So. I received a question in regards to why I waited a full two weeks before uploading. The truth is, I'd originally planned to be done with the chapter, start on the next one, and upload C13 when the day came, but, my beta was in the hospital, and I actually didn't get the notes until just in time. Oh well. He's doing better.
Today is the one-year anniversary for F:SC! Yay! Been a long ride thus far, and we've got so much more to write/read. Thanks everyone for sticking in for this long. :)
I'd put up a poll, but not everyone would have seen it. My apologies. Most think Shirou will be in the military. That was a good guess! I suppose you'll find out soon.
My beta and I chose to do something different, starting from this very chapter. Look forward to it!
King Arthur tilted her head slightly, her eyes completely focused on the redhead standing near her side. He only continued looking determinedly at her, his eyes glowing with a kind of passion she hadn't seen for a long while. It comforted her slightly that giving him a real choice in how his life would take a turn, though she was rather curious on what it was he planned to do next.
"Well," she began, hardly in the mood for waiting him out, "spit it out then. I do not have all day."
Shirou nodded before hesitating slightly. "But first, may I ask you a question or two about my choices?"
The king raised an eyebrow as curiosity overtook her. "If you must. But be quick about it."
"Of course," he quickly agreed, not wanting to annoy her. "I'm just wondering, if I joined your military, what would that entail for me? Could I train to become a knight? Or, could I choose my field of practice?"
Percival cut in quickly, grabbing a hold onto Shirou's arm. "No. Cook for me. I'll protect you! You won't even have to lift a finger – I will do away with all those who would cause you harm! Just imagine: your own comfortable bed, nice clothing, a wonderful fireplace, you attending to me as I eat your wonderful, heavenly food..."
"Percival," the king warned, causing the brunet to look at her. Percival let out a small whine as he looked back at his commander.
"But I want –"
"Percival."
Percival finally frowned, his whining ceasing. He gave Shirou one last forlorn glance before backing away, his eyes downcast. King Arthur turned her gaze away from the sullen, pathetic looking knight, trying to ignore the small stabs of guilt to her heart after having cut her own knight down. She gave him one more glance before wishing she could roll her eyes. He really did look like a kicked puppy.
She instead turned back to Shirou.
"In any case," the blonde started, "I must say that I think you to be a bit too old to start training to become a knight – not to mention the fact that you are not from a well-bred and influential family, and may very well have little skills to speak highly of. I question your intelligence, and the matter of you being capable enough to withstand the conditioning and training required for becoming a squire, even should you manage your page duties adequately.
"Let us not forget that no one is aware of our true ancestry. I suppose it would not matter of whence you came, so long as you were solely loyal to me and no other, but I really must say the odds are quite stacked against you in that regard, Shirou. Providing that you did manage to become a page, and then a squire afterwards, and then even a knight by some fortunate circumstances, the second you showed yourself to any one of my men who were not initially aware of your odd background, your life might become endangered, and therefore, forfeit."
Shirou frowned as the king explained the obvious impossibility of becoming someone higher ranked because of who he was and where he had come from. He knew good and well that training for knighthood began back when children were around six years of age and for him, a twenty-four-year-old, to suddenly want to try working his way through the ranks and becoming someone of importance in such a fashion made little sense for Shirou. It didn't make sense, but he'd wanted to know if the possibility had even been remotely there. The redhead needed as much of an advantage as he could get, and becoming a knight would give him certain privileges the other options might not.
"However," continued King Arthur, regaining Shirou's attention, "if that is the change of vocation you truly desire, then as promised, I will make the necessary preparations to see that it is done. I must say though, that I highly recommend you do not attempt that path."
At that, he fell silent before slowly asking, "...Why is that, Your Majesty?"
"Because you are not a fighter," she answered, making him freeze. "The battlefield is not your place, nor is it your calling. So I would suggest against that choice, but regardless, that is ultimately for you to decide."
Shirou stared at the blonde, unable to fully comprehend her words. What would she know about whether he was a fighter or not? How much shit had he crawled through to survive this far? That wasn't even including the Holy Grail War, where he'd got his ass handed to him again and again, and yet he stood up each time because he had a goal to fulfill. He'd wanted to be a hero. He still wanted to be one. He had gone through so damn much to get this far. All that, and she dared to say he probably wouldn't last through the training? And even if he did, he'd just be killed by his own side?
