Hello all, and welcome to the start of the next arc. It's not going to be an easy journey, and I won't spoil anything, but let me say this in advance: This arc will be about pulling out of a dive.

Now, onto the responses:

Keybladelight: First point, no comment. Second point, I have plans for Morgan. An encounter with her was actually the seed that gave birth to this entire story, and while she won't be showing up in person for a while, I'm eager to write that particular scenario.

To Guest: Thank you very much for that review, I won't lie, that made my day when I read it.

To SentinelSlice: Regarding your second question, Artoria's whole strategy for dealing with the army hinged on luring them in close so she could punch them in the throat. Bedivere's story was a bit optimistic, it's not like Saxons are a hive mind or anything, they wouldn't know instantly when the king fell, though anyone who saw it would be massively demoralized, but in the meantime there would be a thousand raiders running all over the countryside. For Shirou's part, after seeing what can be politely described as a war crime, he wasn't really motivated to argue in their defense, remember how he was ready to unscrew Shinji's head and/or lop off his arm to remove him as a threat once the latter proved he was a murderer.

To Rushie2504: Thank you for the review, I will admit I didn't nail the characterization (in hindsight I think I made Artoria too articulate), but admittedly this is my first story. Regarding UBW: I don't have plans for it to show up in the timescale of this story, since it takes place over roughly ten years, though if I ever get around to a sequel (I have some vague notions, but that would be years off), it would show up there.

To Dimihd: Regarding the Shirou/Morgan idea: not happening, though if you're interested, there's a story called Fate/Black Dawn that would let you scratch your itch. This is not Lostbelt Morgan, I don't see Shirou connecting with someone described as "lecherous, cruel and selfish, a true model of vice". And never forget that while Artoria is a human trying to be inhuman, Morgan is not human at all.

Shirou

"Come in my boy! Sit down, sit down! Gods, do I have a treat for you today!"

Leaping to his feet, the resident cambion rounded the table to pull out a chair for me.

While he was preparing the lesson, I stood frozen in the doorway, eying the piece of furniture like a venomous snake. Merlin's eagerness set alarm bells ringing, he was entirely too invested in getting me in that seat.

'Okay, first rule of magic class, check your surroundings.'

Like usual, there were two chairs at the table, or so it seemed, I'd discovered my teacher's love of illusions the hard way. A quick check of his favorite hiding spot behind the bookcase found nothing, eliminating that theory, but no, he said he had a treat for me, not more of the same. Guess I'd have to spring this trap.

Keeping out of its striking range, I projected a longword and cautiously gave the chair a light tap.

Nothing happened.

Prodding the seat got the same result. Scanning for magical residue proved equally fruitless. Each test raised the odds of escaping this room unpranked, did I dare hope?

My teacher's poker-face didn't give anything away, so I decided to bite the bullet.

I carefully eased myself into the chair, and to my surprise, didn't trigger a spell effect.

Merlin gave me a wounded look. "Really Shirou? What have I done to earn this needless paranoia?"

Seriously?

"Well, first off, there was the time you coldcocked me with my own projection."

"Just testing your reflexes."

"And the time you electrified the floor."

"I'm not the only magus you'll meet, better be prepared."

"And all the times I fell for your illusions, then fell through your illusions."

He slapped his knee. "Ha! That'll never get old, your face cracks me up every time!"

"My butt would beg to differ."

"Oh yeah? Well your butt ought to speak for itself."

"Hold on, that's… not a thing you can do, is it?"

Merlin's smile was the stuff of nightmares. "Do you really want to know?"

I nervously shook my head.

"Good! Now that you're done whining, let's get down to business."

Bouncing out of his chair, the magus slapped me on the forehead.

"What the—GUH!"

My skin blazed red-hot.

One by one, magic circuits flared to life, turning my body into a spiderweb of turquoise lines. Then as quick as it came, the searing heat vanished like a bad dream.

"Now before you ask, this spell is a protective measure. If it detects unsafe levels of stress on your circuits, it will shut them down cold to keep you from killing yourself."

That explanation scared me more than the lightshow. "What's so dangerous about this lesson that you had to use it?"

Merlin's eyes sparkled with glee. "Why, you'll be training projection! Specifically, the projection of noble phantasms."

'Oh gods, not this again.'

"Look, I told you what Tohsaka said, every projection was a gamble, with my nervous system as the stakes."

"Hence the protection. Now, observe." Merlin snapped his fingers.

The room vanished in a flash of light…

...and we appeared in a mob of Saxons!

'CRAZY CAMBION!'

They were upon us in seconds. The first screaming barbarian barreled towards Merlin aaaaand ghosted right through him?

He chuckled. "Don't be alarmed, it's just a memory. The Battle of the River Glein to be specific."

My cheeks turned bright red. That'd teach me to lower my guard, his repertoire of pranks contained a lot more than bewitching furniture.

With death by disembowlment no longer in the cards, I took the time to examine the Saxons, and something leapt out at me, these men weren't charging into battle, they were fleeing for their lives. This must have been the rout!

