Chapter Twelve
Ice and Fire
Saber's mind reeled back to the Round Table, seeing Lancelot's face across from her…it's expression growing increasingly morose day by day…until the day he disappeared and was never seen or heard from again. It saddened her to think of him dying out there, alone and ashamed of himself.
But she…she didn't have the heart to punish him, any more than she did Guinevere…not because she felt she was above acknowledging such human vices, but just deep down, she had always been expecting something like this, even if she hadn't consciously thought about it. If she was being honest with herself, she had never given her personal life much thought beyond what was expected of her in her position, because as king, as she said, she couldn't expect to live as a person…so why would someone who isn't person need a personal life?
"Sir…Lancelot…."
Saber thought she was going to cry.
Meanwhile, Lancelot, his face twisted grotesquely in rage, gnashed obscenely sharp teeth at her, growling, "ARTHUR!"
It echoed the rage with which Mordred had screamed after her, when he'd revealed himself as her son.
"My friend…what has become of you?" Saber gasped, finding it hard to breathe, a painful knot in her chest winding itself tighter and tighter and tighter.
And then he came at her, brandishing the massive blade of Arondight.
Saber was still so shocked that her reaction time was slower than usual. Even so, she managed to get her own sword up just in time to block the blow. It was a hard hit to take. It crushed against her, and pushed her back a few inches across the cement floor of the parking garage.
That wasn't the only reason it was hard to take though.
"My friend…what's…happened…?" Saber pled with him, trying to reach the man she knew had to still live inside the maniac that was the Servant Berserker. Trapped. By time and memory, a cage of anger and grief.
Saber was on the brink of tears like she hadn't been in a very long time.
Is this my punishment? Was I truly a failure as a king? Am I receiving what I deserve, judgment for my poor judgment? Is this my fault? Is it?
Hit. After hit. After hit. She took them all with very little resistance.
There was a voice screaming at her to fight back, but for the first time, Saber heard it like she was hearing it through water walled in by glass. That voice could beat on that glass too for all it wanted, but Saber herself felt numb, suspended and immobilized by her own doubt.
She couldn't even sense Kiritsugu's living heart anymore, and thought, with a thrill of fear that surprised her, that her Master was dead. Though she wasn't worried about herself disappearing any time soon, she knew that whatever he was, he had gone through so much to get this far. Whatever his sins, she had prayed at least all those sins would be outweighed of the perfect and happy world Kiritsugu longed to create with the power of the Grail.
Just like she dreamed for Briton.
It wasn't ideal in her eyes, but it was better than nothing.
Time became irrelevant. In fact, Saber was out of time, reexperiencing her experiences, remembering her memories…the roundtable meetings, the people who had come before her in supplication, her childhood spent pitting herself against the sword for hours on end in the training yard, her muscles aching from getting thrashed and riding on a horse, her female body sculpted the way a man's would have been, her will hardening to steel as she contemplated the enormity of her destiny and the privilege of her responsibility…moments she and Lancelot spoke to each and laughed as they looked out on the twilight from the parapets of Camelot…moments she and Guinevere would catch each other's eyes, those times when love was still there, and those times when it wasn't…that late afternoon, when the sunset lit the world like a hellfire, and her strongest knight, equal to Lancelot if not greater, Mordred…coming to her and telling her that he was her child…that she was her son, and she his father (seeing as how he hadn't been made privy that she was a she).
Saber knew it was cold of her to turn away from her child, a child who had been molded in her image, or close to it…and thus lived under too much of the shadow of Morgan's dark influence. There was too much reckless anger, and she was too young.
So turned away she did, refusing to acknowledge Mordred as her heir. She could tell herself it was to protect him from the weight of the crown, but really, that was a lie she told herself to keep her guilt at bay. With her guidance, Mordred could have been great. Someone who even could have been there after she had died, so her people wouldn't have been abandoned…as Rider told her they were.
But instead Arturia left him in the shadows. Arturia left everyone she loved in the shadows in pursuit of the light of the greater good. In some strange way, it was easier to be alone.
Indeed, Mordred had screamed her name at her back, screamed her name like a curse, that scream echoing from the deep darkness. Yet Saber had kept on walking.
Now she was paying for it. The ruin of Briton…the disaster her dying had left it in…Lancelot coming back to haunt her like this…on her path to salvation…she was paying the price and more for her arrogant idealism.