She knew absolutely nothing about him. Nothing. Not a damn thing.
Shirou took in a deep breath before letting it out as he tried to rearrange his thoughts. She didn't know anything, but of course she couldn't possibly. When they'd first met here in the past, he'd lost himself to grief and to a trauma he'd never officially acknowledged and gotten past. Shirou had bowed his head, wanting only to curl up into a ball and toss away his dreams and aspirations. He had only been a shell of his former self, and that was all the king had seen at the time. He hadn't shown her anything to amend that opinion, either.
He damn well was a fighter, but this wasn't the time for arguing or pissing her off. Regardless of how indignant he felt, Shirou was still in her domain, a domain where her word was law. It was best not to rock the boat too, too much – after all, she was doing him a favor. Kind of.
"All right," Shirou finally said, reining in his temper. "What about the next option, the part about living in the village?"
King Arthur narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you not say your decision was made? What became of that?"
"I know what I want to do," he calmly responded, "but I'm just making sure that I'm not making a mistake here, sir. This is the last chance I'll ever have, after all."
"So it is," she conceded. "As you will then, but make it quick. You inquired about the village, I believe?"
Shirou nodded. "I think you, uh, Your Majesty said something about finding me a place to live and making sure I'm taking care of initially? So, I mean, I could just live a normal life in the village and all of my connections to the castle would be cut? I could open a bakery or something and no one would try to kick me out?"
She turned away from him and closed her eyes. "Yes, any contact with the castle would henceforth be eliminated – you would no longer have any real connection here, after all. As far as 'kicking you out' is concerned, providing you do nothing unlawful, I see no reason for there to be any problems."
He nodded again, acknowledging her words. If he decided to take that route, he wouldn't be able to stay in contact with Zago anymore, although he might be able to talk to Eos every now and then after her shifts were over. Opening up his own bakery or restaurant didn't sound too appealing, but he would have the freedom to do anything he really needed to. The seeds of discontent towards the king would also run far more rampant within the throngs of common folk in the village, and there would be so much different information he could track down and sell back to the king in some way. The idea was tempting, at least.
"All right," he said again. "What about if I left the castle? Anything I did at that point wouldn't matter to anyone here anymore, right?"
"That's right," she replied with a steady tone. "You would no longer exist in my mind as anyone else other than one of my many people in the kingdom. Whatever happened to you would hold the same importance as anyone else out there."
"And, if I did something that wasn't necessarily in your, or Camelot's, best interests, theoretically speaking?" he ventured to ask.
There was a small pause before she slowly opened her eyes and turned to look at him, her emerald-green orbs as frosty as her words as she gestured towards her men and said, "Then you can be certain you will be seeing one of these men again, and that may be the last thing you ever will see."
Shirou looked to his right at all of the knights that were not peering seriously at him, not a single smile or expression of happiness on their faces. Even Percival continued to frown, though he didn't look as cold and intimidating at the moment.
"I see," was all he ended up saying.
King Arthur paused once more before standing up to her full height and locking onto him.
"And let me say this, Shirou:," she continued, a menacing and slightly malicious air floating about her, "if ever I must chase after you personally, I promise that whatever hell you may visit after death will be nothing in comparison to the pain I will strike down upon you."
For a short moment, Shirou completely forgot whatever memories he'd had of him and Saber together and could only focus on this small statured, young blonde who held more power in her blade than any other person in the entire land, with no other but Lancelot coming remotely close. He took an involuntary step backwards, his thoughts coming to an abrupt halt as a sliver of fear ran down his spine. No matter how he looked at her right then and there, Shirou simply couldn't rid himself of thinking that this was the devil walking under the full light of the sun.
This, he realized, his heart beating hard as her power stole over him, THIS is the king of all Britain, King Arthur. Fuck.
"Yes...sir," he murmured, needing to say something and hoping she'd stop glaring at him.
Her eyes narrowed, but after seeing he'd gotten her point, she closed her eyes again and sat back down. Almost immediately, the thick atmosphere died down, and Shirou could hear the barest of a sigh of relief coming from Percival. Shirou curled his fingers into fists to calm himself down.
"Okay," he shakily managed out, "one last question, if I may, sir."
"Speak," was all she said.
"What happens if I become a personal cook for you?"
