"'Master'?"
The term confused her. She was no one's master.
"Your Servant, Saber, has come forth in response to your summons. From this time forward, my sword shall be with you and your fate shall be with me. Master, your orders?"
Rippling pain drowned Artoria's reply. Wincing, she brought her hand to the arrow still embedded in her arm. The gesture seemed to answer Saber's question. He approached her, his gait swift.
"No, wait," she gasped. "This can wait. Tell me - are you proficient in the warlike ways?"
The knight knelt, observed her wound. "I am."
"Then please, find my family. My brother Kay and our father, Sir Ector. They bought me time to escape. I cannot lose them, so...!"
Saber glanced to the burning town. "They are inside?"
"When we... ngh! When we separated, they were at the tunnel's other end, inside the keep. They are well-trained, but far too many assail us. I fear for their safety."
"Very well." He braced her shoulder with one gauntlet, and grabbed the arrow with the other. "Grit your teeth."
Artoria squeezed her eyes shut. The man wrenched the arrow from her arm. A hiss escaped her lips at the wound's throbbing spasms, and when she recovered enough to look she found the puncture wrapped in the red cloth from his gauntlet.
He stood, nodded to her. "Our contract is sealed. I'll return shortly."
She blinked, and he was gone. His departure rustled the nearby trees.
Artoria fished her sword from the snow, then stood with a groan. It wasn't meant to be wielded with a single arm; she would need another until her offhand regained mobility.
Thankfully, she had her choice of weapon. She took stock of the available blades after sheathing her own. They appeared with the strange knight - Saber, he called himself - and remained embedded in both the environs and the Cornwall pursuers.
Their designs fascinated Artoria. Long and short, wide and thin, with all sorts of pommels and guards and decoration. He couldn't bring them all with him; she saw neither scabbard nor sword loop upon his person.
But then, from where had they come?
Green eyes glimpsed a white shortsword shimmering against the snow. Its blade's curve was lodged in man's throat - the man with the bow, if she recalled, the one called Caius.
Artoria grunted, pulled it free. Incredible quality, but unfamiliar in her palm and heavier than expected. She knew of no sword shaped in such a way. A foreign weapon?
One more question to ask. But for now, she needed to find her family. Her next actions would displease them, surely, but the girl wouldn't live with herself if they perished while she survived.
And she wasn't going to let that knight fight her battles for her, either.
What did it mean to save a person?
'To save': to keep safe, to rescue, to preserve. A verb with a great many uses. Abstract. Open to interpretation.
Shirou disliked the word. It'd betrayed him one too many times.
Well. 'Him'.
Still getting used to it.
"Blasted fools, where are they? They should've killed the Pendragon by now."
But just because he disliked it didn't mean it wasn't beautiful. How great would that be, if he could save every person to ever live?
Impossible, but also worth striving for.
"Oi! Who're y—"
...
"Sorry."
No one heard him. The blade works killed the six men faster than he could speak. Better that way. Less suffering. If he had to kill someone, he'd rather send them to the black without a thought than leave them afraid and agonized. That, too, could be considered 'saving'. To save from fear. To save from pain.
Keeping their lives was preferred, but... ah, well. Lesser of two evils. Shirou enjoyed claiming morale over lives. For these men? Wrong place and time.
"Sorry," he repeated. He walked up the stairs, into the keep proper.
Telltale signs of a hard-fought struggle littered the hallway. He saw it in the splintered wood and the charred scorch marks. Smelled like blood and misery.
Not the worst conflict he'd seen. Not the best, either.
He would look for Kay first. He appeared in Saber's memories more than Ector did, and would be easier to recognize. Shirou stepped over a dismembered body and continued his silent procession.
A furious shout caught his attention. From a side room rolled a man in his early twenties with an ugly gash carved into his side. He bounded to his feet, sword readied, dried blood caked in his hair. Sweat dripped from his brow. Shirou recognized the exhaustion in his every movement.
Two men followed, their approach cautious.
"Where's the spawn?" one demanded.
The man spit on the ground. "Piss on my corpse and maybe you'll find out!"
