you automatically. It was a sub-clause in Rule No. 1. Sorry!" she said as Lancer faded away.

"You killed Lancer!" Shirou yelled out, having appeared out of nowhere.

"You bastards!" Archer yelled.

"You're the reason he's dead, you moron!" Rin screamed in Archer's face, having similarly appeared out of nowhere.

"He was a threat I had to overcome sooner or later." His response was fast and calm, but fooling no one.

"You just wanted to get revenge on him for killing you back when you were still a human, didn't ya?" Taiga asked.

"I will neither confirm nor deny such accusations. Although I must admit, watching him get stabbed by Gae Bolg did bring a tear to my eye. A vengeful tear of satisfaction," the Archer-class Servant said, a small smile on his face. "Like when you found out Rin had finally grown breasts large enough to move out of a training bra and bought real…" anything he was about to say was lost to the readers as Rin kicked the back of his head with her reinforced knee.

"Well, that's all folks!" Taiga yelled. "Join us next time when we see the showdown between Gilgamesh and Berserker in the next episode of EPIC DISS BATTLES OF THE HOLY GRAIL WARS! Fly For The Moon!"

"Master, the production staff is here! They brought pitchforks… and they're threatening to reduce the budget for our animation!" Student No. 1, having woken up due to the noise, yelled while she was holding the door shut to prevent the people who were trying to break down the door from coming in.

"No, my long-awaited animation! Student No. 1, don't let them in whatever the cost! If you let them into the story then they'll shut down the entire segment, cutting off the story in midsentence. Do not let them into the…"