"Ah, yes," she sighed out. "While I cannot be too specific as this is a new experience for me as well, your main role will be comprised of keeping to my schedule and feeding me at times most suitable. Of course, you would no longer be considered part of the kitchen staff, and so your duties there will come to an end. On occasion, you may be asked to cook for my knights as well, or whatever I may ask of you. You may very well simply be my personal servant, with a focus on cooking."
Shirou cast his gaze downward as he considered his options. Becoming a knight or leaving Camelot entirely seemed to be the best options for him, but becoming a knight would probably take too much time, and he did have a lot hindering him if he took that option. Then again, if he decided to leave Camelot, then he would be in a position to do whatever it was he needed to do, and then some. But, there was always the chance that he might make a wrong step and draw the wrath of her ire. That would surely end with his demise, unless he wanted to try and survive sixth century England with her as his enemy. No, that wouldn't be a good idea. It would only make sense to not be the source of her fury, then. Could he actually do that, though?
With a sigh, Shirou straightened his shoulders and looked at her as determinedly as before.
"Before I say my decision," he began, earning another sigh of irritation from her, "what would you personally think is in my best interests?"
"This again?" she asked, not withholding her annoyance any further. "Have we not already discussed this in the past? Asking another to decide a path that will become your future is nothing short of lazy and ignorant! If you intend to waste my time with this, then I will simply –"
"I'm sorry," Shirou quickly interrupted. "That's not what I meant. I have a plan. I've made up my mind. I just wanted to see if what you thought I should do was the same as what I intend to do."
She shook her head with frustration, making Kay smirk a bit. "And what, pray tell, is the difference? You are still asking me to decide something for you."
"No," Shirou quickly disagreed. "I am asking for your opinion, one that will in no way impact what I plan to say."
King Arthur turned to look at him thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she tried to piece together the underlying meaning to his words. "Will it not?"
"No. I am my own person."
With this, the king finally felt herself relax somewhat. "Then. In my own opinion, the best option for you would be to leave this place and to never return. Leave Camelot, leave Britain. Venture to another part of the endless world where no one within this vicinity will ever once again hear your name or your accomplishments or failures. That, Shirou, is what I believe would be best for you."
He found himself feeling somewhat frustrated himself from that. Would Saber have said that to him? He realized more and more that the two probably were hardly the same at all. This person in front of him was arrogant and far colder than the Saber he'd been together with – she treated him as if he were nothing but an insignificant insect. Like he'd declared earlier though, what she said wouldn't weigh on his previous decision at all.
"I understand, Your Majesty," he finally said, bowing his head slightly. "I have decided I would like to become your personal cook, if you will have me."
King Arthur's eyebrows rose, showing her surprise as Kay let out a noise of disbelief. The king and Shirou both turned to look at him as he stared at the latter.
"His Majesty said he thinks you should vanish and you decide you want to be his cook? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Shirou frowned. "I think I said that whatever he said wouldn't affect my decision whatsoever. I'd planned that from the moment I heard the offer, but I wanted to make sure I was making the right choice."
The king looked at him sharply. "If you'd known from the very beginning, why would you seek the answers to all of those questions?"
The redhead turned to look at her, slowly replying, "Because, knowledge is power, Your Majesty."
King Arthur was unable to say anything further after hearing that and so chose to say nothing at all. Instead, she motioned for Dylan to come forward. When the squirrely man reached her side, she stood up and motioned to Shirou.
"This is my new personal servant," she explained to Dylan, with the latter looking at the redhead blankly. "His name is Shirou. He will be preparing all of my meals henceforth and will therefore be allowed access to the fourth floor corridor. See that the guards are aware of this."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Dylan agreed.
"As my new, and only, personal servant, I expect him to be clothed suitably and informed of what is expected of him. See that is he is moved from the servant's quarters in the east wing to the third floor of the main wing. I want his room in an acceptable order, befitting someone of his new rank. He is to move in today, effective immediately."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"In addition, see that he is well aware of my schedule," King Arthur continued. "While I do not foresee any changes or amendments, be aware and notify him immediately if one of my meetings is to run longer than expected. I also want his attire drawn together by the day's end. I demand that the tailors finish it by tomorrow's morn. I do not care what it takes – I will accept no less."
She then cupped her chin in thought, trying to see if she'd missed anything. No, she would inform Shirou of the specifics later on, when she had more time to speak to him. At the moment, she needed to prepare herself for her meeting – a meeting that would take up several hours. Ah.