The two soldiers wore the colors of the men below and sought Sa- Artoria. Enemies.
From range? No. Better to do it by hand, just to be safe. They wielded swords, old Roman gladii. Too narrow for a polearm. Reach advantage.
Greatsword.
He stepped forward, put himself in between the two parties. The wounded man stumbled back, caught off guard. Good, more room to work.
Shirou's weapon cleaved straight through the first soldier's neck and lodged itself in the wooden wall. He released it, pivoted into the other's guard, a dagger already in hand.
He ducked the sloppy counter, pulled his arm back, and slammed the dagger into the enemy's chin.
Dead, dead. Excellent.
"By the gods, what in the—"
Shirou turned to the supposed ally. He looked a bit different from the memories, but...
"Are you Sir Kay?"
Kay wheezed out a pained breath and stepped back. He took up a stance with shaken arms, obviously perplexed by the situation.
"State thy name!"
"My Master, a young blonde woman, summoned me. She ordered me to find her family, Sirs Kay and Ector. Are you one of them?"
Kay's shoulders slumped. Poor guy looked ready to collapse. "A-Artoria? She's... ah... thank the heavens..."
"Then you are Kay?"
"I... I am. Who are you, stranger?"
"I am Saber."
He blinked, gave Shirou a strange look. "You are... named after a sword?"
"Correct. I am her summoned familiar, her Servant, a weapon for her use and protection. My specialty is swordsmanship, hence, Saber."
Not the exact truth, but too close for it to matter.
"That is an..." He winced in agony and brought a hand to his wounded side. "...interesting explanation, but... but I have no reason to disbelieve."
"Your wound is severe. We should find Sir Ector and leave. Where is he?"
...
Shirou didn't like the expression on Kay's face.
"He is... behind you..."
He turned around, glanced into the room.
Sir Ector laid in a pool of his own blood, a grizzly gash carved deep across his lower abdomen. Bits of intestine glistened beneath the ruined breastplate. Cornwall bodies surrounded him.
Axe blow.
"Is he still alive?" he whispered.
Kay refused to look. "For now, yes. We've already said our farewells."
Bullshit. It wouldn't fix the wound completely, but Artoria's earlier proximity charged it just enough. He could bring him back from the dead. Shirou rushed to Ector's side.
This life, he could save.
"Alright, old friend," he muttered. "He's her father. He's important."
Light flowed into the wound. Ector coughed; color returned to his face. Shirou removed his hands to find an ugly scar on a living man.
The grizzled veteran grabbed his gauntlet. "I need... your name..."
An emotional torrent knocked him of his wind. Kiritsugu's desperate sobbing hung heavy in his mind.
"Later," Shirou rasped.
Ector nodded. "Later..."
"F-Father?"
He pulled away. They needed a moment.
"Kay," the man choked. "Help... help me up..."
Kay wiped his tears, his own wound forgotten.
"Aye, milord."
Once they were settled and ready, Shirou escorted them both from the room, all while watching for more enemies.
"Is the battle lost?" he asked.
"I've not a clue," grunted Kay. "Our focus is... ngh!... Artoria. The Cornwall dogs seek her head for a... crime she's not committed. 'Tis a feud nearly two decades in length, and we've been trapped here keeping them at bay."
Change number one: Cornwall. Uther Pendragon killed Duke Gorlois and bedded his wife, Igraine, in a single day. From that night came the girl who would be King Arthur.
Yet something went awry. Gorlois yet lived.
Shit.
"Our town... isn't... the f-first..." Ector wheezed. "They know only... that the child is... blonde..."
Shirou wished he heard differently.
"You're saying they're executing every person her age with blonde hair?"
Deep pain crossed Ector's features.
"I'll get you to the Master, then run them out," Shirou promised. "They'll take no one."
The elder slumped against his son's shoulder.
"Thank... you..."
More blades.
"'Tis witchcraft," she muttered to herself.
To Artoria, it was the only thing that made sense. No man could muster the force needed to impale a foe to a stone wall with a mere sword.