"I'm sorry," Saber whispered, as the hulking Lancelot slammed her against a support column and she slid pathetically to the floor. "I'm sorry…."
"Stop that."
Saber stilled and looked up. But it wasn't Lancelot before her.
It was Mordred, resplendent in red, the breeze lifting his hair that was blonde and done up similar to how Saber's was, and by the look in his eyes, he had seen a few things since last they met, things that had changed him. Though not for better or for worse.
"Mor…dred…."
Mordred's smile was cruel. "Is that all you have to say to me?"
Saber cast her eyes down. "What more can I say? I have wronged you. I have wronged everyone I thought I was doing right by. But…I was sitting too high to truly see what was going on below." She looked up again. "And I left you at the mercy of your mother."
"Mother. Ha. That witch? Hardly." Mordred spat.
Saber smiled sadly. "Hm. You're right. Who am I trying to fool? Except myself." She looked at the reflection of her green eyes in the mirror shine of Excalibur's blade. And for a moment, she felt a different pair of eyes watching her. "Morgan Le Fay," she murmured. "Sister."
"How lovely it is to see you fall, and suffer for your crimes," Morgan Le Fey hissed. "Though I do regret that you and I could not have had more…we had a beautiful baby together, after all…a child you might have been proud of if you had allowed it so…."
She knelt beside Saber and reached out a hand to touch her cheek, and something dark stirred within the King of Knights. She closed her eyes, seeing it in her mind's eye, a new voice that whispered to her to do whatever it took to achieve her goal, not matter the cost…it was for the greater good, after all.
She thought of Kiritsugu, remembered that day watching him take his daughter into his arms and hug her like she were the most precious thing in the world to him. Then the memory changed so that it was Arturia, as she had been as king, kneeling down and hugging a small blond child—little Mordred, happy and healthy, to her heart.
But then, young Mordred tried to put the crown on his head, and instead fell beneath it, was crushed by it, as Morgan Le Fey forced the weight of it upon him…filled him with ambitions that were not his own until he believed that they were. His desires twisted and warped. Breaking him beyond repair.
Saber opened her eyes.
"Be gone, witch," she whispered, and Morgan Le Fey disappeared with a shocked gasp.
Then Saber turned to Mordred still standing there, watching.
"I didn't know what you had truly suffered, and I am sorry," she said and got to her feet to stand before her hate-filled child, leveling her a compassionate gaze. "But even so, you did not have the capacity to be king. I told you that before. I knew you could not handle the burden."
Mordred glared at her and spat again. "Don't give me that shit. Don't act like you were looking out for me. Who did you ever care about who was close to you? Not me. Not mother." Then she grinned evilly. "Not even Gwenny or Lancey."
A flash of anger.
Saber backhanded the rebel knight before she even let herself think about it. Like a parental reflex. Mordred recoiled, clutching his face, but Saber would give him the kindness of being merciless, and like she had done so many years ago, she put the monster down with her own hands, because it was a monster she had been responsible for.
She ran Mordred through, and like that day, Mordred again gaped at her, spat up blood and gasped, "Fa…ther…."
Saber held fast to him though, and whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry…Mordred…please forgive me…" and she felt that same painful throb that she knew now Irisviel felt when she'd said goodbye to her daughter.
Mordred coughed again, tried to speak but couldn't. Saber pulled back to look in her child's eyes, and there was a pleading there that was nearly her undoing.
Before Mordred disappeared like Le Fey.
One more shade stood before her though.
It was Lancer, but with his back to her.
"Well, King of Knights, what are you going to do?" he asked. "Now that you're here?"
"I'm going to make this right," Saber told him, eyes shadowed by her bangs. "I'm going to make a right that's worthy of the wrong that was done to you."
Lancer still didn't turn around, but he did turn his face slightly toward her, and Saber thought he might be smiling, if sadly.
"You think it's that easy?"
"Please…forgive me, if you can, for what was done to you. I never meant for things to go that way. I never meant to betray you like that."
"Hm. Well, I partook in my share of betrayal, in life."
Saber watched as Lancer looked ahead of him again.
"Well go, then, and don't you hold back," he finally told her. "And perhaps, my soul might find a modicum of peace."
"I will. I promise." Saber's voice was as steady as a rock.
Lancer nodded once and then disappeared like Le Fay and Mordred. Yet something about the way he had spoken still made her fearful of what was to come.
And then there was Lancelot.
