It took less than an hour for Artoria's brother to piss her off.
Not through any fault of his own, but because Shirou knew that Arthur reminded Artoria of the way she used to be, with all the positives and negatives. He sat there on that log, and he watched them both. He watched Arthur detail his utterly impossible hopes and dreams. He watched Artoria stew in her misery, so close to another one of her volcanic outbursts. It built and built and refused to release, for the simple reason that she, more than anything else, did not want ruin their plans. She wanted to keep their secret, to let Arthur walk his lonely path, because doing so would absolve them both of any responsibility in the future kingdom's governance.
His adorable, temperamental glutton quivered in place, like an overinflated hot air balloon. Arthur probably thought her cheeks were naturally that puffy. If he wasn't so worried about her, he'd find it absolutely hysterical.
…
Exhibit self control, Shirou. Now wasn't the time to pinch her cheeks.
"And what will you do if people reject your claim?" he asked. "Quite a few cities in the southern regions want nothing to do with the Pendragons."
Arthur's smile didn't fade at all. "We are stronger united than we are separate. I hope for them to understand that."
Hah. He hoped.
"Wh—"
Shirou dropped his palm atop Artoria's head.
"—nrgh! S-Saber!"
He ignored her petulant exclamation. The last thing he needed was two Pendragons at each other's throats… again. Chaldea's bruises could stay in Chaldea, as far as he was concerned.
"Do you have a plan for when they refuse to see things your way?"
"I shall prove myself," Arthur replied. "A king leads from the front. It is my responsibility to shoulder the people's burdens, whatever they may be."
Far be it from Shirou to back away from a challenge, but even he recognized the difficulty inherent to this latest undertaking. Artoria had openings. Destined to be the king, yes, but living with Ector and Kay left cracks he was eventually able to pry open and exploit. They were the heroes responsible for her saving, not he, and he was glad he'd found the chance to, at the very least, tell Ector that his daughter managed to figure it out and win a personal, concrete victory.
But Arthur?
Eighteen years with Merlin, in the Reverse Side, cut off from all human contact. He and Artoria were the first people he'd ever interacted with, and… well, Shirou knew they weren't the most stable pair in the world. Nor were they in any position to critique Arthur's methodology, because in the end they'd just end up agreeing with him. Arthur was right. They both knew he was right. And the longer they talked, the more Shirou worried about slipping up and unintentionally affirming the young man's mindset. If the first two people he ever met pledged their assistance and acknowledged that yes, helping people was beautiful and was worth attempting, Arthur would go his entire life with the curtains drawn tight across his eyes, right up until he found himself on that bloody hill with Clarent claiming his life.
They needed Kay.
They needed Kay to verbally obliterate Arthur, the same way he did with Artoria, time and time again. They needed Ector to stare him down and force him to acknowledge the sheer weight of his noble task. Shirou knew how to exploit King Arthur's cracks; he didn't quite know how to create them.
"…And if those burdens require you sacrifice your life?"
But that didn't mean he wouldn't try. He refused to give up with Saber, which meant Arthur was worth the effort, too.
"I am prepared for that possibility," came the cool response. "It may be worth it, if it helps them see the larger picture. Britain will endure, and if it shan't, its rest will at least be peaceful. We need only unite in our efforts."
He appreciated Artoria's valiant attempts at remaining calm. He knew how difficult this was for her. Shirou made a mental note to cook her a larger than average lunch.
"It's a noble goal, to be sure, but people are more concerned with just surviving. No one cares about things like unity or kinship when they're living meal to meal. And fewer still will listen to one man alone, especially if he's a Pendragon."
Arthur cocked a golden brow. "'Tis the second time you've made mention of that. What role does my name play in these matters?"
Shirou shot Merlin a dubious, peeved look. The witch in question remained impressively impassive.
"—It's a long story," he grunted. "Suffice it to say that some powerful people do not consider the Pendragons worthy of the throne."
The young man hummed to himself. Took him less than a few seconds to note the additional challenge and forge ahead anyway, much to Shirou's chagrin.
"I see. 'Tis just one more thing I must handle, then, though I agree it may be too much for a single man alone. So! To that end!"
He clapped his hands together. His green eyes flashed. Warning sirens blared in Shirou's head, because Arthur now wore the same expression Saber did whenever she decided to commit to something, and hoo boy was that face scary on a male King Arthur.
"Knight Emiya!" he declared.
Oh crap, oh no, oh no no no—
"Would you join my cause, and lend me your blade?"
To say Shirou felt panic would be the understatement of the century, and not because he held any discomfort or dislike of working alongside Arthur, because he didn't. Rather, it was because—
"EXCUUUUUSE ME?!"
…
…She… Artoria was…
"Did I hear that correctly?! You wish to steal my Saber?!"
…Yeeaaahh...
Arthur blinked, the embodiment of good-natured kingliness; Shirou's terror escalated to unseen heights.
"Dear sister, 'tis rude to claim ownership of a person."
…
Artoria blanched. "That is not what I…!"
"Furthermore!" Arthur interrupted. "While I am most grateful that you have journeyed all this way to see me to my homeland safely, I do not dare operate under the presumption of your continued aid. You are under no obligation to bear my burdens or responsibilities. I am more than capable of handling things myself from here on out. To that end, I shall escort you home, if that is your wish, but I do ask that you let your stalwart guardian make his own decisions. His future should remain in his own hands."
…
Why did he have to be immortal, though. Dying was so nice. He loved dying! No more thoughts, or feelings, or fears of potentially witnessing Saber commit regicide for, quote-unquote, 'scabbard thievery'.
"You… you… you… you…"
Yep. Shirou totally wanted to die. Sorry, other-Saber, looked like this was the—ah, no, he couldn't say that. He needed to see her again. Drat. Looked like dying was off the table. Damn shame, that one.
Arthur, though? His life was in danger, he just didn't know yet. So he just kept digging himself deeper into the hole.
