Hello all, and welcome to the comments section.
First response, to everyone that mentioned that potatoes aren't found in medieval Britain: Yes, I'm perfectly aware, but someone forgot to tell Kinoko Nasu. In Fate/Extra CCC, Gawain mentions that Artoria and her knights ate meals consisting of "Large quantities of potatoes and vinegar and bread," or occasionally just carrots, and ate them without a single complaint. Considering that was her typical diet, you can imagine why Shirou's cooking was like manna from heaven for her.
To Keybladelight: In order: Unfortunately it's gonna get worse before it gets better, no comment, and sadly no Mordred here. You have to remember, Mordred existing requires two things: Merlin doing his thing to Artoria, and Morgan raping her. This story's going to get ugly in places, inevitable, given this story's about war as much as it's about learning to live happily, but I'll be damned before I put her through something like that.
To DaDragon562: Based on the weapons menu in F/SN Fate route, this Shirou wouldn't have Kanshou and Bakuya. He does have other things, but I don't plan on him turning them into arrows anytime soon, but they will be making an appearance shortly.
Now I'll warn you, this chapter's gonna get dark in places, but like I said earlier, the situation has to get worse before it gets better. Do not take this chapter as an attack on the people of Uppsala, but merely a reference to a certain archeologist's theories regarding relations between a certain Angle and a certain Swedish dynasty, as well as the infamous temple that once existed there. It's vaguely disturbing that I actually sanitized the practice depicted here, at least with regards to a certain war god.
Artoria
Slap
'Blasted vermin!'
I wiped the vile little bloodsucker's remains on my tasset.
Now I understood why no one tried to garrison these lands, they were unbearable! It was humid, and sticky, and every patch of reeds concealed a swarm of gadflies hunting for a blood-meal. We had been harried by the hateful things from the moment we set foot in this marsh.
There was a loud splash, followed by a cavalcade of curses.
Oh, and the terrain was an absolute nightmare.
One of my men floundered in the water, having slipped off the muddy causeway.
Sighing heavily, I turned to his compatriots. "Halt! One of you, fish him out. Remember, do not stray from the path, or something might drag you—"
"WAAA—!"
He disappeared with a splash.
Oh no!
I practically backflipped off Llamrei in my rush to the water's edge. The men made room for their king, and I arrived in time to see a cluster of bubbles boil up from below. He was still alive!
Drawing my sword, I plunged into the murky depths.
My armor's weight dragged me to the bottom, but that suited me perfectly, because it brought me within arm's reach of the scaly green imp choking the life out of the man.
'I think not!'
Caliburn flashed, disarming the beast in a most literal sense. Its head followed instantly.
Scooping up my charge, I crouched and lunged out of the marsh. Our dynamic exit drew surprised shouts from the men.
"Back away, give him some air!"
There was no time to lose, he was not breathing! After dumping him on the causeway, I laced my fingers together and gave him a solid thump on the chest. He sputtered and choked, spewing fetid water all over himself.
Once he had cleared his lungs, he stared at me with wide eyes.
"What the blazes was that thing?"
"That, my good man, was a grindylow. They lurk in ponds and marshes and seek to drown the unwary." I glanced around at the others. "Let this be a lesson to all of you. There are greater dangers than gadflies in this marsh."
The next few hours were uneventful, but the men regarded the water fearfully from then on. Good, that fear would keep them alive.
Gods, it was like the land itself was trying to bar my way. We made good time the first two days, but our progress slowed to a crawl once we entered the Fens. Quagmires, mud, reeds taller than a man, and now bloody swamp monsters were impeding our march, which did nothing to reduce the dread pooling in my belly. The price of every minute's delay was measured in lives.
"Hey, Arthur," said my brother, as he drew level with me.
"Yes Kay?"
"You want me to scout ahead? Think we're pretty close to the bridge over the Glein."
I consulted my mental map of the region. "Feel free, but on your way over, there should be a village called Trefgors. Tell them to mobilize, the Angles are coming."
He rolled his eyes. "Trefgors? Heh, real creative, that lot."
