Fate: Servant and Cook

by Serenarey Chiba

Shirou is forced back in time to save Arturia from her downfall, though he doesn't know how or what to do about it. He's not a fighter, but an idealist. Is he supposed to use his ideals to oppose, or supplement Arturia's? Saber/Shirou

14. Arc II: Servant and Cook 2

So, this happened. April, huh? Oh, well.

Well, then. Beta and I are looking for a cover picture for this story - Zero Saber's freakin' bombin' and all, but something more central to FSC would be appreciated. We're holding a contest of sorts to all those art savvy peeps out there. Winner gets the omake idea, and their pic posted for all to see.

Anyway, uh, enjoy.

---

When her eyes opened to see the pitch-black darkness of her room, she longed nothing more than to turn over, pull up the covers further, and go right back to sleep. Withholding her groan, Arturia ran a hand down her face and tugged off the duvet from her body as she sat up fully. She cupped her mouth as a yawn escaped her lips, but she shook her head and rose determinedly. While running a hand through her slightly tangled bed hair, a list of the activities that needed tending to ran through her head.

First order of business, she thought inwardly, splashing some water onto her face from her room's personal basin, overseeing the training schedule and highlighting points of negligence versus portions that are progressing satisfactorily. Next: a meeting with my knights in concern to their missions as well as discussing matters involving both our enemies and citizens alike. After: lunch, and then a long overdue conference with a Viking whose name I am quite apt to forget. Thereafter, attending to my citizen's needs if able, outlining plans for village construction, plotting harvest time schedules, talking to Merlin, private training, dining with Guinevere, hours of paperwork, further investigation into the issue of my stolen official seal, and...

Arturia's head hung slightly when she realized there was simply not enough time in the day to complete everything required of her, which meant another late finish and early start for her, as usual. Lately, she had been feeling a strong desire to rest, but she could never allow herself to give anything less than her best.

She didn't escape the vortex of her thoughts until she heard the soft sound of the shutters opening. Turning around slowly, Arturia saw her wife, Guinevere, making the bed, as if it were nothing short of ordinary for a queen to do. Starting when the other woman caught her staring, Arturia averted her gaze to look at the soft pastel colors of the sky as the sun reared itself. Well, at least something was content with being up so early.

"You will catch your death one of these days, husband," Guinevere quipped softly as she finished tucking in the edges of the comforter. "Each night, you retire so late, and yet, two hours later, up you are again."

The edge of Arturia's mouth tugged into a half-smile. "There are worse ways to die in this world, wife."

"Now, now, I won't be hearing any of that," Guinevere replied, waving away the king's words flippantly. She picked up a brush from the vanity case and motioned for Arturia to sit down. "All right, then. You've quite the day ahead of you, so have a seat, and let me work on your hair."

Arturia quirked an eyebrow in blatant amusement. "I am more than capable of doing my hair on my own, as I have so often before. Rather, why don't you rest a little more?"

Guinevere gave her a look that made her feel like something of a child and then scoffed. "Some of us, dear, retire in a timely manner. Have a seat."

"I can do it on my –" started the king before stopping abruptly.

The brunette had frowned somewhat before a slow grin crossed her face. "Oh my. Whatever will Sir Kay think when I tell him the words you murmur in your sleep. Something about a man who –"

Within a second, Arturia had crossed the room, her hand whipping out to cup Guinevere's mouth as she smiled shakily. Guinevere's eyebrows rose slowly and the blonde merely chuckled hesitantly.

"Why, I would love for you to help me with readying myself for the morning. Such a kind and loving wife you are, dear Guinevere."

Guinevere smiled in return. "So long as you are aware."

As soon as the king had turned around and sat down in the chair, her smile fell and she watched via the vanity mirror as Guinevere began working on her hair, brushing it softly and gently. She closed her eyes as Guinevere's fingers deftly wrapped her hair up into its usual formal bun, calming even as the touching finishes of her braid was tied around and sealed with the blue ribbon she always wore. Truth be told, it would have taken Arturia a bit more time to finish everything properly, so she should have been grateful. She really never wanted to force Guinevere to do something for her when she could do it herself, though. Guinevere was a busy woman as well, something most would have never known simply from looking at her. Arturia opened her eyes and straightened her shoulders as she looked at her reflection.

Her tired eyes looked back at her, and if it weren't for Avalon, she was certain that beneath them, she would have bags deeper than a canyon. Rising swiftly, the blonde smiled her gratitude, and the two of them together readied themselves for the long day ahead. Nearly half an hour later, Arturia pulled on her left gauntlet, flexing her fingers as she turned around and headed for the door so she could catch a quick breakfast before making her way towards the training grounds. Guinevere walked out with her, her hand at the king's elbow, as the two nodded curtly at the guard stationed outside of their living quarters. The two walked down the corridor until Arturia spotted Dylan heading their way and groaned internally.

Guinevere spared her a knowing smile as she separated. "Do not forget, we dine together tonight."

"I wouldn't dare miss it," Arturia responded in kind.

"If you do not show, I will send Percival and Tristan both to retrieve you."

The frown of consternation on Arturia's face was enough evidence to show she wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea. The beautiful brunette ignored this and turned to walk away, though not without acknowledging the scraggly Dylan as she walked past. Arturia watched her go before steeling herself and nodding at Dylan as she opened the door to her study. The man followed her in, shuffling his feet against the floor slightly. His meekness irritated her at times, but he did his job well, and left hardly any room for her to complain, so she just dealt with it.

Her desk, having been halfway cleared by the time she'd finally called it a night, now had one-fourth of its space taken up by new paperwork and materials. She scowled to herself as she glared at it all, but forced the expression off of her face as she made her way around the desk and sat down. Dylan bowed to her as he approached the front of it, his hands holding the book of notes he always kept around with him.

"Good morning, Dylan," Arturia greeted, picking up a parchment that caught her immediate attention. "Please report."

"Good morning, Your Majesty," he returned. "Your schedule today is quite busy. In regards to the Viking, Sire, we have yet to receive any correspondence regarding his arrival. Each messenger sent has been rebuffed, and they have not volunteered any information otherwise."

"And of course, now it is too late to send forth another," the king said irritably. "Keep me updated on the matter. I do not want any surprises popping up."

Dylan nodded. "The next problem concerns the wolf attacks in outlying villages. A total of thirteen people have died, but hunters are having some difficulty tracking down the wolves' dens. What would you have be done in regards to this, Sire?"

Arturia frowned somewhat. "Which villages, precisely?"

"Losteanc and Yustaeia, Your Majesty."

"Yustaeia," she repeated slowly, rubbing her chin. "Have they paid their share of the harvests yet?"

"Not just yet," answered Dylan. "They claim to be more concerned that people are dying then paying their dues to the kingdom."

A sigh left her lips. "Send an archer and a couple of swordsman to Losteanc. Send a few men to Yustaeia as well, but on the condition that should the problem be remedied, they will pay what they have promised me. If they do not distinctly say as much, I give our soldiers the right to ignore their plight."

Dylan frowned a bit. "Of course, Your Majesty. In continuance, a villager named Einion has reported the loss of another horse."

Arturia stared at him blankly. "Einion?"

"He showed himself before you some time last year, blubbering about the death of his horse due to some vixen's loving ways."

"Ah," she murmured, recalling the memory. Then, Dylan's words finally hit her and she, unable to fully vocalize her disbelief, asked, "Again?"

"He seemed quite distraught."

"I do not care!" she muttered, unable to believe how her morning was turning. "It was a fantastical tale the first time, to say nothing of a second. See that his horse permit is taken from him – I do not want another repeat of this yet again."

"By your command, Your Majesty," Dylan said faithfully.

"Is there anything else?"

"Nothing of immediate urgency, Sire."

"Then leave me," she told him, her dismissal plain and obvious. "I wish for some peace before heading to the grounds."

Dylan nodded and bowed deeply before wishing her well as he headed for the door. The moment it shut behind him, she took off her gauntlets and rubbed her face tiredly. Only an hour into the day and she was already regretting getting up. Her eyes passed over the multitudes of papers, hands quickly reaching for each one as she filed them into stacks of priority and basic relation to needs. About twenty minutes later, she'd managed to create a small space in the center of her desk for her breakfast tray, but other than that, she was still heavily encumbered by stacks of paper everywhere. There were so many that she had to use the floor space as well because her desk couldn't accommodate everything.

Sighing deeply, she rested her chin against the back of her left hand and tapped her right index finger against the desktop.

I feel I am getting too old for all of this...

A knock at the door brought her back to reality. "Your Majesty, may I be granted entrance?"

Shaking her head, Arturia clearly stated, "Enter."

"Good MORNING, Your Majesty!" Shirou cried out, drawing out the word "morning" as he bounced happily into her study. "I have come to serve you your breakfast!"

She stared at him as if he were an alien come from outer space. "...What? Oh, yes... Thank you...?"

Shirou set down the tray, smiling bubbly as he looked out her window. "The sun is so bright, and it's a really beautiful day. Have you seen the garden, Your Majesty? All of the flowers look so energized and happy. It's very calming, so I thought I would make you a breakfast to match that. An easy breakfast of toast with melted butter, sunny-side up eggs over easy, cured strips of bacon, small pieces of beef steak, a lentil soup, and a glass of ale to accompany everything. Please enjoy."

Arturia looked down at her meal, unsure of how to take his current disposition. She ended up grumbling, "You're awfully chipper this morning, Shirou."

"I read a children's book yesterday, and finished my basic lessons on the alphabet. The scribe in charge of my studies says I'm performing well."

"But what of your writing skill right now?"

Shirou face fell and he looked downwards. "Not...yet."

The boy, by nature, seemed to be a naturally cheerful person, particularly when he was in the position to be of use to others. While there was nothing at all wrong with wanting to be valuable, Shirou tried a bit...too hard to reach that goal, and that concerned her, greatly. When the two had first met, she had had other problems to deal with, and paying attention to a low-ranking servant boy had been the least of her worries, but from Baeddan's reports, Shirou had been happiest when times were toughest on him. He rose and conquered despite adversity, and that was good, but, she worried that he would one day push himself too far, and there would be no saving him at that point.

