"But [ ] - thanks. You saved me so many times."
The weight of his dagger disappears.
Silent to the end, I sink into the black shadow, eyes fixed on him.
I sink.
I sink.
I sink.
I stop sinking.
Something has grabbed my hand.
"My, my. Look at what's become of thee."
Darkness surrounds me.
It impairs my ability to think.
I know I must let go.
I must struggle against this person's grip, and continue to bask in the Grail.
With its power, I will end Camelot's enemies.
He does not release me.
It is one more obstacle I must face.
"The harshness in thy gaze wounds me. Come now."
I follow the white sleeve to its origin.
A crack in the black wall.
Light streams through.
The shell surrounding me falters.
Its fractures widen, pushed open by an invasion of flower petals.
They curl into my black armor's gaps.
Though their damage to my person remains, the tendrils embracing my mind begin to recede.
Wait...
What am I...?
"This is not thy fated end..."
Why...
Why would... I ever...
Fight... against...
The hand pulls me towards the cracks.
"...King Arthur."
...Merlin?
She woke.
Gasping. Panting. Bile rose, sweat stung her eyes.
"Here."
A pail. Artoria leaned over and emptied her stomach.
This dream was worse.
"They're green."
Saber's voice kept her from hyperventilating.
"Have I... ever tried... to kill you...?"
"Never."
His reply's speed shocked her. Such assurance, such resolute tenacity.
"Everything that happened in those fifteen days was a result of necessity and circumstance," he explained. "It was never her choice, nor was it mine. I was weak. I was frail. Had I one more projection allowed to me, she would have been saved."
In that moment, less a man and more a metal statue. Saber leaned forward in the chair by her nightstand, immovable, hands clasped together far too tight to be comfortable. Artoria wished she could see that face hidden behind the helmet.
She struggled to catch her breath. Her mind raced to connect the new pieces.
"It was... a mercy killing...?"
His knuckles flexed, almost imperceptible.
"She would've done the same for me."
But... but...!
"You... didn't kill her... Saber..."
The birds stopped their chirping. From a statue to a dead man, frozen in time.
"What are you talking about?"
Artoria could imagine why Saber took this so personally. When confronted, he implicitly confirmed a familiarity with some alternate version of herself, some strange fool who accepted the kingship despite the idiocy surrounding the Pendragon line.
Something happened. Perhaps there was a war, perhaps an accident occurred, perhaps betrayal reared its ugly head. Either way, she assumed something forced Saber's hand, and he took action against a dear friend, a king gone mad.
Artoria would never touch the sword.
Never.
"Yesterday, I saw things from your perspective," she clarified. "But... but in this dream I was King Arthur."
He remained silent.
"I... there was a... a dagger in my chest. I heard your voice. You... apologized to me, I think. Thanked me. H heard not the name you used. The life bled from me. I fell into a... a black goop, of sorts. Something heinous, coated in devilry and foulness."
Saber dropped his helmed head into his hands. "The mud..."
Artoria stared at her palms.
"The strangest thing happened, then. Someone grabbed my hand."
...
"What?"
The faintest of whispers, something aloof and from a place of confusion. She looked at him. He looked at her.
"What?" he repeated, louder.
"A man, garbed in white. He summoned an armada of flowers. They... they healed me of some strange possession. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from my mind. He pulled my blackened form to the light, and declared me King Arthur."
"Impossible," Saber breathed. "He's trapped in..." Then, to her: "Artoria, did he state his name?"
She shook her head. "No, but in that form I seemed to recognize him. A man named... um... Marleen? Madrin? Ah, no - Merlin! Yes, 'twas Merlin."
"Have you ever met him? Here, in the present?"
Huh? Should she have?
"No? Perhaps? I saw naught but his arm, Saber. And I know of no Merlins myself."
Saber looked about himself, his armored form plagued by confusion and turmoil. In the short time Artoria knew the man, she'd not once seen him so overcome by such doubt and anxiety.