The king turned to look at Shirou. "I will be in my study promptly at noon. Ready a meal for that time. Should I prove to be late, then wait for me outside of the door, and I will be there as soon as I am able, unless my steward tells you otherwise. I expect your future meals to be as high in quality as my breakfast today."
Shirou never had the chance to respond to that comment as Dylan shifted in front of him and offered the king a deep bow. King Arthur didn't bother acknowledging the man and slowly turned her gaze to look steadily at Shirou, not a single word coming from her mouth. She continued looking at him even as Dylan finally righted himself before finally turning away and silently dismissing the both of them.
Dylan chose not to comment on the fact and glanced at Shirou, motioning for him to follow. Shirou hesitated, looking back first at Baeddan, then at the kitchen, and then back at the king who was sitting once more in her seat at the table. He frowned as he stood there, wondering why she'd stared at him for so long – it was almost as if she'd been trying to tell him something, or as if she'd wanted to. He hadn't any idea what, though.
The steward cleared his throat to show his impatience and Shirou turned back around to follow along after the former. As the two left the Great Hall and walked down the corridor towards one of the stairwells, Dylan never once attempted to converse with the redhead, and Shirou was hardly in any mood to bother with chitchat himself, so that didn't bother him any. It was only once they were in the walkway leading to the north wing that Shirou found his curiosity overwhelming. He'd never been any further north than the castle gardens, and he only knew of the basics of this other wing.
"Where are we going?" he found himself asking eventually.
"The north wing," came the dry answer.
Shirou bit his tongue to hold off from replying scathingly. "Obviously. Why?"
Dylan stopped and looked at him with his empty dark-brown eyes. "Do you plan to walk around naked? Are you daft? Where else do you intend to be fitted for clothes?"
Okay. He and this guy were definitely going to have a problem. "I get that. But I thought it was all mages here. I thought we'd have to go to the village for tailors."
"Spoken like a true plebian," Dylan replied, making Shirou's eye twitch from irritation. "Go to the village? What nonsense do you think you're speaking? This is the king, you ruffian. Why on earth would he go to the village with that riff-raff when he could take on all the tailors and seamstresses necessary in his own place of reign? I suppose everyone needs a good source of stupidity at times – even the king."
Shirou gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. Dylan noticed this quickly.
"Only a few minutes into your new position and already seeking violence. My, but you are worthless. Come, let us be finished with this ordeal before your idiocy decides to taint me with itself as well."
With that, Dylan turned back around and continued forward as if nothing strange had transpired between the two at all. Shirou just forced out his breath slowly to calm himself down before he, too, began walking forward again as well. The redhead still couldn't help but grit his teeth as they went downstairs and down a corridor. He noticed one of the open arches lead to the garden and frowned.
"We could've cut through the gardens instead of going the long way."
"Fool. You don't cut through a tranquil, sacred place like that. One of your kind shouldn't even be allowed to trespass lest you spoil it with your poison."
...That was it. Shirou definitely hated this guy. The guy reminded him of a certain blond asshole who'd taken joy in belittling everything "beneath" himself. Shirou grimaced slightly as the memories of that particular blond came flowing back into the forefront of his mind.
They approached a large double door and Dylan didn't even bother to knock before marching straight inside, obviously expecting Shirou to follow along after him. Shirou popped his head through to look around before coming in fully, his eyes taking in all of the different fabrics laying everywhere, alongside of the multitude of people who seemed to be busy sewing one thing or another together. It was pretty damn amazing.
One man jumped up and came forward quickly, his head bowing as he acknowledged Dylan.
"His Majesty's Steward, we once again have the pleasure of speaking to you again," the man began, his words humbled. "What is it His Majesty would like made for him this day?"
Dylan nodded his head over in Shirou's direction before standing aside to let the tailor have a look at him.
"You are to see that this man is outfitted with a wardrobe befitting a personal servant to the king."
"A personal servant...?" the man asked incredulously, and Dylan nodded in reply. "I've never heard of... I see. What is required for him?"
The squirrely looked at Shirou with emotionless eyes before looking down at his clothing. "Yes. Seven days in a week... Prepare three different sorts of cooking outfits per my color specifications and Shirou's outfitting decisions. In addition, I demand three different pairs of outdoor clothing, should the man ever need to venture outside of the castle. Also, see that a shoemaker is aware of this man's need for two new sets of boots."