Berserker.
She had returned to her present surroundings.
Her enemy had gotten a hold of a semitruck and was actually throwing it up into the air.
Before, Saber had been close to weeping.
Now was not the time for such things as weeping.
She charged forward and leapt, right over the semi, and brought her sword down.
Friend or not, she had to put the Grail first. Not just for her sake, but for Lancelot's too. Even if he didn't understand.
Then again, no one really had understood her.
Except for perhaps…one person.
A woman with beautiful silver hair, calling to her, her smile reaching her bright red eyes.
"Saber!"
Irisviel.
Saber thought of her and stood her ground against Lancelot's relentless beating on her with his sword as he roared in rage at her unwillingness to acknowledge that he had done her wrong and punish him for it.
She lifted Excalibur.
And struck.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
She did the very thing that she had criticized Kiritsugu for doing, and threw herself into it, letting go of all feeling, of everything…just strike, strike, strike, and matching blow for blow against Lancelot.
And then—an opening.
She seized it.
Ran her sword through it.
Struck Lancelot through the heart, straight and true.
Lancelot was in mid-roar, his sword still held aloft. As the fatality of the wound Saber had given him began to take over, he dropped Arondight. Saber heard it clang behind her.
"Arthur…" he croaked.
Then he started to go slack, started to fall…but Saber caught him around the middle with her free arm. As the truth of her victory over Berserker came over her, that's when everything else came flooding back. At that moment, Saber let herself cry, let the tears flow.
"Lancelot…."
But then, of all things, she felt Berserker—felt Lancelot—return her embrace, if weakly and lopsidedly. Just a light press to her back.
"Do not fret so, sire," he rasped. "It is…unbecoming…of a king…to fret…."
Saber blinked tears and the water from the sprinklers out of her eyes, her brow thick with water and sweat.
"I'm sorry, my friend," she whispered. "But I must win the Grail. I must make things right again." She pulled the man she had called friend a little closer to her, more like she were embracing him like old times, even as a darkness and morbidity took root in her heart. Perhaps because it almost reminded her of something Kiritsugu would say. "For your sake as well. So…I release you from the bonds of your pain."
After that, she could only cry, softly, holding Lancelot close as he slowly disappeared, disintegrated as all Servants did when they died. The moment he was gone, Saber realized that somehow it had been Lancelot who had been holding her up, as the lack of his physical presence caused her to drop to her knees. Excalbur fell to the floor beside her with a metallic clang, everything burning around her, her hair and armor wet and heavy.
She gasped, let herself cry for just a little longer, and then.
Enough.
She wiped her tears away and stood, dragging Excalibur up with her. And as she stood there amid the flames, and looked up at the dark ceiling, she realized she could feel the pulse of the Grail above her, the pulse that felt faintly of Irisviel.
Soon this would all be over and done with.
Thank God for that.
Upstairs, Saber found a great theatre hall, draped in red, and lit only by a single, golden illumination.
The Grail.
Sitting upon a table covered in a white table cloth.
Like a sacrificial altar.
It glowed so brightly, with the warm light that Irisviel had once given off.
And now….
"Oh…Irisviel," Saber whispered under her breath, and felt her heart break again, just for a spell.
There was nothing she could do for her friend now. All that was left was the Grail.
She even thought she could feel Kiritsugu's presence again, and again was surprised at her reaction, this time one of relief.
Perhaps not all was lost.
She took a step forward.
"Finally, Saber. It was exceedingly rude of you to keep me waiting as you did."
Saber bristled at the sound of that voice. "Archer," she growled, low like a lioness, watching as the preening gold peacock himself appeared and came to literally stand between her and the Grail.
Archer raised his blood-red eyes to her and purred. "Hello, my lovely flower of anguish."
Of all the final obstacles to stand between her and the Grail….
Saber grit her teeth and lifted Excalibur. "Move, Archer. Or I will move you."
"Tsk, tsk, my dear. You're really so fixated on such a trinket as the Grail? There is nothing in either Heaven or on Earth that will grant any wish that you desire. In short, you're wasting your time."
"Enough!"
"Yes, that's the look I want!" Archer's crimson irises brightened with a kind of ecstatic insanity borne from obsession. And then he held out his gold-gauntleted hand out to her. "Come, my love, and be my wife."
"What?"
"Marry me and be my wife…give the Grail and yourself up to me, and I promise you every pleasure you could ever imagine. Let me be the one to melt away your pain and chase away your shadows with the glory of my light."
