Chapter 5

Gazing out to the early morning sky of red and orange, the first rays of sunrise kissing the top of the city, a small, distant break was in the gathering clouds the only remnants of the previous night.

Thinking again of the nights Arturia and he shared under those stars, to be able to forget who and what they were; two friends without a care in the world, no greater purpose to their existences than as youths still ignorant of the world and nothing but their dreams laid out before them, far as the eye could see—if only their lives had stayed that way.

Camelot, during the many years long campaign to free Britain from the clutches of its invaders, had been so rundown, in such disrepair, that nobody would have thought it to be the same luxurious capital in those golden years after. Kay had been the one to thank for most of its renovations, taking it upon himself to be the seneschal of the king. Without him, there would've been no Camelot.

First serving as the crude base of operations from which to launch their forces, after countless battles—twelve of them decisive victories, one of those being where he lost his arm—the only obstacle in their way to it becoming that almighty symbol of splendor, power, and chivalry had been Vortigern the Usurper. An old enemy of Arturia's father Uther and her uncle, he was the one mainly responsible for leaving Britain exposed to invasion. In his greed in wanting everything for himself, he plunged everything into chaos.

Years later, after being spirited away for safety, Uther came home only to find it pillaged, plundered, and burned. Destroyed, and subsequently enslaved. Vortigern, being unable to keep things controlled, had hid in his stronghold in the south and abandoning his people, as cowards often do. Uther and his brother quickly gathered an army of their own to quell the situation and what followed was a bloody and seemingly endless war which eventually led to the Battle of Badon Hill, where the tables were turned. In this battle, the invaders had been struck a harsh blow, Vortigern said to be killed, and the war all but won.

And, for a time, it was.

Then, Uther's brother was poisoned, like his father and older brother before him, by followers loyal to Vortigern, leaving the title of king to Uther. With the more dangerous of the two dead, the war began anew, and, soon, Uther found himself fending them off alone. Though, after a hard struggle, he finally crushed them thanks to the aid of Gorlois, a duke in his service.

And so, thus began the tale of Arturia.

After his victory, Uther fell in love with Gorlois's wife, Igraine. His desire for her was so much that he threatened another war, this time with the duke, and did so. During this war, Merlin transformed Uther to look exactly like Gorlois so that he might sneak into the duke's castle and seduce Igraine. He ended up doing just that, unbeknownst to the real Gorlois, who died in battle some days later. From he and Igraine's union, Arturia was born.

At least, that was how Bedivere always thought it happened, but, the story Morgana told him later had been a very different version.

According to her, while the events of leading up to Arturia's birth were more or less the same, her birth itself was the result of a certain Magician's weakness.

Merlin, adviser to Uther, had convinced their father to pursue a "maiden of the highest purity" and lay with her to conceive an heir who would become "greater than any who came before". For his part, after throttling Gorlois in his sleep and raping Igraine, Uther thought himself the father of a new lineage of God-like kings. Infused with the essence of a red dragon the Magician had said was "the embodiment of Britain's people, their hopes and dreams", "the ultimate ruler, the perfect paragon, the most infallible warrior", was created; a King of Knights. But, in reality, both Uther and his heir were nothing more than pawns in Merlin's scheme to see the world tumble to its inevitable death.

—He who sees the World knows all, but with this knowledge comes great responsibility—or, in Emrys's mind, great dread. He has seen the End, and, so, with a life steeped in hatred for humanity, sought to help that end come sooner than expected. The death of man, as they had done to the gods before them, and my dear sister, is his tool of vengeance—

The only thing Bedivere agreed with was that Arturia had truly been a King of Knights, everything else being nothing more than fairytale. Lies spun by Morgana, jealous of her younger sister's crowning as the new king.

In any case, after they'd united Britain, they learned that Vortigern survived and reoccupied his stronghold in the south. And, with him, one final battle.

Months before it was to take place, he had suffered the crippling affliction from the loss of his arm. Then, weeks before, he had been given Passelande, Arturia's own personal warhorse before she moved on to an even grander steed. A great charger selectively bred, Passelande had been just as majestic as he was mythical. Blessed by the Lady of the Lake herself, it was Arturia's gift to him for his bravery during that ill-fated battle against the invaders, who afterward had been all but completely broken.

He remembered the utter defeat of being unable to saddle him.

At that time, Arturia was on tour to visit all the lands under her rule in the short break leading up to facing the Usurper to rally support and boost morale for a last push. While she was fine in dealing with the petty kings—enough of them had thankfully flocked to her during her struggle and were willing to do so again to meet Vortigern in battle and defeat him once and for all—he knew that she would not be with everyone else. He'd known that without him there by her side that she would try to uphold the lessons taught by Merlin of what humanity was. Fail to see her subjects for what they truly were. For, despite his dismissive of Morgana's tale, he later learned that Merlin was not human himself. With the unnatural length of time the Magician had been alive, unlike with Arturia being half-human and half-dragon, he realized what her warning of Merlin's evil meant: he wasn't able to understand humans, and had passed this lack of understanding down to Arturia. Because of this, in being unable to empathize with her subjects, even if she managed to win, without approval from those she led, a king who didn't have the heart of their subjects was nothing more than a tyrant, and Britain didn't need another.