Through the abdomen, heart and skull. Once? A fluke. Three times? Nay. Witchcraft. The knight practiced the eldritch and forbidden.
"Master."
And yet he'd done as she asked, and found her family.
"Kay! Sir Ector!"
"Foolish... girl..." her adoptive father groaned. "We told you..."
She rushed to his side, helped lower him to a sitting position.
"I shan't leave you behind! You know that!"
Kay sighed. "I know not where you found this warrior, Artoria, but he saved us both."
"He came from the scroll." She looked to him, the man called Saber. "I must ask: who are you?"
"Even if I told you, you wouldn't recognize me," he explained. A twitch of his finger evaporated the swords in the room. The pinned body collapsed to the floor. "I'm a being from outside time, sent here due to my knowledge of you lives. Your safety is my one objective."
His explanation confused her. Outside time? Knowledge?
"I'm not sure I understand."
"It's complicated. We can talk more after the battle."
He took a moment to put his hand against Kay's side. Artoria spied a candle's flicker caress the wound. It didn't do much, but the tightness in Kay's expression somewhat faded.
Saber stepped away after rechecking her and Sir Ector. "The keep will be clear in a few minutes. This room and the floor above it are safe. You can rest here, but I recommend not venturing further until I return. I'll handle everything."
The slightest of back steps lifted him up the first flight of stairs, as if the world's weight no longer applied. He pushed his feet against the floorboards, then simply jumped out of view.
Artoria wanted - no, needed - answers. The knight saved her life, saved her family's lives, and now declared he'd end their struggle in their stead. All this, and she knew nothing about him beyond a supposed name and the sound of his muffled voice. Gods above, not even his face, covered as it was by that strange metal container!
"Did he tell you two anything?"
Kay and Ector shared a look.
"He claimed his name was but a title of sorts, given to him due to his skill with a sword," Kay spoke. "He felled two men faster than you or I blink, and he stole this crotchety old bastard from Death's clutches."
Said bastard remained suspiciously silent. Artoria fixed him with an accusatory stare.
"Father."
"I was told... the scroll... would bring an ally..." he admitted at last. "I did not know... said ally... would be a god of war..."
Artoria had no allies beyond those in the town. She knew every guard in her father's employ on a first name basis. She grew with them, played with them, trained with them.
"Was this ally called a stranger?"
Ector scowled. "The man... did not... say..."
Accursed prophecies.
"So he's related to the blasted sword. I'm going after him."
"Artoria," Kay warned. "We're in no shape to protect you."
"I do not expect you to. Both of you should stay here. I've my good arm and a blade, 'tis all I need. I'll not have some devilish man solve my problems whilst I cower in a cellar like a gluttonous bishop."
She clutched the strange shortsword and ran up the steps in pursuit. When she was out of earshot, Kay turned to Ector.
"What did he say in truth?"
Ector leaned his head against the wall, exhausted.
"To use it... if her life was imperiled. That it would summon... her dearest, closet companion. The knight... who understood her... best."
Kay mulled it over.
"Her weapon, aye?"
Shirou understood why Alaya kept his various forms separate. He understood why he - why Archer - okay, wait.
Why he, as Archer.
One person, multiple roles. Better.
Why he, as Archer, was chained and kept so weak. He had a tendency to... find... his other versions. Some fusions went better than others. The suicidal timeline, for instance, started weird and depressing and ended... well, quite alright? That Shirou got something of a head start on the other realities. Unlocked the blade works a good five to ten years earlier than the average, and ended with a fifty percent higher 'sword to desert' ratio, as he liked to call it.
A soldier charged him with a short spear. Quite nice, well balanced. He already had the tip on file, but the shaft was new. Good etching. Carved two years ago in a local woodworking shop. Saw three battles before this one.
Hippity hoppity, newly claimed property.
Shirou sidestepped the wild stab, projected the exact same weapon, and thrust the spear into the man's temple.
...
He internally winced. "I'll hold onto this for you. Sorry."
Miyu's Shirou did well too, all things considered. Ended that version of the Grail War in a single night, despite Archer's body invasion.