"Should your knight wish to swear himself to my cause, I shall of course take it upon myself to see to your safety. Once my forces are of a suitable number, or perhaps once the kingdom is secured, I shall see to it that you have the finest warriors escort you wherever you please. You are my sister, after all, and your safety is important to me."
Artoria went very quiet. Shirou offered an uncharacteristic prayer to whatever god would listen, for Arthur had struck at the core of the girl's person, whether he knew it or not. That core terrified Shirou; rarely glimpsed, it was one of the few known things guaranteed to deliver lethal amounts of physical or emotional distress. He personally categorized Artoria Pendragon's true self as a Beast-level threat, something worthy of Guardian or Grand-class intervention. Few things could survive such wrath, and Arthur was not one of them. He'd unleashed it, though, so Shirou just closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.
…
Three.
Two.
One.
"HAAAAAAAAAAH?!"
…
Yes, indeed: at the deepest, most personal level, beneath all the armor and dutiful stoicism of the one called the King of Knights, there lurked a diminutive peasant girl. And in her truest form, that peasant girl, that apocalyptic menace known as 'Artoria Pendragon'…
"—Under no conditions will I put on any underwear that has not been chosen by Shirou!"
"—Under no conditions shall I be guarded by someone other than Saber!"
…was an insufferable little brat.
On her feet, face beet red, canines bared, fists clenched down at her sides, fuming, like she'd just been denied her favorite meal. Which, technically, she had been, as Artoria across all her lives had always simply starved herself if he didn't personally make her meals. There she stood, glaring untold levels of violence down at the shocked Arthur, who, judging from his face, just realized he'd poked a dragon one too many times. Thus came the legendary freeloader, little miss Saber, who always got what she wanted, especially where he was concerned. And may the Counter Force have mercy on the enemies who said otherwise.
Because she definitely would not.
"I shall have you know, Arthur, that Shirou and I have known each other for a great many years, and he has already sworn himself to be my exclusive knight for all eternity! Therefore, following that unimpeachable logic, he simply cannot follow you to your silly murder sprees and conquest-a-thons, because he shall be far too busy being my knight and doing things I desire, like cooking for me, or training with me, or engaging in other such activities with me that are completely unrelated to the securing of thy throne!"
Less terror, more acute concern. The uncharacteristic outburst told Shirou that whatever Artoria saw during her merge had fundamentally fractured her sense of self. Her pride as a king and knight. The girl was a timid introvert, one who refused to talk about her personal feelings with anyone other than himself. It was far outside the norm for her to announce her intentions and declare something just short of a full-blown confession to someone she'd known for less than a day, alternate male self or not. She'd retreated to the one bit of safe ground she still had: her connection with him, her role as his Servant and now his Master.
But if that was the case, why did she react adversely to her 'Saber' moniker? Something was up, and Shirou meant to get to the bottom of it. Time to put a stop to this. If Arthur pressed her further, actual violence was a real possibility.
"Mfufu, it seems we have reached an impasse, hm?"
—That witch.
Damn it, she knew! She had no right, this was his business, not hers!
"Merlin, whatever you're—"
"Be not a spoilsport, Archer. Your answers will come eventually."
Hell no. He prepared his rebuttal, but she'd piqued Arthur's curiosity.
"M-Merlin?"
"My king, in times such as these, is it not appropriate to challenge the liege for the right to rule? Spar with your sister. Winner claims the red knight, hm?"
Artoria's golden irises glinted with intent of purpose, that same steeled willpower she radiated for the entirety of her reign as king. With a silent snarl, her hand flung out to the side, palm out and waiting.
"Saber: Bakuya."
She was going to flat out murder her brother before his legend even began. He saw it on her face.
"Artoria, you need to relax."
The former king swallowed her broken hiss.
"Bakuya. Please."
…
Gan Jiang and Mo Ye. Commissioned by the king, but the furnace failed to melt the metal. Mo Ye threw herself into the furnace; her sacrifice made their forging possible, and the two swords ascended to the realm of the gods. Black and white, yang and yin, married blades separated yet drawn together.
Artoria's fingers curled around the sword's hilt. Arthur stood from his log with a sigh and made to draw his own blade, but Merlin stopped him with a wave of her hand. She turned to Shirou.
"Give him the other."
Shirou couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Artoria so offended.
"He does not have the right!"
The witch craned a delicate eyebrow.
"Do you?"
She shuddered, back stiff, like someone just poured ice water down her tunic. Her shaken sword arm went limp at her side, but she refused to drop the weapon. If anything, her grip just tightened until her knuckles turned white.
"—N-Nay… I…"
…
"Arthur," Shirou grunted. "Hold out your hand."
He did so. A soft turquoise glow announced Kanshou's arrival. The heir's grip was awkward, but he adjusted to the unfamiliar weapon as only the legendary Arthur Pendragon could. He turned it over in his hand, admiring the quality.
"…You really are a conjurer."
Shirou closed his eyes and bowed his head at the young man's awed whisper.
"I am. There is… no one else like me!"
If Arthur detected the overwhelming sarcasm, the sheer lack of pride in those words, his face didn't show it. The longer he stared at Kanshou, the more his resolve hardened.
"Do you have… more? Enough for a few dozen men, perhaps?"
…
"—I have far more than that."
Arthur sucked in a breath. His words came out fast, almost desperate.
"Does conjuring give you pain? Does it exhaust you? Does it destroy your body, or ruin your spirit? Does it… does shatter your mind, or cost you things you consider nonnegotiable?"
…
"Ah… Shi-rou…?"
…
Artoria verged near tears. She stared him down, lips drawn tight and face far too pale even for her Altered state. He saw her desperate plea in the stress lines across her forehead and the bags underneath her eyes.
'The answer is yes. Please tell him yes.'
But if he couldn't lie to Artoria, he couldn't lie to Arthur, either. Because they were the same.
"…Not anymore."
And the future king's jaw set, and a moment later he walked clear of the camp to stand across his sister. He fell into his own stance.