Spurring his horse to a canter, he rode away, leaving me trotting beside Bedivere with an out-of-place Shirou following in our wake.
The former turned and spoke to me. "My king, are you planning on making a stand at the bridge? This marsh is no place to offer battle."
I clutched my reins tightly. "That is an option, but I would prefer to scout over the river before making my decision."
He studied me in silence, then gave me the barest of nods. "Good. There may still be living allies out there. Your concern does you credit."
Shirou piped up. "Yeah Arthur, don't let those guys get to you. We all know you care, they're just hurt and lashing out."
His words nearly made me flinch.
'Thank you for reminding me.'
The messengers from the allied villages had been livid when I returned to Caer Afon. 'Where were you,' they howled, 'when our homes were attacked?' Some even accused me of feeding towns to the Angles to delay their march.
None of it was true, but their accusations hurt all the same.
The sun was getting low in the sky when Kay came thundering up the path like a bat out of hell.
"They're here!" He gasped.
My blood froze.
"Explain, quickly!"
"The Saxons, they sacked the town! We have to hurry, they were mopping up holdouts when I left!"
I turned to my troops. "You heard the man, double time!"
A great shout rang out among the column, and they broke into a jog.
Our increased pace ate up mile after mile, and all the way I frantically prayed that there were survivors when we got there.
The shift from reed beds to solid ground told me we were getting close, but my worry only grew. Voices carried on the wind, but they were not the cries of frightened villagers.
"Quit thrashing you ingrate, we're doing you an honor! How many men can claim they met their end like a god? Now remember, blink twice if you start feeling wiser up there." Harsh laughter echoed from many throats.
They were Saxons.
There was no time to waste. I galloped ahead of the men, ignoring their startled shouts. Those words spelled nothing good.
The trail led up a brush-covered slope, and soon I spied Trefgors itself in the distance. No sign of burning homes, my hopes were already inching higher.
Drawing closer, I finally picked out the raiders in a field outside the town. They were gathered in the shade of a large ash tree with what appeared to be a prisoner.
"Stop right there you…!"
The words died in my throat.
As I understood, the royal house of East Anglia was of Northman extraction, unlike their fully Germanic brethren. It seemed they had imported their abominable practices to our shores, and the band of half a hundred was performing one of them before my very eyes.
Eight gruesome ornaments dangled from the tree's branches, and they were preparing to add a ninth.
The soon-to-be-dead man in full plate dropped the rope and whirled around in shock. "Where the Hel did you come from? And what are you…Bahahahaha!" He doubled over cackling. "Look at this boy, riding to the rescue wearing a bloody dress!"
His fellows bawled in laughter, as if the wicked curs had not just committed an affront to all things good and holy!
I ground my teeth, but slipped into Englisc. "It is an armored surcoat. Now back away from the tree and I might make your deaths painless."
He scoffed. "Oh yeah boy? You and what army?"
A low rumble filled the air, before three hundred infantry, two knights, and a lone archer thundered up the slope.
"This one."
That shut them up quickly.
The first to speak, who I pegged as the leader, gulped, suddenly less sure of himself. But something reassured him, because he gave me an ugly grin and began fingering the flaxen plaits of his beard. "My, that's a nice little army you've got. About time you Britons grew some backbone, I was starting to think no one on this bloody island had a spine."
"Wuffa? What are you doing?"
"Shut up Aethelred, the adults are talking," he snapped at one of his fellows.
Then he gave me a derisive snort. "Oh wait, one adult is talking. Like I was saying, that's a nice force, but my father, King Wehha himself, ought to be here any minute now, and he's got triple the men and quadruple the balls that you've got, so how about you turn tail and run away while you still can. That way you can keep your miserable lives, and I can finish my offering...to...Woden." He punctuated each word with a kick to his victim's ribs, drawing moans from the man.
Idly I mused that nought times four equals nought.
Then I presented my counteroffer.
"I repeat: Step away from the tree and I will make your deaths quick."
