"Fuyuki."
Scene change.
"Chaldea."
"Chaldea."
Scene change.
"Fuyuki."
Scene change.
"Chaldea."
"Chaldea."
Scene cha—
"Please stop!"
I force the environment to a slate of white.
—I have their attention. I must act fast.
I admit I did not think 'sorting my memories' would include… whatever this is.
If I concentrate, I can see from their perspectives.
From Saber, from Salter, from the Lancers.
They are not truly the Servants I met, but rather the manifestations of their memories.
My memories, recorded in a way that makes sens—AGH!
No sense! It makes no sense!
Do not think about it! Act quickly!
It is so very confusing, so for now let me… just…
Ngh… my head…
My head my head my head—
…f-find a mental background that… works…
Saber will refuse anything that is not Shirou's mansion.
If so much as a curtain is replaced, she shall throw hissy fits the likes of which rival… mine… the first time Sir Ector caught me attempting to open Shirou's scroll.
Yet, Lancer and Lalter met Archer in Chaldea. That base is their equivalent of the mansion.
Think, Artoria. Think!
Ah! Maybe…!
I peek inside the Lancers' minds.
If I understand their memories correctly, in their lives I spent a substantial amount of time… in…
"—We shouldn't be doing this. We're needed for training in an hour."
"Ara ara, Archer! You're so cute when you're shy!"
"Mfufufu, get his legs, Lancer. I shall take the arms."
…Archer's rooooooooom—?!
'Tis like walking on thousands of blades!
Wait, how did I...?! Where am...?
Something yanks me out. The world is spinning.
Around us, my mental landscape has distorted once more.
My efforts at stabilizing my thoughts have again fallen to chaos.
Saber and the Lancers flicker in the shadows.
Arthur - Saber attempts to reach out to me, her face panicked, and a pang of guilt twists my stomach.
The yanking repeats. I am twisted away.
Salter glares at me imperiously, her grip like iron on my arm.
"Calm yourself," she demands.
"You approach them far too recklessly. You know Fuyuki better. Start there."
—Aye. Aye. As she says.
I understand Salter, and Salter is of Fuyuki.
As such, it takes me little effort to return to Shirou's home.
Now, how do I...?
Perhaps if... if I use the room as a base?
With decorations from Archer's Chaldean room, perhaps?
If I spread them amongst the furniture, then...
...
Things go well. The two are of comparable sizes, and Archer kept his room minimalist and tidy.
I turn to Salter.
"Is this acceptable?"
She looks about the room, though I can tell she is out of her element.
Something tells me I have little experience in designing homes.
My blackened self shrugs halfheartedly.
"We shall see. Bring them in."
As soon as they reappear, the Lancers cross their arms and pout.
—Why am I such an immature brat?!
Is nothing acceptable? Am I this much of a perfectionist?!
Ugh! Fine! At least my headache is dissipating!
Perhaps they shan't overwhelm me if I... ngh... distract them?
But what would...?
Hm...
Two massive Archer plushies plop to the floor.
"Eeeeeeeeeee~!"
Lancer and Lalter tackle them. Their spontaneity makes my ears ring. The environs momentarily tremble.
But they soon relax and calm, apparently content, and things begin to stabilize.
Some of my unease disappears.
Mission accomplis—?
I feel a tug on my sleeve. Saber stares at me.
Off to the side, Salter taps her foot, her eyebrow raised, and gestures to our Saber self, as if to say, "Well?"
Goodness, fine! I beseech thee, just let me—
A Shirou plushie of similar size appears by Saber's feet.
The flash of gold impacts it with the force of an Excalibur True Name release.
Salter nods her approval.
"'Tis sufficient. If you are careful, they shan't bother us, I think."
My headache finally begins to lessen.
"Good. Now what?"
"Now, we focus. Come."
She beckons me over.
Once I am in arms reach, Salter splays her fingers against my temples.
She coaxes our foreheads together.
The stifling presence of Saber and the Lancers begins to drain away.
All I see is the blackened king before me.
Aye, I recall now.
The war I fought, the mud and the worms.
The pain on his face, and hers. The way they dreamed of each other.
I was his Saber. I was...
...I am...
With a sigh, I return my mind to the present.
The witch, Merlin, in all her clairvoyant brilliance, forgot something. Nothing important, nothing relevant - but something all the same. Had she seen this something, she may have reevaluated her opinions and priorities. Or, maybe not. No one could really say they knew what Merlin thought.
