A / N: It's been awhile. Times flies. Well, here is the second chapter. Hopefully there aren't too many mistakes. Also, a reminder that this and my other two Fate stories, Fate/tromluí and You Are My King, respectively, are somewhat interconnected with hints and references and serve as a continuation of one another in some places. So if you like this check those out as well.

Chapter 2

Arturia opened her eyes with a start, waking from a cold sleep. They darted around the tent she was in, going from its folded flap from where wafted the aroma of salted sea, sparkles of light floating in waning sunlight, medical utensils and herbs laid out on the table beside her cot, and the woman seated in the corner of the room. Dressed in all white like the clear, calm waters which came after those dark waves gently crashing upon the cliffs at Camelot, she knew from one look that this woman wasn't human—not entirely—and raising herself up further, pain jolted through her body. Clutching her chest, she gagged, drools of crimson spit dripping onto her tunic.

"I wouldn't be so quick to leave," the woman said playfully. A cup of water appeared on the table, and she motioned for her to take it. "Drink this, it'll help relieve the pain."

At first, reluctantly, she only took a single sip, then downed the drink in its entirety. She touched her hair. Frowning at the brunette strands, other than the color of her hair, she never recalled her palms ever feeling so smooth before, rubbing her fingertips together. There was not one callus, not one honest day's work worth of toll and toil to be seen. Not one bump or a bruise or knot. It were almost as if she'd...

"Oh, but, you did, my King," the woman said, answering her unfinished thought.

Her eyes widened. No, that was inconceivable. She hadn't the power to travel to another space and come out unscathed enough to keep herself whole after so much time already passed—let alone transmuting herself to this extent. Furthermore, there'd never been a Griflet at her court. Not a lady nor a sir, or a squire or a page or jester. Not even so much as a horse with the name, and meeting the woman's mischievous, sea-green eyes, unsurprised that she knew her real identity beneath the chocolate curls, if she knew this… Then...

The woman swayed side to side. "I had nothing to do with this." She shrugged. "For once."

Arturia went back to her hands. She opened and closed and reopened and closed them again, wiggling about, fists clenched, and unclenched, her brow lowered, thinking intricately. If this were indeed the case, then why she wasn't the one to have touched Bedivere's flustered face and was now undoubtedly hearing the spoken oaths of fidelity from the good knights of her father and uncle's reign after he was carried away? If this place was of her own making, then why wasn't she, the one who supposedly created it, at the very least, a knight? Perhaps more importantly, why also was he not the same, either? Making another pass from somewhere in-between the green-jeweled lace around her neck and the start of an ample bosom shamelessly covered, it focused on that glint in the Magician's own. Though his appearance had changed considerably, some things never did.

"What? Oh, this?" Merlin laughed. "You know, surely I should be the least of your troubles!"

She raised a brow. Looking around the tent again in a gathering gloom, soon the evening would be over and she, her retainers, her uncle, her brother, her cousins, Merlin, and those others joined with her company would be preparing their march to address the country's woes. She, the girl-king, petit golden-haired, this beardless boy of low blood as opposing lords and ladies decried, with Caliburn and her first knight and others anointed at her side, off to right the many wrongs had since the death of her father. To challenge Vortigern the Usurper and rebuild Camelot atop his smoldering remains. Several years of struggle and survival. Only, if she wasn't the one to do so… Was her role to follow after, not as a knight, but, a lady in service to the new-appointed king?

Merlin was now up and about, fixing her person and righting her cowl. Sceptre in hand, she gave her a wink and told her it was the time to move on, first peeking out the tent then motioning her to come see. Life filling her lungs anew, the Lady's lake fresh on her tongue, Arturia joined her outside. Pavilions were being torn down and carted, wheeled away by servants, peasants, and commoners alike as their lords, ladies, knights, gentlemen, and gentlewoman, too, all said farewell to king and company; soon to be king and host. A splendid array of colorful banners, surcoats and shields, all manner of trappings and symbols of custom, rules, trade, tradition…

She looked upon these and then herself riding at the helm, and the words of her sister leapt to the forefront.

—Oh, my dear little sister, how I await the day you crumble and fall and open those perfect eyes to truth. The day, you peer behind you in all your perfection and see those you lead for what they are and what they see of you. What they knew, have always known, and you yet to learn—

Her heart sank. She lowered once immortal eyes to the earth, the dirt and the dew. The bootsteps and hoofprints. Raising her head after Merlin clapped her on the shoulder, awaking her from her spell, the Magician smiled wholeheartedly.

"Not quite what you imagined?"

Thus there the two of them stood, grass swaying to and fro, watching the parties disperse until only the king's was left. She looked into their number recognizing the people she knew, thinking more if this were truly her own doing, or the work of someone—something—else. Turning to Merlin, she was going to ask what else was changed from the experiences she knew, but, the Magician was gone. Vanished as he was ought to do on multiple occasions, leaving her to feel through events without a guide. So, she mustered herself together and sheltered those thoughts for another time, before catching up and sticking to the end of the king's company with the pages and cooks.