The apparent Angle prince sneered. "I have a better idea, why don't you get off your high horse, hike up that skirt and I can come over and—"
There was a flash of silver.
One moment the Angle was speaking. The next he was staring at a fist-sized hole in his chest.
Blood pouring from his new orifice, the Angle staggered two steps forward, then fell on his face.
Everyone fell silent.
I peered over my shoulder, and spied a white-faced Shirou holding his bow.
Something like steel entered his gaze, and he conjured a new sword.
Then all hell broke loose.
"Get him!"
The surviving Angles bounded forwards, axes bared and charging at…me?
'Sorry Llamrei, no time to build momentum.'
I leapt off the baffled mare and dashed towards the enemy.
Let it be known that every people had its champions, great warriors who could single-handedly turn the tide of battle. Saxons were no exception, with the likes of Hengist and Horsa in Uther's time and others surely waiting in the wings.
The raiders were not those men. Seven bloody seconds and they laid in pieces on the ground.
Breathing heavily, I flicked the blood off my sword. Everything felt numb. Dozens of murderers were cut down in a blink, but there was no glow of pride in my chest. Not while I stood before a monument to my failure.
'I am sorry. All I can offer you is vengeance.'
The dead silently swayed in the breeze. Sighing, I turned to address my troops.
The men stood still as statues. Hundreds of eyes roved over my bloodstained form, even Kay and Bedivere stared in shock.
I wrinkled my nose. Everything smelt of copper. This…this had to be the most I had killed in one sitting.
Weak coughing drew my attention towards the base of the tree.
"Secure the town, I will tend to the survivor."
Kay and Bedivere rode away to do my bidding, followed by the awestruck infantry. Shirou however, lingered behind.
"Do you need any help? I don't know healing magecraft, but I can make a splint in a pinch."
He looked rather pale, but that was excusable, I must have looked ghastly.
Part of me was tempted to repeat my order, but after that ordeal, I would not say no to company.
"Fine. But follow my lead."
The archer jogged over to my side, and together we approached the survivor's battered form.
It was clear from the leather armor that this was a soldier, and one that had suffered dearly for it. The Angles had beaten him to a pulp, leaving him with a broken leg and a mass of bruises on his face. Something about the man tickled my memory, but I dismissed it as unimportant. He needed healing, not an interrogation.
"Shirou, prepare that splint."
The magus snapped off a tree branch and got to work. Meanwhile, I knelt at the man's side.
"Is there anything we can do for you?"
One bloodsoaked eye shot open. "Aye," he croaked. "Tell me, where were you?"
The words pierced my heart.
"What?"
"You heard me, where were you? Where was that 'strength in unity' when my boys were tap-dancing in midair?"
Oh gods.
I knew this man. This was my local militia contact.
"Dafydd?"
His broken chuckle chilled me to the bone. "Ah, so you didn't forget about us, not that it matters. Bastards took 'em away. They're all gone. I'm all that's left."
Captain Dafydd, former head of the Trefgors militia, burst into tears.
"Arthur, here's the splint."
Shirou had returned, and gazed at me solemnly. He must have heard everything.
I took the offered rod and bandages then set about splinting his leg. Bone-setting was not part of my education, but I could do this much after what he suffered.
My fault.
A hand descended on my shoulder. The archer's eyes almost pleaded with me.
"Arthur, please listen to me. You did everything you could, there was no way to know this would happen."
My irritation spiked. What did he know of a king's duty? And who was he to take liberties with me?
I shrugged off his hand. "Help me carry him into town."
He shot me a wounded look, but complied.
We had just lifted Daffyd off the ground when a distant rumble caught our attention.
"What's that?"
Sharpening my ears, I could make out—
"Footsteps. That must be the rest of Wehha's force."
"Then we need to move quickly! Look, I can carry him myself, you go warn the others."
Even more presumption. Still, he had the right of it.
"Take him to Kay. I will get Bedivere."
I bounded over to Llamrei and climbed into her saddle. The mare eyed me irritably.
"Sorry girl, maybe next time."
A marsh was no place for a cavalry charge, her shot at glory would have to wait.