Nevertheless, she wasn't there. She didn't see the something. Perhaps that was for the better. Perhaps that was for the worse. Neither the witch nor her ward nor anyone else would ever learn of what happened in that ruined forest, on that island in the middle of the Irish Sea.
"'T-Tis... here, perhaps...? In the middle. It feels like... like a blank spot."
They talked.
That something... was a conversation.
"What comes before and after?"
"Before... I... I am walking through a destroyed forest. I am following... Berserker. Afterwards I have returned to Sakura. That conversation, what was...?"
"I greet you. I say, '—Saber.' And then you reply: 'What a futile'..."
"...E-Effort! 'What a futile effort'! 'I warned you that you cannot save Sakura, and this is the result?'!"
"There you go. What do you say next?"
"U-Um..."
They sat there, and they talked.
As the Age of Gods restarted, as dozens of vibrant Phantasmal creatures returned from the Reverse Side, as Avalon mulled over their wounds, Shirou and Artoria talked.
For the first time, Shirou Emiya conversed with someone who truly understood him. She was not just his Master. Not just his Sabers, or the Lancers. Not just - was.
The smallest ripples produce the largest waves. The flapping of a butterfly's wings may, over time, birth a hurricane. And of the great many changes afflicting that timeline, this one, perhaps, was the smallest.
The smallest, yet the most important.
Two people separated across time and space, forced to forget all of it, forced to forever start their relationship anew, continued it.
"I... I say... n-no? Ah! 'No. It is not merely luck. You earned your life with your own hands. You defeated Berserker. Your determination yielded this result'!"
Shirou leaned his head back against the shattered tree trunk, rolled his eyes.
"Jeez, Saber. It was an awfully passive-aggressive compliment, you know?"
She rested her head against his shoulder, blew a strand of hair out of her vision.
Their long dream...
"'Twas merely an attempt to inform you of Sakura's multiple red flags, Shirou."
...had begun to end.
"I'm not sure we're in any position to say that sort of thing."
"What do you mean? We are very stable individuals, Saber."
He grinned. "That's going to confuse a ton of people."
She traced the lower rim of his helmet in her lap. "That is the point, is it not? Who is the Saber! They must guess! Medraut's exasperation shall bring me much joy!"
Avalon's healing of a particularly troublesome slash on his leg brought forth a sigh of relief. He stretched the muscle. "We aren't going to tell her, right?"
"We may not have a choice, mister 'Restore-Lancelot's-Memories'."
He sputtered. "H-How...?"
Green eyes pierced right through him.
"I seem to recall someone leaving a particular suit of armor in Camelot's smithy. And then turning to Camelot's direction whilst we traveled through Aquae Arnemetiae's marketplace."
She silenced his rebuttal with a finger to the lips, expression smug.
"You cannot fool me, dearest Saber! I caught thine expression from two perspectives!"
He slouched down the trunk. "I was just covering our bases, that's all. He's smart, he knows the risks. Hmph. Serves me right for trying to fool the king."
"Former!"
"Yes, yes, former. Which life do you prefer, anyway, Artoria?"
...
She shifted against his side. Shirou blinked at her lack of response, and lowered his gaze to find her... pinching herself?
"—Artoria?"
The girl sucked in a breath. "I-I... um...!"
She twisted, rolled onto his lap. Avalon's efficiency dulled pain to soreness; with the majority of their wounds healed, what remained wasn't nearly enough to distract them from each other. And though she had yet to complete her mental jigsaw puzzle and arrange all the memories into their proper places, Artoria knew enough about herself to understand the totality of their situation. He was here. She was here.
The Counter Force sent him here out of necessity, and in the process razed everything to the ground. The kingdom she remembered, his life… they burned. But the memories, the hopes and wishes of the people who followed and betrayed the king lived on within her. They never stopped wishing for the betterment of their lives. She had not betrayed them, not even after the blackening. He had not betrayed his past. Here, they could live on for all those who no longer could. They could finally try to fix things.
And at the same time…
She was not the king.
He was not a slave.
And if they played their cards right, if she was careful with her ongoing recollections, they could keep it that way. At the same time, they were the same people, yet also thrust into a strange world where they did not exist. Their legends? Gone. Their responsibilities? Gone. They remembered, but the associated leashes choking their necks were nowhere to be found. She, somehow, had been freed from the Grail.
Freed.
They were… free…?
Her fingers curled into his tunic. Crimson dusted her cheeks. Not once had she blushed in that other life, so why was it that now, with this boy beneath her, she could do naught but blush?
Free of Caliburn's influence.
Physically the same age.