"I need not sacrifice any villages. I need not lose any men. I understand your attachment to him, Artoria, but this is… for the best."
Artoria's footwraps dug into the cold dirt. Her sword arm flexed.
"Nay. You understand nothing, you naive fool."
Do not let them kill each other.
Understood.
Very well.
"Then tell me what I misunderstand. From my perspective, you chain a man capable of bringing my people salvation, and you do so for your own personal, selfish reasons. Surely you can see my reasoning here, Artoria. Families stay together. Men are not sent off to war in defense of villages not their own. More bodies can help with food production. Ores can be used for fortifications, not weapons! One man, Artoria! One man, capable of all that!"
Everything Arthur said was completely correct. Shirou agreed with him in full; given the situation, it was without a doubt the right decision to make. Perfect, even. If he flexed the power Alaya granted him, he could secure Arthur's reign within ten seconds, maybe less. Give him his throne right now, without ever touching the Sword in the Stone. Not a single man dead, every opposing force disarmed and forced to submit out of fear for their own lives. Not a drop of blood spilled. A truly utopian tyranny.
…
But…
"I do not care."
The coldest chill of his life crawled up his spine. It washed over his mind like an Antarctic tsunami. Never did Shirou think she'd ever say those four words. Not together, not like that, not that softly or with that much determination.
Artoria's grip threatened to crack Bakuya's hilt. She never held Excalibur that way. If she dropped that sword, her whole life was forfeit. That was her thinking.
"I could not care less about your perspective, Arthur. They can all die. They will die. Again, again, again. You, your knights, your people and your cities… you will come to know the fires and the screams. But not him. He's seen too much. You asked him if he considered something nonnegotiable, aye?"
The look he saw that day, he'd never forget. The one emotion he had never, across all his lives, seen on her face:
Hatred.
"Well, Shirou is mine."
She aimed Bakuya, pointed it between her brother's… between King Arthur's eyes. Her right leg shifted behind her left, her knees bent, she pulled her elbow back and stared him down from the length of the blade's spine.
"If you take him from me, I will kill you."
Artoria really did not know how to talk to people. Fine. Time to see just how similar these two really were. If his two pieces could communicate, then perhaps, using Kanshou and Bakuya's inherent emptiness, they could…
Ah. A good hypothesis. Very well, resuming control. Everyone ready?
Ready.
Awaiting command.
Arthur released a slow, relaxing breath. His eyes flicked to Merlin.
"I see. This is a test. You brought my sister here with the knight necessary for my success, but I am not allowed both. I must choose, is that it? A family or a kingdom."
Merlin hummed. "An apt observation, my king."
His lips parted less than an inch, perhaps to offer a response. The air cracked, a white blade blurred, and Arthur ducked low. Bakuya sliced the air's molecules overhead, exactly where his neck had been not a second prior. His jaw clenched.
"—Very well."
Up came Kanshou, aimed for her unprotected chest. Bakuya reversed course and dragged Artoria's hands with it. Both swords connected in a blinding bolt of lightning. Arthur blinked, frowned, but nevertheless pulled his arms back and directed Kanshou into a stab. Artoria did the same, for they were the same, and they fought the same, too.
"Shir—?!"
"Wha…?"
But the two swords did their job, and he wouldn't let them kill each other. He caught the weapons with his hands; Arthur shuddered when Kanshou scraped against a palm of steel and not flesh.
Artoria backed away, shaken. His projections returned from whence they came. The girl began to hyperventilate again, with that thousand yard stare that reminded him so much of himself, so he grabbed her wrists and pulled her into his chest and wrapped her up in his arms. Her eyes squeezed shut. All Shirou could do was sigh.
"—You didn't hurt me. I'm alright."
"But… but I…!"
"Artoria."
"…?"
"Thank you."
The stress dropped from her shoulders like an anvil. Artoria shuddered, buried her face in his tunic as much as physically possible. Shirou turned to Arthur, who seemed lost in his own head. Many questions, probably, but for now he had a Saber to decompress.
"My answer is no, Arthur."
The heir blinked. It took him a moment to process the words.
"…You are perhaps the strongest warrior in Britain, yet you refuse to exercise your power. I wish to know why, if it does not displease you."
Him? The strongest? Shirou didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"There are many stronger than I am. Some are alive right now, actually. I'll tell you about them later, if you want."
…
"You… did not answer my question."
Couldn't hide from him, either. Tch. Pendragons.
"—We've seen too much. She and I… have… well."
He stroked her head from where her bangs parted, down to her ponytail. So small, so strong. How was it that such a tiny thing bore so much weight, time after time again? No matter the reality, no matter the decisions made, there she was to see it through to the end. When push came to shove, it was always Artoria. He was glad that like this she was able to relax. Shirou failed to hide his smile.
"It gets to a point where everyone you know ends up dying. So when you meet someone who doesn't, someone who always claws their way back to your side and says, 'Don't worry, I'm still here!', you get attached. You rely on them. Trust them. You just want to keep that person alive."
He knew Arthur saw the way Artoria's trembling fists clawed at his tunic. He also knew Arthur didn't quite get it. Not yet.
"Listen, Arthur. I'll tell you the secret."
"The secret?"
"Yeah. The secret to being human. It's important."
Merlin leaned forward on her log. As always, she knew. She had a reason. It really was a test, and her precious king failed. But failure made for a good learning opportunity, and if nothing else, they were in this world to provide an example of what happened when King Arthur went too far.
"Every person in this world has a connection more important than their own lives. Most of the time, it's another person. A friend, or something similar. For that person, that special someone's life outweighs everything else. For me, that's Artoria. So I'll help you, but I'll do so on my own terms and in my own way. My obligations are elsewhere."
…This silly girl. Honestly, the way she shook, like he'd just told her he rented out an entire five-star restaurant. The King of Knights? Pfft, couldn't harm a fly. He bit back his laugh.
"I already have a king I serve. I'm taken. Sorry."
Arthur finally seemed to relent. "…I see. I cannot say I am not disappointed, but… I would be grateful for whatever help you deign to offer, Sir Emiya."