Spurring her to motion, I left the archer behind to search for my marshal.
I found Bedivere in the center of town, overseeing the men clearing bodies from the street. The sight brought another jolt of grief, but I soldiered on. Plan now, mourn later.
"Bedivere!"
The knight started. "What is it my king?"
"Wehha is approaching. We need to prepare for battle."
"How much time do we have?"
"I could hear his army's footsteps."
His eyes widened. "Not much time at all. If that Angle was not exaggerating, we are grossly outmatched by his forces. There is no time to prepare fieldworks, and none of these buildings are fit to withstand a siege. What are your plans?"
My thoughts raced. With a three to one advantage, only a defensive stance would save my force from destruction. Even then, without fortifications the Angles could simply surround us and cut down my men. We would need to prevent that somehow…
I quickly scanned our surroundings. Trefgors had a single street, with houses lining it on either side. Houses that were tightly packed together…
The beginnings of a plan took shape.
"I believe I have something, tell me what you think."
Shirou
As someone that grew up in a city, large crowds were nothing new to me. A single trip to Shinto exposed me to more people than I'd ever know in my lifetime, even the average skyscraper held more people than Caer Afon. It was the sort of thing you learned to tune out for sanity's sake, and over time the teeming masses faded into the background.
Medieval Britain in contrast was practically deserted. On the march over here, whole days could pass by without encountering another traveler, let alone a town. The difference was jarring, but I slowly grew accustomed to the isolation, there just weren't as many people in the past.
The enormous Angle army rolling in like a thunderstorm challenged that assumption.
From my hiding place on a barn roof, I could make out the Angles from the torches they carried in the dark. It looked like a massive fiery serpent was slithering this way to swallow Trefgors, and if Wuffa wasn't lying, our force was bite-sized in comparison.
Luckily, we had the advantage in terrain. Artoria had firmly planted her army in the center of town, barricading the road with row after row of shields and spears. If Wehha wanted to get to her, he'd have to march down a narrow street and straight into her trap. Once the trap was sprung, I'd put as many arrows into their backs as I could to shatter their cohesion.
Even a day ago, this plan would have troubled me, but after seeing that… outrage in the tree, the mutilated bodies carpeting the road…
The starting penalty is five.
My muscles tightened. I grit my teeth, letting the memory pass over and through me.
Yeah, not anymore. Kay was right, these people were monsters. My job was to save as many men from the monsters as I could.
A blood-curdling howl of rage reached my ears.
'Oh, looks like they found Wuffa.'
A hulking armored man with a silver circlet in his graying hair stomped towards the village, ringed by a huddle of warriors bearing long-axes. It looked like Wehha had a bone to pick with Artoria.
Hidden by my bounded field, I watched the Angle king's entourage storm past in the street below. A minute later, the man let it rip.
"You craven, godless wretch! You murdered my son!"
"Your son murdered every man, woman and child in this town, most without even a kitchen knife to fend him off. At least those rabid dogs were armed when I put them down."
Wehha snarled. He wasn't too happy with that comparison.
Too bad, the man's hypocrisy was sickening, and Artoria wasn't finished with him.
"And speaking of godliness, let us discuss that abomination in the tree. I do not hold to your gods, but we are in Britain, not Uppsala among the Northmen. Even by your people's black-hearted standards he committed an atrocity, and I shudder to imagine what foul god would willingly accept such an offering. In any case your gods did nothing to stop me, so I recommend a change in religion."
I swore I heard him grinding his teeth across town.
"Why don't you say that to my face boy, instead of hiding behind your men."
"Then you must come and get me. You see, slaughtering those jumped-up bandits left me a little drained, so I am spending a night on the town to recover my strength. Tell him men!"
The soldiers whooped and thumped their spears in the dirt.
Wehha hissed. "Fine, I'll be back shortly. And once your men are skewered on my spears, I'll reserve something special just for you. That pretty little head would make a fine addition to the bottom of a well."
"I apologize for not offering you the same. The water here is foul enough without adding Angles to the mix."