Outside the wreckage of a butcher shop, a throng of Saxons tried to form a shield wall… and got obliterated by a volley of sword-arrows.

As the survivors fled up the street, Merlin let the illusion fade away.

"Remember our first lessons? You struggled to mold your projections, and the results were these ugly, crooked things that barely flew straight, a far cry from the magus that riddled the Angles and nailed their king to a tree."

While he made a fair point…

"That's different. I copied common items for years without issue, but noble phantasms felt like setting my nerves on fire. A magical weapon's in a whole different league."

Merlin clicked his tongue. "Fine, if you have so little faith in yourself, then how about a compromise? Try projecting the weakest sword you saw, and if you fry your circuits, I'll fix them and never bring it up again, feel free to quit."

My eyes narrowed to slits. That was a blatant attempt to push my buttons, but how could I back down from a challenge like that?

"Deal."

A little pain never bothered me anyway. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, and sank into my memories.

There were seven servants in the Fuyuki Grail War, Lancer, Archer, Saber, Berserker, Assassin, Rider, and Caster. Two were right out, I never got a good look at Archer's and Caster's weapons, I just knew the first fought with paired swords and the second had some sort of knife.

Lancer's spear had the problem of being, well, a spear, so that was a no go. Excalibur was far beyond me, my brain hurt just thinking about it. Berserker's axe-sword was bigger than I was, Rider had that spiked chain-dagger thing… which left Assassin.

Yeah, that felt doable.

"Trace on."

There was a light pinch—

And the oversized nodachi crackled to life.

My eyes snapped open. "What?"

I stared wide-eyed at the sword in my hands. A light pinch, when every other projection tried to cook my insides. Was that it?

"Is that it?!" Merlin cried, making me jump. The wizard goggled at Assassin's blade with dismay all over his face.

"What's wrong with it? Assassin gave Saber the fight of her life."

"Shirou, when I asked you to project the weakest sword you saw, I was expecting at least a little magic, but this has none at all, no enchantments, nothing! It's just a chunk of steel with some history, what kind of legend would wield a blade like this?"

"I don't know, we never found out who he was."

He scoffed. "So, no legend at all, does it at least have a name?"

"Monohoshizao."

Merlin silently tried mouthing the word, but gave up after the second time he bit his tongue. "Oww, Mono-whatsit?"

"Monohoshizao, it's Japanese for…" I winced. "…laundry-drying pole."

The wizard let out a mock gasp. "Oh heavens, why didn't you tell me from the start? I know the legend of this hallowed blade. The mighty Laundry-Drying Pole, despoiler of dresses, terror of trousers, slayer of wet shirts everywhere!"

My cheeks flushed. "Look, I didn't come up with the name, give it a rest, will you?"

"Then give me something magical! There must have been something worthwhile in that accursed ritual." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What about that golden fellow? You said he overpowered you with volleys of enchanted weaponry, surely some of them stuck out."

"But that doesn't…" My jaw clicked shut. Huh, I hadn't even thought of Gilgamesh. Merlin was right, he did have a few weapons I recognized, even took the time to wave one in my face before he cut me in half.

'But let's start small… maybe that black and red one?'

Dismissing the nodachi, I prepared for my second attempt.

"Trace on."

A dark, heavy object appeared in my hand.

My stomach rebelled.

It was a European longsword, and the vilest weapon I'd ever seen. The awful thing looked like a demon lord's favored weapon, all spikes and bone and bloodstains topped with a wicked blade of black iron, but all that paled to the unholy aura crawling down the hilt and seeping into me—

"DROP IT DROP IT DROP IT!"

He didn't have to tell me twice.

The second it hit the floor, Merlin unleashed a sky-blue fireball that banished it to oblivion.

"Hold still!"

The next one struck me and blasted away a dark pall of corruption that I hadn't even realized had taken hold. Everything grew a shade lighter, even the air felt cleaner.

Merlin's shoulders sagged in relief. "What…on…earth was that thing?"

I shivered. "Dainsleif."

A shadow came over his face. "Okay boy, for your next attempt, avoid demonic swords cursed to bring ruin to their possessor."

My breath came out in a hiss. What sort of madman would defile a blade like that? Even touching it made me want to scrub myself raw.

"Alright, coming right up."

So no demonic weaponry. How about the sword Gilgamesh wielded? That hadn't felt demonic at all, and I'd know, since the thing passed through my shoulder, my lung, and half my digestive system before lodging in my pelvis, I was intimately familiar with that sword.

"Trace on."

Molten iron filled my skull…

"GUH!"

…and every tendon went taught as a bowstring.

This was a mistake, a huge mistake! This sword was beyond me, it had shattered Caliburn like cheap glass and almost killed me, and now I was being punished for my presumption.

As my temperature soared higher and higher, I braced myself for Merlin's spell to trigger, but just as my brain began to sizzle, a familiar longsword fell into my grasp.

'Incredible,' I mouthed soundlessly.