Successful merges didn't always happen, however. Sometimes things went wrong.
Like Sakura Shirou.
He didn't like thinking about Sakura Shirou. He didn't like thinking about that reality in general, actually, and not just because he sacrificed Saber for Sakura or had his body consumed by the blade works.
No, he was jealous. At the end of the day, that version still managed to save the person he cared about.
It pissed him off. Actually, did it? He saved Sakura.
Yes, yes it fucking did. He didn't save Saber.
...
Ugh.
Shirou removed another soldier's arm and silenced his pained wails with a strike from the projected sword's pommel. Hallway, clear. Rooms, clear. He needed to check on the civilians and guards.
His existence took the phrase 'ignorance is bliss' and ramped it up to eleven. Being split kept him weak, yes, but also free from suffering, relatively speaking. It was one thing to deal with events from a single timeline. It was quite another to know what happened in all of them.
Death by strangulation. Death by broken mind. Death by broken mind and then killing literally everyone else. Death by Enuma Elish. Death by seizure during his first attempted projection. Death by Excalibur Morgan.
Excalibur Morgan wasn't supposed to be a thing, but anyway.
He paused a moment to lift the visor and ventail and take a deep breath. The armor's magical properties lessened the standard associated burdens. Things like reduced visibility, difficulty breathing, heat. None hindered him, but sometimes a guy just needed a bit of fresh air.
Death by Berserker. Death by Berserker, but in a different way. Death because, for some horrendously ironic reason, he failed to fail high jumps on a particular afternoon, Tohsaka and Sakura never developed their crushes, and as a result a certain heiress let him bleed out on the floor after getting stabbed by Lancer.
This continued.
Shields clashed in front of the entrance to the lord's dining hall. Ector's guards struggled against a Cornwall party twice the size. Candlelight up above caught Shirou's attention.
Ah yes, a chandelier. Directly above Cornwall's men. How convenient.
A repeat of Counter Guardian deployment number 46,312 to Reality 766, in which he assassinated a gender-bent tyrannic Napoleon Bonaparte via falling chandelier.
Big shame, that one. Gender-bent Napoleon was super cute.
Shirou took aim. The fixture dropped. History rhymed once more. It landed in the middle of the enemy formation; Ector's men were quick to take advantage, and one by one they cut down the attacking soldiers.
"If Kay finds out he'll make you clean the pigsty for a week."
...
Artoria stared at him.
"Why aren't you downstairs?" he asked.
She jabbed a finger into his surcoat.
"If I recall thy words, Saber, you called me the Master and yourself the Servant. That implies hierarchy, nay?"
She'd tucked Bakuya into her belt loop. After everything they'd went through, to be betrayed by his favorite weapon without a second thought! Hmph! Kanshou would hear of this. Unbelievable.
Shirou turned away, intent on helping the guards, but found the situation already handled.
They... were well trained.
"A good king listens to their advisers," he attempted.
"I am no king," she rebuked. "I am naught but a woman with a sword and a wounded pride."
Eh? "Wounded pride?"
"Yes, wounded pride. I shan't wait in a cellar like some haughty noblewoman whilst the chivalrous knight makes the problems disappear!"
Oh.
He'd pulled a Saber. Oops.
"It's for your own safety."
The stare became a glare. "I am fully capable of caring for my person. I've lived this long without your protection, have I not? You are under no obligation to push yourself for my sake."
So this is what Saber had to deal with? Gods dammit, Shirou. No wonder they had so many arguments.
"Then may I at least ask you to be careful, Master?"
"You certainly may, on one condition."
"And that is?"
Hard eyes softened. "Call me Artoria, please. I own no one but myself."
He called her Master so he wouldn't call her Saber. Oh boy, a challenge. Wonderful.
"As you wish, Artoria."
All smiles, the girl was.
"Marvelous! Now then, Saber..."
Uh oh, he knew that look. She was going to demand something.
"What is thy name?"
Shirou stiffened. "It's Saber."
"'Tis not. You told Kay it is a title marking your proficiency."