The men's laughter pursued him out of town.
I could only imagine the look on his face when he stomped off, but it looked like Operation: Piss off Wehha was a resounding success. I reminded myself to never get on Kay's bad side, those lines were vicious.
The Angle king wouldn't be gone for long, so I went over my preparations one last time. Bow? Check. Stockpile of sword-arrows? Stabbed into the thatch, ready to be fired. Killer instinct… still working on that. Wuffa's vile spew made me blow a gasket, so I'd killed him without thinking. This would be my trial by fire.
A war horn bugled in the darkness.
Like the start of a landslide, the river of fire and steel lurched into motion.
The Angle advance was steady at first, each step a thunderclap accompanied by the clamor of jingling metal, but when the vanguard came within a stone's throw of the village, their lines began to distort. It was simple math: A column twenty yards wide couldn't march through a gap less than ten across, so the formation dissolved and funneled into town. What was once an orderly advance devolved into a mad press of flesh as Angles squeezed together and thundered up the road to make room for more of their friends.
Discipline was shot, but the loss of control made them even deadlier as the human tidal wave washed against houses and flattened everything in its path.
Staring down this juggernaut was an army of Britons, prepared to be the seawall that broke the Angle tsunami.
"Steady…"
Artoria stood shoulder to shoulder with her troops in the second rank.
I yanked an arrow from the roof.
"Steady…"
The Angles caught sight of our force, and bellowed war-cries while building momentum for the coming clash.
The Britons sprang into formation with practiced ease, rows of spears sprouted from their protective shield wall until it bristled like a porcupine.
I nocked the arrow and took aim at their backs.
"Steady…"
A hail of javelins lanced out and struck the Britons, clattering against their upraised shields.
I drew back the bowstring.
"NOW!"
The front rank parted, revealing the king with a sunbeam in her hands. She thrust it forth and fired a ray of light into the Angle horde.
For a moment there was silence. Then a new star was born in Trefgors.
BOOM
"Guh!"
A gust of scorching wind blew me off my feet.
Nearby houses were blasted to charred kindling. Even the earth seemed to ignite, glowing dull red from the radiance of that impossible sun.
The fireball rose to tower over the battlefield, before vanishing in a puff of smoke. All that remained was a sheet of glass the size of a tennis court, and the ashes of a third of Wehha's force floating in the wind.
Artoria stared impassively, illuminated by Caliburn's golden glow. Inhaling deeply, she uttered a single word.
"Forward."
Now it was her turn to march.
She stepped forth, and the infantry closed ranks and followed her lead. Kay and Bedivere rounded the pike block to anchor the flanks. Combined, they formed a wall of steel that advanced relentlessly on the reeling enemy.
Displaying shocking resilience, the sunburned Angles scrambled to reform the line. Even crippled by the inferno, they outnumbered us two to one, and a direct clash was bound to be bloody.
Which meant it was time to earn my keep.
Taking a deep breath, I drew back my arrow, and loosed.
The dart flew two hundred yards in the blink of an eye, misting one man's head and nailing another to the ground.
The horde rippled in shock, then howled while frantically hunting for an invisible bowman.
They wouldn't find me. My second arrow breached the Angle front line.
Artoria was quick to exploit the gap, vanishing into the crowd. She reappeared seconds later at the eye of a bloody cyclone.
Caliburn carved a gruesome trench through the Angles as she stalked through their host harvesting lives like wheat. Some ran. Some screamed. A brave few roared their defiance. Not a single one escaped Artoria's blade. All they could do was fall to pieces when the human thresher in their midst came for them.
For the second time that night, I nearly lost my lunch. It was one thing for Saber to turn an army of skeletons into bone meal, but flesh-and-blood humans were something else entirely.
The knights and infantry collided with the Angles, and that was the final straw. They collapsed into a panicked mob and stampeded down the road while our forces nipped at their heels.
Chaos incarnate took shape in the street as the former unstoppable juggernaut fled before Artoria and the men, trampling each other in their flight to safety. Every now and then, a cluster would regain their courage and try to make a stand, and I'd send an arrow their way to dissuade them. In a strange way, I was actually saving their lives, because whoever didn't get away got fed through the Brittonic woodchipper.