Saber spat. "What light? Your light is false at best."
But then Archer gave her a smirk that Saber recognized as dangerous coming from the likes of him.
It was her only warning though, and even so, she didn't quite manage to dodge the golden weapon from Archer's storehouse that came at her like an arrow and struck her in the leg.
Saber cried out, bent double, gasping against the pain of the blade buried in her thigh, spilling blood. She was far from yielding from this bastard though.
The golden discs of his Gate of Babylon shined behind him, each one heralding the appearance of new, gleaming weapon that he was prepared to launch at her until she submitted.
As if that would happen.
"Be mine, dear Saber. Abandon this foolish pursuit of the Grail and give yourself to the shelter of my love."
"You would…steal the Holy Grail from me…for such utter nonsense?!"
Archer clucked his tongue and chucked a spear at her next.
And then an axe.
And then another sword.
He began to laugh as she avoided some blows, blocked others with her own blade, and was hit by the rest.
And they hurt.
The pain they caused was like burning ice, setting her both freezing and on fire at the same time. In spite of her will, she didn't know how much longer she was going to be able to keep this up. That was the thing though, about the strength of will—the strongest wills possessed like a demon and wouldn't let you stop even when your body was screaming at you to. And Saber's body might have been more than a mortal's because she was a Heroic Spirit, but that just made her will even stronger.
She could almost hear Lancelot's voice….
"You are King Arthur! Now get up, on your feet!"
"You see now, Saber," Archer taunted with a leer, "how my life is in your hands. All lives and all things belong to me, even you. I can promise you pain beyond measure, but I can also promise you pleasure in equal measure. You see, I'm even giving you a choice. You see how merciful a god I truly am…."
"You are no god," Saber growled at him. "And I'm done here."
Which was true in two senses. It just depended on whether it was her body that gave out, Heroic Spirit or no, or if she managed to persevere regardless.
Archer hissed between his teeth, and prepared another volley of blades, until something caught his attention across the vast theater.
Saber lifted her head, hardly daring to hope—
But there he was.
Kiritsugu.
Standing there like a demon of vengeance, dark eyes savage yet focused.
There might've been a divide between them, they would never see each other's point of view, but nevertheless—
Saber's heart lifted at the sight of him and his dark magnificence.
It gave her what she needed to yank the golden weapons buried in her body, stand tall on her feet once again, and lift her sword.
Yet when Kiritsugu met her green and hopeful eyes with his cold, dark, unwavering ones, the words that came out of his mouth as he actually addressed her directly, were the last ones she had expected to hear from him.
"In the name of Kiritsugu Emiya, and by my Command Seal: use your Noble Phantasm—destroy the Grail."
Saber staggered, her Master's words so baffling that she could scarcely comprehend them, as if he'd spoken a language she didn't understand. But even as her brain tried to wrap itself around them, her sword shook to life, illuminating brightly as if it had a mind of its own, preparing to unleash Excalibur's full power.
"What? No!"
She held onto the hilt of the sword more tightly, as if her sheer determination could resist the unresistable Command Seal that even then, yanked at her very nerves to do as her Master had bade her.
"What're you doing, Saber?! Archer demanded.
You…will…not…activate….
Inside herself, Saber could feel the expanse of her power threatening to flare out and unlock the Noble Phantasm in full force as the power of the Command Seal continued to pull against her. She crushed it within herself with all she had, and to her relief, she could actually feel the power recede, despite how at the same time the Command Seal's power screamed at her in her head to obey her Master's order.
The triumph was short-lived however.
Kiritsugu was relentless.
And Saber wouldn't have expected any less of him.
"By my Third Command Seal, I order you again…."
NO!
Saber's quavering heart gave way to despair. She shook her head as she tried once more, in vain this time, to hold back Excalibur's power and resist the Command Seal's magic.
"But, why….Kiritsugu!?" she begged of him, as the Command Seal overtook her. The power within her and the sword expanded once more, prepared to unleash itself, and all the while, her Master's order tugged at her arms, pulling them upward and forcing her to lift her blade—lifting them like an invisible string, like the puppet she was, the puppet Kiritsugu saw her as and nothing else.
Even so, she threw a glare over her shoulder at her Master.
"You…of all people…why this?!"