"Saber?"
"Who... I don't..." He paused, gathered himself. "Has Sir Ector ever said how he received you? How you came to him?"
His concern became her own. What was going on?
"Once or twice. I thought it of no import, just an idle conversation. A man of silvered hair and red cloak delivered me here, to my father's home. He came with the scroll by which you were summoned, news of the prophecy, and instructions to raise me as his own flesh and blood. He departed as swiftly as he arrived. Sir Ector never learned his name."
...
Saber straightened in the chair.
"Artoria," he whispered. "Prepare your things, and be ready to leave at a moment's notice. I need to talk with your father."
"Move."
The guard's back straightened. Sweat condensed upon his forehead.
"M-Milord, I beseech thee," the man stammered. "The Duke is in the middle of a-"
"You prevent me from entering my own grandfather's abode? When I have such dire news?"
"He... he did not wish to..."
"Move. Now."
With a gulp of nerves the guard shuffled sideways. The brazen youth entered without delay. Purposeful steps took him deep into Castle Tintagel, to the lord's dining hall. He knocked twice and opened the door before waiting for a response.
The elderly duke, Gorlois, paused mid-bite. His order to the guards fell away upon seeing the arrival.
"'Tis a week early, Agravain. What news?"
Agravain dropped to a knee.
"Milord, the raiding party sent to Sir Ector's estate has been routed in full."
Gorlois wiped his lips with a cloth, scowling.
"Ector had not the men to contest them. Explain."
"The stragglers report witchcraft, sire."
...
Agravain kept his eyes on the floor.
"Witchcraft?"
The word came out a hiss.
"They claim floating swords butchered men like cattle," the young man explained. "Others were hounded by arrows attuned to their very souls. Devilry, it was. The work of a sorcerer."
"A wizard using swords and arrows?" Gorlois muttered. His eyes narrowed at the realization.
"Milord?"
The duke steeled, his meal forgotten. Orders spilled from his lips.
"Merlin has returned. The spawn is in Ector's care. Gawain!"
A blonde man Agravain's age stepped forward from his position at the door. He dropped to a knee besides his brother.
"My liege."
"Travel to the war camps and select a suitable man of your choice. Pursue them at once - cautiously. Your subtlety is of the utmost import. Merlin seeks to flee with Uther's child, and we must not let them escape."
"As you command."
"Agravain, send me Gaheris and Gareth, then depart to Isca Dumnoniorum. Rally our allies. We muster against the Utherian loyalists. If they seek the sword, we shall deny them the kingdom!"
"At once."
"The lord is still recovering."
"It's important. It concerns the Lady. Please."
The guards exchanged suspicious glances.
"Wait here."
Shirou nodded. One of the men disappeared behind the door. An awkward silence descended.
...
"S-So," the second guard attempted. "Are... a-are you a... peeeerson... or..."
...
His fault for focusing on Artoria over the town proper, he supposed. And for never taking off the armor.
"I have five fingers, five toes, two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth." He paused. "And a dick. That too."
The man gulped. "I... I see. I-I mean no disrespect, of course, sir knight, i-it's just that your form is... is very... unusual, let's say. There are many rumors."
Of aaaaall the alternate Britains he could've come to, it just haaaad to be the one where their technology was historically accurate. Of aaaaall the forms his Mystic Code had to take, it just haaaad to be something from the 1500s. Gods forbid he be deployed in something more period appropriate, like a pre-Crusader suit or something Roman. Noooo, it haaaad to be a fancy knight in shining armor.
He was totally complete now! He totally had aaaaall his memories, Alaya wasn't hiding aaaaanything. Certainly not the little tidbit where he, as Archer, delivered this timeline's Artoria Pendragon to her adoptive father!
Because Merlin, apparently, was the source of the divergence, and had gone missing!
And now Artoria wasn't even seeing his memories! He was seeing her own memories! That wasn't how the bond worked! That wasn't how any of this worked!