Mentally equivalent, as much as they could be.
Everyone knew she was a girl.
No longer the King of Knights.
Would not become the King of Knights.
No responsibilities outside the typical fare of saving the world.
No need for politics. Or formalities. Or - ugh - taxation policy.
She... was a village girl again...
Her whole objective in this life was to rid herself of her cognomen.
The only other cognomen she wishfully fancied was… Em…i…y—Em—Em—Emiy—
The more dots she connected, the redder her face became. Shirou leered up at her, that insufferable, teasing smirk twisting his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing!
"What is it, Artoria?"
"Y-You...!"
She had him all to herself.
No Rin, no Sakura.
Her rivals could not find them. They were not Heroic Spirits.
No women in the current era pined for him.
No one knew about their... connection.
No one would try to keep them under surveillance.
Lancelot alone had his memories, and even if those memories included Chaldea, the Knight of the Lake knew Archer as a mysterious acquaintance, nothing more.
They were in the sparsely populated sixth century, in a situation where most of humanity had already been wiped out. Not the densely packed Fuyuki of the future, where someone would notice a sudden new arrival to a home occupied by a single young man. In their current situation, exactly no one would question a pair of travelers such as they, doubly so since here, their physical and mental ages finally matched. Especially if they traveled separately from Arthur and Merlin.
On the contrary, if they walked into civilization together, people would naturally assume they were—
...
She flushed. Her jaw dropped. Her whole body shook. Shirou choked back laughter.
For the very first time, across all their lives...
"Goodness gracious, what ails thee, Seiba?"
They were totally.
Utterly.
Completely...
"You... you are such a...!"
"Hm? Speak up. I didn't quite catch that."
...alone.
She yanked on his tunic.
"Oh, bollocks!"
Artoria frenched him.
...
—It... stood to reason... that courtship performed across so many countless realities, though temporarily forgotten, carried over into this one.
"You are a fool, Shirou," she hissed into his lips. "What kind of man—mpff!—allows so many lives to burn f-for—mnn—the sake of one stupi—ngh!"
So did the tension.
"D-Don't call yourself stupid, Saber. I saw the chance and—holy—"
These two had a lot of tension. Various categories. Physical. Emotional. Mental. Archer and the Lancers, Shirou and the Sabers. Gasoline, all of it - but without a spark. Said missing spark happened to be in Avalon.
Duty snuffed the flame whenever it started to emerge. King Arthur's duty, the Counter Guardian's duty, heavy burdens that prevented any exploration of the alternative. Their roles took precedence; externally shackled, nothing short of a miracle or the world's ending would free them of those chains labeled 'heroism'. Selfish desires? Humanity?
Those, too, belonged to Avalon, that realm of hopeless idealism.
"Thank you."
"A-Artoria?"
But as it turned out, the former King of Knights found another source of humanity. Few sparks rivaled the potency of a young woman with a crush, in the process of pulling the curtains back. It was one thing to be told she had always known the object of her affections; it was quite another to live it.
She shuddered. Her forehead pushed into his collar.
"Th-Thank you for waking me up."
Momentarily stunned, Shirou took a second to process her words, then wrapped her up in a hug.
"—You're still drowsy, sleepy-head. There's so much more you've yet to remember. The best is still to come."
"A-Aye...?"
"Yeah. You don't know half of what we've been through together. Not to mention whatever individual adventures you've gone on without me."
She frowned into his tunic.
"—I am unsure if I want to remember those parts."
"You silly girl, weren't you listening to what Merlin said? Even if I'm not there physically, I'm still with you in spirit. It's not like you've ever replaced Excalibur or Rhongomyniad."
He pulled away so he might look at her.
"It's the past. This is the present. It's amnesia. That's the only way it'll make sense, Artoria. Don't overthink things. We're here now, and the Age of Gods is returning. We help out for a bit, we find some way to get the rest of your memories, we make sure everyone's alright, and then we figure out how to get into Avalon."
"...Aye," she breathed. "Aye, you have the right of it. Like this, we can... this is a chance. Britain's fate has been undone. Arthur can prevent its fall. And... and when they do not need us, we..."
That woman's words drifted through her mind. Her own words, her encouragement to herself. Artoria's heart pounded in her chest. She swallowed her nerves, trailed her fingers up and down his tunic.
"J-Just the two of us. You and I. We can... leave. Together. And our dream… shall…"
His soft smile made her heart backflip.
"—You really are her. I can't wait for you to remember."
That life, the one where… they realized how much… they…
The former king straightened in his lap. She knew the answer. She asked again anyway.