Sir?
"Shirou, Saber, Arch—ow!"
Artoria stopped pinching him. She shook her head against his tunic. He sighed.
"Shirou or Saber is fine. If you want a title, use the latter. I've never been a knight."
…
"—You're my knight, Shirou."
Barely audible, but all present still heard her quiet rebuttal. With that, Shirou rolled his eyes and lifted the girl up into a carry. Her arms circled his neck, her thighs tightened into a death grip around his waist. She locked her ankles together. The red knight turned on his heel and walked back towards the tent.
"Yeah, well, I suppose you're an exception."
Arthur watched them depart. Artoria pulled her head from the crook of his neck long enough to shoot her brother a withering, piercing glare from over Shirou's shoulder. The heir stilled at the girl's red and puffy eyes. She looked downright exhausted. Felt that way too, apparently, because the moment lasted for half a second, after which she again buried her face. They entered the tent soon after.
Left alone with his thoughts, the king-to-be turned to his omnipresent companion. The witch voiced his question for him.
"What did you see, my king?"
…
"A hill of bodies, one of which was my own."
"And with him?"
…
Arthur stared at his right palm. The cool morning's breeze tousled his hair.
"—A girl near death, wounded by a strange lance. Brown hair, with conjoined metal frames over her eyes."
"Ah, I see."
He frowned at the vague answer and turned to face her fully.
"Do you know of her, Merlin?"
The witch only offered a smile.
"A story for another day, my king."
"…Is this not Londinium?"
Richard scoffed. They would pay for this. Angle or Saxon or Briton - in the end, all bodies were the same. The oh-so familiar stench of death washed over the two Servants, as did the ash and smoke of the former city's charred rubble.
"Was. Was Londinium, but we are in the right place, I suppose."
Heracles nodded. "The Liners went north, if these Grain signatures are to be believed. I suggest we return to our guard. We must find some way to divert them around this place."
Yes, a wise decision, typical of the Son of Zeus. Richard enjoyed his company, all things considered, unexpected though it was in the wake of the one called Alcides. How odd. The same man, ever so different! He'd never been one for Greek mythology, but perhaps he could spare some time after he saw his king off to her legendary reunion.
"That name, 'Liners' - why do you call them that? What does it mean?"
Heracles' beady eyes scanned the horizon.
"As I understand, it is an etymological contraction of the phrase, 'to line the ether blade', as in to coat a weapon with the substance called Grain. It marks an individual capable of utilizing the poison for their own purposes."
Richard clucked his tongue. "And where did you learn of this?"
"My Berserker self brought back the information following a deployment to the end of the world. My Spirit noted the tale as peculiar, and endeavored to immortalize the Servant's record with the utmost haste, in case such knowledge was required again."
"I shall do the same, then. If I may be so bold, when we have some free time, I would appreciate you writing down all that you remember for my later study."
"Of course," Heracles nodded. "In which direction is the King of Knights?"
"To our northwest, I believe, if Rhongomyniad's usage was any indication. These so-called Liners may be in pursuit."
"I assume them to be. For now, I suggest we maintain our vigil over the chalice's keepers until they reach that city you mentioned. Canterbury, you called it?"
"Yes, the Archdiocese, though I fear for their safety given the circumstances. I admit I must contain myself - I yearn to meet my king."
Heracles cracked a rare smile.
"The Archer aids her. Her life is not imperiled. Our time is better spent securing the relic."
"You've yet to tell me who this man is."
"I cannot tell you because I know little of him myself."
A golden eyebrow shot skyward. "Then how might you consider him an ally?"
"In life, your king was summoned as a Servant, and the Archer was her Master. My Berserker self fought them each multiple times, on separate occasions. Quite the interesting tale. He and I have much to discuss, but I dare not explain a legend of which I know little. His time is well after mine."
His words gave Richard pause; he leaned his weight against Marmyadose with a thoughtful hum.
"Fascinating. My interest is certainly piqued! Let's get on with this, then, so we might unite with them all the sooner."
"Indeed."
The two men turned—
"Hrm?"
"…?!"
—to find a black knight sitting upon a shattered stone wall, flicking a pebble into the smoking ruins. His decrepit helmet shifted.
"—Ah. Mind me not."
Voracious student of the legends that Richard was, a mere glance told him the stranger's identity. He readied Marmyadose and swallowed not an insignificant amount of nervous spittle. Not a fight he'd expected, surely, but there was no point being intimidated.
"State your business."
Heracles took stock of the situation quick enough. The Bow of Hydra coalesced in his hand.
But the black knight didn't move. He leaned his armored elbows down onto the knees of his greaves, and turned his gaze southward, back towards the ocean.
"My business, eh? Yes, that's what this is. Business."
The Lionheart took a steadying breath. "We've not the time for your riddles. You know of the situation, I'm sure. Are you… are you a… friend…?"
…
"'Friend'?"
He stood to face them. Richard took a step back. Not a single blink. Blinking meant death. He'd studied this one, he knew his quarrelsome nature. Not to be trifled with, but perhaps with Marmyadose…
"There is no such thing. There is only the World, and them."
…
Richard couldn't believe his ears.
"…What?"
"Heed me well, Wandering King, for your role is more important than you realize. The situation is as follows: I allow those brats to murder the rock in the sky, and in return, all of you scurrying rodents leave my island. Leave this planet. Forever. All of the antagonism and idealistic idiocy leads to this war. Gaia was training your precious king. Go ask that bitch Vivian if you want the details. Got it? Good."
And just like that, he turned and walked away. Richard's legs threatened to give out, but he held himself upright long enough to ask a follow up question.
"—Why tell me?"
"You're the messenger, little princeling. That's what you wanted, aye? To see her journey's end. Play your part well and you just might get your pathetic wish! The Archbishop of Canterbury will ask them to relocate to Corbenic. See the chalice there… oh, and try to behave around the brat's knights, when you meet them. They're nice and vicious this time around."