Yes, Shirou bothered her – though, that was probably putting it lightly. She appreciated his passion and dedication, and that never failing enthusiasm that she found lacking within herself as of late; so, when his cheerful expression had cracked somewhat due to her sharp, needless words, she'd felt a surge of satisfaction – misery loved company, after all. If she was forced to suffer, then why should he be allowed to smile so brightly? But, upon recognizing the feeling, it turned to chagrin that she would be happy to see him look as miserable as she currently felt. There was nothing honorable about that, and the self-satisfaction would do no one any good in the long run, nor even in the short.

"In due time," she eventually told him, watching him brighten almost immediately from her words. The fact that he had bounced back so quickly also bothered her. Why should her words hold that much emphasis or meaning for him?

Shirou gave her a half-smile before bowing and retreating to his designated spot in the corner. The room was completely silent save for the soft clinging of her silverware against the plate. The breakfast, as were all of Shirou's meals, was delectably scrumptious and she found she had no room for complaining, not that she would've wanted to, regardless. Were she to compare Shirou and Baeddan's style of cooking, the former won hands down – not that she was in a state to be picky. She couldn't cook to save her life, though hopefully it would never come to that.

When she set down the silverware, Shirou walked over to collect the tray, his eyes flashing up to meet hers.

"Your Majesty, when did you want me to ready your lunch?"

Masking her feelings of annoyance at the thought of setting an exact time within her busy schedule, Arturia laced her fingers together, hiding a frown behind them. Providing everything went according to schedule, she could plan for an early lunch before noon and hopefully finish with enough time to prepare for her meeting with the illustrious Viking person. If anything changed, she could simply have Dylan inform Shirou of the alteration in her schedule.

"Plan for shortly before noon," the king eventually said. "Should anything go awry, someone will be certain to inform you."

He nodded. "Yes, sir. I hope you have a wonderful morning."

After the man had left, the door closing softly behind him, Arturia snorted in an unfeminine manner.

"Wonderful"? What a laughable notion, although she did hope for much of the same.

---

A raven-haired man lunged forward with his spear, a smile alit on his face as he parried another blow. With a flick of his hands, his spear spun in around to block a downward slash before the two men relaxed and then took up another fighting stance. A different pair not too far away from them had one man slam down his hammer, for it to be evaded swiftly as his swordsman 'opponent' jumped to the side and followed up with a quick one-two motion. The former evaded the attack and then repeated his initial assault. Neither one seemed particularly winded, but their amusement was rather obvious.

On the far end of the field, an archer readied his bow, a few arrows zipping through the air at a man complete with a set of heavy armor. The latter shifted steadily, his eyes following the path of each arrow as he pushed himself out of the way. He ran forward, broadsword in hand at the archer, slashing around a few times only for the archer to jump out of harm's way and notch yet another few arrows. Jumping back, the man with the broadsword took on a defensive stance and the training exercise repeated itself once again. The two shared jibing words with one another, all done in good fun.

One pair in particular caught her attention, as one man tripped and fell, only for his partner to burst out laughing merrily. The one who'd fallen rose up slowly, rubbing his rear as he snickered alongside the other. The two laughed aloud before yelling out the names of a few men training beside them. The others stopped what they were doing to laugh as well, each picking some fun at the one clumsy enough to fall.

"And what you goin' to do out there on the battlefield, eh? You goin' to just fall down and hope that the Saxons don't kill you? Picking up after your sorry arse ain't goin' to be a picnic."

"Hah, the Saxons will be too taken by my strikin' good looks to worry none 'bout my graceful nature and what have you!"

"I think that fall hurt his head, too, the stupid lout!"

Arturia frowned as she focused directly on those people.

Today was focused on evasive measures and using time efficiently to regain the upper hand after an attack. It was a very useful exercise and would undoubtedly do well against whatever enemies Camelot might face. Her men were not even altogether bad, all things considered. No, on the contrary, they were operating rather well considering the time constraints and how much all of their levels differentiated. Additionally, they adopted the exercises with a tenacity that made her proud, but...

It just wasn't enough.

The blonde found herself grinding her teeth unconsciously as she watched the soldiers run through their training. She had zero qualms about how Tristan chose to run his courses, and she most certainly could not deny that the man achieved good results. Tristan knew how to read the men and respond to their actions in a positive, lucrative manner, in a way that the men would readily reciprocate. He, and Percival, for that matter, knew how to match himself with others' wavelengths – far better than she could, actually. While Arturia may have been a leader, she knew quite well herself that she simply didn't understand the needs of those around her, and couldn't be bothered to meet them in a proactive manner. Yes, her knights were far better at training others than she would ever prove to be. It was annoying to admit that fault, but it was what it was. She was more adept at reading a person's potential and pushing them to reach that point, but that conceivably forsook a healthy relationship between pupil and mentor in the meantime.

No, that wasn't the main issue. What really irritated her was the matter of how the men seemed to approach the training. Had she missed something? Was training so one would not fall on the battlefield somehow amusing, entertaining, enchanting? How did they, if they were taking the exercises seriously, have enough energy to even spare a smile or jest? When did the possibility of death evoke such a pleasant response from any individual?

Had the whole lot of them lost their minds?

"Your Majesty?" murmured Tristan from next to her, more than likely having seen her right fist clench even more tightly than usual.

She felt her jaw tighten. "They appear to be enjoying themselves."

If Tristan saw red flags from her words, he didn't show it. He frowned, looking at her more seriously than before.

"You are not pleased."

"Don't say that," she replied softly. "Learning the art of killing another is obviously an entertaining profession. Carry on."

At that, she saw her knight freeze before bowing his head. "Many pardons, Sire. I believed that allowing the men some room for expression would energize them further and have them work off one another's energy for better results. Let me assure you that each soldier takes his duties to you and the kingdom seriously and that they are merely –"

"Tristan."

The man flinched back at her tone, his hazel-green eyes flicking upwards to glance at her expression. Her emerald-green eyes stared coldly at him, all usual warmth irrevocably absent. He could feel himself begin to break out into a sweat, his heart starting to pound harder, even after she finally turned to gaze back at the soldiers training. She didn't move, didn't speak, and her right hand was nowhere near her sword, but for whatever reason, he felt as if she were holding Excalibur at his neck, expressionless as she spelled out his doom for him. Tristan struggled to still his hands after realizing they had been shaking. He even tried to respond back, but found he had lost track of his words.

Arturia tilted her head slightly as she oversaw the training. "Tell me, Tristan. Do you enjoy the path of the warrior?"

"Enjoy, Your Majesty?" he nearly stuttered. "I do not take pleasure in killing, Sire. If anything, I take pride in the fact that I have helped the common person, saved him or her from harm. Upon the anointment to knighthood, I vowed to fight for the welfare of all, and to serve you, my lord, in valor and faith."

"Oh?" was all she said at first, slowly turning to make eye contact with him again. "I suppose you did, as I recall making the exact same vows. I also recall, however, vowing to eschew unfairness, meanness, and deceit."

Tristan grew ever more uncomfortable with each passing second. "Your Majesty, they do not mean any harm. I do not see how allowing a little fun and enjoyment in their training means to –"

"Do you not?" Arturia asked icily. "Because, when I see such lackadaisical training, rampant with jests and amusing displays, I can only feel they are belittling those we sought to save and could not. When I see these men dancing around instead of dodging with everything they are worth, it makes me wonder if those people were not saved as a result of ineptitude, or casual negligence. Ineptitude, Sir Tristan, can be cured with time and patience. Negligence, on the other hand..."

She turned to completely face him this time. "Sir Tristan, what will you feel if, because of their lackluster performance here, they are ill-equipped to protect the lesser when push comes to shove? Will you give them excuses then? Will you tell the mourning families that the men meant well, but some things just do not work out the way you plan? Will you allow them to believe we are incapable of protecting those powerless to save themselves?"

The king took a step closer to Tristan casually, so that any onlooker would not think to take notice. The light-hearted mannerism, however, belied the true coldness and ferocity emanating from the woman, and Tristan forced himself not to back away or back down, because he knew the moment he did, that would set the king off completely.

"To answer your question, Sir Tristan," she continued, ignoring the way the man winced when she continually attached his title to his name, "there is absolutely nothing wrong with 'a little fun and enjoyment' every now and then. However, I want to know, honestly, if this is truly in the best interests of those we are fighting for. If you want them to enjoy themselves, fine. So be it. I will not disallow it. But I hope you are ready to apologize to each and every single person wronged because you wanted to let the men have a little...relaxation."

Arturia fell silent for a short while, and turned away when she noticed Dylan heading her way. He seemed to be moving towards her with purpose, his gait somewhat rushed and his expression concerned, but steady. She narrowed her eyes.

"Personally, though," she continued finally, regaining Tristan's attention, "were I of that wronged person's family, I am not certain I could ever find it in my heart to forgive you. But, that is with knowing what I do. Ignorance is bliss, after all."

Tristan felt his mouth go drier than a desert, and his teeth would've chattered if he hadn't grit them together so tightly. Never had he caused the king to look so unfavorably upon him, and it frightened him to see that this is what the person he admired so much could be like should something go so wrong. Tristan watched Dylan walk closer, but could only pay any real attention to the harsh beating of his heart within his chest. He had never thought having a fun word here and there to be showing any kind of disrespect to the dead or somehow denouncing the intentions of those who fought for the sake of others, but if Tristan were to really consider the king's words, he could understand and agree with them.

Turning away from the king, he hailed the different group leaders. While he didn't want to disparage the men's morale, the king was correct in his assessment. Their duties needed to be taken more seriously – they would have time to play around when the serious matter of training had reached its completion each day. For now, though, they would have to work to earn their keep. After all, Tristan wasn't about to let down the king he served a second time.