"S-Saber? That version of the Grail War - did we… separate?"
"No."
'Twas as though he had just asked for her hand in marriage. Artoria sucked in a breath. Q-Queen Shirou? Lancelot inherited Ban's lands, he was royalty, she could have arranged his marriage to Guinevere while she instead—
"We stayed together from day one to day sixteen. No switching Masters. And we won."
Won.
The epiphany struck Artoria like a bolt of lightning. They really did fall in love. He fell in love with her when she was naught else but an unattractive, masculine king. And so often had he been tempted by Rin and Sakura, perhaps even Rider. But… but here he called her Artoria! Here she was not a king, here she… actually…!
Overtaken by a strange sort of conviction, Artoria, for the first time since 'waking up', looked down. At herself. Her own genuine self, uncorrupted and untainted by the magics of Caliburn and Excalibur, Rhongomyniad and the Grail's mud. The person she would have become, had she remained just a human being. Someone who, until recently, lived her whole life without magic and the weaponry of the gods. She started at her shoulders and went lower; fingers pushed against the lean muscle Caliburn prevented, the occasional scar Avalon always healed.
The more she examined, the more her mood lifted. Unfamiliar, elated pride - that pride called personal confidence - raised her to higher and higher levels. She squeezed and prodded, her voice caught in her throat. Without the lance! She just needed to wait! Aye, in this life, she…!
"U-Uh…"
A sudden sensation against her glutes gave her pause. Shirou struggled to keep his eyes on her face, pupils dilated and face crimson. A bead of sweat trickled along his jawline.
Her pride skyrocketed, and brought with it a reminder.
Artoria pulled the waistline of her trousers and undergarments, peeked lower to confirm what she already knew.
…
No temporary surprises from damnable wizards. Excellent.
A wickedly smug grin split her lips. She leaned right back in. "Do you like what you see, Saber?"
His brow twitched. "We already know the answer to that question, your majesty."
"No more 'your majesty'. 'Artoria' or 'Saber', if you would."
His exasperated sigh gave her nothing but joy. She shifted even closer, loving the way he squirmed.
"You may also use 'my lady', or in formal settings with the nobility, 'the future lady Emiya'."
"Wh—h-h-huh?!"
She peered down at him, head tilted, consciously ignorant of her own brilliant blush.
"…Hmm? Did you not eventually wed Rin and Sakura, Shirou?"
He squirmed, so she ground her rear end into his waist. Shirou hissed.
"U-Uh, well, y-yes, but…!"
Artoria pressed her advantage. Victory was in her grasp! A loser no longer! He belonged to her! Her Saber!
"Hoh? 'But'? 'But' what, Shirou?"
He said he differentiated her various selves by the way they wore their hair. Very well. She reached to her neck's nape and tugged away the ribbon holding together her ponytail, letting the golden locks bounce against her shoulders. Shirou stilled. Her opportunity found, Artoria crawled up his chest like a predator stalking its prey.
Operating on pure instinct, his wide gaze shifted lower, to where her tunic's collar dangled and enticed. The lioness pounced.
"Do they have something... I do not?"
Shirou snapped, her vision blurred. Before she knew it, two of his arms wrapped around her thighs; he pushed her up against the ruined tree trunk. A victorious cheer rang out from the depths of her mind.
But then he paused. Something caught his attention. She blinked.
"Saber?"
He glanced to her head. The twitching of his brow returned with a vengeance.
…Her ahoge wagged like a dog's tail.
"—You're such a sore loser, Artoria."
Her legs tightened around his waist in an almost petulant manner. A grip of steel kept his tunic firmly in hand. She couldn't help her pout.
"Nay! I am your sore loser!"
"Did you seriously just use the King of Knight's tactical genius to secure yourself a fiancé?"
"'Twas nothing if not necessary, Shirou! I needed to act, lest those two homewreckers descend from the Throne to snatch thee away! Again! For the umpteenth time!"
She loved the way he stared at her. So cute!
"That's how we got into this position in the first place, Saber. I literally descended from the Throne to your side, and the Counter Force literally sent your other selves to restore your memories. What part of 'two halves of the Grand Saber' do you not understand?"
"Th-The details do not matter! Art thou going to kiss me or not?!"
He leaned in, bound by his duty. "Tongue or no tongue?"
"Well, this is number four, aye? Numbers one and two did not involve tongue, number three did. Therefore, to even the count, this one must involve tongue."
"Eh? You're keeping track now, too?"