Spilling the beans already, eh? He should've known better. Saber remembered Kay as a loudmouth.
"That's true, but titles are earned, and I'm quite fond of mine. I use it as a name. I prefer it."
Shirou thought it the truth. The majority of his skills came from others; it would be arrogance to call himself Emiya, to claim his abilities as his and his alone. He represented everyone. He was Saber - all of them. Including her.
Artoria seemed to relent. "You are not hiding anything?"
Only their entire alternate histories together. All of them. "I'm not."
"Very well. Then I have a new favor to ask, Saber."
She used the same inflection, the same forceful tone with 'Saber' as she did with 'Shirou'. He'd be lying if he said it didn't punch him with longing, but by far it was the lesser of the two evils.
If she said 'Shirou' he'd end up kissing her. And then Saber would kill him.
"Hm?"
Her features hardened. He remembered the look well.
"You handle the rest of Cornwall's forces. I and the guards will put out the fires."
He remembered it, and oh how greatly he despised it. Alter ruined that look.
Funny. He thought that a lot.
"The keep is clear, which means their remaining men are outside in the town proper, correct?"
She blinked. "A-Aye?"
Shirou scooped her up, bridal style.
"S-Saber!" she squeaked. "What are you doing?! Unhand me at once! People will see!"
Sure enough, one of the guards across the hallway noticed them and elbowed a comrade.
Wait, was that Bedivere? Whatever, he'd deal with it later.
"Showing you something. Hold still."
Artoria stabilized herself against his shoulder to regain her balance. Too fast. That was far too fast.
He brought her to the keep's roof, several stories above the rest of the town. From here they could see everything, in all its misery.
So many homes burned. Repairing would take weeks, if not months.
"How did we get up here?" she whimpered.
Saber said nothing; instead, his hands fumbled with his helmet.
...Wait.
Wait, he... was...
...
"Hold this for me?"
An armored gauntlet held out the contraption for her to take, but Artoria's focus rested solely on the young man's face. Heat warmed her cheeks.
Red hair fluttered in winter's breeze. Almond eyes brought to attention a sudden pressure in the back of her mind, a dull throb of which she'd previously been unaware.
"Have we met?" she breathed.
Saber pushed his helmet into her hands.
"No."
He stepped forward and summoned a bow.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Her one thought, her one realization, her one understanding in a world full of madness and grief. She knew not how a single word could impale deeper than a sword.
"Please don't lie to me, Saber."
That same energy coursed through his body. Swirling, dancing - about and around like the prettiest of whirlpools. A long, thin rod manifested in his open palm.
"It's not a lie. You and I - we've never met."
Wrong. Wrong! No, wrong! Where had she seen him before?! Think! Gods Artoria, think it through!
He notched the projectile, angled it high, loosed.
"But."
It streaked red up against the snowy clouds. At its apex the arrow broke apart, splintered into dozens upon dozens, each with its own target to seek.
"But?" she asked.
Surprised, confused shouts echoed throughout the burning town. Enemy soldiers fled down the streets, their weapons destroyed, hounded by an ancient weapon told to chase but not kill.
Saber turned to her, his job finished. Tumultuous flames cut deep shadows across his face.
Fate/ess
Hrunting routed them all.
Prologue - 2
"I am well acquainted with the king you will become."
THE SIEGE OF CAMELOT
...
"The king I will..."
Belatedly she realized just the two of them occupied this roof. Saber brought her here so they might talk in private, and yet he also took the time to end the battle. Efficient - almost disturbingly so.
"You know about the prophecy."
Her words came as a statement, not a question.
"Are you familiar with the name Arthur Pendragon?"
Artoria recoiled as if slapped. Hearing the two names together lit a fuse within her gut, a rage amplified when paired with this man's voice. A hiss escaped her lips.
"I am a woman!"
Both a warning and a declaration. She didn't know why she cared about the opinion of a man she'd met not an hour pri- no! No, she knew him! His opinion was important! Think!
He dismissed his bow, put a hand on his hip.
"History remembers you as a man."