Every word the man spoke brought Richard closer to a full blown panic attack. Of all the people to aid him, the last person he expected was—
The knight dissolved into black wisps and white fire.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a crystalline iceberg to stall. Tell the brat the vampires are besieging Cameliard. Bye."
Gone with the wind. Marmyadose clattered to the ground. Heracles lowered his bow with a scowl.
"I admit I am unfamiliar with her legend. Was that him?"
The Lionheart dropped to a trembling knee. Sweat dampened his forehead; he ran his hand through his hair with a shaky breath.
"Y-Yes."
Of all the people.
"That… was Vortigern."
Planet: Earth(?)
Branch: [NULL?]
Twig: [NULL?]
Year: [NULL?]
Location: The Inner Sea
FORGE UNIT "AVALON"
…
…
"WAAAAAAAAAAAH—!"
Down the screeching thing streaked. The blonde meteorite smashed into the field of flowers on the tower's outskirts, bounced, tumbled, ricocheted off a floating rock like a ping-pong ball, crashed face-first into a certain unseen king's favorite lounging tree. Everything in Avalon was indestructible, of course, so said tree suffered no damage, save the slight rustling of its branches and leaves. A defeated whimper drifted on the breeze.
"Owie…"
Caster Artoria pried her poor face off the bark, ego bruised in place of her body. She knew by this point that Merlin was the reason behind her violent reentries into Avalon. She didn't know how, she didn't know why, she just knew. Because when in doubt, the wizard was to blame.
Speaking of which…
"Welcome back, little mage~! Ah! Did you not enter the Throne?"
She leveled her staff.
"You piece of shiiiiiiiiit!"
Merlin ducked, and across utopia streaked the malevolent ethereal sword. They both paid no mind to the visceral flash that momentarily illuminated the horizon. Excalibur's latent magical energy dissolved back into the surroundings, leaving Caster her normal self. Her normal, pissed off self. She adjusted her oversized hat.
"What's the big idea, you stupid bag of flowers?! You knew I'd bounce, didn't you! Blasted thing threw me out like a rotten piece of chicken and sent me right back here! Why didn't you tell me ahead of time?!"
Merlin just laughed. "But that's so boring!"
"I'll show you boring! Hold still! This next one will surely connect with that empty skull of yours!"
And so, the girl took it upon herself to fling who knew how many spells and incantations at the stupid wizard's face, all of which he dodged without a care. His insufferable smile grew wider.
"Hey, hey! Did you do what I asked? Did you say the thing?"
The spell slinging ceased. She put a hand on her hip with a huff.
"Exactly as you told me to! Who was that Lucius guy, anyway? Did my other self really fight someone like that?"
"Indeed she did! And did you manage to maintain contact with your body?"
…
"The… the Th-Throne reclaimed it again…"
Merlin waited for her to finish; Caster squared her shoulders a bit and tightened her grip on her staff.
"B-But I g-gave that Marmyadose to that Servant, s-so I think if I practice more I can… I… should be able to…"
The wizard ignored ever last bit of her latent pessimism and doubt. Seriously, what was it with her? Slayer of a zombified god, ringer of six bells, Fairy of Paradise herself, and the poor Fae still looked like she would fall over in a stiff breeze!
"Ah! Well done! Everything is going exactly as we planned~! That silly gentleman will use the sword quite well! Yes, quite well! Hoho!"
But Caster didn't share the mage's exuberance. Frustrated, she kicked at the grass with her foot, eyes downcast.
"Hey, M-Merlin?"
"Hm?"
"What… um… what happened to R-Ritsuka and Mash? They… didn't recognize me, so…"
An unfortunate side effect of ascension to Guardianship: the removal from time's weave. Having been pulled into the service of the Counter Force, Fujimaru and Kyrielight, like Archer before them, experienced thousands of years and deployments in the time it took for a mortal man to sneeze. The mind only remembered so much; things had to give, priorities needed to be made, and the personal relationships of their living selves ranked, unfortunately, near the bottom of that list. Though from Merlin's perspective not a year had passed between the Ether Liners' sacrifice and the present, to those two it was perhaps hundreds, if not thousands or millions of years. The deployment Caster participated in, atop the condensed Age of Man…
Well, it wasn't Fujimaru and Kyrielight's first, to say the least, and none of that took into consideration Fujimaru's latent tunnel vision for his Shielder, to the possible… detriment of a select few others.
Merlin - being Merlin - succinctly summed this up with a well-worded, carefully phrased, empathetic sentence.
"Oh, they died!"
Nice job, Merlin! Proud of you.
Caster reacted as expected. Her heart dropped; the poor girl verged on tears.
"They… d-died?"
"They did! Their human bodies vanished when the lovely Archetype culled that Lostbelt! And then, wahoo! Counter Force, to the rescue~!"
Quite the odd conversation. Caster felt nothing but grief and pain, as warranted by the news that her first friends were dead. It reminded her of her own situation - her true self, her mortal body, was forever linked to Avalon, with the empty shell she sacrificed given over to the Throne. Ritsuka and Mash didn't get their Avalon. They got slavery. An ironic fate for two people who had done so much and killed so many to protect the planet's proper history.
Merlin, on the other hand, didn't care. At all. Fujimaru and Kyrielight had always been tools, vessels through which the Counter Force channeled its desperation. They functioned as Guardians in life, they served as Guardians in death. Nothing about their situation changed, and indeed, it was good that Alaya brought them into the fold, because it allowed Merlin to focus on the one thing that actually mattered:
Making his cute king happy!
Not the lookalike Fae, his actual king. Among Artoria's disparate fragments, Caster was… well, though he loathed to admit it, she was Artoria, she was just quirky Artoria. Twisted, backwards, in need of correction. Or perhaps it was because of her role? Eh, tomato tomahto. Fairy instead of dragon, mage instead of king. That silly Lostbelt's influence - that whole timeline's influence, ugh - ran deep with her, and screwed things up big time, to the point where some random blacksmith hijacked her scabbard's body. Imagine his king not meeting her scabbard! He blamed the Fae, personally. 'Oh, maybe the situation can be rectified by just not forging the unified Excalibur! Oh, maybe summoning the Grand Saber in the first place is what causes the problems with the Moon!' Caledfwlch was the solution, darn it! Did they hear themselves sometimes? Did they hear Brunestud laughing? Because Brunestud was laughing!