"Why would I not be, Shirou? The rules of the tally state that the number of kisses I receive here must equal the number of kisses my other self receives in Avalon. I receive two kisses for every one. There is no downside whatsoever. Kiss away!"
He kissed away.
Of the many uncomfortable conversations Lancelot considered necessary for his repentance, this one he feared the most.
Yes - fear. He was afraid, horribly so. Strong and mighty Lancelot, left hand of the former king, slayer of armies and dueler of demigods, walked through these halls a nervous wreck. Kay accompanied him in grim silence; had he regained his memories, he, too, would dread this upcoming meeting. Both of them understood that, and so no words were needed.
Ector.
Each and every one of them played a part in the death of Ector's daughter, unintentionally or not. Some, like Palamedes, perished long before the events of Camlann, but nevertheless the king faced Sir Mordred alone atop that hill of bodies. And now Lancelot needed to walk into the lord's chambers, look Sir Ector in his noble eye, and tell him that he slept with his daughter's wife and brought ruin to her kingdom. Duty obligated him to this action. Without a seated king, the oaths and vows of his knighthood demanded he submit himself to Sir Ector's judgment. He had wronged the man's family.
"I appreciate your presence for this matter, Sir Kay."
"'Tis my duty. And truthfully, we are of one mind in this, Lancelot. Your words have become a weight upon my shoulders, and... and I have need of my father's council."
"I... I apologize."
The man waved him off. "Do not be. Ignorance is a curse, not a blessing. The mere thought of... fleeing... gives me night terrors, aye, but knowing mine own actions shall prevent their repetition. With the knowledge Saber has given you, we shall walk a new path."
Easier said than done, though he'd be a liar to say the man's rugged optimism wasn't contagious.
"I fear it may be a challenge," Lancelot admitted. "We believe because we bore witness to the suit's lunacy. But Gawain's siblings... they know nothing of this. I am not sure if I fully believe the visions myself, and I received them! How are we meant to convince the Cornish to sheathe their blades after so long a conflict?"
"With blades of our own, if it comes to that. You said it thyself, Lancelot. We are past words. The Mad Duke is mad for a reason."
"'Tis cruelty to expect a man to war against kin in the name of higher concepts like 'peace' and 'destruction'."
Kay led him around the corner and down a quiet hallway. Two guards stiffened to attention outside an etched door.
"He is not beholden to us, nor shall we make him fight in Camelot's name. Neither are you, for that matter. If need be, we shall send a missive informing them of your statuses as our prisoners."
Lancelot fought off his sudden bout of indignity.
"I cannot speak for Gawain, but I shall sooner take a blade to my neck before I sit behind stone walls whilst others fight and die in this conflict. It is my duty as her knight to safeguard her kingdom in her absence. She has spoken to me through Saber, and I will carry out her instructions."
Kay shifted in visible discomfort. "Your loyalty is... admirable. Did we all serve with such vigor?"
Lancelot's eyes lowered to the floor. His body sagged, burdened by the memories.
"—All save you, Kay. We saw in her the... the pinnacle, I suppose. A goal to strive for. A way past the daemons plaguing mankind, a higher level. We swore ourselves out of passion, out of want. You swore yourself out of necessity. I never figured you out, truthfully. Perhaps Bedivere did. All I know is, each time we met, it seemed you'd rather be someplace else."
...
An exhale through his nostrils, a cruel smile upon the man's lips.
"Here," Kay grunted. "I'm sure I'd rather be here, in a life where she is my sister, and not the king. I suppose I must thank Saber for taking pity on me."
Lancelot frowned. "Pity?"
"Aye. For choosing you to bear the weight, not me. I have received the best of both worlds - literally, you might say. Through his actions, I might know my failings, but be spared seeing them. I could not bear the image of her seated on the throne, I..."
Kay trailed off, his smile growing pained, and his gaze burned a hole through the keep's wooden flooring.
"I... am too proud of the woman she has become. She may remember if she so wishes. I have no control over that. But at the very least, I wish to be a reminder of what she has here. In this life."
...
"You are a good man, Sir Kay. Never forget that."
"—Aye."
Their presence was expected, and so the guards let them enter without much fanfare. The door locked behind them; Lancelot heard the muffled steps of iron on wood, which told him they had their privacy. He wondered how much the rank and file knew.