So, even though she ordered him to remain at the castle and continue his recovery, even though she had said she would have no need of him, she still did. Someone to help her understand. Who better than her right-hand? At least, then. And after. For a long while. And, despite his devotion to the role, Kay had been no substitute.

Where Arturia went, he went. Always.

And nothing was ever going to break them apart, so long as he had still drawn breath.

The dreams they shared still fresh in his mind, Bedivere stood against one of the many pillars that supported the capital building of the city where down below, in its square, were all the men under his Master's command. The Reichstag, it was called, and it was being used as a temporary training area for the troops. He watched them go about their daily exercise routines, rifles at their shoulders and discipline in their step. All five hundred of them.

Two hundred reinforcements had been commissioned to bolster the already significant force, the request made after Lancer's Master agreed to that vile man's terms. That, unless they worked together to defeat the odds stacked against them, nobody would win the Grail. Last night was clear evidence of some dark magecraft at work, but, while this unseen threat was no doubt frighteningly powerful, it would be fatal to assume this alliance of theirs would last. He couldn't guess their intentions, and thus couldn't trust them.

… Not that he would have even if he did, with the way both of them seemed to expect the explosion before it happened.

There was definitely something else between them, going on in the shadows.

And it went without mentioning that the two men had also since disappeared.

Yes, Leutnant Meier said Obersturmbannführer Yggdmillennia had left on official business, taking "Mr. Makiri" with him, leaving any further preparations unattended and in their care for a few days. Laid out for them was a set of instructions that Leutnant Meier then promptly listed off and his Master, after telling the Leutnant to discreetly poke around and unearth more details, had ignored in favor of personally seeing to it that the men were being kept in shape and fit for the combat they would see later on. Barking orders, pointing and shouting as they worked in tandem with one another, each man doing the exact same as the one behind and in front of him, his Master was truly a leader of men. Bedivere expected no less.

A well-trained, well-equipped, masterfully lead army was the ruler of the battlefield, and any soldier worth their sword could see that the men of this army, arrayed in neat columns and rows and so in sync they were a single entity, was a force to be feared. He was fondly reminded of the Roman legions of old, those battle-hardened legionarii who for one reason or another were stuck fending off the hordes of invaders on Britain's shore alone, after his sudden death. Cut off from Byzantium in the east, in dire times that required dire decisions, before even Vortigern became king, rallied behind their leader to drive those first waves of invaders and their like back to lands whence they came.

When Vortigern had been defeated, some of them were revealed to still be alive, and those willing were invited to join Arturia's court as protectors of peace and order, becoming the backbone of her rule in those early days. A few of their number had even joined the inner circle that was Arturia's Companions, which was later expanded into the Round Table known far and wide. Arturia's Companions turned into Arturia's Knights, the Knights of the Round Table, ushering in a new era that lasted even many more years until…

He tightened his only fist.

"Something the matter?"

Emely sat on the step, film camera tucked underneath her raincoat—another modern invention she hadn't minded explaining about—to keep it dry. Overhead, the sky was a blanket of light gray. Rain, a shower so punishing each drop was like a well-placed arrow piercing his armor, that had been hammering down on their heads the whole day, was now a peck on their shoulders, barely even noticeable. It was starting to let up.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Nothing to trouble yourself over," he said, catching the slight concern in her voice.

And, realizing his non-existent arm had unconsciously went up to fix his hood, the loss still ailing him even when it shouldn't have, Bedivere cursed his lack of self-control yet again. He couldn't relax, deep down in his gut, the sins of what he'd done still swimming in the mirth that was his drowned soul.

It appeared he couldn't completely hide it, either, for Emely adopted a more somber tone. "Reminds you of automatons, doesn't it?" she said, eyes on the men below. "How they always put the same foot down, right-left, forward-back, turn, and all that." Breaking out in a faint smile then, a thin crack than the usual fissure, she shook her head with a soft chuckle. "The well-oiled machine of the Third Reich. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, drawing his raincoat closer around himself. The sleeker fabrics of this era brought recollections of the own sheepskin and wool cloaks of his time, which paled in comparison. Regardless, wrapping himself in their warmth—the fond memories of his youth—he found himself start to relax. With those men—and some women—of whom he shared many struggles, did he stand slightly less rigid. He smiled, just a tad. "Very."

And, what seemed to have become commonplace, he listened to Emely talk.

As she rambled on about whatever suited her fancy, he thought further of those he fought beside.

Of Arturia.

When she first became king, her standard had been little better than a white blanket on a long pole. A sign of a king who had not yet earned his place. To prove his, or—in Arturia's case though the majority did not know it—her, worth, a great showing would have to be made. Of strength, strategy, and all the right qualities needed in a ruler. Most of all, the ruler of all Britain.