Agh, honestly. The whole situation gave Merlin so much stress. But, well, they had one path forward, so it wasn't like there were any alternatives. Poor Caster just needed some help, was all.
"If… if he was in that much trouble, why didn't you…?"
She didn't get it, not yet. But she would!
"'Twas not your role, my dear."
Merlin deflected the conversation from the actual truth, of course: the Ether Liners would've bent the knee and sworn their eternal fealty the moment they saw Caster's face. Reverence for the High Spark's woman came second only to reverence for the High Spark himself. Indeed, several Seats dedicated their ceaseless zealotry to understanding and espousing Artoria Pendragon's role in their sacred myths. Who knew what lengths they'd go to, what impossible feats they'd perform, if they actually saw her. Merlin shuddered at the thought.
"It's my job to help my friends and allies! They helped me! He and I are… we're s-similar, you know! It's only right for me to help them in return!"
"Eh~? Friends who let you sacrifice yourself to become Excalibur with nary a word of complaint~! Indeed, 'tis some understanding~!"
Caster stilled. Her fists clenched at her sides.
"…Don't talk bad about him. He's… he's the only one who…!"
…
"Artoria."
"—What?"
"There is not a single soul in this world…"
And Merlin just grinned. Wide and toothy.
"…who understands you."
He called her 'Artoria'. Her teeth grit. A pained whisper died in her throat.
"Are you talking to me or her?"
Completely ignored. Merlin cared far too much, and not a single flicker of that passion made it to his face.
"Not even I fully comprehend you, hm? Yours is a radiant beauty, far too brilliant for some foolish pawn of Alaya to behold. Perhaps he sympathized with you a bit? I don't know what sympathy is, but I'm sure it's possible~! Nay, my dear, you will always be alone. You have naught else but a sword and a scabbard!"
"…What scabbard? Excalibur doesn't have one."
She bit out the reply as if answering some cruel joke. Her eyes narrowed when Merlin summoned that golden orb, Excalibur's untamed essence, as if he had any right to hold it. He held it out to her, its power flickering.
"Would you like to see?"
Everything he did pissed her off.
"I gave that to Mash. Don't take Muramasa's things, you creep."
"Eh~? Muramasa's the thief, though!"
She was this close to making him a smear in the field. Caster leveled her staff at the wizard's forehead.
"Don't insult Gramps!"
His smile only widened.
"Awfully protective, hm~? I wonder why!"
"Because he's Gramps! He's family, and he gave his life for that so I wouldn't have to! I won't let you desecrate his sacrifice!"
There was something off about this whole situation, but for the life of her, Caster couldn't figure it out. What did the obnoxious idiot want her to do? Why was he being so much more antagonistic than normal? What was he playing at? Merlin did things for a reason, there was always a reason, so what in the world was with that stupid smirk on his stupid face?!
"Spit it out already!" she hissed. "What do you want me to do?!"
"I want you to touch it."
Some sort of test. Or a prank. Probably a prank. Caster edged forward, guard raised, and touched her palm to the orb—
Blackened, charred wastes. A hill of scorched swords. The world on fire, the air full of ash, and all she heard were hammers to an anvil.
Was this… Avalon's forge? But… no, it couldn't be, so… where was she?
"Didn't expect you to show up at a time like this, heh."
"You need my help."
She coughed, she sputtered, she pushed her way past the flames and her own confusion. Up the hill, its peak surrounded by seventy-eight silent, watchful weapons - observers and protectors, owned by unknown guardians.
"Lookin' down on this old smith, kid? I can manage."
Muramasa. Old man Senji Muramasa, his true self, voice raspy and beard bleach white. Callused, wrinkled hands held a hammer in a lose but comfortable grip. Caster recognized his manner of speech, but not anything else. A shade stood opposite the elder smith, on the other side of the charred anvil, its red form unrecognizable and fluctuating.
"You don't know how to make it, old man."
Through its hollow echo, Caster heard Muramasa's voice. The voice she knew, filled with different inflections and dialogue. Blunter. Ruder. No respect for seniority, nothing polite or humble. She didn't understand. Why was Muramasa talking to… himself? A different version of himself?
"I'll ask Hephaestus."
"He doesn't know either."
"And you do?"
…
The shade's arm entered its chest; when it returned, it held an object. A triangular object, suffused in golden warmth. All at once its wavering form coagulated into something far more concrete, a person Caster knew.
Muramasa. It was Muramasa.
"—Yeah."
It wasn't Muramasa.
Red hair and eyes of copper. The same physique, the same exact body, but entirely different from her curmudgeonly traveling partner. Different posture, a different gleam in his gaze. The person held himself less like a human or fairy and more like a weapon. Stiffly. Shoulders squared, muscles coiled, reeking of sleepless trauma and aloof intensity. Nothing about him was relaxed. His free hand was empty, yet still seemed to coil around some invisible sword. A turquoise glimmer flashed like lightning; sure enough, that same hand now held an exact copy of Muramasa's hammer. His words contained no joviality, but great warmth. He was a walking contradiction.
"I want you to help her."
Caster couldn't take her eyes off him, much in the same way a cat refused to look away from a potential threat. Nothing about him made sense. She had Ritsuka pegged in a few hours, same with Muramasa. But this body double reminded her of Oberon, and she didn't know why. Just who was he? He wasn't Muramasa, but why did they have the same body? Was he an enemy or an ally? Why did he want to help her? He was a complete stranger!
"That thing has its blueprint, I take it?"
"It does."
"Put it here. You're aware this'll kill us, yeah?"
"—She needs her sword."