Sir Ector took a last look out the window to the town below before standing to face them proper. Hardy, middle-aged eyes took his measure down to the finest detail. Lancelot stiffened beneath the piercing gaze. His hands clammed up, his back straightened. He'd met Ector only twice prior, both towards the end of the man's life: once during Lancelot's knighting; the other during the marriage of Arthur and Guinevere. They exchanged pleasantries befitting their respective stations, but deep conversation was not his place as one of the king's knights, especially not as one of the Round Table's juniors.
Sir Ector raised the king, taught the king. One did not simply speak to Sir Ector. Sir Ector talked to the other, and the other listened.
Experience outranked everything. The man in front of Lancelot survived it all, and died in his sleep at the height of the king's reign, during Britannia's longest stretch of peace. As was warranted. As was rightfully deserved.
"So, thou art Lancelot?" spoke the gruff elder. "Ban's son, cousin of Bors and Lionel?"
He so desperately tried to steady his voice. "I am, milord."
Sir Ector watched him with those hawkish eyes. "And you claim to remember thy time in the service of my daughter? As well as the lives of the other names on that list?"
"I… I-I do, milord."
"And what is it you wish to tell me?"
Not a gasp, grunt nor whisper left Lancelot's lips. He dropped to a knee, trembling, head bowed to the floor. Kay blinked his surprise.
"L-Lancel—"
A hand from his father silenced him. Ector peered down at the knight.
"Why do you kneel before a man who is not thy sworn lord?"
Lancelot du Lac spoke one sentence.
Five words.
Those five words saved the world. They directly led to the confirmation of Saber's origins, the unification of Britain, and the ascension of the legendary king, Arthur Pendragon. Those five words bested the TYPEs, ensured Gaia's survival, and destroyed Brunestud of the Crimson Moon. They led to the quest for the Holy Grail and the salvation of humanity.
They were never meant to be spoken. Only through retrocausality and the violation of the multiverse's laws could those words leave Lancelot's lips. They were words the king's foster father, Sir Ector, was never, ever meant to hear.
But heard them he did.
Fate/ess
Heard them he did, in a single, ominous, quiet breath.
Descent - 3
"I slept with Queen Guinevere."
THE CONFESSION
"After Sir Tristan spoke those words, he departed the Round Table. The queen came to me in distress, for I was the king's right hand, and Guinevere wished for some way to ease the burden on Artoria's shoulders."
He told them everything.
"Guinevere and I had long confided in each other, ever since the early days of my knighthood. I wished to live and die in the king's service. There was no higher honor or calling. The king was just. She was the greatest of us, who knew no fear, who confidently made decisions that would have left lesser men indecisive and troubled. Everything Artoria did, she did for Britain and its people. She was without a doubt the greatest king who ever lived."
He told them every last thing.
"But she was also a woman who fancied neither women nor men. The relationship she held with Guinevere was one of absolute necessity. The perfect king must also have a queen. They admired each other, and they were friends, but their mutual admiration was not love. Over time, the consultation I had with Guinevere became… romantic in nature. She told me the truth of the king's identity. I… I guarded the secret w-with my l-life, I assure thee!"
They said nothing. Sweat stung his eyes. He gulped down air and pressed on.
"S-Sir Agravain, the traitor, discovered the affair and exposed the queen to the public. Artoria never took offense. The king is perfect. Nothing… can offend the king! But… but to sate the people, she ordered Guinevere's death. I… I-I snapped, I… I l-loved her, so…! So I… I f-fought t-to free her. I… I k-killed Sir Gawain's s-siblings, Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth, and… a-and we f-fled to my father's estates in Benwick. My… my actions… t-tore apart the Round Table, and… and led to—"
"That is enough, Sir Lancelot."
He gulped down air, choked on his own spittle. His body shook as if mired by the sickness; Kay stumbled into a chair, lest his own legs fail him.
But Ector stood there, at peace with every lamentation the tormented knight voiced. He stroked his beard.
"You have come to me to be punished, have you not? Because I am her father, and you are indirectly responsible for her death. Tell me: what is it you desire? What do you think appropriate, Sir Lancelot? Lashings? Castration? Execution?"
Lancelot's head sank lower.
"Wh-Whatever it is you desire, m-milord!"
"Whatever I desire, eh? Very well, I have two desires. Firstly, I desire thee to cease thy shameless sobbing upon my floor. Secondly, I desire thee to recline in a proper chair before you throw out thy back."
Lancelot's mind blanked out. He went rigid.
"B-But… but I…!"
"You shall be punished, lad, once you sit down."
…
And so, the three of them sat around Ector's table. One stunned, the other crazed by grief, and the third with another Saber-caused migraine.
"Kay."
"…Aye, Father?"