Shirou flipped up the visor and ventail.
"Hi," he drawled. "Name's Saber. Nice to meet you."
"H-Hello, m-my name is P-Pelleas. 'Tis a p-p-pleasure!"
He closed the helmet right as the door opened. The first guard poked his head past the frame.
"He'll see you now, sir knight."
Shirou maneuvered his way into the room.
"Pelleas, Ywain," a gruff voice called.
"Aye, milord?"
"See to it that no one disturbs us. At the end of the hall, if you would, lads."
"A-At once, sire."
Shirou shut the door. Ector glanced from him to the world beyond the window.
"I'm glad you're well, Saber. Come to finally exchange greetings?"
"More than that, Sir."
"Just Ector is fine."
He could trust this old veteran, that much Shirou knew. Something told him this decision was the right one. Fingers loosened the straps fastening his helmet; Ector turned to him, eyebrow raised.
The helmet came off. He slicked back his hair into a familiar style.
Ector paled.
"By... by the gods, you're..."
A shake of the head returned his locks to normal. Archer was still Shirou.
"My name is Shirou Emiya. I will be born fifteen hundred years from now, in the year 1988, using a calendar system not yet in existence. Your daughter will save my life. I'd like to discuss some things, if you're willing."
Ector gaped like a fish, then gestured to a chair. The armor evaporated as he and the older man sat; the elder retrieved a quill and parchment.
"What is the calendar system you use?" he questioned. "Is it at all related to the Julian?"
And just like that, Shirou became quite aware of how this man survived as long as he did.
Sir Ector of Camelot was no fool.
"The Gregorian, a refinement of the Julian meant to both solidify Easter's date and fix a counting error that misjudged the leap years. The Julian has an error of one gained day every 128 years. It's of no major concern for us - when the Gregorian was introduced, the date moved ten days backwards. The year stayed the same."
The man exhaled a relieved sigh. Shirou understood.
"Emiya-kun! Help me with this silly equation before I throw the book at that nouveau bitch's face!"
Tohsaka loathed math.
"Good," Ector muttered. "Excellent. Please, begin."
Shirou nodded.
"I'll give you some background details first, and then I'd like to compare stories. To begin with, you should know that what you call witchcraft - magic - is a very real thing, and it's a cornerstone in the way the world functions."
Ector scrawled something onto the parchment."
"I figured such after the healing of my mortal wound, nevermind the scroll."
"Secondly, the prophecy is indeed real. There is a destined king, and in my lifetime it was Artoria."
The furrowing of the knight's brow told Shirou he didn't like that news, but he remained silent regardless.
"Right at the beginning, there are differences with the way things were there and the way they are here," he continued. "You and Kay are still her adoptive family, but you didn't live in Camelot. Camelot was both a castle and a city, the seat of King Arthur's power, and it is constructed much later, around the time Artoria defeats her biological uncle, Vortigern."
More writing. "What about Gorlois?"
Shirou schooled his features.
"Gorlois and his army are killed the night Uther takes Igraine."
...
A rapid flurry of emotions crossed Ector's grizzled features.
"If I may make a suggestion?" Shirou asked.
"Go... go ahead."
"I've discussed some of this with Artoria, though for reasons to be addressed later I've not given her the full story. I believe it wouldn't be outlandish for me to assume our two versions of this greatly differ. I'll share what happens in my world. After, you share what happened here. We can then compare the differences."
Ector flipped the parchment to its reverse side. That simple act weight on Shirou more than he cared to admit.
"Uther is disguised through magic to appear to Igraine as the Duke of Cornwall. He enters the castle Tintagel uncontested, and that night stages an ambush that sees both Gorlois and his army obliterated to the last. Later, after he takes Igraine's hand in marriage, Uther marries off Gorlois' daughters to his vassals, which ensures Cornwall's political destruction."
Ector's eyes looked about ready to pop from their sockets.
"Disguised? By who?"
"The court magician, Merlin."
...