Artoria forced herself to calm down. Squires did not take offense to words.
"History?"
"In my time, Artoria, your legend has come and gone. You are a fairy tale read by children. That helmet you hold? To me, it's an antique."
She chose to focus on his helmet and not the continuously offensive dribble spewing from his lips. Its joints, its pivots and movable parts... she could not conceive its creation. She knew not how it was made, what tools allowed its construction. An antique? A piece of art, meant for a museum?
Preposterous.
"That is how you know me? As just a story?"
He blinked at her wounded tone. Saber's gaze softened.
"One I admire. I've dedicated my life to King Arthur."
Hmph. Sure didn't seem like it.
"It has given me naught but misery. They've pursued me for eighteen years, Saber. All because a man long dead raped a woman I've never known, then in a fit of madness scrawled some detestable prophecy upon a sword lodged in a rock. They burn towns and slaughter men and women my age as if they were Nero returned from the grave."
"Artoria."
She raised her head. Saber rubbed the back of his neck.
"None of that was supposed to happen."
...
She... what? How could he...
"I understand it has," he clarified. "And their actions piss me off something fierce. But in my world, the Duke of Cornwall's purges never happened."
Her mind stopped, like a horse trapped in mud.
"I... I don't..."
"The story goes that a wizard disguised King Uther as the Duke so he could bed Igraine. That same evening, Uther's forces ambushed the Duke and his army and slaughtered them to the man. Uther took Igraine as his wife and Cornwall became a footnote in history. Just another region."
Artoria released a trembling breath, and cleared away a patch of icy frost with her boot. She needed to sit down.
Below, the first of the fires went out. The snow had warmed to rain.
"We should get inside," Saber suggested.
"No."
"Artoria..."
"No," she repeated. Her bangs stuck to her cheeks. "I'm not leaving until you answer my questions."
The young man sat next to her; an exasperated sigh parted his lips. He held his palm aloft. A shimmering ring of flower petals granted them reprieve.
Artoria blinked, glanced at him. Saber shrugged and crossed his legs.
"If it can stop a spear, it can stop the rain."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing. What do you want to know?"
...
She looked away. "Your name."
"It begins with an S."
"Very funny."
"I'm serious."
It began with an S? It began with an S.
"Samuel?"
"No."
"Sicarius?"
"I wish."
"Sebastian!"
He leaned back on his hands. "Do I really look like a Sebastian?"
Artoria shuffled closer to get a better look. "Hm? I cannot say. Perhaps."
"Keep trying. If you can't figure it out in a month, I'll give you another hint."
"'Tis far too long a wait. A fortnight."
"Fine, fine. Anything else?"
"I..."
She trailed off, unsure of the phrasing. Saber let her mull it over.
"Was King Arthur... a good king?"
The pitter-patter of the rain against their magical cover preoccupied his attention. It came down hard now; billowing smoke rose up through the dark night.
"He was a hero in every sense of the word. Strong. Fair. A wall for his people, a shield in human form. Time and time again he rode out against the Saxon invaders, all to give his kingdom another day of peace and serenity."
Artoria stared at her hands. Could she really do that?
"In the end, he failed."
A chill descended her back, and it came not from the weather.
"King Arthur's story is remembered as a tragedy. The sad tale of a good king fighting against the inevitable. His kingdom fell to ruin around him. His knights conspired, his wife cheated, his own son plotted his demise. He died in battle against the very people he swore to protect - men and women who loved and cherished him, destroyed by their own flaws in the face of his inhuman perfection. King Arthur saved no one. The Angles and Saxons overwhelmed and drove out the Briton population. That's how it ends."
His words were a knife to the heart. Piercing. Excruciating. It was one thing to, as a young child, naively believe it was all for naught, but to hear it confirmed by a man who somehow knew the tale?
Artoria tried to remember how to breathe. A sardonic, humiliated laugh died in her throat.
"'Tis all pointless, then. I knew it. All this for nothing. They raid and pillage for nothing! The story has already been written."
Saber shook his head.
"He did his best, and it's something worthy of respect."