"This came about through that suit of armor he left outside Lamorak's, aye?"
"I-It did, aye, though Lancelot appears to be the owner. Most who see it suffer the headaches. We believe he targeted Lancelot specifically, but until now I'd not figured the reason."
"Next time you see that blasted bodyguard, you tell him I want words."
"Very well, milord."
Ector huffed, turned to the traumatized knight.
"Hear that? You've already been punished."
In one ear, out the other. "I… I-I do not…"
"You drink mead, Lancelot?"
"—On o-occasion, m-milord…"
Ector nodded to Kay, who stood up to fetch some mugs and ready a brew. Fresh panic rolled through the Knight of the Lake like Vortigern himself.
"P-Please, milord, I-I—"
"Your punishment is to sit in this room with her father and make polite conversation until you get a hold of thyself and see the forest for its trees. There. That what you want, lad?"
A cruel and unusual punishment, and perhaps most fitting for a sinner such as he. Lancelot tried to ignore his parched throat.
"A-Aye…"
"Good. Now, if you're willing, open those ears and listen to this old man's bitching. I'll have thee know that blasted Saber has already seen fit to deliver to you your well-deserved punishment, and when I see him again, I'll thank him with one hand and punch him with the other, because it is unbecoming to lay ambushes within a castle before informing the retaining lord."
Lancelot decided that there was a reason for Sir Ector's continued survival, and that reason was the following:
Sir Ector was terrifying.
The sheer lack of a damn the man gave sent a chill down the knight's spine. He took the words at face value - words any other father would have murdered someone over. Lancelot caused his daughter's death, and here they sat, readying mead, making, quote-unquote, 'polite conversation'. Ector did not ramble, he did not stutter, his age had not affected his faculties in any way. The man had a plan, one Lancelot failed to comprehend. The lord was unreadable.
Was Merlin the lesser devil, or was Ector? A troubling thought. Kay returned with three mugs of chilled mead; Ector took a long sip before resuming.
"What'd you do in this old life of yours, Kay?"
Kay shifted in his seat. "I… L-Lancelot told me I ran, milord."
The grizzled veteran's bushy brow shot into his forehead. He nearly choked on his drink.
"You ran? What, I raise two daughters, not one? You have a pair swinging down there, boy, or didst thou fake thy manhood as well?"
Kay's face flushed with humiliation. He leaned over the table, teeth grit.
"If I knew why, do you think I'd just be sitting here, twiddling my dick, not knowing what to do about it?"
Ector pierced Lancelot with a chilling stare. "Why'd he run?"
"—I… n-never understood his reasons, truly, but if I were to h-hazard a guess, I daresay it was the simple fact that… the king tortured herself with her duty. The sister he knew disappeared."
Ector scoffed. "I see. Crisis averted, then."
Comprehension passed Lancelot by. He sipped at his mead, struggled to make sense of Ector's vague reply.
"Milord…?"
Ector sat his mug down.
"Do you know who Saber is, Sir Lancelot?"
"I do not."
"Would you like to know?"
…Ector knew.
Ector already knew everything. Saber told him. He knew his daughter's story, perhaps had for a while. Saber gave him the list of knights, that much was guaranteed. All Ector needed to do was put faces to names, and names to deeds and crimes. And now that he understood Lancelot's part in his daughter's downfall, he could begin to prevent everything before it happened. If they worked together, the three of them, they could curtail the mess long before it began.
"Do I need to, milord?"
"The bare basics, though he asked me to keep his full story to myself."
"Is he… important?"
"Calling that man 'important' would not do his role justice. He is King Arthur's greatest enemy."
G-Greatest—?!
"H-He is an enemy?!"
"Aye. He is the king's murderer. But at the same time, he is Artoria Pendragon's mightiest ally."
…
H-How…? How could he be both an enemy and a…
…Wait. The king… was a role… which meant—
"His name… is Shirou."
Hell froze over.
For Lancelot, on that day, hell froze over. The impossibility to end all impossibilities, the twist to surpass all twists. A mystery he never knew existed solved itself right before his eyes. Somehow, in some unforeseen fashion, Artoria Pendragon, King Arthur, mightiest and noblest of them all, perfection incarnate…
"She had a... lover...?"
…had a vice.
The exact same vice as Lancelot du Lac.
And Sir Ector took a sip of mead.
"When do you think she died, Sir Lancelot?"
His mind began to shut down. This conversation was the absolute height of treason, the definition of wrong. It simply could not be. King Arthur. The King Arthur?
"At the Battle of Camlann, milord."'