Ector paled, and Shirou began to panic.
"Merlin refused the order," he whispered.
Something ugly settled in his stomach. Ector continued with his own version of the events.
"Merlin refused the order, and it drove Uther mad with lust and jealousy. He raved about dragons, fate and destined kings in broad daylight. We thought him mad. Merlin would have none of it. Said they had other options. Uther sieged and occupied Tintagel."
The divergence's divergence.
"In the ensuing chaos, Gorlois escaped. Uther captured Igraine with the castle and raped her until she birthed him an heir."
It was Merlin.
"Cornwall's scouts reported the news. Uther's crime spread through Britain like wildfire. For a king to commit such atrocities against a vassal's legal woman while he yet lived - it was madness. Provinces rebelled. Gorlois and his allies mustered. They moved to retake Tintagel the night of Artoria's birth. Igraine and Uther died in the battle, Gorlois lost his mind to grief and rage, and Merlin was never seen again. That night, a man cloaked in red delivered to me both the babe and the peculiar scroll we used to summon you, and detailed the day's happenings. He claimed he rescued the girl from the siege."
...
A dreadful silence followed.
"Forgive me, Shirou, but my curiosity defeats me. That man, he looked awfully similar."
"There are two possible answers I can give you. The first is easier to understand, but it is not the truth. The second is harder to comprehend, but it is objective fact.'"
"Does the truth concern my daughter?"
"It does."
"The truth, if you would."
Discussing the Counter Force with a medieval man born before the printing press, the fall of Byzantium, or the firearm's battlefield dominance.
Oh boy.
"As I'm sure you've noticed, we come from different realities, with different histories. I am a man, as are you. You should know, however, that our situation is the regular state of affairs. It is the norm, not the exception. There are more such realities than there are men in the Mad Duke's army. Crossing from one to the other is forbidden, unless the situation necessitates an intervention."
Ector's hands trembled above the parchment.
"Don't write that down."
And lowered to the table.
"Aye." The poor man took a breath. "Who is the man who brought me my daughter?"
"He is an alternate version of myself, from a reality separate from ours. An older version. He and I are one of many. You may consider us knights our lord deploys to correct imbalances."
Not a lie, exactly, but not the full truth either. But it was better that way. No need to further confuse an already overwhelmed man.
The full weight of the situation bore down on Ector's shoulders.
"I... I see. She's that important, isn't she?"
Shirou pitied him. "She is."
"And... and your lord... is it...?"
Best leave that unspoken.
"It is."
A hand ran down Ector's face. Exhaustion deepened his wrinkles.
"Heavens above, divine intervention. And if I may ask - why did your lord send you here, in particular? Not another one of your selves?"
"Because I am the one who fell in love with your daughter."
Ector stilled.
"Forgive me, Shirou. I do not understand."
"Would you like to know what happens to her?"
He warred with himself - Shirou could tell. The eternal battle between needed answers and blissful ignorance. Suffering and peace. The reality and the what if.
"Tell me."
"Merlin watches over her for the first years of her life, then delivers her to your house. She grows with an instinct to be king. You see it in her. You let her pursue it. Artoria draws the Sword in the Stone. It halts her aging and renders her partially immortal. That is when she's fifteen."
Ector looked frailer now than he did at death's door.
"Fif...fifteen..."
"Merlin takes her as an apprentice, and trains her to be the destined king. Kay cannot bear it, and goes with them. Bedivere is the first to swear his sword. Kay does it out of a sense of duty."
"Bedi...!"
Ector hastily scrawled their names, underlined them, and in the process confirmed Shirou's suspicions from the night of the siege.
"Who else? Who else swore themselves, Shirou? I beseech you."
This, he wouldn't deny the man. One by one he listed the names, and one by one Ector wrote them down.
"In addition to Bedivere and Kay: Lancelot; Gawain; Percival; Gaheris; Gareth; Palamedes; Tristan; Galahad; Agravain; Mordred. Altogether, thirteen knights sat with your daughter. All could have been kings in their own right."