"…Heh. Ya really gotta get that head o' yours checked one of these days, kid."
"Sure thing, old man. Sword first."
Muramasa barked out a laugh. The strange object melted into a clump of golden magic, and their expert hands soon had it shaped into a molten blade. To Caster's surprise, the strange boy was a proficient smith. Not quite Muramasa's equal, but more than capable of carrying his weight. He knew the sword better than his elder. He gave the directions while the veteran performed his art. Hephaestus' divine might swirled around the hill of blades, suffused the masterwork, brought it higher and higher into the realm of Divine Constructs. Man and god. Human and spirit. A sword of mortal hope crafted far too late in time.
"It's double-edged?" asked the old smith.
"Standard European longsword. One hundred and six centimeters from pommel to tip. The blade is ninety centimeters long and twelve centimeters wi—"
The divine energy burst forth and reduced the sword to its basest properties. The swirling wind lacerated its smiths, tore at their clothes. These two men weren't strong enough to forge such a construct, even with Hephaestus' help. Muramasa clucked his tongue as he moved to control the damage.
"—Damn thing," he grunted. "It knows we're not her, eh?"
The boy wasn't surprised. "It belongs to Saber. She's the wielder, not us."
"We'll stabilize it. Those brats might find some way to harness it later."
"Use my Reality Marble."
…
His words brought Muramasa to momentary silence; the old smith couldn't believe what he heard. But then he barked out a gruff chortle, shook his head in disbelief.
"So that's the way it is? You're insane, kid. It'll cost the Saint Graph."
"The blade works are my body, my body is adapted to Avalon. We don't have a choice. She needs her sword."
"Ah, spoken like a true Muramasa! Come! We've work to do!"
Down came their hammers. Every blow sent rippling cracks through their world's foundation. Blood stained Muramasa's white beard. It leaked from the boy's nostrils. Neither man cared. Clang. Clang. Clang.
Stabilizing a divine construct's essence would kill them.
"Hey, old man."
"Hm?"
"If we survive this, I'd like you to make her that hairpin next."
"Should I make you a pair o' them wedding rings, too?"
"Shut up."
"Haha!"
And the instant Caster came to that conclusion, the truth froze her in place: the item the boy retrieved was the scabbard Merlin mentioned, a scabbard of which she'd never heard or known. This weird boy somehow knew who she was. He knew Excalibur. This complete stranger…
He turned, then, as his hammer pounded the molten magic. Those eyes glinted like polished bronze. They saw right through her; just like that, he had her measure. He knew all her doubts, all her faults, the burden of her many responsibilities. Somehow, despite the inherent impossibility, despite this being a vision, despite these two men already being dead and gone…
Clang. Clang. Clang.
He was killing himself.
The boy with no name confronted Muramasa, and chose to kill himself.
So she didn't have to.
Every single swing of his hammer further destroyed his body.
Why, then, did he still keep swinging?
His eyes were swords, and she was impaled. Goosebumps rose across her arms and neck, for the look he wore terrified her. A thousand-yard stare at nothing and everything, empty and fake and so full of life. She didn't know his name, she didn't know who he was or why he chose to help her. But she nevertheless came to the conclusion, as they forged that holy sword atop that crumbling hill of blades, that this strange person, no matter his motives…
Clang.
"—It's fine, Saber."
…was completely…
Clang.
"I know your sword better than I know myself."
…and utterly…
Clang.
"So don't worry. Your gramps and I will handle it."
…insane.
CLANG—
Fate/ess
Return - 2
A MONSTER AND HIS GODDESS
Caster stumbled back.
She needed distance. She needed space to think and breath. The girl huffed down air, her body's weight against her staff, gloved hands squeezed tight to ward off the trembles. Merlin used weakness to his advantage; she'd show none. Whatever that was, it wasn't real. Muramasa was Muramasa. An idiot, to be sure, but a kind old man and a watchful guardian she trusted. He wasn't suicidal. He definitely wasn't suicidal, so those things she saw weren't—
"Does he scare you?"
…
"I d-don't know what you're t-talking about," she whispered.
"Hoho! Says the living embodiment of the connection they share~! Hey, hey! Would you like to know a secret, miss Excalibur?"
Her eyes narrowed. But before she gave voice to her retort, the essence she gave to Mash bled from Merlin's grip and flowed like a waterfall into the field of flowers. A ring of light spread out from that point of impact; it blasted into Caster, sliced the wind from her lungs, expanded outward across the beautiful landscape. Merlin's head tilted. With a fake sort of cheer did he drop that callous bombshell.
"The caged person you were supposed to meet that day…"
And when Caster blinked, every single beautiful flower…
"…was not Senji Muramasa."
…was the sword that old man tried to smith.
"There are many Excaliburs," Merlin explained. "But only one Avalon! The swords all fit inside the same sheath! Ah~! Isn't that romantic~?"
Everything about this was screwed up. She just wanted to see Ritsuka again, she just wanted to help her friends and honor Gramps' memory. What was the point? What did the stupid wizard want? Sure, alright, so there was something strange about the body Gramps inhabited. So what?
"Get on with it, then! Tell me his name already, if he's so important!"
Her words froze Merlin in place. His eyes closed, his lips pulled into an actually genuine smile. All at once those annoying petals peeled away from his person. His reply carried far.
"'Tis not my place to say, child."
Caster's vision blacked out. Right by her ear: a whisper.
"So ask her instead."
…
…
Her eyesight returned. And there, in Merlin's place, among those flowers-turned-swords—
"Y-You…?!"
Her voice lodged in her throat. That person from her visions, the one who stood alone. That perfect, miserable king she'd tried so long to avoid. But she wore a smile Caster couldn't comprehend. Why a dress? What happened to her armor? Why here, why now? She shouldn't be able to see this person, so…!
"Hello, Caster."
…
"Y-You know w-who I am?"
Her legs wobbled, she took a step back. The king's smile was the sun.
"Yes, of course. Why would I not? You are me. If I was a fairy, I mean."