Pure power. That's what I saw in my hand, despite the sparse decorations. As I panted in exertion from conjuring this wonder, I knew in the depths of my soul that this sword would take me far, if only I claimed it for myself.

Merlin looked stunned.

"I recognize this blade. Can I see it?"

"Of course, here you go."

I passed him Caliburn's progenitor, and he cradled it in his arms.

"Gifted by Odin himself. Slayer of the dragon Fafnir. Oh Shirou, even a flawed copy of Gram is magnificent, a shame you cannot use it."

What?

Wasn't it called Merodach?

Then the rest of his statement registered. My eye twitched. Wait just one second—

"Why not?" I snapped.

"While its curse is not as heavy as Dainsleif, it is cursed all the same. Whoever wields Gram is destined for glory, but jealousy and ruin will take them in the end."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Plus, it's a dragon-slaying sword, not the sort of thing you want around a dragon in human form."

My stomach lurched. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

Not that I'd ever think of it, but carrying a weapon designed to kill Artoria was out of the question.

Merlin huffed. "Before we proceed, let me point out the obvious. Shirou, you have absolutely no issue projecting noble phantasms."

"But…"

The words stuck in my throat. It was kind of hard to argue with him after projecting three of them one after the next.

"Exactly! Cripple yourself if you try? That Tohsaka girl was feeding you garbage, honestly, the only things she taught you were circuit activation and prana transfer rituals."

I choked on my spit. "What?!"

He recoiled. "What?"

"What did you say?!"

Merlin stared at me like a lunatic. "I said the only thing she taught you was circuit activation, what do you think I said?"

Who did he think… no, I was not going down that rabbit hole.

"Never mind."

He sniffed. "Anyways, if you're quite done, we still need to find you a usable projection." The wizard eyed me evenly. "You have to understand Shirou, this war will be long, and grueling. Your arrows served you well at the Glein, but are they enough for the next battle? Or the one after that? There are dark things lurking in the shadows, and Arthur will fight them all. To stand with him against the darkness, you will need a brilliant light to burn it away."

'A brilliant light to burn it away.'

I turned that phrase over in my mind, and came to the conclusion that Merlin was right. Britain was full of magical beasts and evil magi waiting for a chance to strike, if a common blade could hold back the darkness, then nobody would need the Round Table to ride to their defense. The question was, what did I use? I'd already exhausted most of my swords.

Caliburn was out. Whatever happened to Artoria, the sight of her blade in the hands of another could only make things worse, I had not forgotten her wish on the Grail. Gilgamesh had "gifted" me a few polearms like Harpe and Houtengeki, but it was another weapon that grabbed my attention.

"Trace on."

Glowing green with prana, I reached out...

And the Peerless Sword answered my call.

Engraved with fairy letters and bearing a white gemstone in its golden hilt, the longsword was beautiful in a way Gram wasn't. It was no unstoppable symbol of power, but a flawless cutting implement that would endure even when my own body failed me, this would be the blade that saw me through the battles to come.

Merlin's eyes gleamed. "An indestructible holy sword? You've outdone yourself Shirou, now this is a work of art. The sharpness enchantment is just sublime, what is it called?"

"Durandal."

Indestructible huh? That sounded useful.

Merlin frowned. "Hmm, haven't heard of it. But never mind that, stand up, give it a few swings."

I rose to my feet, eager to try it out. Kay's training had given me a feel for weapons that the Grail War Shirou lacked, and this was a masterpiece! The balance, the weight, and the reach were just perfect, I could believe that an angel had brought this from the heavens.

Unfortunately, my joy was short-lived, because on the first thrust I encountered a problem.

The sword was fighting me!

Like a phantom warrior had grasped its hilt, Durandal dragged me across the room, flowing through unfamiliar sword forms. What should have been a cross-cut turned into an oblique slash, thrusts became blocks, and my footwork was all over the place, it was like the blade had a mind of its own—

Everything clicked. Oh, now I felt stupid.

"Merlin, I need help with my projection."

He cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

Durandal dissolved into sparks. "When I project a noble phantasm, I instinctively draw on the skills of its original master. That wasn't me fighting, it was Roland's memory using my body to fight."

Merlin tutted. "Now that's a problem, suppose we can work it out in the future. But not today, you've achieved the goal of today's lesson, so you're free to go, unless you have any questions?"

I bit my lip. If there was a time to ask…

"Merlin, you can see the future, right? Does Arthur get better?"

All the humor fled his face. "Sit down, Shirou."

Once I returned to my chair, the wizard sighed heavily. "Now I know what you're thinking, why the sudden change in our king? Is there something troubling him, some way you can come to his aid?"

'Yeah, that's about right.'

Something happened to Artoria that night in the Fens.

The girl of a year ago had sworn the oath of a king, but still had a long road ahead of her. She had donned the armor, but there were gaps where the girl shone through, and as Kay's efforts showed, it only took a little prodding to draw her out. Back in those days, I'd reasoned that all she needed was a second person willing to press her, and we could halt the change and even reverse it, so she'd never become the heartless king on a cold throne.