With one exception. But there was always an exception.
The elder underlined two more - Palamedes and Tristan. Shirou's lips tightened into a line.
Palamedes was known for his swordplay, but Gawain or Lancelot, he was not. Tristan, meanwhile, sowed the seeds for the Fall.
That would complicate things.
"Artoria is raised as a man, and assumes the throne as such. She is called Arthur Pendragon, King of Knights. She is perfect, infallible. Never makes a mistake. For ten years she fights the Saxon invaders, but no lasting peace comes from it. Her kingdom falls to internal strife. People believe she doesn't understand her woes, that she isn't human. One of her knights lusts after her wife."
Ector's eyes dropped to the list, frenzied.
"It's none of the four you would know."
And he relaxed.
"The chaos reveals her gender. A rebellion is staged. She emerges victorious, but mortally wounded. Her kingdom is destroyed. Of her knights, only Bedivere remains by her side. The rest have fled or died."
On and on it went. On and on he watched Ector's calm fray and collapse.
"As she bleeds out on a hill made of her countrymen's bodies, she prays to the lord I serve. In her journeys she learned of a relic called the Holy Grail, said to grant any wish. She seeks a chance to obtain it, so that she might undo her time as king and give the opportunity to another, to one better suited. Your daughter has many regrets."
This was his insurance policy. The backup plan.
With this new knowledge, fueled by the love for his adopted daughter. Sir Ector would never allow Artoria to become king. Even if he never spoke a word to anyone, his actions would see the deed done.
"Her body and soul are flung across time to a foreign land in a distant future, where wizards like Merlin fight for the same Holy Grail. She is summoned to me in the days before my knighthood, because, through some very strange circumstances..."
The proof.
It laid upon the table, alight with the World's mysteries. Tears welled in Ector's eyes.
"...I had come into possession of your daughter's scabbard."
By what measure did his grandfather define a man 'suitable'? Swordsmanship? The men here lacked in both footwork and form. Intellect? The men here could not read, write, or add two with two. Beauty? The men here smiled emptily, their teeth rotted away, and their boots smelled of piss and defecation.
Gawain sighed and continued his search.
How he wished for Gaheris or Gareth, but alas, they were to mobilize the troops to Sir Ector's camp. Agravain preferred his courts and whispers over a sword.
He knew nothing of arcana. How could he hope to face not just a wizard, but the legendary Merlin, magician of Uther's court? Would his blade not be disintegrated? Would he not be turned to a frog? Heavens above, the horror!
Lost in his thoughts, Gawain continued his dejected walk to the camp's makeshift arena. Most of the men here found themselves pulled into service as required by their various lords. Others enlisted as hired blades, mercenaries in it for the money and not much else. Young and old, grizzled and green - all served under the Duke of Cornwall's banner in this time of bloodshed, this mess of a three-way conflict.
The Utherians against the Cornish against the Saxon and Angle invaders. Absolute chaos. Dried blood caked the ground.
Gawain adjusted his cloak and glanced over a young man's shoulder. Two soldiers sparred in the arena; one had the decided advantage.
"How go the fights, good man?"
The boy didn't recognize him. He turned away with a huff.
"Boring as sin. I'd rather tend the pigs."
"How so?"
A gloved finger pointed to the man on the arena's left side - the one dominating the fight.
"That arse there, he's won every bout since he entered. No point in practicing when ya get your shite stomped a minute in."
Sure enough, while he spoke the mercenary, a youth Gawain's age, slid his blade down his opponent's, hooked the guard and wrenched it away. A twirl; the sword rested at the neck.
"Yield."
"Yeah, yeah. Show off."
Gawain found his interest piqued. He pushed his way to the front of the line.
"Hey!"
"Asshole, no cutting!"
"You'd not stand a chance anyway!" he jeered back. He vaulted the wooden barrier and drew his sword. The mercenary cocked a brow.