"How can you say that?"
"It's okay to cherish an ideal for its beauty, despite recognizing its inherent impossibility."
...
She stared at him, shocked. How... what...
"The goal is admirable," he continued. "I found his story noble and just. Its beauty was countered by its feasibility, but that's alright. Hope is hope. Hope dies last." Saber glanced to her from his eye's corner. "In my timeline, in my world, the Pendragon line dies with you. There is no successor. The children admire you for your idealism, your commitment to justice, your strength of character. Not the length of success of your reign."
...
The rain fell in waves around them, thunderous in its intensity, but his shield remained steadfast and unassailable. Artoria traced the dirty iron of her vambrace.
She wanted to save people. She'd always wanted to save people, and that conflicted with her views on the kingship. She thought it silly. Pointless. Her? King? Pah. But to help as many people as possible, she thought... just...
"Could I help people without being king?"
...
Saber rested his arm on a raised, armored knee. He stared at the downpour.
"That's not something I can answer. You need to decide for yourself."
The beauty of an impossibility. A wonderful thing, aye, but she'd seen too many villages burned to believe in it any longer. Her duty was to her own home. As long as they could survive another day, as long as she could see the life in her family's eyes.
"Before you save another," he added, "you must first save yourself. Sever your chains in the presence of others, and they will learn to do the same. Provide the example."
Then, each word an offense. Now, each word a proverb?
"How old are you, again?"
A crooked grin split his features. Her heart did a backflip.
"Eighteen, I think? I'm not sure, it varies."
"V-Varies? What, like... you're immortal?"
"No, I age. At least, that's what I was told before being sent here."
Artoria fell back against the stone. She held the helmet in the pale light, fiddling with its various moving parts.
"Does that mean you're here to stay?"
"As far as I know."
"Good."
Free oneself, aye? Free oneself and provide an example. Save who you can, when you can. Admire the beauty. An interesting philosophy. One worth considering.
Discomfort rolled into the muscles of her neck, but she found herself too lazy and sore to shift positions. Absently, Artoria lifted her head and undid the bun.
Ahh...
The slightest of grins lifted Saber's lips. He said nothing.
And so the rain continued.
Confusion Corner
Also, Kansas fucking SUCKS no offense to kansas im sure kansas is great
Broadly speaking, the various Arthurian legends all share a central, core theme: they're about magical fantasy knights engaging in political, tribal, family-based warfare. It's Ye Olde Game of Thrones: Bitches In Lakes Edition. The stories focus on things like blood feuds, honor, duels, a knight's duty, and whether Sir Mordred or King Arthur is entitled to the throne. Supernatural elements and creatures are then thrown into this mix, often related to any of the aforementioned themes.
In Le Morte d'Arthur, this constant theme of "I hate you, you hate me, let's gang up and fail Arthy~" culminates in the mother of all blood feuds, and Arthur's knights separate into three broadly defined camps:
1) King Lot's family: these are the Orkneys (Gawain, Agravain, etc.) and various characters hailing from Cornwall, such as King Mark (Tristan's uncle).
2) King Pellinore's family: Pellinore's the one who broke Caliburn via three duels against Arthur, and they later become fast friends and staunch allies. Many of his sons join the Round Table as Arthur's knights - these include Percival, Lamorak, Aglovale, etc. - but early on Pellinore kills Lot in battle, which sparks the blood feud between the two families.
3) The Neutrals: the Pendragons, plus any knight not associated with the two aforementioned families and their feud. These include Bedivere and his family (Griflet and Lucan), Lancelot and his family (Galahad and Bors), Palamedes and his family, to a lesser extent Tristan, and in Le Morte, Mordred as well.
The Lot-Pellinore feud eventually kills off a great number of Arthur's knights, leaving scant few to fight with him when Mordred enacts his rebellion, and with Lancelot taking even more knights with him in the wake of the Guinevere event, that's why Arthur dies at Camlann. Few play a more central role in this situation than Gawain, which is why it's mentioned in his FGO character materials and forms the core of his Fate self's character development. Ever wonder why he's so damn obsessed with being loyal to his king? It's because he was the exact opposite during his life:
Character: Gawain
Historical Image · Character Image
In the legend of King Arthur, he makes an appearance as a Knight of the Round Table, one who is equal or superior to "Lancelot of the Lake".