Arturia noticed Tristan meet up with his assigned leaders, and felt herself relax just a smidgen. She had at first wondered if perhaps she had overdone it, but she had a good knight under her command – he did not take overt offense and instead used her advice as a means of becoming better. It was an admirable trait, and she couldn't be prouder of him for it. That was the mark of a true knight.

She focused fully on Dylan once he reached her.

"Your Majesty," he began, a little breathlessly. "Scouts have reported sightings of the Vikings nearing the castle. At their current pace, they should be at the castle gates within the hour."

"What?" she asked, her tone dangerous even to her own ears. "Without a letter, message, or notice whatsoever?"

"What would you have done, Sire?"

Arturia was not particularly happy with this turn of events, nor was she altogether surprised. It most certainly put her into a steadily fouler mood than previously, which was saying something. First the news from the morn, an irritable filtering of the mess of papers in her study, more asinine jokes from her brother that would one day get him killed by her very hand, then the terrible mess of "training" she had witnessed, and it was only a little after eight in the morning. Arturia had yet gone over, in complete detail, her opinions of the men's training session – she hardly wanted to leave on such a dreadful note – and there was the meeting with her knights that had been canceled twice already. She couldn't afford to cancel it again, but with the way things were coming about, she wouldn't have much of a choice in that matter either. Surely, Arturia could simply switch around the designate time constraints for that meeting and the one with the Viking leader, and... But, no, she couldn't. Gawain and Bedivere both were due to leave with a round of men to check the border to the southwest as Camelot had been rather lackluster and fortifying that area.

Another thought was to turn away the Viking leader until he formally sent forth a message declaring a time and date that he would be available to speak with her, thereby allowing her and hers to reorganize the schedule in a fitting manner. Arturia shook her head slightly when she realized that wouldn't do, either. This convention with that leader was vital, as they were causing another headache of troubles that she didn't want to bother with. Sending the group of misfits away might gain her yet another enemy, and she had enough of those to last her a lifetime or two.

She closed her eyes. "Sir Tristan."

The king hadn't called his name loudly, but even still, he approached her quickly, his head bowing down in a form of respect. "Your Majesty."

"Inform the knights that much to my regret, I must once again cancel our meeting until the next time everyone is gathered together."

The man seemed a bit taken aback, but nodded resolutely. "Of course, Your Majesty. If I may be so bold as to inquire of the circumstances resulting in this declaration?"

Arturia scowled. "The Viking leader has decided to make a presence, without sending word ahead. I need to meet with him, and thus will not have enough time to get in a meeting with my knights before Gawain and Bedivere are to leave for their mission."

"Her, Your Majesty."

Both the king and Tristan turned to look at Dylan. Arturia tilted her head slightly. "What was that?"

Dylan looked between the two of them, concerned over how focused they were on him. "The leader, Sire, is female. She, uh, the woman, was leading the group."

"A woman?" scoffed Tristan. "You cannot be serious. No man worth half his salt would be caught dead following behind a woman."

Arturia slid her gaze over to her knight. "Watch your tongue, Sir Tristan."

"I mean no disrespect, my king, but this is blatant rudeness on their part," the knight proclaimed. "They send a woman to take care of a man's duty? To confer with a man who reigns over a kingdom? Over a country? No, Sire, this is unacceptable."

"Be that as it may," Arturia said, "perhaps this is their way. How are we to know the types of governments other people may have? Britain utilizes a monarchy system, but we are only one country. There are lands we are yet unaware of. Basing what little we know and using that to compartmentalize other societies does not indicate any sort of superiority in our favor – rather, we are merely discriminating against what we do not know or understand."

She turned away when Tristan fell silent. "So long as this issue is absolved, I do not care if they send a baby to dictate with me. Though it would be preferable that whoever I deal with be informative and know what it is that must be done."

Tristan shook his head slowly, his short raven tresses flicking back and forth with the movement. "You have wisdom beyond your years, my king, and though I understand what you say, I am not certain I can agree. Women are meant to support men, not reign over them."

"Enough of this talk!" she snapped, finally growing impatient. "Inform the others of what I told you. And have Gawain and Lancelot come to my side for the meeting. I will have no others."

Her knight closed his mouth tightly and bowed before taking his leave. She narrowed her eyes at his back and finally switched her attention again towards Dylan.

"Take this woman and two of her followers – only two, mind you – to the conference room. Have her wait there until I have finished my preparations."

Dylan nodded before hesitantly asking, "What should be done should she complain over the wait?"

"Ignore her," Arturia stated with irritation. "She thinks she can simply waltz into my kingdom without even so much as a notification beforehand and carry my attention as if it is some prize to be won? Am I not busy? Do I not have a kingdom to run? The woman can wait until I make time for her. Never will it be the other way around."

He nodded again and bowed deeply. "As you have requested, Your Majesty."

Arturia crossed her arms over her chest as she grit her teeth together and forced herself to focus on the soldiers training in front of her. Now, her major concern was how to go about dealing with her new menace, and not only that, but Tristan's words concerned her greatly. If ever there was a moment when she was the surest that revealing her true gender was a terrible idea, now was most certainly one of those moments. She knew that women were not valued in positions of exceeding power. She knew this, and yet, her knight's words, hurtful that they were, had wounded her some. They had wounded not only her pride as a woman, but her faith in their steady friendship. Would he look down upon her? Would all of her knights, save for Kay, think lesser of her?

Certainly, they would be upset that she lied about her true identity, but did her gender matter so much if she ruled her kingdom and people well? Arturia let her gaze fall to the ground as she realized that it of course would. Even if she ruled the world, people's conceptions of the truth and reality would not fall away so easily, so quickly. More than ever, she knew that she could not afford to make any mistakes, to take any missteps in how she proceeded henceforth. She needed to be on guard at all times.

She looked up again at the men, her men. If they knew their king was a woman... Well, it was best not to dwell on such thoughts.

---

The latch acquiesced to her touch, and Arturia pushed open the thick, wooden door. Her feet carried her in resolutely as her gaze locked onto each one of her guests. Though she had held her doubts, the fact that the Viking leader was a woman – for Arturia knew of no other creature with irritatingly enviable curves – gave her a moment of pause, if not the slightest hint of jealousy. What kind of life would she have led without the insufferable need to continually hide her true self to those who she ideally trusted the most? It was a point of contention that bogged her down with more annoyance, more reason to irrationally dislike this person based solely on first appearances.

It was unfair, and unjust, but yet, the king had difficulty ridding herself of the debilitating stray thoughts and emotions. Not until Lancelot approached her side softly did Arturia snap out of the trap of her own mind and truly focus once again on the people in front of her.

"I trust your stay has been relatively comfortable thus far," the blonde, sweeping her cape up gracefully behind her as she leaned back into the chair reserved for her.

One of the men to the woman's right grumbled something Arturia was unable to understand, but considering that the woman paid him no mind, nor was the king keen to.

The Viking woman tilted her chin up just the slightest, subtly demonstrating her unwillingness to bow to another authority. "You have been most...gracious, King Arthur of Britain."

The woman's distinct accent was notable, but she was fairly well-spoken, if nothing else. It would do.

"I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Arturia said slowly. "Might I have your name?"

"Fiona, if it suits you," the Viking answered, her icy, pale-blue eyes focusing directly on Arturia. "Fiona of the Grey, though I don't expect you've heard of us."

"I haven't, no," Arturia confirmed with little hesitance. Fiona merely smiled somewhat coldly.

At the king's side, Lancelot clenched his fists behind his back a bit more tightly. When she switched her attention over to him briefly, he murmured,

"Her hair, Your Majesty. It is like his."

The blonde's green eyes navigated back to her guest, where she took in the rich, ruby-red waves of hair cascading down the woman's shoulders. The visitor was cleaner and better kept than Arturia would have assumed of someone who lived their life aboard a ship, and, were she not accustomed to not caring whatsoever about most people's feelings, she might be a little intimidated by Fiona's frigid, pointed gaze.

Nodding, Arturia responded, "It is, indeed."

Her guests' presence certainly wasn't helping the man's claim of not being affiliated with one of her enemies in the slightest. The fact gave her even more reason to resolve this issue and send the trespassers of her kingdom away, be it that they walked under their own power or were carried off in pieces. Either which option was a definite possibility, though she would much prefer to avoid bloodshed as much as was conceivable.

Arturia idly wondered how the redheaded man would react to such a confrontation, and mentally grimaced.

"Who is this 'he' you speak of?" Fiona asked cordially. "Your people do not tend to be the sort to willingly take in someone different from you."

Arturia ignored the jab. "Let us dispense with the formalities, shall we?"

Fiona's unblinking icy eyes stared at the king before she let out the smallest of chuckles. "Finally."

Then, to the incredible shock of Arturia and Lancelot both, enough to force the latter to nearly somewhat unsheathe his sword, the redhead slammed a hand down on the low table in between the two parties. Her two bodyguards crossed their arms over their impressive chests, and Lancelot tightened his fingers around the grip of his sword. Even Arturia could not keep her muscles from tightening from a blast of adrenaline.

The female Viking glared harshly. "What is your game, king?"

"Game?" Arturia questioned, tilting her head back a smidgen. "I was unaware we were playing any."

"Why, am, I, here?" Fiona ground out. "I have people to see to, feed, clothe. Who are you to threaten me to visit you, as if this were a field trip for children?"

Arturia frowned a bit. "I believe you should know. Ah, but considering how you have turned away each and every messenger I have sent for correspondence with you..."

Irritably, Fiona narrowed her eyes. "You threatened my people with decisive action."

"I have been attempting to contact you for over two months now," the blonde explained matter-of-factly. "Know that my patience is not infinite, and my graciousness not as extensive as you might believe. You have had your time and fun. Now I would have you leave my lands."

"Your lands?" came the disbelieving response. "You own nothing, and my people have done you no disservice. We only partook in food and shelter."