Seeing one of the Angles wet himself, I decided 'Alright, that's enough.' My job was done, this army was utterly broken.
Though speaking of which… where was the architect of this disaster?
I sharpened my eyes, and scoured the mob for my target. The Angles were strewn over half a mile of road, so there was a lot of ground to cover. Maybe… OH HELL NO!
Wehha was at the front of the pack, running like the hounds of hell were upon him. The murderous bastard must have led from the rear!
My teeth clenched. Right, there was no way this guy could escape. The Angle king had already left Trefgors, any second now he would slip past the tree and out of my range.
I ripped another sword-arrow from the roof, and pushed my bow to its limit.
Nock, draw, loose.
Artoria
'Oh, thank the gods, clean water.'
The Glein was as pure as its name suggested, a pity, considering what I came here to do. After wading hip-deep into the river, I took a deep breath, leaned backwards and flopped into the water.
The relief was instant. Here beneath the surface, the stench of stale blood could no longer reach me.
One hundred fifty-seven men. That was the number slain by my hand in battle, not counting the band of raiders and gods knew how many cremated by Caliburn's light. Their blood had seeped into everything, I needed to wash it off or I would never be rid of the smell.
A king killed everyone to protect everyone. The maxim tasted like ashes on my tongue.
I wrung my hands, and instantly regretted it, the action drawing a jolt of pain from my scalded digits. It would be a long three days back to Caer Afon, hiding my disability from the men, and many more before I risked Caliburn's displeasure again.
The Sword of Selection was a finicky thing, its power ebbed and flowed with how closely I mimicked the perfect ruler. Feeding it more power could make up the difference, but that carried consequences of its own. Like forcing water through a pipe, greater output required greater force, and Caliburn would begin to heat up and shake. Merlin warned that if I ever brought my full power to bear, it would shatter.
Laying traps was unkingly, and the sword had not approved. My hands paid the price for forcing Caliburn to do more than it desired.
A trail of bubbles escaped my nose. Better get to work, I was not Kay with his ludicrous lung capacity.
Starting with my face, I began to scrub. The bloodstains readily dissolved in the water, staining it a lurid pink. My hair came next, yielding a grisly surprise when a cracked molar fell out of my bangs. Note to self: head-butting Saxons was a messy mistake.
The task of cleaning and drying myself passed quickly thanks to one of the handier enchantments Merlin worked into my garb, and within moments I emerged from the water feeling like a new woman. A minute later, I was marching back to camp to confer with my marshal at his tent.
"Tell me Bedivere, how many did we lose?"
Even a lopsided victory like this came at a price.
He sucked his teeth. "After a quick headcount, my initial estimate is seventeen men. A formal number will have to wait until we collect the dead."
"I see."
That number was lower than it had any right to be. We faced a Saxon army three times our size and routed them, all for the cost of enough men to fill a tavern.
My heart bled all the same. Each and every one of those men I had recruited personally, and while Bedivere managed their training, it was my responsibility to lead them into battle. Every death felt like a failure on my part.
"I do not suppose you know what became of Wehha."
"Unfortunately not," he replied. "I never saw him among his men, so there is no telling if he is alive or dead."
"I can only hope that losing his heir will make him step carefully in the future, if he still lives." I stroked my chin. "Perhaps I will ask Shirou, he had the best view of all of us."
Bedivere pursed his lips. "Now that is a thought. When you get your answer, could you ask him to come see me in the morning? After seeing his magecraft in action, I have further ideas for how to utilize him."
"That I will do. Keep me abreast of the possibilities."
When he said he was a magus archer, I envisioned arrows that never missed their mark, not steel bolts impaling men in full plate. The death of Wuffa had been as shocking as it was flattering.
"Speaking of which, where is he anyways? I have not seen him around camp."
"I last saw him with your brother, his tent would be the place to check."
"Then that is where I shall go. Sleep well Bedivere."