"'Tis not your turn, curl."
"That was then, this is now. Art thou prepared?"
He fell into a well-practiced stance. Gawain did the same.
"But of course. May I ask the name of the dishonorable beast before me?"
A predatory smirk, teeth bared.
"I am Gawain. Yours, mercenary filth?"
Purple locks waved in the breeze.
"Lancelot."
"She announces herself as the Servant Saber, and declares me her Master."
The dots connected.
"Saber..." he breathed. "It would summon her dearest, closest companion..."
Shirou allowed himself a grim smile.
"The war lasts fifteen days. We battle other wizards and the heroes they've summoned for aid: Cú Chulainn, hero of the Gaels; Hercules; the ancient king, Gilgamesh."
He paused. He needed a moment.
Damn it, Saber. Where'd she run off to?
"During that time we realize we're more similar than different. We're both sole survivors of our own tragedies. We bicker, we argue, we live during the downtime and eventually fall in love. We learn the Grail we seek is a corrupted impostor that can only bring misery. She's there at the Grail's summons. Destroying it separates us. The end."
Speeding through it brought little comfort. Ector processed his words for a length.
"I understand the why. I wish to know the what. What is your purpose here, and how do you plan on accomplishing it?"
The relic vanished.
"By my lord's decree: to give Artoria another option. For reasons beyond our comprehension, it has determined that her becoming king is the wrong path to take. I do not know what her new path is. I just know what it isn't."
The tightness in Ector's shoulders drained away.
"Good," he grunted. "As it should be. Do you plan on courting her?"
What a loaded, uncomfortable question. Warranted, he supposed.
"She is not the girl I fell in love with. They are different people," Shirou admitted. "Their personalities are strangely divergent - a result of their differing experiences, I'm sure. Where one was calm, the other is boisterous. Where one is forward and committed, the other was hesitant and evasive."
...
Ector caught his look. "But?"
A sigh. He rubbed his neck.
"A soul's different version can learn from each other. Masters and Servants can see the other's memories. That's how I learned King Arthur's story. Artoria - your Artoria, this Artoria... she recognizes me, though she doesn't know from where or when. She asked me if we were acquainted the moment she saw my face. That was the night of the siege. Since then, she's recognized it's something important and is determined to figure it out herself by witnessing my memories through the bond."
Ector barked out an ironic laugh. "She's always been that way. Obsessed or concerned with the oddest of things."
Shirou blinked. "I'm sorry?"
The old veteran leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked out the window.
"Aye, 'tis true. Your other self brought us the name Arthur. First time the lass heard it she cried out, as if stabbed, and fled to her room. That was age six. The town knows of her cursed blood, 'twas easy to figure out given the circumstances, but she'll fight anyone daring to call her Pendragon. Soon as she could lift a sword, she declared herself Artoria. Not Pendragon, not king and certainly not Arthur. Just Artoria."
...
This was creepy. Unusually creepy, and a tad bit concerning. For the same soul to develop the exact opposite personality...
Even Alter, loath as he was to admit it, stayed King Arthur. Even while wielding Caliburn, Saber still went by 'Princess'. The royalty always remained inherent to the person. King before a woman. A woman that was king. Destined. Fated. Inescapable.
"On her twelfth birthday, I told her the story behind the man and the scroll. Not its contents - just when it should be used. That night I found her out by the horses, attempting to open and read it."
A chill descended Shirou's spine. Ector continued, oblivious, lost in his memories.
"We had an awful fight. She claimed a friend awaited her. Kay laughed, I didn't. 'Twas odd, I felt. Peculiar. Eldritch. I hid the thing away and drilled its purpose into her so much the girl got sick of it and ceased her searching. She thought it a sealed weapon, or a spell of some sort."
His mind raced. Every timeline examined, every reality probed. Every version of the girl he knew. Her quirks, her views, her goals. Each individual personality.
No. No. Not that one. No.