"You raided one of my coastal towns," the king continued, unfazed. "Pillaged their food and drink. Brutally harmed the men and defiled the women, of which a small minority have taken their lives as a result of an inability to live with such disgrace. Rather, you should be thankful I did not have my men cut you down where you stood."

Not that she hadn't genuinely considered it. When the news had reached her weeks after the event, Arturia had been livid – beyond so. She had desired to immediately rain down on the intruders with waves of steel and arrow, but the fact that her enemy had unknown numbers, and that a majority of them were aboard sea vessels was enough to quell her fury some. Arturia's company could not remain with those villages forever – the Vikings, with their newly acquired rations – could hold out in their ships for days on end, and quickly take up their previous activities as soon as the company was forced to fall back.

Fiona's mouth firmed. "Is that a threat?"

"Not necessarily," Arturia denied, leaning forward and lacing her fingers together. "I invited you to come because I did not desire to take up arms against you, if I could so help it. That would not end well in your favor, and I do not need the extra headache. I wanted to see if there was a peaceful way to curtail these activities of yours."

"So be it," Fiona murmured. "I wasn't there with the team that went to the village, and I don't know the full story myself. I believe my men stumbled upon unguarded food supplies and took to pillaging the contents. There was an outcry from the your villagers who believed we were stealing and turned to violence."

"How convenient that you all are made the victims here," the blonde woman argued with a raised eyebrow. "You just happened upon a food supply, but the recourse was harsh and unforgiving. I beg your pardon, but I am not convinced."

She glanced at Lancelot before refocusing on Fiona. "As I heard it, you demanded supplies from our village, and when they denied it to you, your people turned to violence instead. Violence, and after which, you then resorted to stealing after brutally punishing every single villager in attendance. How many of those children did you take?"

Fiona met Arturia's gaze evenly. "You accuse me of much."

"I am awaiting your answer."

There was a short period of silence with tension lacing the air thickly as both parties' bodyguards glared at one another, their animosity towards one another obvious. Arturia tilted her head to the side slowly, her gaze never leaving Fiona's as the two stared at each other, waiting for one to back down.

"I don't think the number matters," the redhead finally said.

"No," Arturia agreed, her voice deepening. "The fact that you kidnapped children of my faithful subjects does. Where are you hiding them?"

A slow smirk full of cruelty etched its way across the woman's beautiful face, belying her darker emotions. "Now, wouldn't you love to know, King of Britain?"

Arturia felt the tethers reining in her patience snap with unbidden force, her lips contorting into a fierce scowl as her hands shifted to resting atop of her knees. Every muscle in her body tensed greatly as she tried to curb her temper as one would attempt to stop a full speed freight train with their bare hands. She knew that underneath her gauntlets, her knuckles were probably pure white from how much her fingers were digging into her knees.

"You –!" the young king managed before falling silent. Her darkened emerald eyes glared with a ferocity that would have her men running from her presence. "What have you done with them? To them?"

"They're in a better place, I assure you," Fiona replied with little hesitation, almost seeming to enjoy how wound up the blonde was growing. The two men at her side seemed to almost relax, convinced that their leader would put them into an even more favorable position.

The king never even realized when she made the transition from sitting to standing, Lancelot loyally coming to her side with Arondight partially unsheathed, the purplish blade gleaming as flickers of light bounced across it. Arturia's pulse sped up with her increasing anger, but she ground her teeth to give herself some semblance of control. She took in a semi-deep breath before letting it out slowly. It would not do for her to give this woman any kind of leg up, and yet, Arturia had already done just that, hadn't she?

The idea that these Vikings would stoop so low as to take children, and not even children remotely related to anyone of importance in the grand scheme was utterly reprehensible. Violating women, battering down on men, brutalizing children and thereafter, killing them... Unforgivable. Regardless of the sins Arturia had committed, regardless of the misguided steps she often took, regardless of the depravity and mercilessness she might display and exhibit, never could she allow herself to lay a hand in such a manner on innocence yet unmarred by reality. That was a step even she, a person's whose hands were bloodier than even the worst people in the world, would never dare take.

The children never deserved such a fate.

King Arthur settled her cautious gaze on the Viking leader's own. "What have you done?"

The words were absent of emotion, voiced plainly into existence, and for a moment, Fiona didn't quite know how to respond. They were hardly threatening, and yet, she sensed the oddest tinge of danger. Her eyes searched the now blank expression of the king's, bewildered as the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end. The king made no movements, nothing that would indicate outright animosity, but even still, Fiona felt her guard rise up further.

The king made as if to say something when the soft sound of the door opening turned everyone's attention to the person coming in. Fiona concentrated on the man's softly swaying dirty-blond hair, his chestnut-brown eyes flashing towards her before looking away, as if he were dismissing her existence with ease. He walked briskly to the king's side, falling into a snapped bow.

"Your Majesty."

King Arthur didn't say a word, her blank expression telling as she turned towards him. Leaning a little closer, Gawain whispered a few words into her ear and the tightness at the corners of her eyes smoothed some. She looked downwards for a moment before sighing and sitting back down again. Gawain took his place at her left side, while Lancelot sheathed his sword fully and fell back to her right.

If nothing else, the immediate calming of her opponent rang warning bells in Fiona's mind. Anger no longer fueled the king's actions, no longer made him as malleable and so easy to exploit to her whims. What did he know that she didn't?

"Fine," the king eventually said, voice soft, but with a sharp edge to it. "Let us move on to the matter of why you chose to pillage instead of hunting in the wild. Was killing and tormenting innocents really necessary?"

Fiona attempted to smile. "The issue of the children no longer concerns you?"

"I am beyond furious," King Arthur murmured, "but I can do nothing about their fates now. I would prefer to find a way to get you off of my soil for all intents and purposes."

"We have every right to be here," Fiona argued. "Even if you evict me from your land this once, who's to say we won't come back with a vengeance at a different spot, or –"

"Twelve."

Fiona's words cut out at that, her mouth closing and turning into a frown. "What?"

King Arthur closed her eyes. "Twelve within Camelot's borders. Two at the tavern. Four within the area of the nobility. Three more in the poorer section. One near the main gate and two others brooding along the walls. This, of course, does not include the five resting just far enough away from the outer wall to not be considered a threat, nor does it include the two in here alongside you."

She looked pointedly at the two men at Fiona's sides, and the redhead grew deadly silent. Clasping her hands together once more, King Arthur leaned forward, eyes glittering dangerously.

"Now, I am threatening you."

The redhead was not at all amused. "You play a very risky game, king. Providing my men and I do not return in a set number of days, the entirety of my fleet will rain down on your pitiful dwelling, turning it into nothing more than a sea of blood."

"Poetic," King Arthur commented, "but unlikely. My men are at the ready. What will your decision be?"

"You had no intention whatsoever for a peaceful convention," accused Fiona. "You had him out there spotting my men so you could blackmail me. You are a despicable king."

The king shook her head. "On the contrary, I had every intention up until the point where you essentially admitted to kidnapping and murdering children. My people. My desire to convene with you previously shriveled away into nothingness."

Fiona scoffed. "I see that you took up the title of king to forcibly impose your opinion on that of your subjects, or possible future enemies."

King Arthur was somewhat perplexed. Was this woman really sulking and whining about a bad situation she had created for herself, by herself, by blaming the indirectly related victim party? The blonde could only sigh at the ridiculousness.

"I took up the mantle because I wanted a better future for my kingdom, and because I wanted my people to live freely, without the constraint and stress that war would place upon them."

"So, you wage more war to end the war?" Fiona asked, incredulous at this point. "Now, I see how your mind works. I'd like to think there were far better options out there than you."

It was a slight made from desperation, a last hurrah towards the plainly thought victor of the matter at hand, and one the king had trained herself to ignore. With the problems from the morning practice still weighing heavily on her mind, however, and the fact that Arturia still couldn't quite convince herself that her place on the throne as king was the better option, the quipped slight shot through her with surprising ease. She thought she might have been able to hide her reaction for the most part, but the way her two men stiffened, she was fairly sure she had failed. And when the smirk returned to the redhead's lips, the fuse of her temper was relit.

Arturia ground her teeth together. "What will it be? Will you surrender," she asked, realigning the topic back on track, "or will you fall?"

"For this? I will surrender," Fiona answered smoothly, causing Arturia's eyebrows to rise. "But consider this, king: you are not in a position to make an enemy out of us."

"Do tell," Arturia returned without hesitation, although she could feel the icy cold grip of dread clench around her heart.

Fiona chuckled a bit. "These enemies you face – one to the north, and one to the south. They have you in a bit of a pincer maneuver, yes? How wonderfully difficult it would become for you if they were given access to parts of your land that you normally left unwatched? Why, had it been them who had appeared on your shores, you would have been in a bit of a bind, I would think."

The dread spread. "You would help my enemies rise against me? You are so bitter that someone would seek to put you in your place that you would raise hell on my kingdom? How would you even profit from this?"

"Were you unaware? We are a nomad people," explained Fiona. "We travel and trade, and so long as we can make deals, maintain our quota, and be graced with new, exotic things, I would say we profit quite much, wouldn't you agree?"

Arturia closed her eyes. She could feel the stress of the situation start to take hold, the iciness running through her body. At her side, both Gawain and Lancelot were tense, ready to strike down a blow on her very word.

"...What do you want?"

"You would have us leave, and that is understandable," Fiona told the king. "But, I'm afraid we simply cannot do that. We have run low on food and drink, and your country is quite flush with resources. It truly would make a wonderful place to settle down, for a short while. Of course, I cannot guarantee what would happen to those who might oppose us, be they soldier or the common man..."

It was a threat as obvious as day, but Arturia did not have the means to counter it – not really. Not yet.

"You mentioned trade," began she. "Would you not –"

"What could you possibly trade with us?" Fiona asked, genuinely intrigued. "What would you have that we have never seen before, never used before?"

Arturia remained silent and Fiona hummed slightly. "Nothing, apparently."

The blonde shook her head. "I ask that you would give me some time."

