Series Placement: The following Shard takes place between fragments 12 and 13.
Arturia had to admit, it was very unusual for Lancelot to request a spar from her. Usually there were others, like Siegfried, who were more than willing to trade blows. Usually he'd be content to give her respectful space, especially considering his still lingering regrets despite his vow of renewed allegiance. Yet here they were, swords drawn at the Training Grounds amid a harsher storm.
It was easy to sense something was off. The uncertain look in his eyes bothered her terribly though it didn't show on steeled features. The loud rumble of the gale and its concealing shroud left them alone, and had Lancelot not been so apologetic, she'd worry this meeting held darker motives. The uncertainty remained heavy, as did the confliction in his eyes.
Calmly, Arturia lowered her famed blade to her side as her gaze remained firm. "This isn't a spar, is it, Lancelot? What seems to be troubling you."
Right on the mark. With a brief close of his eyes, Lancelot stood tall and lowered Arondight. He gazed around as if someone may be peering pass the white curtains, only rousing further curiosity from her. He took a few steps closer at her bidding, and he sheathed his sword with an exhale. Their eyes met once more as he bowed in apology.
"I'm sorry for requesting you here, but something has indeed been troubling me. Rest easy, my King. It's about Mashu."
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Shard 51: Foolishness of Uncertainty
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Her worries evaporated instantly. There was no doubt what this was about. It'd been weeks since his mad enhancement had been reduced to a negligible level of influence, so his new perception was bound to pick up on something so very obvious. Arturia nodded. "Of the knight who saved her."
"The knight..." Lancelot admitted as the awkwardness grew in usually solemn purple. "Even when madness overtook me, I felt there was something familiar about her spiritual presence. There's no doubt it was..."
"Sir Galahad." She finished quietly for him, and watched another regret flash across his vision like a speeding car. "She may be a woman, but her armor is unmistakable. The shield too."
"She doesn't know, but we do," Lancelot continued, and Arturia knew exactly where this was going. "Shouldn't we… If I may ask, why have you not informed her of who she is?"
The grip on Excalibur tightened gently with thought, though Lancelot noticed. He probably noticed the firmness of her gaze, one she often held when presented with monumental decisions from court messengers. But this was not news of an invasion, nor the qualms of a border town. This was a young girl who still didn't know the name of her savior, nor the true prowess she could wield with that knowledge.
"I haven't told her because she's not ready. Mashu needs to strengthen her own resolve to wield that might properly."
It felt conflicting even rolling off her tongue, but that was her decision. Lancelot gazed, and she could tell he wanted to question; Worry and respect restrained him. She would have allowed his words to take flight, but she chose to answer the unspoken anyway. "There's still hesitation in her actions. I was told by others, like Marie, she used to be meeker. She's become a capable fighter. She's almost there, but her worries and doubts must lessen."
"Then when you consider the time right, will you tell her?"
"I shall, if no one else. If other knights were to arrive, that's what I'll ask of them too."
"And what of Mordred?"
Her stomach churned with uncertainty, but Arturia breathed deep and calm. "Mordred hasn't said anything yet despite the curious respect shown to Mashu."
"Mordred never did get along with Galahad…" Lancelot nodded. "But neither did I."
He never voiced those last words, but Arturia could see them clear as day in the raging storm: The one that roared within and around him. One in her too. Despite knowing full well how far grail wars could be twisted, Arturia never thought to consider one large enough to possibly reunite Camelot in one spot.
'Reunite…' she thought bitterly. As reunited as they could ever be, at least. The worries within her wished to be released. In a past life, they'd be easily contained and suppressed for the stoic demand of her high station. Here in Chaldea, and after those memorable grail wars? She'd been listening to her friends' reassurances too much… Merlin would probably laugh and tease her for how much more emotional she'd become.
Yet the problems once thought impossible loomed ahead. If Gawain arrived, would he be immediately at Lancelot's throat? What of Gaheris or Gareth? Would Sir Bors take this second chance to choose a new stance? Her brother Kay? The distant Agravain?
And what of Mashu when she finally learned whose might she inherited? Arturia had been honest: Mashu, still learning to be a true fighter on her own, still relied on other servants and hesitated. For her sake, she needed purpose and will, and not seek to become the shadow of her savior. Unyielding resolve could not be built upon the hope to emulate another, but the pure will and determination born from one's own personal faith… or so Merlin would often riddle the king-in-training.
Whether or not keeping the name from her was the right decision, Arturia didn't know, but it felt correct.
…Or so she reassured herself with such fickle reasoning, when at the deciding breaker of the stalemate was the whispered, silly hope it delayed a silent dread: The reunion of Camelot, and all the turbulent waters it could bring.
'Forgive me, Mashu.'