Then, after Vortigern's defeat, after the last invaders had finally been driven to the coasts and shores, had that white little standard turned into that of a great king's: a large banner of blue and silver. On it was a fearsome dragon, its claws extended and ready to strike, with mouth agape and spewing fire to light enemies aflame. A symbol of power and authority. The Pendragon.

And, then, he thought of Guinevere.

Guinevere, daughter of King Leodegrance of Cameliard, and Queen of Camelot. Two years younger than either he or Arturia, just a girl during those early years, she had been one of the first to join the cause as an honorary Companion. Instrumental in uniting them, if not for her knowledge and stratagem in politics and negotiation, then none of the petty kings—even King Mark—would have given Arturia the benefit of the doubt. Without her, along with Kay, would there be no Camelot. For, also, entrusted to her father had been another of Uther's legacy: the Round Table.

Intelligent, beautiful, and not afraid to speak her mind or intermingle with the men, Guinevere… She…

—Even with your help in bringing to light the misfortunes unseen by her…—

Had meant something.

—… my dear sister will still fail to see that which is right before her eyes…—

More than what she had been wrongly labeled as.

—Blinded by her chivalry, her belief that kingdom comes before king, her wicked day shall come—

Better than an adulteress or a whore or a witch. Least of all a traitor who—there was a flash and he spun, seeing Emely standing there with her film camera.

"S-Sorry!" she screeched, taken aback by his sudden reaction, staring at him from behind the bulb attached to it. "You just looked… so… sad. Perfect material… a-and all that."

Bedivere realized then that he was looming over her, his back to the spectacle in the square. A life of constant fighting, of living in unspoken fear of the axe that would come to sever his head as it had done his hand, had given him a speed regarded as inhuman by his peers. If she had been a barbarian, a raider, or marauder, if what held was a weapon instead of a toy, he would've struck her down without hesitation. His blood ran cold at the thought. He stepped back and apologized.

Emely's gaze went to her feet. "I… I didn't mean… to…"

She went quiet and he lowered his head. How stupid of him. Letting his emotions get the better of him and almost…

—Her honor—that righteous pride she holds so close—will be her downfall—

And, head in his hand in despair that night so long ago, after spending its entirety fumbling in frustration with his horse and saddle, had been that familiar voice…

Not quite a whisper, but quiet enough so that intimacy was the only way to hear her words. The shadow of her small frame in the doorway, caught in the torchlight. The soft sound of her bare feet going lightly across the floor, to rest a slender hand on his naked shoulder. Taking a hold of his right arm, pressing her body into his, pulling the stump to her cheek. When he had tried to pull away, not letting him go, sliding her arms over his bare chest. Golden hair, loose around her shoulders, as she nuzzled him and rested her head upon his shoulder, like a pony. Then, drawing away. And, when he turned to look at her, seeing the dark circles underneath her moistened green eyes.

—With it, so too shall everything she has sacrificed for crumble into ruin—

Her soft lips suddenly on his.

—As, though you act in part as her savior…—

Her naked body, those gentle curves, guiding him along.

—… so too will you also be her very undoing—

All reason lost, shoved aside by loneliness.

—You are kind, my love—

For…

—Far too kind—

… love…

—And, it is your heart…—

Intertwined in an eternal embrace.

—… the undying loyalty to her and nobody else…—

The shudder of her underneath, as they came together as one.

—… that shall doom all you hold dear.—

… was an unforgiving thing.

He still remembered the morning after, when she had kept true to her words and helped him saddle Passelande. Once he was ready, twisting back to look down upon her and for a moment seen the innocent young girl she was, instead of the worldly young woman she had turned into, and, eventually, the mature woman she would grow up to be, shuttered. But, thanks to her, he'd been able to catch up with Arturia before it had been too late.

"The birds. They're still hanging around," he heard Emely say, after awhile.

He looked up, seeing a couple perched in the arches of the building above their heads, sheltering themselves from the rain. Ravens.

Unlike what he'd sensed from last night, these didn't have magecraft coursing through their bodies. Didn't have someone binding them to their will with invisible chains around their necks. There was only one he knew who utilized their keen eyes and sharp tongues… But, trying to get his mind away from the thought of her before he lost himself again, Bedivere surfaced back to the present, hearing Emely now say something about the woman standing a few pillars down from them.

"She looks lonely. Why don't we…" Emely began, but he was already by the woman's side. And, taking one look at her: ivory skin dusted in gold, eyes the shade of spring, long, silver hair reaching over her shoulders… to anyone who saw her she was someone you couldn't keep your gaze from wandering. Tall, back straight, her arms crossed, with a lean figure that denoted her as an athlete, she was nothing short of divine and… to him…

"Archer."

… a quick and deadly fighter worthy of extreme caution.

She was that vile man's Servant, and, it was strange, for her to be here instead of with her Master. At first, he had thought she was keeping an eye on his Master, as last night. Now, he wasn't certain.

The ravens. If who he thought was really controlling them, Bedivere hoped he could strike her down when that time came. But, he didn't want to jump to any conclusions.

"We have to talk."

He needed answers, and didn't want to be proven right.