The will in those dark eyes, as he had told her that he was prepared to commit every sin if that's what it took to win the Holy Grail…so deep were the depths of his desire to rid the world of evil and bloodshed and bring it peace. The words and look of a man who had sold his soul long ago, but still dreamed of redeeming the soul of the world.
He had married and had a child with a woman who it turned out was merely the Vessel for the Grail all along. That daughter was depending on him to come home victorious so that he could free her from her mother's fate. Saber understood the meaning of Irisviel's words now.
He was not one who took sacrifices lightly.
At least…that was what she had thought.
She had been willing to give him that much credit.
Yet here was…throwing it all away.
Without hesitation.
He was nothing but a traitor to everyone around him.
She would never forgive him.
"You dare interrupt my nuptials!" Archer shouted pompously. "Mongrel!"
Kiritsugu pressed onward, the bastard.
"Saber…destroy…the Holy Grail!"
Saber could only scream as she was forced to destroy the last hope she had held in this world.
"STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!"
Excalibur came down, her arms bringing it down as if they had a mind of their own. And the world broke apart around her in golden fire, blasting away everything in all directions, including the Grail.
Saber felt her heart break at last as she watched it disappear, extinguished like a flame.
That was when the tears fell.
All that was left then was for her to watch, numb and helpless, Excalibur limp at her side, her throat too tight for her to utter a sound, save for when her chest heaved as she lurched on the edge of weeping openly.
How can I possibly hope to know a man…by merely three commands alone?
Saber bit her lip.
I never even knew…the hearts of those…who served me well…and were closest to me….
Lancelot….
Mordred….
Guinevere….
All the Knights of the Round….
And Irisviel…that beautiful wilting iris…shining white in the twilight….
Saber shuddered as the weight of her failure bore down upon her, crushing what was left of her heart.
Perhaps all of this was a punishment meted out to a king…who cannot understand others….
As the light of Excalibur's power grew brighter and greater, she closed her eyes, her grip on Excalibur slackening. Her power swallowed her up, her entire body, Heroic Spirit or no, was consumed in intense heat.
And then…everything was gone.
Arturia, as a youth, dressed as a boy, pulled the sword from the stone. Not long after, she was crowned King of Briton.
Merlin counselled her in the early days of her rule. His greatest advisement was that she form an order of knights with whom she could confer, for though she was king, the wisest leaders did not try to do everything on their own.
Arturia only took that somewhat to heart.
It was logical of course to run a country as vast as Briton was by regularly meeting with the lords of her land, and governmental and military strategy was always better when tackled by more than one mind.
But Merlin had also meant, she now realized, that her Knights of the Round were meant to be her comrades.
Yet she had kept separate, believing that as king she must be solitary, because she had to be prepared to make any sacrifice at a moment's notice, and she could not let bias that came with becoming close with someone cloud her judgment.
Even so, she had given herself human moments.
She was human, after all.
When she first saw Guinevere, her heart had thrilled within her at the sheer beauty of her. In particular, there was moment Arturia had observed as she had been dismounting from her horse, and she had come around and touched her forehead to that of the horse's, whispering to it rather playfully. Arturia had been enthralled, and she had allowed herself to know what it was to feel love.
The two of them exchanged their vows of courtly love upon their marriage, and when Arturia had kissed her, she had felt very much a man, more so than a woman, somehow, and was in a bliss she had never dreamed of. And for that moment, she ignored her convictions and let herself feel joy in romance with her new bride. And Guinevere had smiled at her, and she was radiant, even though she thought she was smiling for a man and not a woman.
Arturia was happy.
And then she formed her Round of Knights.
Bedevere, Galahad….
But Lancelot, she had known from the start that he was a little different, a little less capable of fitting in. Yet it was for this reason that Arturia had warmed to him the most, because she'd never fit in either.
They had met by a river, and Arturia had challenged him to a duel without revealing to him that she was the king. After she defeated him soundly and revealed herself thus, he'd prostrated himself on the ground. But she had commanded him to lift himself up. She had smiled at him, proudly telling him how he had fought well, and that before he knew she was the king, the two of them had enjoyed a great rapport.
And Lancelot had smiled, tentatively, at having found a kindred spirit in the king.
Arturia had asked him to join the Round Table, and he had accepted.