"Asking!" Fiona exclaimed. "How ridiculous that a king would bow down like a beggar. My interest is piqued, but I wonder what giving you time would do. Time for what?"

"In exchange for you leaving my people alone, not even going near them, I will find something of interest that you have never yet witnessed before."

"Hmm. How much time would that take? We are an impatient sort, you see."

As much time as it takes me to extinguish the lot of you from existence. "A year."

Fiona outright laughed at this. "You wish us to wait around for a year? I will give you a month."

Frowning, Arturia countered, "No one would be capable of that much within a month. Ten months."

"Two," corrected Fiona. "I do love a good bartering."

"Half a year."

"Three, and that is the last offer you will receive from me, king."

Arturia met the other woman's eyes before making a curt nod. "Three."

The resulting, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, King Arthur," grated on Arturia's nerves to the point that the blonde had simply wished to throw all caution to the wind and rid herself of the source of her fury. As it was, she could hardly hide the steel in her voice when she stood up and directed that Lancelot and Gawain see the guests out safely and with due respect. Gawain had taken one glance at her before escaping from her war path as she opened the door to the conference room and let it shut behind her with a soft clack.

Her fingers trembled within her gauntlets and she found herself pausing every so often to rest a fist against the wall. A servant happened on her once during a period of respite and while Arturia was certain she had attempted to neutralize her expression, by the way the servant paled severely, bowed, and ran off, she knew she had not even remotely succeeded in the endeavor. Arturia's breath escaped her lips a bit more harshly than before and she covered her face with a hand.

She was ready to break down, and it was not do for anyone to see her in such a position. As if her luck were not already bad enough, if the wrong sort were to witness the king acting like a...well, human...

Arturia sucked in a deep breath through her teeth, gritted them tightly, and made the long journey up to the fourth floor, up to her office, up to her place of sanctuary. The doors were not thick enough to hide any screams, and so she could not go that far. Her discipline wouldn't allow it either way, but a closed door would keep her away from any curious onlookers. That was something she needed – something that she currently demanded, more than anything else at the moment. And when she saw the two guards posted outside of her office, it took every ounce of restraint for her to tell them to politely take a break and inform Shirou that she wanted her lunch.

She didn't. Not really. She had utterly no desire to take in any sustenance whatsoever, but it sounded kinder than telling them to go away because she didn't want to see their faces right then and there. It was also a normal request, and based on a routine built up thus far. It would have seemed odd for her to not mention as much.

When they were gone, and the door was shut tightly behind her, Arturia walked up to her desk and stared down at it blankly. Once again, it was overflowing with a different assortment of papers and documents, things that she really needed to start working on.

"For this? I will surrender."

Arturia hadn't made the connection immediately, but there was little denying that she had been played like a fiddle from the very beginning. Fiona had known exactly what she was after from the start, and had probably tried to wind up Arturia with the extended period of not answering. Had Arturia sent down her soldiers as she had originally wanted to, she would have been in a very difficult situation as a result. Only her instincts had kept from falling into that ditch, but even still, never could she have foreseen that the Viking would manipulate her through such extreme methods. It was galling that Arturia didn't even have a means of denying the woman – she was in no position to whatsoever. She didn't have the resources, the people, the time. One problem after another continually cropped up and she was running out of space to move. Things were starting to box her in, but she could only take things one step at a time.

Arturia peeled off her gauntlets and placed them on a shelf, and looked down at her trembling fingers.

I...am angry.

That was obvious. Of course she was.

She was the king and regardless of that, Arturia lacked control in most of what she did. Her opinions went uncontested, but there was always unrest just around the corner. Things people couldn't say to her face were whispered behind her back, by the "loyal" servants she kept. Problems developed that she was normally never privy to because they were a few grades down from her own rank. Even asking about them would just have Merlin, her knights, or even Dylan smile at her and tell her she need not have something extra to worry about in her storm of current business.

It wasn't only the fact that she somehow felt distrusted despite supposedly being the most trustworthy figure around, but that even if she did know about the situation, she had little means of directly affecting it. Arturia could order people around and patch up the issue, but that would only escalate into something worse, something she couldn't control, something highly unpredictable. It was something out of her range of knowledge, of understanding, something she could have never foreseen.

So, she stayed out of these issues. She pretended they didn't exist, because when she did that, she wouldn't feel frustrated that despite her actions, things still went amiss, that despite everything she did, nothing was ever solved. When she first became king, Arturia believed firmly, and completely, that she would make a difference using not only her title as king, but the skills she had fine-tuned along the way. But, despite all she tried, the whispers continued, the discontent rose, and her frustration that she tried to forget mounted even further.

It was partly due to that reason that Fiona had taken her by surprise so well, so easily. To be countered, wrapped around the woman's fingers with bold words, foreseeable advances, and tactics fit to be seen from the mind of a squire... What did that mean for her, as a king? Wasn't that kind of frontal assault exactly what Arturia had desired, and yet, even then, she still couldn't put up anything of a defense other than to gawk with confusion? Was she that ill-equipped, that ill-favored? How could she not have known?

Her hands shook further at her sides.

The blonde looked up and around her for something, anything to use to unleash her anger, but there was nothing that didn't hold some kind of importance. She couldn't throw her documents. She couldn't wreck havoc on her bookshelves. She couldn't uplift her desk. She couldn't shout. She couldn't even train outside because she was supposed to be working.

She couldn't take her frustration out on anything, at all. There was nothing she could do.

So, Arturia simply stood there, a hand lying on her chair as she breathed in and out deeply.

Why did I choose this path?

In her mind, she knew. In her heart, she knew. At times like these, though, when people used her for their own ambitions, used her as some kind of stepping stone, undermined her authority and capability, she sometimes allowed her doubts to resurface.

"So, you wage more war to end the war? Now, I see how your mind works. I'd like to think there were far better options out there than you."

Arturia bowed her head and let it lay against the back of her hand, her teeth biting her bottom lip as she struggled inwardly. There were times when she wondered if she was strong enough to deal with all of it, knowing what she did. Her teeth ground together as she forced herself to get a grip – she was better than this.

But, she was human, too, wasn't she? Wasn't she?

Aren't I?

With an exercise in self-control and a somewhat shaky exhale of breath, Arturia rose up tall, her shoulders straightening. She pulled her chair out and sat down with a soft sigh. Perhaps she wasn't human, but she still had work to do, regardless, and that was something she would allow no one but herself to ever have to do.

---

Disgust mounted within her at the minute mistake in her normally impeccable handwriting. It wasn't entirely obvious unless a person looked specifically for it, but it annoyed her enough that she briefly considered starting over from scratch. What vexed Arturia the most, however, was the fact that under normal circumstances, the blunder would have never occurred had she not been preoccupied with other thoughts. Even nearly an hour later, she tended to grip the quill a bit too tightly, and write a tad too uncontrollably. Her efficiency had dropped down to less than half of what it should be, and she had nothing left to show for it other than wasted time and added stress.

A sigh escaping, the quill was returned to its proper place and her head fell into her hands as she took in a couple of deep breaths. Her anger had cooled, true, but Arturia was still unable to completely calm the storm raging within, and truth be told, she still wanted to throw something and feel the satisfaction of its destruction.

"It has been quite long since I have heard such sighs from you, lad."

Even worse, her mentor had chosen to make her a visit, probably after hearing of her reputed failing in her meeting with the Viking leader. Or, at least if not that, Arturia had no inkling as to why the man had chosen this particular time to see her. She certainly hadn't beckoned him. Arturia didn't have any desire to speak to anyone at the moment.

She glanced up at him silently. "Merlin. Your presence is...unexpected."

The comment caused the older man to pause and look at the blonde with some concern.

"I take it that events did not go as you would have liked," Merlin murmured, brow furrowed.

Arturia laughed hollowly, mirthlessly. "I was seen through, worked as a tool, and forced to dance to her tune. To say nothing of that fact that I didn't even realize the trap before I'd tripped it."

The mage shifted somewhat, his frown deeper than before. "Pride doth cometh before the fall, Arthur."

At first, Arturia could only stare at him blankly, as if incapable of understanding his words. Then, with incredibly speed, like a whip of lightning, her hand slammed down on the desk with enough force to make it tremor slightly.

"Pride?" she whispered. "This isn't about pride, Merlin! And even if it were, that doesn't change the fact that I should've been able to account for such a mistake! Not because I am a king, not because I outrank that woman, but because I should have foreseen it! It should have been a matter of course for her people to be able to contact my enemies, put me into a ridiculous pinch, and yet, I had no back-up plan, no means of cutting off their path of retreat should I be defied. I had nothing!"

Arturia paused for half a beat as she looked down at the papers beneath her hand. "I have two forces beating down my doors from both the north and south. A group of marauders, or however I should call them, are causing mayhem all across my country. There is something akin to a conspiracy bubbling up within in my very walls. My men," she pointed out towards the training field, "are frolicking during their training as if they were simply taking a walk in the park, and to top it all off, I was outwitted in full by a ingrate of a woman despite the fact that I should, have, known!

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Should have known, you say, boy? "

"I am the king, Merlin," she spit out bitterly. "What use am I when I can neither defend my citizens nor realize when doom is approaching my doorstep? I knew my security was lax, but I was woefully unprepared. I knew that my men lacked a focus, a drive to push them, yet I was still ridiculously surprised when facing it. I knew trouble was brewing on the coast due to my lack of people, and yet I did nothing. I knew there was something wrong with that woman and yet I was still beaten down, like a child! I care nothing for pride! All I care about is that I should, have, known, but despite it all, I didn't! What does that make me? What good am I?"

"No one is infallible, lad. Nor are they perfect," Merlin murmured. "Not even a king."

"No," Arturia agreed after a bit of time. "But, that can't stop me from hoping."

Her mentor cleared his throat slightly as he shifted and finally settled his old bones into a chair. Her eyes followed his every movement silently before she eventually turned away. Arturia curled her fingers in and clenched her fists tightly.