"At fifteen years, she wandered too far into the woods, lost her bearings. Right as the leaves began to change. Kay found her some hours later. Lass claimed a bout of paranoia overtook her. That she was afraid she'd wander too far and stumble upon the sword, so she planted her feet and stopped, and dared not move again."
Nothing.
Every Shirou Emiya started with the same baseline personality, even in the cases where the fire never happened. The Origin remained Sword. The relic aligned his Affinity.
Artoria Pendragon was destined - destined - to be king of Britannia. It was the reason she was born. It wove itself through the core of her person. It filled her lungs with every breath she took, and beat upon the ground with each of her resounding footsteps. King. King. King. Lead the people. Save the people. Defend the people.
Caliburn belonged to her. Excalibur belonged to her. Avalon, Rhongomyniad. All of it, hers by right. By authority both Gaian and Alayan.
"Soon as she entered the keep, she sought me out. 'Sir Ector,' she demanded, 'in which direction is the Sword in the Stone?'. 'Tis where the sun rises, and I told her as such. She never got lost again."
"Could I help people without being king?"
Impossible.
As impossible as breathing beneath the waves or dancing upon a distant star.
master and saber exist apart
their souls are frayed and tattered
A horrid revelation overcame Shirou Emiya. His voice came out a raspy whisper.
"Because she always explored towards the sunset?"
"Aye."
Could it be that—
"If you pick up that sword, you will stop being a human, you know?"
Stop being. Stop being. Stop being a—
No. Impossible. To go against the kingship was to go against her Origin.
But... But then... given all he'd learned...
"The bun is cursed. I have no choice."
"Sir Ector, I'd like to make a request."
"What is it, lad?"
"Tell no one of my identity, especially not her. I don't wish to confuse her. I fear she'd recognize my name."
"Of course. Anything else? You seem troubled."
her chosen ways
you must amend
Amend.
He swallowed his fears.
"Have you seen the Sword in the Stone?"
Ector blinked. "Aye, once or twice. 'Tis a sword in a rock, in a field just outside that decrepit arena made to hold the canceled joust. By the town of Glevum."
"'Tis a good thing I'm not a king, then!"
Shirou felt it in his bones. In his soul. He needed to clarify his mission. Why was he sent to an Artoria Pendragon who seemingly needed no help in rejecting the kingship? To the one timeline in which Shirou Emiya did not exi—
...
He didn't exist in this reality because Artoria never became king. The singular reality in which it did not happen. Somehow, someway, if Artoria didn't ascend the throne, there was no Shirou Emiya. He either died in the fire, or it didn't occur at all. If he existed, he never became Kiritsugu Emiya's adopted son.
This timeline. With no Merlin, with no wizard to declare the king's coming...
This one world - it went here. It accumulated here, in the only place it was allowed.
Every single time she drew the sword. In countless realities, she cast off a chunk. Denied herself her womanhood, her pleasures, her happiness. A bit here. Some amount there. It didn't vanish into the void.
Fear the yellow eyes.
Fear the sword.
The bun is cursed.
Humans feared dragons.
And those shards of her soul came to this place lost in the life tree's leaves.
The Golden Sword of the Victorious shimmered into existence upon the table. Shirou's heart pounded in his ears. He choked out a question he never thought he'd ask.
"Is... is this the sword you saw, Sir Ector?"
Like a thunderstorm overtaking the horizon, the impossible epiphany dawned on Artoria's father.
...
"No. 'Tis not."
Fate/ess
This timeline was where it went.
The one thing she'd always rejected.
That which never received a voice.
And was never granted an outlet.
It was her.
The Kingseekers - 1
Here, in that cruel fate's absence.
It made a life for itself.
And he, her kingship's living legacy, had been sent to guide and protect it.
THE SEVERING
Artoria Pendragon's humanity.
Confusion Corner
The what-if that has never been asked
Per Saber Artoria's FGO mats, under the "Role within the Game" section:
Since Artoria Pendragon's story is narrated in 『Fate/stay night』, she seems to have less opportunities to be active as a main (protagonist).