Then she turned hard, and distant. She took all her meals at the canteen, and spent every waking hour at the fort brainstorming with Bedivere or training by herself. The knight claimed that she was working hard to prevent another tragedy, but words couldn't hide the worry on his face. Even Kay couldn't get a rise out of her anymore, something had taken the gaps in her armor and welded them shut.

Merlin must have read my mood, because he carried on. "This change isn't a symptom of inner turmoil, it's the king coming into his own. Arthur has finally embraced his role as the perfect king, and everything that implies. A perfect king is not a mere human, but something beyond human, and that places him at a remove from his subjects."

I slammed my fist on the tabletop. "But that's not what a king is at all! Why does he have to do this to himself? Hundreds of kings have ruled well without isolating themselves from their people."

His gaze sharpened. "Maybe those other kings did well in their own kingdoms, but our land stands on the brink of destruction. Britain requires a perfect king, so Arthur must become one. If that disturbs you, feel free to pack your things."

My eyes widened in horror. "No! Of course not!"

This was just a setback, I couldn't leave when she needed us most!

"Good. Glad we have that settled." Merlin gave me a sly look. "Now, I'm not wholly unsympathetic to your worries, so I'll throw you a bone. Arthur's eighteenth birthday is coming up in a few weeks, so if you need to ease your conscience, why don't you plan something for that date?"

I blinked. Then I blinked again. A smile grew on my face.

Half the cause of Artoria's lonely reign was the way no one dared to reach out to her, the knights of her court would fall silent as soon as she approached. A birthday party was the kind of heartfelt gesture that was bound to pierce her armor!

"That sounds like a good idea."

Merlin clapped. "Splendid!"

My chair vanished.

"WAH!"

Thump

Hysterical cackling filled the air.

"I promised you a treat Shirou, welcome to voice-activated chair pranks!"

Oh, for gods' sakes!

Kay

"…So that about sums it up. The expanded rampart should be finished by the end of the month, and the new bunkhouses and granaries in two weeks. Our noble friends' quarters will take a mite longer, but we're set to beat the Samhain deadline."

Resting her elbows on the kitchen table, Artoria eyed him dispassionately. "And the state of our food supplies?"

Kay shrugged. "To be frank, shockingly good. The local farmers are expecting more grain this harvest than the past two put together, they're calling it a miracle from the heavens." He shot her a toothy grin. "And they have some funny things to say about the timing. This is their first harvest since you smashed the East Angles, and I've been beating off hordes of yeomen begging to rub your head for good luck."

"Keep up the good work, I prefer to remain unmolested," She blandly replied.

Kay's smile faded. Bugger, not even a twitch, he'd have to change tack. Maybe the old tried and tested would do the trick?

"You know Arthur, I'm surprised you're so keen to move out of the bakery, those knightly quarters are a lot cozier, but fresh bread's no longer a room away." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. That sounded weak even to his ears.

The blonde's expression could have been carved from granite. "A clear chain of command is far more important than easy access to food, never mind the canteen in the fort. Our numbers will nearly triple come Samhain, and a firm hand is needed to keep Cyngen's men in line. Bedivere is an able administrator, but single-handedly managing eight hundred infantry and fifty knights is beyond even his capabilities."

"Ha! And they say you don't have a sense of humor!"

Her eyes widened a fraction when she caught the accidental pun, but in a blink, they turned cold as ice. "Do you have anything relevant to report? I have to discuss the Deira Campaign with King Einion's representative in an hour, and I refuse to be late because you decided to waste my time poking fun at me."

A dark cloud settled over the knight. "Not at the moment, Arthur."

"Very well," Came her curt reply.

Rising from her chair, she marched to the front door, pausing to look back at him. "I shall return before dawn. If anything urgent comes up, come find me in the command tent."

The door slammed shut.

Kay clenched his hands hard enough to draw blood.

"RAAAAHH!"

His fists struck the table. The blow came hard enough to make it bounce, sending papers flying everywhere.

Then the other door flew open.

"What the hell is going on?"

'Good show, now you've pissed off the landlord.'

He heaved a shuddering breath. "Nothing Llywelyn, just irritated, that's all."

The baker's face screwed up in annoyance. "Well, can you try to keep it down? I'm working here."

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

Muttering under his breath, Llywelyn stomped into the bakery.

Once the man had left, Kay stooped down to pick up his paperwork. He wondered idly if Artoria would yell at him if he threw it away, but dismissed it after a moment's thought, that stone-faced golem would just frown and give him a lecture on responsibility.

The thought of the thing that ate his little sister brought a fresh wave of irritation. If he weren't so sure the midget would hand him his arse, he'd give her a good thump on the head to knock some sense into the silly girl, and if that didn't work, at least seeing her spitting mad was better than the iron mask she'd taken to wearing.