"Merlin," she began, her voice soft, "I do not know what to do. I find myself aimless, wandering around miserably, reaching for clues and finding nothing to support me. I'm just so..."

Angry. Frustrated. Tired. All of the above.

If she didn't find some kind of outlet, some way to help fix her situation, something was going to have to give in her life. Something would be destroyed if she didn't get herself onto the right track, and if ever Camelot fell as a result of her inappropriate conduct, because of her lack of foresight, because of her lack of ability...

No, that was something she could never bear. Would never bear.

Her hands trembled again as she relived her humiliation in her mind, her inability to see, and how could she have not?

I should have known.

"You must take caution in what you do," Merlin warned, ever the caring teacher. "Continue like this and you will only burn more bridges."

"I know that!" Arturia snapped, her temper showing through even more. "I am trying!"

Merlin looked a bit grim. "You must endeavor harder."

She gritted her teeth. "Merlin..."

Had it not been for the sudden pair of knocks at the door, Arturia might have said something she would regret in the future. Her attention shifted away from her mentor over towards the entrance, and she took a moment to calm herself.

"Who is it?" she managed to ask, irritation still quite present.

"Your Majesty, may I be granted entrance?"

Arturia took in a deep breath, prayed for strength, and then let out a sigh. "Enter."

The door opened to reveal a toothily smiling Shirou, his eyes alight and his gait merry. As happy as she wished to be for him, his current state of happiness just annoyed the hell out of her. Arturia pushed down the feelings of negativity as she worked to make space on her desktop. Behind the redhead, Merlin gave the slightest of harrumphs and clucked his tongue.

"I hope you mean to share, boy."

She couldn't quite stop the acidic glare back at him.

Arturia turned towards Shirou as he set down the food tray. "Explain."

Shirou was taken aback by the curtness of her words but forced a smile to his lips. "Absolutely, Your Majesty! For the main course, a medium-well grilled cut of sirloin, accompanied by a rendition of a magnificent Greek salad, a side of a set of pork-filled gyouza, and last, but most certainly not least: a slice of lemon meringue pie."

Her eyes fell down n the beautifully made lunch, but she felt none of her usual enthusiasm. "I see."

The lack of reaction made his smile slip away, and he cleared his throat. "Uh, so...yeah."

He backed away from her desk a bit and waited somewhat nervously as she continued to stare at the food. When she didn't begin to eat immediately, his brow furrowed slightly and he took a step back to really get a good look at her. After a quick glance at Merlin, Shirou narrowed his eyes at the king, looking up and down to get a read on her current mood.

As far he could tell, she, was, pissed. And, for once, it wasn't actually at him. The only time he'd ever seen the slightest bit of hidden fury on her face like this was when she had mentioned her time as a Servant for his old man, and the second time had been when she dealt with Gilgamesh. They were two men she had hated with every fiber of her being, and two instances where he hadn't been able to get a word in both out of respect for her feelings, and out of pure fear for the prana that seemed to emanate from her at the time. Food normally got her out of her funks, so this had to be a hell of a hatred she was holding onto for her not to even bother trying to eat. Maybe he could help?

He knew he shouldn't get involved – after all, he didn't know this Arturia, technically. She was different – she hadn't yet lost her kingdom, lost her people, been forced to serve under a human, been forced to go against her very core values. She was young, far more innocent, and obviously hurting. It hurt him to see it, really.

"It'll be okay," Shirou said softly, his voice almost loud in the silent room.

King Arthur looked somewhat startled at his words, and her green eyes swept towards him. "What?"

Shirou smiled gently. "Everyone has those days where nothing goes right, and it seems like every passing minute is some kind of struggle. But, it all evens out in the end."

She looked too surprised to say anything, but she didn't stop him, so he forged on ahead.

"You're strong, Your Majesty," he said, and he could swear he saw her face pale slightly. "You're the best king I've ever met. I don't know what's happened to you today, but you're better than...whatever it is. I'm sure that the problem is no match for you."

Arturia stared at him disbelievingly for a moment before turning away. "You're wrong."

The memory of how easily she was bamboozled by Fiona struck back through her mind again, showing her that had she been a little more aware, a little more prepared, that mistake would never have happened. How could Shirou, someone she had just met, have such undying faith in her despite knowing absolutely nothing? He knew nothing about her, and yet he believed in her? The idea touched her as much as it angered her.

It seemed so foolish to her – what did he know that she somehow didn't? Why was it he could have unwavering faith when every truth she'd maintained continually proved itself false on a consistent basis? Arturia was irritated for the simple reason that Shirou truly had no idea of what he was talking about. He didn't know the mistakes she had made, he didn't know how she lamented, he didn't realize his king was not what she normally presented herself as.

The thought angered her, not because it was any fault of his whatsoever, but because she couldn't yet prove that she was that king he spoke of. The best? What had she done to earn such respect? She was floundering, living from one day to the next despite knowing she should be better than she was. She knew that, so why, why did he sound so assured of his words?

"You know nothing of me," Arturia finally said, causing Shirou to frown slightly. "Nothing."

He made a small smile, one that showed a hint of sadness that pierced at her deeply. "I feel like I know more than you think. Your Majesty, you're better than this. Things might seem bad now, but they'll get better with –"

"You're wrong," she interrupted, and it hurt her that he would have such faith. "You don't understand. Stop acting as if you do."

"Your Majesty –"

"You're wrong!" she repeated, involuntarily rising to her feet. "What would you know of the hand I've been dealt? Of my failures or successes? You call me great, but you do not even understand the reason why! You praise me for all the wrong reasons, because you are blinded by faith and guided by a sense of luxury. You do not know me! Do not presume to understand!"

Shirou opened his mouth before sighing a bit. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't know you, but, I know you're not as bad as you might think. I trust you as my king, and maybe I don't know you as a person, but, I trust you that way, too. And, if you ever need an ear..."

The words were spoken so strongly, without hesitation, that she dearly wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that what she was doing was right, was just, and that she was not veering from the path she'd set for herself. Arturia wanted to believe that perhaps she was pushing herself too hard, that it was okay for even her to make mistakes...

But, she was king. She was the king, and mistakes caused casualties, pain, and suffering. There was no room for her to be a normal person, someone who could lean on others and allow them to help her along her way. She had to be strong, had to learn from what she'd done wrong.

Yet, time and time again, this man named Shirou often made her forget that important point. He made her forget exactly what needed to be done. There was this warmth where she would lose herself, and if she relaxed, if she didn't forge forward –

She was no longer hungry. Had she ever been? "Get out."

Shirou looked completely taken aback by the sudden order, and Merlin was hardly any different.

"Your Majesty?" inquired Shirou, his voice low and filled with confusion.

Arturia looked up and made eye contact with him. He made her feel as if she wasn't as alone as she chose to believe she was. He tolerated her, appreciated her despite his hardships. He endeavored despite his situation. She admired him.

And, not for the first time, Arturia was scared of Shirou. She was scared of what his presence implied, what it meant for her mentality. She had no defense for this. When he was there, she lost sight of herself, and it infuriated, angered her as much as it scared her.

"Get out."

"B-but, what about your lunch?"

She didn't want to rely on his support. But, she was king. There was no room to allow fear within her heart, but anger? Anger, she had in spades.

"You think you know me," Arturia continued. "You know nothing. You insult me as a person, and you ridicule me as a king. Turn to you? Why would I do that? Even if you, for whatever reason, did hold promise as an advisor, you expect me to bow my head and pay you attention in such a manner? You are my cook! Nothing more, nothing less!"

In return, Shirou gave her this...smile. It was an expression of acceptance, despite her words. It terrified her. Why did he just stand and take her abuse? Why hadn't he left yet?

"Are you deaf as well as dumb?" she tried again. "Did you not hear me distinctly tell you to leave?"

"Okay," he replied gently. "I will. I'm sorry."

Why was he apologizing? Why?

It made her angry at him. It made her angry at herself. It made her angry at the circumstances. This was wrong, but her damnable...pride...wouldn't allow her respite. For all that she said she didn't care about it, it certainly seemed to pop up at the most inappropriate times, forcing her down a path she had no desire to take.

She couldn't take his gentleness, nor his understanding. It was more than she...

Shirou picked up the tray, and bowed down to her. "I'm sorry, but it will get better. I promise."

Arturia merely stared at him and gritted her teeth.

"Just get out." The words sounded empty even to her ears.

When he just smiled at her again, she finally couldn't take anymore. Her hands slammed down on her desk.

"Get, out!"

"I hope you have a wonderful afternoon," Shirou whispered before finally taking his leave and closing the door behind him.

The second the infernal man was gone, Arturia slammed both of her hands onto her desk again, taking in deep breaths to try and calm herself. She couldn't recall a time in years when she had felt so flustered, so out of her element – and by a low-ranked servant, nonetheless! He had the nerve – the nerve – to treat her like an equal, offer aid with inspiring conviction, and make it seem as if her cutting words meant absolutely nothing. The thought left her shaken, and she briefly regretted ever making him her personal servant. Had she realized precisely what that would mean for her and her emotions, she never would have taken that leap. But, like everything else lately, she lacked control for her environment and decisions.

Arturia closed her eyes as she could feel the rampant onset of further frustration. The part that rankled her most, though, was probably that she had, for a fleeting moment, desired to just let it all, to rage at him with all of her troubles. But, what sense would that make? She had known him for less than a year – far less, but even still...

She shook her head. No. It made absolutely zero sense for her to feel anything towards him but indignation, irritation, and infuriation. If she wanted people to talk to, there was always her brother, Lancelot, any of her other knights of the Round Table, or even Merlin. Yes, those options suited her far better, and speaking of the old mage...

Her gaze lifted slowly to peer over at the man who had not deigned to say anything thus far. His attention, however, was focused solely on the door where Shirou had just exited. She stayed silent, however – the man would speak when he was well, good, and ready.

"I see," Merlin murmured, almost wonderingly. "So, this is the path you have chosen."