Same as the top Servant Scáthach, she has the position of watching over the future generations.
Rather, various classes derived from Artoria will become the main of FateGO.
In the prologue 『Flame Contaminated City Fuyuki』 and the fourth chapter 『Death World in the City of Demonic Mist, London』, Servants that are another aspects of her appear.
In her 『interlude story』, and in the novel 『Garden of Avalon』, part of the secrets of her birth are written, and her feelings towards her homeland can be heard.
Nasu got close with Castoria, but in the end he, at least in my opinion, retreaded the same steps. I get the impression that he knows this is the last untouched direction in Artoria's story - after all, before we knew anything about Lostbelt 6, Castoria was marketed as "an Artoria who wasn't the king". But he never went there.
So I am instead.
It feels like everyone everywhere does the same damn thing. If it's a Shirou in Camelot fanfic, eventually Artoria becomes the king, again. Or maybe Shirou pulls Caliburn for... some reason? Regardless, it's always seemed to me that people overlook the blatantly obvious elephant in the room: what if she didn't? What if Artoria Pendragon did not, against all common sense and reasoning, pull the Sword in the Stone? What would she become? What would she make of herself? Her kingship is so central to her character and her journey that it's an almost heretical question to ask, but I really do think it needs to be asked if we're to finally say her story is finished.
Who was the girl beneath the King Arthur armor, the girl Shirou fell in love with in the Fate route?
What was she like? If that idealistic girl grew up untouched, and then learned of the lengths she went to, what would she think?
What would her life be like if, hypothetically, she never drew the sword? If she didn't want to draw the sword?
If she couldn't draw the sword?
The story of the king has been done to death, but that king was once a girl.
More than twelve
In Fate, there are twelve knights of the round table. They are, in no particular order:
Percival; Kay; Bedivere; Tristan; Lancelot; Galahad; Palamedes; Gawain; Gaheris; Gareth; Agravain; Mordred.
The thing is, in IRL Arthurian mythology there are far, faaaaaar more, and we've seen some of them in this chapter. Ywain and Pelleas make their appearances, and Bors has already been mentioned. In later chapters we'll see others, such as Lamorak and Balin. It's alright if you don't know much about these guys, and whenever they do something notable I'll be sure to provide some insights down in the Confusion Corner. They're in this story mostly to fill the rosters and make the world seem alive; it isn't fair for guys like Balin and Bors - knights who have genuinely awesome, Servant-tier feats - to get constantly overshadowed by the most recent iterations of Lancelot and Gawain. We're respecting the mythos here, so if you have any qualms about Shirou potentially overshadowing the knights (that seems to be a trope in these things), you can put them to rest. It'll take a bit to get everyone up to the same relative power levels... but the knights are the knights. There are cool things in store, trust me.
Mirror mirror on the wall, didn't Salter see it all?
To piggyback on last chapter's Confusion Corner: if you really think about it, Shirou and Saber parallel each other in UBW and Heaven's Feel, too, don't they? For example, UBW is all about Shirou's internal battle made external and represented through his conflict with Archer. In an elaborate, overly complex way, he ultimately convinces himself that his dream wasn't a mistake, and that it's alright if he fails as long as he keeps that in mind.
But then there's this really short scene with Saber off to the side, who by witnessing Shirou's conflict also convinces herself that her ideals weren't a mistake. She receives a resolution to her conflict all on her own! Her own internal conflict is resolved by watching Shirou's "internal" conflict!
Meanwhile, over in Heaven's Feel, Shirou ultimately makes the decision to live for Sakura at the expense of everything else, though he does his best to avoid conflict with Salter until he absolutely can't.
Is that not what Salter does? Does she not simply follow Sakura's orders, all while avoiding conflict with Shirou until the very last moment?
We will, of course, continue to expand on this line of thinking as the story progresses and more is revealed.