"You as well Arthur." The knight stooped and climbed into his tent.
Perhaps, I mused, but not for hours yet. Dawn was still a long way off.
By now most of the men were sleeping, but a few fires still burned amongst the tents. It was one such fire at the northern edge of camp where I began my search, and it quickly bore fruit. Kay was perched on a log beside Shirou, cheerfully talking his ear off.
"…and then the bastard makes to split me crown to crotch with that oversized axe of his, and all I can think is, 'really boyo, you think I'll stand still while you line that up?' So I sidestep the blow, and while he's gaping like a fool, I returned the favor and, 'disarmed' him. Man was so shocked, he didn't even scream before I took his head!"
"That's… great Kay, good job." Shirou in contrast looked vaguely disturbed by my brother's story. This might be a rescue mission as much as an inquiry.
"Good evening gentlemen. Shirou, could I ask you something?"
His eyes flashed with myriad emotions, worry and sympathy first among them, before settling on relief. "Of course Arthur, what do you need?"
…Perhaps I owed Shirou a talk in the near future. In hindsight, I treated him rather coldly earlier, his heart was in the right place, even if he was wrong and far too familiar with me. When was the last time someone tried to comfort me like that?
…better not dwell on it.
"There is a mystery I am trying to unravel. No one I question remembers seeing King Wehha after he left with his bodyguard. Your hiding place commanded a view of the entire battlefield, did you ever see him?"
He scowled. "Yeah, I saw him. He was one of the first ones to cut and run."
I suppressed a snort. Quadruple the balls indeed.
"Did you see where he went?"
A shadow passed over his face. "Yeah, he should still be under that tree. I got him right at the edge of my range."
Kay stared. I stared. We both stared at the redhead for his admission.
"You killed King Wehha?"
"Yeah. There was no way I could let him escape. Not after all he did."
There were no words for the relief I felt. I had half a mind to knight him on the spot for slaying that old monster, he just may have taken East Anglia out of the war for good, if only he had more experience.
"Excellent work Shirou. Many Britons have been avenged tonight."
He cracked a smile. "Glad I could help. If only the other kings went down so easy."
"Yes, if only." I turned to leave, but stopped short and peered over my shoulder.
"Before I go, Bedivere wants to see you in the morning. Try to be there around sunrise."
Seeing him nod, I set off to see his handiwork myself. Time to fulfill my oath.
Before leaving the camp entirely, I caught a final exchange between knight and squire.
"Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me? I've been flaunting my kills for nigh on an hour, and you bagged their king?"
"Killing isn't something to brag about."
'Wise words Shirou.'
Outside the ruins of Trefgors
The flames had burned out hours ago, judging from the state of the town. Under the light of the full moon, Trefgors' blackened bones stood in stark contrast to the vibrant meadow encircling them. There was a bitter irony in knowing that the village survived the Angles, only to be set ablaze by Caliburn.
Not that anyone would miss it. Barring Dafydd, there was no one alive to call it home anymore.
…Ignoring that dark thought, I continued picking my way across the moonlit field, carefully avoiding the odd Angle carcass. It was distressingly simple to determine the culprits for each death, stab wounds from the infantry were in abundance, while a smattering of dismembered corpses accounted for the rest of us…
'Gods, this landscape is making me morbid. Time to quicken the pace.'
A touch of magical energy, and I was bounding across the field swifter than a galloping charger. It was the work of minutes to close the distance and come to a stop beneath the ash tree. Skirting around the trunk revealed the fate of that loathsome butcher.
Wehha was no small man, standing a hand taller than Bedivere with the build of an ox, so when I rounded the tree to see him pinned like a butterfly to its trunk, rest assured my respect for Shirou's magecraft grew measurably. The fatal shot had struck just above the belt, leaving the warlord's remains positioned as if doubled over in pain. His demise must have been torturous, a wound like that promised death in hours.
More important was what rested upon his brow. I had promised it to Cyngen and while yes, it was ghoulish, my word was my bond.
A brief tug on the crown presented an issue. The thing was stuck!