The eldest son of King Lot of Orkney. He was a relative of Arthur, and there had even been an event where he was entrusted with the holy sword Excalibur.
He is known as a noble one, with various military exploits extolled in numerous tales. If he had even a single weak point, that would be his strong love towards his blood relatives. It started with King Pellinore, who had shot down Gawain's father in battle; he then began to oppose one by one every knight who had injured any of his relatives, sometimes even ended up murdering them.
When Lancelot took Queen Guinevere and ran away to Gallia, he had refused King Arthur's pardon for Lancelot and had brought about war with him, for Lancelot had killed Gawain's sibling as he absconded.
While carrying the serious wound left from his one-on-one fight against Lancelot, Gawain had fought the army of Mordred, who had raised a rebellion. In the verge of his death, he persuaded the king to request reinforcement to Lancelot, then passed away. All the while deeply regretting his personal grudge that had brought about the fracturing of the Knights of the Round Table…
[ Source: FGO material IV ]
Fateless takes this concept and, in true Fate fashion, twists it through the use of a "what if?" hypothetical made real. You'll note that most of the Neutrals are in Fateless!Camelot, defending against, dun dun dun, the Cornish: Duke Gorlois, and thusly Lot's family. It's the Le Morte conflict taken in a new direction, with King Pellinore's family now separate from the feud and nowhere to be seen - with one exception, which we'll talk about further down the line. And this leads us to our lovable Sabers.
The jaded one
Right off the bat, it's apparent that the timeline's discrepancies have affected this particular Artoria something fierce. Per Fate's canon, Artoria draws Caliburn and takes up her mantle as king at the age of fifteen. Here, however, the blood feud's constant warfare has kept her on edge and in a survivalist mindset. She's dealing with the end of her legend before it's even began, and has adopted the mindset to match. She's already eighteen years old, and couldn't care less about some fancy sword in a rock, destiny or not. And in classic Artoria fashion, she's blaming herself for her home's woes. Depressing! Artoria's our central protagonist this time around, so much so that, following a certain event later on, the story will begin to zoom into her head to be told primarily from her first person perspective. I won't lie to you - I'm proud of the way she's developed, and I've had a blast taking all of Saber's familiar traits and systematically deconstructing them. Type-Moon's given us quite a few Artoria variants over the years, but we've yet to see this one, for reasons that'll become obvious soon enough.
The repressed one
Shirou, meanwhile, is both channeling some of those lessons gleamed from UBW and locking Heaven's Feel in a box. It's mentioned in the visual novel that Servant memories are carefully tailored to prevent undo confusion; a Heroic Spirit contains every record of that hero from across all timelines. There's risk in letting them have all of it - the mind can only handle so much. Shirou has all of it. How he has all of it - why he has all of it - is a topic yet to be covered. It's important to keep in mind that being Shirou Emiya is first and foremost utter suffering, and for every iota of strength our redhead is granted, he must receive equal stabs to the back. With great power comes greater trauma. Let's talk about his Absolute Minimum Suffering Level here, since the multiverse is nigh-infinite:
In the visual novel, if we exclude the Tiger Dojo Special, there are 45 endings - forty bad ends, five "actual" ends. Of these 45 endings, Shirou receives a "good outcome" in five, and by "good outcome", I mean that he escapes with his life, relatively intact both physically and mentally. He dies in Heaven's Feel Normal and technically escapes the war in Tiger Dojo 16: Texture. And no, Superhero/Mind of Steel is not a good ending lmao.
5 out of 45 is an 11 percent survival rating.
Shirou's Absolute Minimum Suffering Level is therefore listed as quite fucked, and this isn't considering whatever else he's gone through as Archer or Emiya Alter or lives not listed. Whether he's able to hide this level of damage from others is, of course, a different story entirely.