Arturia frowned at that, unable to reply.

"Yes," the old man continued, "I do suppose that a lack of control is most frightening. It is that weakness that allows for darkness to surface, for a need for greater space – a separation. Yes, yes, I see, I see. Yet, I do not. Why would you desire this? Ah, but perfection demands it, I should suppose."

Now, she was plainly confused. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Merlin. Please explain."

Merlin turned to her, looking far more serious than she had seen him in years. "Tell me: were it Dylan who had appealed to you in such a manner, would you have flung him away so quickly with barbed words and a voiced edge sharp enough to cut? I wonder if you might."

"Dylan?" The young king tilted her head – she was still very much bewildered. "I highly doubt he would be so bold. Wait – what exactly are we discussing? I believe I have an inkling, but..."

"What of Gawain, or your brother?"

Her eyes finally narrowed. "What are you inferring, Merlin?"

"You play with the boy," her mentor explained, and her mouth opened to deny his words. Merlin merely shook his head. "You bring him into the fold without direction, and toss him aside when it proves inconvenient. You speak with him, seek to understand, and when the tides turn, he is then considered a liability, a reason for your chink, for your exposure. I wonder why he isn't as confused about the circumstances as another ordinary person might be. You play at cruelty."

"What?" Arturia couldn't stop herself from yelping. "Cruelty? I have not done anything of the sort! I provided help at the cost of my own personal time and patience. He should be so thankful that I deigned to do anything of the sort for a man of his particular background. I know nothing of him, and yet have done much. You would still accuse me of wrongdoing?"

"Why is it my fault?" was the real question begging to be asked, though she dared not bother voicing it. The man was a servant. A servant. Why should she have to bother that much for such an insignificant person?

Then, she inwardly winced at the direction of her thoughts. No. She couldn't think that way. Regardless of his rank, regardless of his actions, his words, his inability to follow common sense, he was still a citizen of her kingdom. He was one of her people. She was king, or so she kept telling herself. She had no right to... But yet...

"I wonder," Merlin pressed on, "is this learned behavior or natural? Am I to blame for this way of thinking?"

Arturia stiffened. "Of course not, Merlin. I would never accuse you of anything."

"Then why do you treat others so? It is not just him, I believe, that you attempt to bring in close but then throw aside when you realize your level of intimacy. You cause suffering, not only for yourself, but others as well."

She blinked a few times as her eyes narrowed, the observation whirling around in her head. There was a short moment of silence before Merlin spoke again.

"Arturia."

It wasn't so much his tone of complete seriousness nor how harshly he said the word that made her head snap up, her body immediately tensing as it so often did years before during her youth, whenever Merlin sought to scold her for something. No. It was the fact that he called her by her real name at all, something that was nothing short of taboo out of the right environment. Anyone could hear, and anyone could begin to doubt, and the fact that he dared use it meant that what he was about to say was something she would need to consider with great certainty.

Merlin beckoned her closer, and she did go to him, albeit somewhat nervously. When he clapped a hand onto her shoulder, she looked up at him, feeling every bit as young as she had before taking on the title of king.

"If you want someone to learn, you must teach and guide them, not command and force them to bend to your will. You must not bid confusion, but be honest and clear, and pure in your intentions. This is the way of a mentor to a student. You are king, the greatest mentor of all, and your people, your students.

"This is the kind of king you have become?"

She could feel as the blood drained from her face and she stared searchingly up at Merlin, but he simply clapped her on the shoulder once more before making his retreat.

"Ah, and Arthur, my lad," the man said, regaining her attention. "Remember that sharing is caring."

Then, with a small smile, he left her office, the door closing quietly in his wake.

Arturia let go of the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, and with a bout of shakiness, fell back into one of the guest chairs as she stared at the stone floor. She ran a hand down her face as she thought back on the mage's advice, and closed her eyes tightly.

Was this the kind of king she had become, indeed?

---

Four hours. Four hours of mindless paperwork and constant, continuous reflective thinking. It had taken less than an hour for her to come to terms with the fact that she had a few real, solid options available to her, but another three hours of hiding in her office, arguing with herself over whether she really wanted to take the chance. And even then, she wasn't sure if she truly wanted to – not really. This would open up a new can of worms in her life, but she was nothing if not a risk-taker, calculated as those risks might prove to be.

So, now, she stood there at the precipice of her rope, at the very edge of the garden borders, feeling completely out-of-place despite it being her home. She fidgeted nervously until a group of servants noticed her and began to gawk as they tended to. While she could not blame them, – after all, it wasn't exactly normal to see her in the flesh – she certainly never wanted to be seen looking as she did. Arturia had given them a cool glance that was enough to send them skittering away. It was then that she finally sighed, her hands resting on her hips.

In those four hours, she had come up with three options: take on the persona of a cold, distant king that kept everyone and everything at a sword's length, never to show any warmth, to open herself entirely and allow everyone to see the smile that she locked away for fear of being seen as even weaker than some already thought her to be, or to...

Arturia took in a deep breath, focused her gaze on her target, and marched forward with purpose and determination. Her steps slowed once she reached a bench, and she felt her shoulders straighten even further.

"Might I join you?"

The golden-brown eyes of her personal cook looked up at her with alarm and a slight tinge of wariness. He sat there on a bench in the center of the gardens by himself, as no other individual ever seemed to visit the place. The redhead was in a set of casual clothing, and looked to be no more affiliated to her without her embroidered initials on his breast pocket than any other soul in the castle. He looked plain and ordinary.

She had never felt so nervous as of late.

Shirou frowned at the king who waited politely a couple of paces away from him, her face as blank as her stare as she waited for his answer. He grunted slightly before gesturing.

"It's your castle," he muttered, looking away.

There was a pause and then she was sitting on the bench next to him, her back straight and her gaze cast onto the beautiful cascading waves of water in the fountain. He stole a glance over at her but she neither spoke nor moved, but just sat there, as still a statue. It was...strange to be so close to her, but never had he felt further away. Enough time passed that Shirou wondered if maybe this was a cue for him to, uh, leave. Just when he was about to get up and let her be, she murmured,

"I owe you an apology."

It was enough to stop him in his tracks and stare at her disbelievingly. She was determinedly not looking at him during this confession, though he could see her knuckles whiten a bit. He relaxed against the bench again.

"Uh, for what?" he asked, taken aback. Hastily, he added, "Your Majesty."

She glanced at him for half a second before looking away. "I shouldn't have... I had no right to be so cruel to you. You neither deserved it nor did anything wrong to receive such treatment."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Eh, it's fine. You're stressed, I get it."

"You're taking this rather well," Arturia finally said, a frown on her face. "I imagined a bit more anger on your end."

"Uh, not sure getting mad at the king is going to help me much."

"Maybe I deserve it," she muttered, much to Shirou's surprise.

Shrugging his shoulders, he leaned against the back of the bench and let his gaze rove over the blue sky above. "You have the biggest job of us all. It only makes sense that you'd want to blow some steam every now and then. Can't say I really saw it coming at me, with all the force of a sledgehammer, but I can't really blame you. I think I'd have burnt down the castle by now if I were in your place."

A snort escaped her before she could hide it away. Shirou let himself smile at that, but it fell when he saw her grow far more serious, her brow furrowing as her eyes narrowed. This was one of those moments that usually caused him an onrush of apprehension, but at the moment, she did not appear angry with him, rare as that seemed.

"I," she began, somewhat hesitantly, "believe I owe you something of an explanation. It's the reason I was so..."

"...Filled with righteous indignation?" Shirou finished, shifting away just in case her good mood decided to turn on itself.

She met his eyes, as if unsure of how to react, but she only turned away and let out a sigh. "Yes."

A pause, and then, she turned back towards him, facial expression solemn and contemplative. "Shirou. How aware are you of Britain's current circumstances?"

He frowned again. "I know for a fact that Britain's having trouble with the Scottish up north – border problems and land issues. Then there's the Saxons to the south, as they try to expand their empire. Camelot's holding for now, but unless the army's numbers increase dramatically, there's going to be a lot of trouble over the years. Then again, that also depends on your efforts towards reunification of Britain, because right now, everyone's too separated, too spread out. When problems occur, the military's usually too far away to act promptly. It takes too much time, and by the time it arrives, people are either dead, or too far gone."

Shirou looked down at the ground. "...Like Tryst."

"Indeed," Arturia agreed, hands clasping together. "Believe me when I say that it is an issue at the forefront of my mind, and I am taking great steps to remedy the problem. Particularly after today's visit."

"Today?" asked Shirou, his curiosity piquing. "Did something happen? Your Majesty?"

"A coastal town fell under attack from a new enemy," she explained. She closed her eyes briefly before shaking her head. "I don't quite know why I am telling you this. Perhaps it is an attempt to rebuild that bridge I set aflame. Or, perhaps I simply needed someone to hear it, someone who had no part in the complication."

Shirou held up his fist in the Japanese "fighting" pose, and she raised an eyebrow. "Hit me."

She tilted her head slightly before nodding, albeit slowly. "The men were beaten, the women violated, and the children captured and...dealt with," she spat out, her temper rising just from recalling the events. "And the leader simply laughed it away. Ridiculous."

"Who was it?" Shirou demanded to know, his tone passionate as he switched his gaze over to her. "What was the point?"

"I don't know, truthfully," she answered. "They call themselves Vikings, but as for why they terrorized a village instead of simply tracking down wildlife on their own...I don't know. I truly don't understand the benefit. Regardless, my meeting with this...leader, did not go as planned."

"You beat them down with your quick wit and intelligence, right?" he asked, a grin on his face.

Arturia made eye contact with him, her face blank. "I was outwitted at every turn of the conversation. Pathetically so. And now, I've three months to come up with a way to get them out of my country."

Shirou looked as if he couldn't believe her, and she didn't blame him. She still hadn't come to terms with it herself.

"What do they want from you in three months' time?"

"Something of interest that they have never seen before," she replied softly. "The Vikings are apparently a nomadic people. They travel the world – what could I possibly show them that they may not have already seen?"