Closer scrutiny uncovered the problem: Wehha, in some fit of madness, had endeavored to braid the circlet into his hair, as if he feared it would be plucked off his head. Which, to be fair, was coming to pass, but that did nothing to relieve my frustration.
'I guess there is nothing to do but start unbraiding.'
Spending my night unraveling a Saxon's hairstyle was not how I expected this to go, but—
"Couldn't wait 'til I was dead to loot my body?"
"WAH!"
I hurled myself away from the Angle.
The very much alive King Wehha chuckled throatily. "Scared you did I, little witch boy? Good. Now I can die with a smile on my face."
…He certainly did not scare me, I leapt back to evade a sneak attack.
My fingers itched to draw Caliburn. "I do not know what you have to smile about Angle, your army lies in ruins, and unless you left a second son behind, your kingdom will follow."
Wehha laboriously lifted his torso to rest against the tree. "Ha! But what a ride it was! Haven't had this much fun since my days putting the Iceni's dregs in the dirt, I have to thank you for the chance to relive my glory days, even if you ruined it with magic." He practically spat the word.
I clutched the hilt. "Fun? Glory days?"
His eyes glittered. "Aye, must have slain three times our number in seven days. Now, when I came here as a young man, you Britons had some fight in you, the battle for Exning, now that a scrap! Woden smiled on me that day."
"But then you had to go and get boring," he moaned. "Always tribute, tribute, tribute! Instead of dying like real men. So when those swamp-dwellers finally grew some backbone, I saw my chance to buy my way into Valhalla before old age set in."
My shoulders trembled. "So that is what it was, a blasted suicide attempt?"
"No, you misunderstand. What do you think this was for?" he said, glancing upwards.
At the tree full of corpses.
Caliburn was drawn before I knew it. "Then you best pray you settled your debts," I hissed, "Because I am about to render judgement."
The Angle cackled. "Oh, I'm sure I did. My Northern kin taught me how to make a Hel of an offering. In fact, let me tell you about one of the things they cooked up, tried it out in Durobrivae on some fucker that tried to stab me in the balls. First, you get yourself a sword, then you make two deep cuts along the spine, then you reach in, grasp the ribs, and spread them wide—"
Thunk
Wehha's grinning head slid off his shoulders.
My chest constricted.
That…that…that animal. No, that was an insult to the beasts of the field, even wolves would stop when their bellies were full, Wehha was a demon, the sort of Saxon that featured in Ector's tales when he warned us off exploring the woods. He had spied a feast, and spent seven days devouring the Fen-folk until he was cornered and slain.
And I had invited him right to their doorstep.
Caliburn clattered to the ground. My body began to shake.
This was all my fault. Three thousand dead and it was all my fault!
Every failure penned up in the back of my mind burst free.
Three thousand dead villagers, seventeen fallen soldiers, three days holding up my own army, every loss of control, every day spent begging for scraps, every failure to convince the kings to lend their aid, even when I was handed a crystalized legend proclaiming my future mastery of Britain—
My legs turned to water, and I collapsed in a shivering heap.
Was I really the chosen king? Had Merlin made a mistake when he trained me? What if I had stolen the rightful king's destiny, and all this misfortune was my punishment?
I would read the stars for answers, but the view was blocked by dangling corpses.
And so, I began to doubt.
A perfect king would have swayed the nobles on the spot, and driven the invaders into the sea.
A perfect king was a heartless creature who killed their emotions to make a decision.
A perfect king was always ready to lead the people in their time of need.
A perfect king would have delivered a perfect victory.
Was I any of those things?
…No, I was not. I had fallen short at every turn.
But that could change.
My mind filled with steely resolve, I rose to my feet, scooped up Caliburn and started walking. Wehha's crown would not remove itself.
Whether or not I was the true King of Britain, I would strive with all my might to be the king they deserved. There was no room for half measures, not when my people were heading for death.
Wehha's empty eyes stared up at me. My heart turned to iron.
Human weakness was the root of this calamity. It was high time that King Arthur ripped it out.