It had been cute at first, you know? How hard she tried to be the perfect king. He'd grown up alongside the damn tryhard, and he knew all too well that she couldn't give anything less than her maximum effort, that prim and proper air she put on for Bedivere and the men was just the latest in a series of 'must be the bests', even if it made her look ridiculous in his eyes.

Before she'd ever set eyes on that sword, Artoria had been such a hardworking creature, learning swordplay and etiquette from father, patrolling the town, tending to the needs of the horses, it was like she never slept!

And wasn't that the truth. Dawn to sunrise? And she hadn't even been sleeping, just playing host to that blasted hellspawn squatting in her head filling it with nonsense. 'A king is not human?' Bah! All the kings he'd met were plenty human, what did that son of a demon know of human nature?

It was why he put so much effort into needling the over-serious fool. All that hot air Merlin stuffed in her head? The poor girl would float away! It was his gods-given duty as her elder brother to drag her back to earth before that idealism got her killed, or worse. Didn't hurt that each time she broke character reminded him that his smiling baby sister that loved cuddling the horses was still alive under that stuffy attitude.

But in the end, it hadn't been enough, something had hurt Artoria, and she'd clamped that mask tighter than he'd ever seen before. It was enough to make a man flinch, what could make her do this to herself? He'd like to wring the culprit's neck, but no doubt she'd stolen his kill, the bloody overachiever.

'Just another reason to hate the barbarians.'

After cleaning up the paperwork, he went upstairs to pack it away and unwind in his room. Dealing with the new Artoria could drive a man to drink, he could use a cup of mead to take the edge off his black mood.

Fate had other plans for him today, because at the top of the staircase, he ran headlong into his squire.

"Woah!" The redhead jumped back just in time to miss getting bowled over.

Kay clutched his chest. "Watch where you're going, will you? That lack of awareness will get you killed someday." Not that he'd noticed him either, but wasn't it expected for a student to surpass the master? The man, and Shirou was a man after the Glein, had finally matched him in swordplay, he'd likely earn his spurs when they marched on Deira next spring.

Shirou gave him a look of apology. "Sorry Kay, it's just, I have a lot on my mind."

"Try not to break something while you're at it. What's going on?"

He blinked. Then a thoughtful air came over him. "Actually, I'd like your help with this. Merlin said something in our magic lesson, and I might have found a way to help Arthur."

Just like that, he had his full attention. "What were you thinking?"

"He said Arthur's birthday is coming up, so how about we organize a birthday party?" He nervously worked his jaw. "They have those in Britain, right? I realized that we never threw one for his seventeenth."

"Think he was out of town for that one." A disturbing realization seized the knight. "I don't think we threw one for his sixteenth either, we were on the road and didn't have the resources."

They'd been traveling to Caerwent along the River Gwy when Merlin congratulated his sister on turning sixteen. Caught in the middle of the woods with nothing but his wits and a bag of oats, Kay had done his damnedest to make the day special.

That was the first and only time he'd tried bare-handed fishing. Kay prided himself on his swimming prowess, but the wily fuckers played him for a fool! He'd taken vindictive pleasure in roasting that fat bastard of a salmon after it slapped him in the face. Artoria hadn't stopped giggling until they made camp for the night.

It was the last time he'd seen his sister laugh.

Kay clapped his squire on the shoulder. "Walk with me Shirou, we should sit down for this."

Shirou was quick to oblige, and the two of them walked down the hall to the bedroom he shared with Artoria, Bedivere, and the old pervert. Kay sat down on his bed and motioned Shirou over to Bedivere's, then he got straight to the point.

"What brought this on anyways? You have the least history with Arthur out of all of us." And didn't that make him feel like a piece of shit. Some brother he was for forgetting.

Shirou didn't answer right away, but as the silence stretched out between them, he finally spoke. "You've seen how Arthur's changed. It's like he's killing his emotions and freezing out everyone around him. Merlin said this is how he should be, that a king isn't human." The man's grinding teeth made it clear what he thought of that piece of bullshit.

"But that's not right!" He shouted, "Arthur is a human being just like any of us, and human beings need other humans, or they wither like plants kept in the dark. If he keeps this up, he's going to hurt himself, or other people will hurt him because they can't understand him!"

Kay reeled back as if slapped. Who would've thought his mild-mannered squire had such a fire in his belly?

He wanted to see where this lead. "Are you saying Arthur can't take care of himself? I've seen him slay monsters that could swallow your skinny arse in one bite."

Shirou shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Arthur's the strongest person I've ever known, he's like a drawn sword that cuts down everything that threatens his people, but swords need to be cared for, or they rust. Listen to me Kay," he said, gazing at him with haunted eyes. "I don't want to see Arthur rust away, I refuse it, not while I'm living, and I'm ready to fight to save him from himself."

The elder man eyed the younger in a whole new light. What star was his sister born under, that she kept finding men like this?

Shirou had struck him as a compassionate fellow, maybe too compassionate, given the way he hesitated to kill Saxons, but rare was the man that would defy his lord for their own good.