He watched her beautiful eyes cloud with worry and found himself desperately wishing he could help. Vikings weren't exactly his forte in history – he knew a bit about them, but beyond that, he was probably just as much in the dark as she was. If one could travel the world and see all of its beauties, what little was there that hadn't yet been experienced? Shirou wasn't entirely sure. It was annoying, but he didn't know how he could help in this instance.

Arturia appeared to understand his dilemma because she only gave him a pained smile before turning away and standing up. "Again, I am not sure why I told you this. Perhaps it was to have a friendly ear, or because some things should be shared. Regardless, I thank you for listening. You have been kind."

Had she been expecting him to just refuse her presence? That wasn't going to happen, not on his watch. Even if she did piss him the hell off sometimes. She hadn't even ate his food – she hadn't even touched it. He'd worked hard on that meringue pie, damn it.

"Sure," Shirou managed eventually.

The king hesitated and then looked back at him again. "My wife, Guinevere... She has been asking after you, and would like to speak to you, for whatever reason. I was hoping you might grace us with dinner?"

His answer was immediate. "What time?"

"In an hour?" she asked before shaking her head. "No, it would be rude to give you so little time. You'll have two."

"Done," he affirmed, and stood up himself. His mind was already buzzing with possibilities. Should he try serving the meringue pie again? Right now, it was in a chest of ice, and would go bad, otherwise...

"Thank you," Arturia said, her gratitude seeping through. She bowed her head slightly and made as if to go when suddenly she stopped, and turned back with the slightest of jerks. "Actually..."

Shirou stumbled a bit and swirled around again to stare back at her, almost automatically standing at attention. He received a knowing glance in return, but she didn't comment on the clumsiness.

"About the village... While it isn't official yet, as of tomorrow morning, you will have the authorization to travel to and from the castle into the village as often as you like. All I ask for in return is that you do not make a mockery of yourself there, and that you are not lax in your schedule with me. And that you keep up with your studies."

He couldn't help it – so great was his surprise, that his jaw dropped with all the elegance of a child. "Oh, uh, I mean, thank...you? That's... Thank you!"

She granted him a warm smile. "You're more than welcome, Shirou. I apologize that it took this long. Thank you for listening to my troubles."

"Anytime!" he exclaimed, and she gave one last bow of her head before walking away, her shoulders and back straight and showing how truly brilliant she was just from watching afar.

Aaaaand, now he had to think of a meal befitting both a queen and a king, and only two hours to do it.

"I wish I had some rice..."

---

Candles were all that lit the area as dusk fell, the twilight colors of the sky slowly diluting into a starry black as Shirou gathered the remaining dishes together, piling them into stacks. He kept a close eye on the large lion cub that sat right at the king's feet, but so long as he never went all that close, the lion was content to ignore him. It had been a fairly calm, relaxing evening – far more than he'd imagined it would be. While neither the king nor the queen paid him much attention throughout the dinner, they didn't outright ignore him either.

Guinevere asked him the standard questions of how he was, if he enjoyed serving directly under King Arthur, and so forth, but other than that, she spent most of the time talking to her husband. The king, for her part, only passed him a somewhat guilty expression when he dished the meringue pie for their dessert. He waved her concern away – he was just happy that she was bothering to eat now. Perhaps she really did feel better, and in which case, he was more than fine with that.

Shirou smiled when the queen let out a soft round of laughter at something King Arthur said before turning to stack another plate.

"Then, Shirou," Queen Guinevere called to him, her eyes kind and welcoming. "It has come to my attention that my husband sought your forgiveness, and pardon my curiosity, but you did, indeed, give it?"

He rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his auburn hairs as he frowned a bit. "There really wasn't anything to forgive. His Majesty is stressed – things happen."

"Such a kind, young gentleman," Guinevere praised before giving the king a bit of a dark look. "My husband tends to act before he thinks. Particularly when he is off the battlefield. How one can be a genius tactician and strategist and get himself into so many scrapes, I cannot even come to fathom."

The scowl on the blonde's face was telling and she looked at Shirou. "Pay her no mind. She knows not what she speaks."

Queen Guinevere gasped dramatically. "Now, you listen here, Arthur. Do you not think you've caused enough trouble?"

"Me?" deadpanned the king. "I never cause trouble, I am simply unlucky enough to find it."

"Trouble follows you like a swarm of locusts."

"They are simply jealous of my ability."

Shirou ducked his head to hide a grin as the two continued to bicker back and forth. This was the kind of moment he'd never really had the opportunity to share with Saber. Certainly, he and Rin had argued over and over about the simplest things, but Saber had normally sat a little ways away, watching, listening, but never really participating. She would smile sadly, as if happy to minimally be a part of the situation, and he never quite understood what was wrong. Shirou certainly thought he had an idea, what with the dreams of her past swirling around in his head, but it wasn't until he came to the past and saw her truly interact with those she was closest to that he really got a good idea of her feelings from before.

The redhead watched the bantering with mixed feelings. On one hand, Shirou was glad to see the king in her element, shining brightly enough for everyone to see, but on the other, he wished that he could have shared that kind of moment with her. Well, this was nice in and of itself, too.

King Arthur looked pained after one comment from her wife, and Shirou wished he'd paid attention enough to hear it. With how smug Guinevere looked though, maybe it was better that he hadn't, for his own sake. When King Arthur glanced over at him with the slightest of grimaces, Shirou laughed inwardly. It was good to see that some things were everlasting, like the bond between a husband and his (her) wife.

He had absolutely no sympathy for King Arthur right then.

Shirou muffled another snort when the king blatantly turned away from Guinevere and instead focused her attention on her lion. Guinevere sniffed and rose from her seat.

"Shirou," she said with a smile, "let us speak over there."

The king frowned and looked up from the cub. "You cannot speak here?"

"Shush, Arthur," Guinevere warned. "The adults are conversing."

The look, the look, on King Arthur's face – an expression that showed uncertainty as to whether to be shocked, surprised, or insulted all at once – made Shirou cough to avoid laughing again, but he knew that Guinevere had meant no harm. Seeing how the king merely grumbled afterward told him this had to be an inside joke that he wasn't privy to. Shirou followed behind Guinevere and sat down next to her as they both watch the lion cub swat at the king's face, while the woman in question restrained the animal with a gentle touch.

"He hurts at times," murmured Guinevere, stealing Shirou's attention back. "Thank you for not condemning him. Arthur tries, but he is not the most articulate of speakers when it comes to getting his emotions across."

Another sad smile crossed Shirou's face as he nodded. "I know."

The brunette crossed her hands over her lap. "Times are dark these days. Arthur could use as many allies as he can get."

"I'd never betray the king," he replied, eyes hardening. "Never."

"I believe you," Guinevere whispered. "I hope that my trust is not misplaced. Now, I must see to him, lest he sulk further in my absence."

With that, she gave him one last kind smile before rising gracefully and walking back toward the table. Shirou grinned as she left before it fell from his face as he looked over at the source of his ongoing confusion.

Over the past months he had seen, in the truest sense, the incredible presence of the once and future king. He had seen her take command of troops, deliver a speech worthy of an Oscar, direct her people through slight crises, show limitless patience, undeniable rage, indiscernible beauty that couldn't be measured, a wit most people could only dream of, and a charm that easily slipped past the strongest of defenses. She was...infuriating, yet wonderful, filled with positives he could list forever – something he had learned during their two weeks together. However, recently, he had also seen a number of negatives – her obstinacy, her quick temper and sharp tongue, her coldness, and unwillingness to allow anyone near. More so than when he'd known her the first time, she felt...more real. She wasn't just a title, a fable, a myth with fantastic, redeeming qualities galore, she also had her faults, problems, and tendencies that would annoy the hell out of him.

Shirou ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, and gazed at her as the flickering candlelight cast a gentle glow over her features as she gave a rare smirk to Guinevere. There was a depth of ugliness within her, a reality he had to acknowledge because the king was not simply rainbow and butterflies. A trail of blood and felled swords followed in her wake alongside of a danger that lay in wait to strike with deadly venom. It was, perhaps, something a normal person would run far away from, for fear of contracting an early death themselves. A normal person would want nothing more to do with a king that caused such ravage, such chaos.

But, Shirou had never been normal, and some darkness deserved a bit of light every now and then.

He would wait, and if ever she needed him... Well, he didn't even have to think about it.

---

OMAKE: How Shirou really got kicked out.

As far he could tell, she, was, pissed. And, for once, it wasn't actually at him. The only time he'd ever seen the slightest bit of hidden fury on her face like this was when she had mentioned her time as a Servant for his old man, and the second time had been when she dealt with Gilgamesh. They were two men she had hated with every fiber of her being, and two instances where he hadn't been able to get a word in both out of respect for her feelings, and out of pure fear for the prana that seemed to emanate from her at the time. Food normally got her out of her funks, so this had to be a hell of a hatred she was holding onto for her not to even bother trying to eat. Maybe he could help?

Shirou cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, if I may? You look a bit, uh, canoodled."

King Arthur froze before slowly lifting her head up and staring at him blankly, and he swore he heard the ticking of a time bomb somewhere.

"What," was the one word that came from her mouth.

"You know, canoodled," Shirou attempted to explain before he realized her expression hadn't changed even the slightest. "Uh, is that not the right word? Maybe you need canoodling? I can help!"

The blank expression seemed to be carved onto her face for all that it never shifted. Merlin approached him from the side, whispering, "Lad, you're inferring that he needs to...participate in lewd activities. And that you would like to perform them on him."

"Oh," Shirou murmured before seeing the oncoming storm of fury as King Arthur slowly stood up.

"Oh."

---

You can damn well bet that Shirou has never run away so fast in his damn life. Anyway, while I offer no apologies for the wait, things should be getting back on track. Let me know how you guys liked/hated it.

And again, art pieces! Draw for me! Give Saber/Shirou some loving! And now, peace.