And Sir Ector put the mug down.
"Nay."
And Lancelot's brain imploded.
"She almost did, 'tis true. But as the story goes, at death's door she met a man who, against all odds, nursed her back to health. Idiots, both of them, awfully alike. They went on an adventure together, learned about each other, fell in love, were separated by witchcraft, died alone. In that order, if I am remembering things properly."
His heart stopped, his breathing halted, and Sir Ector just kept talking.
"Commoner boy, as I understand it. Foreigner, just as broken as she. Adds a wee bit of spice to the tale, aye? To him, she was not a failure of a king. She was just a girl with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove. And he became her rock, and the only thing she ever won."
Dozens of knights, an entire army, the love of a country and its people. And all it took was a… stranger? Someone unrelated, with no role in their tale? A footnote, an epilogue?
—Who better to judge their crimes?
Ector rapped his fingers on the wooden table.
"Your king will never punish thee, Lancelot, but he shall and has, for much the same reason you saw fit to butcher three of thy fellow knights. The things you carry in that head of yours - that is thy punishment, lad. You hurt Saber's woman. He knows your loyalty, she told him everything. 'Tis his way of protecting her from the future, methinks."
Lancelot focused on the other words. His voice came out a whisper.
"What do you mean? Why will she never punish me?"
He harrumphed.
"Use that head of yours, boy. She was the destined king, aye? Prophesied by the gods, or some similar horse-shite? I am not one to put much faith in witchcraft, but even I know a pair of star-crossed lovers when I see them."
Ector leaned his elbow on the table, stilled Lancelot with his knowing gaze.
"You say the queen is thy sin? That boy is hers. Hopeless romantics, both of you. Condemning you is condemning herself. And for that reason, I daresay the gods forbid her from meeting him while she wears the crown."
…
The implications were staggering. "Surely you are not saying—"
"Aye, I am. Did I stutter, lad? Saber is King Arthur's greatest enemy."
"I warned you, did I not? Servants are walking armies, milord, and Shirou is no exception. His power has grown tenfold since last I saw him. 'Twas him at his pinnacle, nothing less."
Like a bucket of ice water dumped directly onto his spine. Ector told him the blunt truth.
"I know that girl better than any of you put together. I raised her. You think I did not notice the way she looks at him? Please. I am her father, Lancelot, and I shall tell you this: you and your king are the same."
"I have their scent. Allow me pursuit, if it pleases you. I'll hound them yet. Worst case, it shall keep them from Camelot. Best case, the heir shall be at Tintagel's walls by month's end!"
"Were she to meet Saber during her reign, thy perfect 'King Arthur' would abdicate her responsibilities and elope."
Confusion Corner
no she wouldn't wtf
Sir Ector's usually a background character who exits the stage once the story moves on from Arthur's childhood; this includes Fate, where he's barely referenced beyond the footnote that he did his duty and raised Artoria as a knight and a king, per Merlin's instructions. And though Ector doesn't believe in the prophecy, he does as Merlin asks, as his intuition tells him that the girl should be trained. That's pretty much the extent of his character, in fact - that he does his duty, and he does it well. So I took that baseline concept and ran with it. In Fateless, Ector wasn't approached by Merlin, but by Archer, who, for reasons that should be readily clear, told him to raise Artoria not as a king, but as his daughter.
Ector's a scary fellow. He's one of the few characters who simply exits the narrative without a dramatic death or any major drama, and in a mythos filled to the brim with nothing but drama, such a quiet departure is, to me at least, quite noteworthy, because it means he didn't fuck up. He didn't make a mistake that later came back to bite him in the ass, like so many of the other knights. Despite serving as a knight in Uther's court, he manages to survive the conflict against Vortigern. Despite the sheer number of kings opposing Arthur's rise, never once is it mentioned that Ector is killed, or his lands burned. This carries over into the wild Excaliblast-infused chaos that is Nasuverse!King Arthur, where we don't even receive a character design for this seemingly normal knight caught in a tale of magical beasts, invading Saxons, and prophecies about dragons.
Until Lostbelt 6.
In Lostbelt 6, we finally receive a design for Sir Ector - a burly man with a thick beard and hard, observant eyes. We receive a nickname for him, too. "Ector the Immortal".
I admit learning his Lostbelt nickname gave me the biggest of shit-eating grins. Nasu and I, it seems, have the same idea regarding the old man's character - namely, that he isn't stupidly powerful, or actually immortal, or some invincible demigod.
Sir Ector is just really fucking smart.