She'd always wanted to meet her. She'd always wanted to run away. She had so many questions for this king she couldn't accept. What was her favorite food? Did she know Ritsuka? Gramps or Oberon? What was her life like? How did she meet the Round Table? Why did she go so far for so little reward? Why didn't she stop? How did she bear the burden, how did she not break down and give up?
"U-Um! Um, I… I-I am… h-honored to f-finally make your a-acquaintance, y-y-your majestyyyy!"
She bowed. Bent ninety degrees at the waist. Her face sizzled. Soft, bell-like laughter washed away her embarrassment.
"—I am retired, you know. Naught else but a simple farm girl awaiting her beloved's return. You need not bow."
Eh? E-Eh?! Then…!
"Then… u-um! W-What should… I…?"
She straightened so fast she might've popped a vertebrae. Awkward and out of place, Caster fumbled with her staff as a distraction. She didn't know where to look. The grass, maybe. The grass was good.
But the woman approached in her flowing white dress, through that field of swords. Her fingers trailed along their pommels and hilts, each blade reflecting a different image. Her in armor. Her as an Alter. Her with an older body. All of them aspects, all of them shards seeking that utopian ideal this person represented. One of them was Caster herself, and that threw her for a loop. She seriously wasn't the King of Knights! She didn't want to be the King of Knights! So how was this person really herself? Could she really… be like her? How was that possible, when the woman in front of her was… was so…
Caster's breath left her. She swallowed her nerves. A vain gesture, because this person was a goddess.
"Who… are you?"
And her pale, callused hands clasped Caster's own, and she brought them to her chest. Incomprehensible flashes of an impossible, miraculous life danced in Caster's vision for but a single second; when she blinked them away, she found the woman in white gracing her with the happiest, most joyous smile she'd ever seen. Her eyes closed, her head tilted.
"You may call me Saber."
Confusion Corner
the prodigal fairy returns
Back before we knew a single word of Lostbelt 6, Castoria was promoted as "Artoria who wasn't King Arthur"; for reasons that should now be readily obvious, this girl, for the longest time, scared the absolute bajeezus out of me. I wrote large swaths of Fateless with Lostbelt 6's unknown plot hanging over my head like a proverbial guillotine, and had Nasu seriously gone where I desperately prayed he wouldn't, I can safely say I might've been forced to drop this story. He could've rendered Fateless void and canon non-compliant with the snap of his fingers. Castoria's character arc could've invalidated Fateless!Artoria's. Merlin could've confirmed the existence of an individual Avalon per timeline. Hell, Nasu could've easily thrown fans of the Fate route a bone and mentioned both Shirou and Saber chilling in paradise.
He didn't do any of that.
Instead, to my immense shock, he made this story's core hypothetical principles more valid:
The Avalon Chaldea enters is confirmed to be a fake of the real deal;
Avalon is simply called "Avalon", and no mention is made as to whether there are multiple;
Zero mention is made of Saber Artoria's status;
Zero mention is made of the Last Episode's events or its potential place within a broader chronology;
Zero mention is made of a certain mortal in a place no mortal should be;
Merlin's clone doesn't even spare Muramasa a goddamn fleeting glance;
Artoria is confirmed to be Excalibur's single designated user, Arthur notwithstanding;
Muramasa is still able to forge its essence (HOLY FUCKING SHIT!);
Excalibur v. Sefar is confirmed to be a multiversal constant, not something specific to Extra;
It's heavily implied that Castoria looks like Artoria because Artoria's "purpose" is to send AoG!Britain to its death;
Certain beastmen are fucking called "A-Rays", albeit with a different spelling, and are serving an ARTHURIAN WITCH (HOLY FUCKING SHIT! x2)
so yeah my relieved exhale was quite hefty
Castoria's status post-Lostbelt 6 gives us an opening to both continue her character development and flesh out a few more unknown topics - things like Excalibur, Morgan, and Fate!Saber's role in this multiversal fiesta, etc. I'm aware of her status as a fan favorite; thankfully, her character and personality fit well as a foil for our resident heroine, as Castoria's right in that untouched middle area separating Fateless!Artoria (the human side) and her alternate selves (the king side), so yorokobe, Castoria enjoyers! She has a future as a prominent side character (though it'll take a while to get there)! Until this chapter, we didn't have anyone filling the role of neutral-yet-empathetic third party - and don't you dare try to say Shirou's a neutral third party lmao - so I'm looking forward to integrating our little Fae into the narrative in a more concrete way. I won't say her addition was intended, because it wasn't; as previously said, LB6 dropped while Fateless was already in progress. I make it a point to never bring in unplanned characters (Chapter 21 was meant to be a cameo appearance, nothing more), but this is a strong exception. Frankly, she's far too woven into the themes this story covers, and my writer's intuition tells me it'd be a mistake to not give her a role. Some emergency storyboarding has slotted her into quite a few future plot threads so comfortably that I can safely bring them into the story earlier than anticipated; I'm confident things'll work out.
is that HER? what was with all the different reflections?!
I know that might've been confusing, so I'll just say: yes, that is indeed the Saber, and no, she isn't a Shirou-like conglomeration. She's the Fate route, nothing more, nothing less; Avalon was simply "reflecting" all of her various lives. As previously explained back in the Counter Force's all-caps section in Chapter 16, due to her new home's positioning in time (or lack thereof), our adorable retiree has learned quite a bit about her various other selves, in the same way that a Heroic Spirit in the Throne reads about - but doesn't truly experience - its Servants' various exploits. You'll see next chapter that the analogy's intentional.
She's kinda the reason all of this is happening - the one thing that always mildly irked me about the otherwise perfect Last Episode was the idea that Saber would wait for Shirou, when a core part of her character's always been her impulsivity, drive, and gogettedness. She isn't one to just daudle in a field and hum a happy tune. Where's her man, damn it?! Merlin! MERLIN!
We won't be seeing her often, though - it's bad form to give the reward before it's been earned. ;)