Not that he believed for a second Shirou did it out of pure compassion, he'd seen the way his eyes lingered on Artoria, either the man didn't discriminate between the sexes, or he was one of a bare handful in Britain with a working pair of eyes. Unimportant really, the fool could look all he wished, nothing would come of it, but he could use this.

Kay clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. "Alright, you've convinced me boyo, tell me, what are your plans?

The redhead fidgeted in place. "I uh… haven't gotten that far. I'd like to get Bedivere onboard before making serious plans, but I was thinking of baking kasutera."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to help, but kasu-what?"

"Kasutera, it's a cake from my homeland. It's not exactly a traditional birthday cake, but I lack the tools for anything else, even after adjusting for local ingredients."

A little part of him died inside. Cake? He'd seen it getting made in Viroconium, and oh, the horror! "Listen Shirou," he spoke carefully, and gave the man a firm pat on the shoulder. "If you're short on coin, either me or Bedivere can spot you, I've had your cooking, and you can do far better than layering bread and goat cheese."

Shirou retched.

"Is that what you think cake is!?" he squawked.

Kay rocked back in his seat. Damn, the lungs on this man! "Is it different where you're from?"

"Yes! Cake is sweet, and moist, and cuts into neat slices you can share with your friends. It definitely isn't slathered in goat cheese! Why can't you Britons cook!?"

Oh, now that got his hackles up. Not that he'd argue after eating foreign food, but he was a patriot godsdammit!

"We can't all be so fortunate to hail from the land of spice and silk!" he growled.

The younger man huffed. "Whatever, but mark my words, the second I get enough paper and free time, I'm writing a cookbook."

That earned an eyeroll from the knight. "You go do that. I'll trust that this "kasutera" won't be totally nasty." He rubbed his chin. "Now that we've settled on food, how about the gifts? That's the main feature of a birthday anyways."

Shirou shrugged. "I don't know, something lion-themed?"

"Why lions?"

The redhead went stiff as a board. "Because… they're regal? Would dragons be better?"

Kay made a mental note to bar Shirou from all future spy missions, because damn he sucked at lying. Still, his squire was on to something. He remembered his sister's request all those years ago…

"You know what, I've got an idea, let me talk to Bedivere, see if he knows a good jeweler."

Artoria

A king is not human.

Begin the day by waking before dawn.

After washing your face, travel to the fort, practice swordplay for precisely two hours, then scarf down a lump of bread for breakfast. Anything more elaborate is a waste of time and rations.

Following that, join Bedivere in the command tent for morning war-planning. How many men are needed to capture Derventio? What equipment is needed, what is the ideal force composition…what are the expected losses? How will we manage supply lines stretching over the Humber?

Stop for a light lunch at noon, then another hour of sword drills. Assist Bedivere in his administrative duties until he retires. Consume a light dinner, then take over for him. At the stroke of midnight, return to Llywelyn's house to rest.

Ignore the men's disturbed faces. Ignore Bedivere's concerned looks. Ignore Kay and his pointless jokes. Ignore Shirou's attempts to waylay me in the morning.

One cannot protect the people with human emotions.

This was how it should be. No matter how much it made me want to cry, this was how it should be.

Three months after the Battle of the River Glein, my life had fallen into a predictable routine. During the day I would train with the sword, and prepare myself for the invasion of Deira. During the night, Merlin instructed me in the fine art of diplomacy. Both would be vital in the coming years as the war in the north began in earnest.

Naturally, there were deviations in this routine. Kay reported the state of our finances and other assets on a weekly basis, and there were the occasional envoys from Ebrauc that came to discuss details of the Deira campaign, such as stockpiling provisions in Eboracum to supply our joint invasion force.

If there was a silver lining to the tragic war with East Anglia, it was my embassy to King Einion being taken seriously. Seeing Wehha's kingdom fall to bloody infighting, the king had pledged his aid if I would help him break Yffe's armies and retake the west bank of the Derwent.

Even those had been fairly regular affairs, which made the event this morning most peculiar. Upon completing my morning sword drills, I had arrived at an empty command tent. The only sign Bedivere had even been there was a note tacked to the back of my chair.

My king,

I have determined that a change of scenery would do both of us some good. Please come to the spare room on the second floor of our shared home.

Ever yours,

Bedivere

No reason given. No advance notice. This behavior was utterly bizarre, and totally unlike my marshal. Nevertheless, he surely had cause to move our engagement, so with a heavy heart, I found myself returning home a mere two hours after I left.

The sight of Llywelyn's home in the mid-morning light filled me with dread. They would surely be awake by now.

Every single encounter with those two was a trial that tested my resolve. Bedivere's honest concern was taxing enough, but Kay and Shirou? They would not leave me alone! It seemed at times that they were actively trying to break me, what with the former's increasingly desperate attempts at humor and the latter's heartbreaking looks as he tried to reach me. The strain had driven me from the house, reducing me to creeping around in the dark to avoid them.

Renouncing my humanity was painful enough, why did they have to make it even harder?