In the years that followed, Arturia's inner world crumbled here and there, with Guinevere, and then her copulation with Morgan Le Fey, not knowing until it was too late of the child that had been born from their union. But she had found some peace in her conversations with Lancelot, their friendly discourses. And he seemed to find the same kind of comfort. Perhaps, a few times, she had entertained that he was rather a handsome man, and even imagined what it would have been like if she'd been a maiden hoping he would look her way, perhaps extend to her a flower or a token of affection.
But then a chill came, the world grew colder, and without realizing it, Guinevere and Lancelot sought to be in each other's arms behind Arturia's back. And then, when Arturia learned the truth, that was when it was all over. Lancelot cried out in anguished rage, and Guinevere faded away slowly.
From that day forward, Arturia never again experienced happiness as she had once been able, not for the rest of her life.
And then Mordred revealed himself, and Arturia thought she was doing the right thing by refusing to acknowledge her sole blood heir. Yet, it seemed no matter what she did, Mordred, the hothead, would act just as Morgan Le Fey hoped and rebel.
They fought, and Arturia was forced to put her own child down.
After that, the king collapsed, mortally wounded, and finding herself completely and utterly alone on the battlefield, with only corpses for miles around.
What a terribly sad place to die.
Forced to bend to the whim of destiny, her life stolen from her, a life she was forced to live for the service of others rather than for herself. A life that had never been hers for as long as she could remember. From the moment she first drew breath.
It was the sum of a life that was very noble, but also painful.
And there was someone…someone she felt had once told her…that that was not how a person should live…even though she had argued that as king…she should not expect to live her life as a person….
And there she was, back again.
Back on the hill of so many dead, beneath a mourning sky. She felt the mortal wound she had suffered in her final duel with Mordred bleeding out of her again. Not far off, that very knight lay dead, as if Arturia had never spent nearly two weeks' worth out of her time, her moment of death was still waiting for her as if she'd never left it to go to fight one last war that might've changed things for the better, instead of forcing her to return here.
It had all been for nothing. She was going to die here, like before, before she was drawn into the Holy Grail War, as if everything she had fought for had meant nothing, as if all of her fighting had been wasted.
It was all over.
There was nothing left.
A feeling came to her, one akin to the misery she'd felt as a very small child whenever she'd fall and scrape her knee, or get hurt in those early days training with the sword, tripping over her own two feet. She had been so clumsy back then. She had grown out of crying, in a time when it was believed that crying was something men were expected to grow out of.
Yet as this fragility returned to her, it sent her teetering on the edge of tears again, as it had when she'd watched Lancelot die, when she thought of how Lancer and all those children Caster had preyed upon had died…when she thought of how poor, lovely Irisviel had died.
She had sacrificed her very life. Arturia knew that now.
And her husband…her dear husband…that traitor…had tossed it aside at the very last minute. He had betrayed them all, including himself.
Arturia grit her teeth. "Damn it…I was so close," she lamented. "And now…."
Just one more push…and she was over the edge.
"Lance—Lancelot…" she croaked, tears springing forth…her very own human tears as she died within her own human body.
Lancer…Lancelot…Mordred…Guinevere….
Irisviel….
"Saber!"
That sweet voice calling out to her.
A voice no one would ever hear again.
And for what?
Everything had fallen. Everything had been ruined.
And then sorrow and grief overtook her, crashed down upon her and swallowed her up like a wave. Unable to bear it, she threw back her head and gave a loud and agonized cry to the unforgiving heavens above her. She sobbed like she hadn't sobbed in years, not since she was very small, not since in fact she'd still been able to act a bit like the girl she was.
"You may have saved them, but you never lead them. You're just a little girl…."
That's what Rider had told her. It was true. She understood that now.
As king, she had thought that that meant that she was meant to walk in the light as a shining example to her people, but instead she had left everyone she had ever loved or cared about behind, everyone who had ever made her feel human. And her kingdom had crumbled around her, and she'd just looked up, up, up….
Arturia dropped her head, apologies and regrets falling from her lips like rain.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…."
She had thought she had known heartbreak. She had been a fool.
A heart wasn't truly broken until the bearer of that heart felt they could truly never be whole again.
It no longer mattered whether she wished for Briton to be saved from the destruction that had ultimately taken it in the wake of her death. The only way to really to protect it from such a fate was….
"It was never me," she gasped, "who should've…been king…."
That was all she had left to hold onto…that one dark thought that she never should've pulled that damn sword out of the stone in the first damn place.
What hope was there left? What hope did she—or anyone for that matter—have for a miracle?
Unless….