"Sister, are you happy?"
That question was, to be honest, unexpected to Arthuria.
She was happy.
She had to be happy.
Had not her wish being granted by the Holy Grail?
With the sacrifice of Irisviel, while Excalibur ran red with Kiritsugu's blood?
Had she not suffered? Not wept? Not killed true and loyal friends for the sake of her wish?
To compensate her poor rule? A rule that resulted in her own kingdom tearing itself apart because she couldn't even connect to her people?
"Of course, I'm happy, my queen. Why do you ask?" Arthuria the youngest daughter of King Uther Pendragon, well the youngest daughter of age, asked in response.
Perhaps, she hadn't being truly happy, Arthuria admitted to herself.
She had been used to being king, of commanding and bearing the mantle of kingship. Of being a knight and upholding the precepts of knightly virtues.
And to be reborn, to grow up and be raised as just another of her father's daughters. Of whom, the eldest had being nominated as his heir.
Things were different. It was, in truth, a new life.
A second chance.
Where Morganna being crowned the witch queen of Britannia after their father had grown old and fallen in battle. Her sisters bartered off, one by one, to various lords, princes, kings to bind them in alliances and loyalty to Morganna's court in Camelot.
And yet, her memories splintered and forked; showing her what was and what should have been, could have been, never would be.
Her sister was a better ruler, this fact Arthuria had to admit. Better than King "Arthur" could ever be.
A soft touch if necessary, and war as the last resort. Always the last resort, without brutality, and with care for those harmed by it.
Unlike her.
The cold calculating manner where she sacrificed villages so that more could be spared. The one who believed that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.
So, the lie here. If not the truth.
She was happy. She had to be happy. For she had suffered and suffered for this.
Still, her sister, the witch queen sighed and dismissed their attendants and maids.
"Oh, Arthuria," A shake of Morganna's head, that soft slight curve of crimson lips, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "If you can not truthfully answer that question to yourself, nor to me. I dread how you will answer my next question."
The blond princess blinked, her next question? Was Morganna now about to do what she had dreaded. Had done to Arthuria's older sisters. An invitation to her chambers in private, and a question as to which chieftain, noble lord, princeling, or perhaps king they would like to marry out of a list of such she had selected as 'worthy' of alliances.
"Sister, as you are now of age, I shall give you a choice. Because of your dreams and what I have seen in my visions," The slight smile grew at the look of confused dread from Arthuria, before Morganna inclined her head as she spoke once more. "I ask of you. Will you wear the dress of a lady, and be married off like your older sisters. Or will you don armour as you might have or could have in another world, kneel and swear fealty to me as one of my knights."
As she gave her choices, the raven haired witch queen raised a hand. Behind which against the wall hung a dress, and on the other side, an painting of a star hanging over a faerie cat as it looked happily at its painter.
"I..." Arthuria's mouth ran dry as she thought.
"What would give you happiness? I will grant you this much, sister, by allowing you a choice to determine your future." The beatific smile from her older sister brought no calmness to Arthuria.
"I have after all seen the way you wistfully looked at the swords of my knights, seen that one time you picked up that sword," Morganna inclined her head. "Your bearing as you 'played' with it was that of a knight, of a warrior without peer. It is clear then that you remember another life from another time."
She was happy with what her wish had wrought, wasn't she? So, should she not pick the obvious answer and be like her many sisters...
"Perhaps on another world in the infinite Kaleidoscope, you could have been a king of knights. But in this world, you have a choice. The question then is, what would make you happy?"
She had no answer to that nor herself, as the lie she had surrounded herself with, exposed itself to her.
Puella Magi Schuetze Aurulent
Part 5 : Happiness is like fire, here one moment... gone the next.
They marched forth in a train from Castell Caerdydd; the pride of Glamorgan did.
A line of glorious warriors were led by knights clad in glittering armour of burnished steel.
Flags flew in the cooling breeze beneath a blue heaven as puffy white clouds slowly drifted from the west.
Sheathed swords and upright spears blessed by druids and holymen to strike down the forces sent by the Witch Queen to the south. She might have been newly risen to her power, still one never underestimate what such a fearsome being could put forth.
She had sent but a paltry company of knights to accompany her messenger.
A single messenger. Surely, this had to be a jest of a token or a cunning insult designed to bait the lord of Castell Caerdydd into giving the Witch Queen reason to war with Glamorgan.
And so, the warriors and knights marched forth to demonstrate that their king would not kneel to the Witch Queen who had inherited King Uthyr Pendraeg's throne.
An unnatural perversion of the natural order were she not so potent in magical might as only a Witch Queen could be.
Gwrthefyr had listened to the tales of old, of how Medea the Witch Queen of Colchis brought low by her love for Jason. Of her aunt, Circe 'ere she was tamed by Odysseus.
Witch queens, such as Morganna purported herself to be, were not unknown.
Nor they were infallible. They merely wrought havoc to the natural order of things before being brought low eventually. Usually by a hero.
Or simply vanished as if they never were.
Thus, Gwrthefyr watched as his father rode at the head of the shining train of warriors and knights and felt an ill foreboding as of calamity awaited.
Her legend was still young, her destined calamity yet unknown.
Nor known was how she would be defeated. Perhaps, his father could be the one to bring her low and tame her.
Still, he could see the messenger from the Witch Queen, clad in blue and white and armed with cold steel. Admittedly, they were far away enough that he had to use a spy-glass to observe her.
He had heard of the Witch Queen's dreaded messenger from travelers.
A knight clad in unbreakable steel, blue and white were the colors of his tabard. A mien stern as a dragon's. Bearing a sword that would cleave castles in twain with a single swing. And mounted upon a steed of steel that roared as a dragon would as it charged relentlessly across Britannia. Nay, across the world, swift as the wind and feared like nothing else.
This was the fabled rider clad in white and blue. A knight worth an army, for surely Morganna had to have summoned and bound the lord of the Wyld Hunt as a minion.
And yet. The truth was not quite as he had imagined it to be.
A fair and comely maiden on the cusp of maidenhood. Clad in steel armor that curved and hinted at her womanly curves beneath the surcoat of blue and white.
Her hair was if the sun had been summoned to the rude earth of the world.
A maiden most fair, upon a steed of steel. Albeit a steed of steel with wheels where legs would be. Those parts of the legends were true.
Gwrthefyr had no desire to see if the tale of her sword sheathed at her side held the truth of the legend of shattering the bulwark of any fortress before it.
Still, he watched as she rode forth from the company of knights to speak to his father, Gwrtheyrn, ruler of Glamorgan, upon an open field to the south of the castle.
They spoke for a time, the calm look on the messenger's face a sharp contrast to the red look of rage upon the King's face. Eventually, he wheeled around to rejoin his army.
Gwrthefyr pitied the messenger then. Even if there were some truth to her legend, she had but a single company and his father's army outnumbered her company a hundred to one, easily.
As they charged at each other, he could only sigh and put away his spy-glass to avoid watching the ensuring massacre.
And thus was he not blinded by the birth of a new sun upon the world.
That night, a new flag flew above Castell Caerdydd. Its new king, Gwrthefyr, swore fealty to the Witch Queen to the South upon his knees before her messenger.
The flag that flew above in the night sky a nothing more than a footnote that Castell Caerdydd and all of Glamorgan would kneel to the Witch Queen of Albion, Morganna Pendragon; who had sent but a single messenger accompanied by a company of knights to defeat a standing army within the span of an hour.
Sometimes, diplomacy worked.
Other times, one needed the right tool; such as force overwhelming.