The porch steps loomed before me. I tensed.

'Remember, you only need to endure it for a few moments, then four hours of cold, hard numbers. You are strong enough for that.'

Letting the comforting chill of reason envelop me, I climbed the steps, opened the door—

And found an empty kitchen.

Relief mixed with confusion. 'Odd, they should be eating breakfast around this time.'

Stepping over the threshold, I was struck by a sense of unease. It took a mere moment to put my finger on the cause.

The house was uncannily silent. Llywelyn should have been toiling in the adjoining bakery, but there was no sign of my host puttering about in his workplace.

I carefully climbed the stairs.

"Bedivere? Are you up there?"

Silence.

My guard went up. Something was afoot in this house.

At the top of the staircase was a long hall with doors to our common bedroom, the repurposed storage area where Shirou slept, and a spare room where Merlin kept his study. Unlike the others, the door to the study was closed.

Hand on my hilt, I slowly crept down the hall to the spare room, praying that this was some sort of prank my advisor was playing on me. A part of me dreaded what should happen if some agent of Vortigern or worse, my sister had happened upon Caer Afon. Surely Bedivere would have answered by now?

An eternity passed, and at last I stood before the doorway.

'I swear Merlin, if you kidnapped my marshal…'

Cycling prana through my body, I burst through the door—

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY ARTHUR!"

—and nearly tripped over my feet.

"Woah! Watch your step Arthur," Kay snarked, "can't eat if you knock your teeth out."

What…on…earth?

My entire household was gathered in the room. On my right, Kay leaned against Merlin's bookcase wearing an insufferable smirk, no doubt thinking himself mighty clever for calling me on my misstep. The man I had come to meet sat at the table alongside Shirou and Merlin, and even Llywelyn sat in a corner watching the proceedings with amusement.

This moment was totally unprecedented, so I demanded an explanation.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Didn't you hear us the first time? It's your birthday! Sit down, we got you a present and everything! And that's not all." Waggling his eyebrows, my brother prowled across the room. "Shirou made a special treat just for you. You've been living on bread and porridge for far too long brother dearest, aren't you ready to…indulge?" He whispered in my ear.

My eyes locked on the table.

Set on a wooden tray was what seemed to be a large, strangely blocky loaf of bread. If this was the treat Kay mentioned, I was unimpressed. But looks could be deceiving, Shirou had turned the humble potato into the best meal I had eaten in almost a year, what sort of miracle could he produce when he went all out?

I swallowed thickly.

It was tempting. Every fiber of my being screamed out, 'sit down! Enjoy the moment!' My men had gone to great lengths to surprise me, and it had been so long since I had been able to share a meal with my inner circle. when was the last time I had a birthday party? It must have been before I drew Caliburn!

My mind seized up. Before I drew Caliburn.

King Arthur took the field.

"Kay?"

"Yes Arthur?"

I regarded him coolly. "How did you fund this event? Did you draw from the pay chest?"

My brother's grin slipped an inch. "Um, no, we pooled our own money, why?"

His words brought a pang to my heart. It was swiftly crushed.

"Good, that is one less thing for me to reprimand." My gaze swept the room. "Let me make this clear, I have no time to waste on frivolities, and you should not either."

I rounded on my brother. "Kay, tell me, how could the resources poured into this pointless affair be better utilized?"

"Uh, uh, what?"

"Use words Kay, you have the brains for it."

The flabbergasted knight stuttered some more, and I eventually lost patience and moved onto the second target of my ire. "Bedivere, your deception was unbecoming, explain yourself!"

The man was white-faced in shock. "I…I had your best interests in mind, my king, your morale is just as important as any of the men's."

"For future reference, my morale is not helped by my knights plotting to waste time better spent preparing for war. Minutes save lives Bedivere, how many people will die for want of a war plan?"

My eyes fell on Merlin next, and he had the gall to smile and wave!

"Merlin… do not do this again."

The probable instigator of this farce merely bobbed his head.

I shook my head in resignation, and was turning to leave when the sound of a chair scraping against the floor made me whirl around.

"Arthur, stop!"

Shirou stared at me defiantly. In my rush to leave, I had almost forgotten he was in the room.

"Arthur, this change you've gone through, it's worrying, to all of us. I don't care what anyone says about how kings are supposed to act, you're a human being, you have to open up to other people or that crown will destroy you!"

His eyes implored me to listen. "Come on, let us help you, even if it's only one day a year, live for yourself!"

Shirou's impassioned speech gave the men a second wind. Their eyes weighed on me, begged me to join them. But the cost, it required me to acknowledge that I was human, that the ideal of the perfect king was a lie, one I should discard with prejudice!

My resolve cracked.

Then King Arthur sprang into action.

I did not want to do this. Every dismayed face was a dagger in my heart, Kay my only brother who followed me on my quest, Bedivere who believed in me so fiercely, and Shirou, the brave foreigner with a kind heart that even now showcased that courage, standing up to his king all for the sake of a birthday party in my honor. Sadly, two undeniable truths forced me to act.

First, even the slightest crack in my resolve had to be hammered out mercilessly for the sake of Britain and all who dwelled in it, lest they fall into darkness when I faltered.

Second, a king is not human.

"You overstep yourself Shirou. I am the king, not you."

His eyes bugged out. "That's not what I meant!"

"Truly? Then why do you presume to command me? You are not a king, you are not even a knight, you are Kay's squire and in absolutely no position to tell me what to do."

My eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you understand Shirou? I have no need for men that cannot respect the chain of command, rebellions in the ranks are the death of armies, and if you will not obey my orders, you are free to leave, there is no oath of fealty binding you here."

By the time I was finished with him, Shirou had gone cherry-red. The archer's expression was locked in a rictus of fury I had never seen before, it looked utterly alien on the normally cheerful man.

"I repeat, do you understand?"

The question doused his ire. He slumped in defeat, and nodded woodenly. "Yes, my king," he mumbled.

'My king.'

It suddenly hit me that Shirou had called me Arthur from the first day we met. His familiarity had always struck me as peculiar, but I had chalked it up to Kay's influence.

In that moment, it felt like I had lost something precious.

'Never mind that,' the King whispered, 'you know your fate. Every man in this room will hate you eventually, it was only a matter of time before that smile vanished.'

I returned his nod. "I am glad you understand. In any case, I must return to the fort, it seems that morning war planning is canceled for today, and so I must see to my sword drills."

Turning to leave, I was interrupted a second time.

"Arthur, catch!"

I whirled around in time to see a small package flying at my face. My hand whipped up grab it just before it would have bounced off my nose.

"My king, as your advisor, I strongly advise that you keep this."

Merlin's face held none of its characteristic amusement.

Glancing between the wizard and the package, I reluctantly accepted it. The few times the cambion gave such advice, it proved to be lifesaving. "As you wish." With those parting words, I strode out of the room.

Approaching Midnight

My candle had burned down to the nub, a sign that it was almost time to retire for the evening.

Part of me was glad. I had spent the entire latter half of the day buried up to my eyebrows in paperwork. Diplomatic missives, requisition forms, training schedules, and the reports! Reports on tax revenue, reports from our scouts, reports on the state of our equipment, reports on the state of our latrines, it never ended, not helped at all by Bedivere never showing up to work.

A report on local efforts to make spear shafts joined the pile.

My heart ached.

I was not proud of what I had done. No, that was wrong, it was more honest to say I felt like a first-rate heel. My resolve had nearly buckled, and I lashed out, wounding each and every one of my inner circle to force them to back off. Well, I got what I wished for, they would never try again.

A perfect king would have handled it better.

I grimaced. Indeed, but then a perfect king would have felt nothing at all, alas, it was Artoria Pendragon who drew Caliburn.

As I reached for another sheaf of paperwork, my eyes fell on Merlin's package, sitting on the desk beside the inkwell. It was about the size of my palm, wrapped in plain brown paper secured with twine. Whatever my men spent on this gift, it was plain to see that none of their efforts had gone into presentation.

Eying the candle, I estimated that it had five minutes left at the outside, nowhere near enough to finish another report.

"I suppose it would not hurt to unwrap it."

Merlin had advised me to keep it, so clearly it must be important.

My penknife made short work of the twine. Peeling away the wrapping paper uncovered a wooden box carved with a sigil I vaguely remembered seeing one time in Caerleon.

I lifted the lid, and gasped. "Oh, Kay."

The box held a silver pendant, engraved with a crowned lion running through the grass.

All those years, and he still remembered my wish on that rainy day. It did not bear the personal touch of one of his gods-awful wood carvings, but it showed he cared for me, enough to dredge up the memory of a young girl's childish request.

My eyes filled with tears. "Gods, and I threw it back in his face!"

And Bedivere's, and Merlin's, and oh gods Shirou's face when I dressed him down! Every one of them had a hand in this, and I spat on them all, there was no undoing what I had done. I had burned their goodwill on the pyre of perfection.

Look at yourself, weeping over a lump of silver. What use is sentiment to a king? Better to discard it.

The very notion revolted me, but…it was not wrong.

I eyed the pendant. It was not exactly small, a little bigger than a walnut, but it was not large either. It would be so easy to lose in the mountains of paperwork piled on this desk, and I would never have to see it again. None of the men would expect me to wear it, not after how I treated them.

But something stayed my hand.

My king, as your advisor, I strongly advise you to keep this.

I latched onto that memory like a lifeline. Yes! Merlin had advised me to keep this pendant, and he did not hand out advice on a whim, there had to be a reason to retain it.

The pendant was strung on a thin silver chain, which I threw over my head. My eyes lingered on the spot where it hung over my heart.

A king had no need of emotions, but a king should listen to their advisors, correct?

It was a shameless rationalization unworthy of a perfect king, but Artoria Pendragon was not perfect just yet.

The idea was strangely comforting.