The tailor wasted no time in accepting the order. "Of course, Steward."
He turned to Shirou next. "Personal Servant, would you please allow me to measure you for a proper fitting?"
Shirou frowned from some discomfort. "You don't have to call me that. Call me Shirou."
Just as the tailor was about to respond, Dylan snapped, "No, they will not call you by that name. You do not represent only yourself anymore, boy. You are in the king's personal service now, and there is little respect for calling you by your given name."
The redhead looked at Dylan irritably. "I'll respect them more if they use my actual name."
"I care little for whether you feel respect for them or not," Dylan argued in a no-nonsense tone. "It only matters whether the king does or not. Do you not get it, boy? You are no longer your own person. You are an extension of the king now – I ask that you act like it."
That began to grate on Shirou's nerves more than anything. He was not a gopher for the king, and he wasn't just a some pretty bauble to show off. His name was Shirou, not "Personal Servant", and no matter what his job, that would never detract from who he truly was. He was his own man, on his own path.
"Please hold still," the tailor said unobtrusively as he and a few other women began measuring parts of his body.
Shirou's body was so taut with anger at this point that it was all he could to hold himself back from attacking Dylan right then and there. He forced his gaze away from Dylan's as he stared blankly at an opposite wall. He should've just chosen exile and left it at that.
The tailor and seamstresses fiddled around him for a few minutes before backing up and bowing deeply to him, an action with very much bothered and unnerved him. The tailor turned to look back at Dylan.
"Now, allow me to repeat for you your allocated order: you have demanded twenty-one sets of cooking outfits for His Majesty's personal servant, along with another three pairs of personal clothing, alongside two new pairs of functioning footwear, yes?"
"Correct," Dylan clipped.
"What dyes would you prefer, Steward?"
"Royal blue with a yellow seam like His Majesty's battle wear. The second outfit should be royal blue with a black seam, and the third outfit should be a pure black outfit with a silver seam."
"I take it that would be for the outdoor wear?" the tailor asked, taking down notes to ensure the order would be correct.
Dylan nodded. "Indeed. As for the cooking outfits, seven white, seven black, and seven blue. That should be sufficient. Make certain the pairs of boots are black."
"Understood," the tailor replied in turn. He switched his attention to Shirou. "How would you like the cooking outfits to be designed, Personal Servant?"
Shirou bit his tongue again to keep from demanding the man say his name normally. It just wasn't worth fighting over at the moment. He took in a deep breath as he thought of the uniforms that chefs would normally wear in the future. Those certainly weren't tunics and breeches though, and Shirou wasn't sure if they'd be able to manage that kind of design. Eh, but in for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.
"An outfit where one side of the uniform top comes over like this, and then the other flap closes over it with buttons like this. Then the pants are all the way down like this, and there's the permanent seams on the sides here, and then the collar's like this, and..."
He faded out the second he realized the tailor was looking at him strangely. "...Right. Hey, can I borrow that parchment and, what is that? Yeah, the quill, too, please."
As the tailor moved aside for Shirou to begin drawing, Shirou took the quill into his hand and frowned at it. He'd never written with one before, and he wasn't sure how much pressure to use. He'd seen the things used in movies and on television, but never had had the opportunity of attempting such himself. Shirou dipped the quill into the ink, like he'd seen on TV, but the second he tried to write anything, the ink splattered all over the parchment, making him gawk down at it with disbelief. He let out a small growl when he heard Dylan sigh with annoyance, but tried to ignore the steward as he tried once again. Just like before, though, the ink splattered against the sheet.
Shirou just ignored it this time and tried to draw something out as best he could. It was hard to tell the difference between what'd he drawn and all of the splotches of ink everywhere, but the tailor simply looked down at the drawing pensively, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to make sense of it.
"I've never seen clothing designed like this before. And this, ah, 'collar', you said? Why does it come around like that? Why do you have the flaps of the shirt folded over like so with the sets of buttons? I don't see a functional use for this."
"It looks crisp and clean," didn't sound like the best thing to say in this era, so Shirou stuck with, "That's how cook's clothing is designed in my country. Call it nostalgia if you like. Whatever makes you feel better."
The tailor honestly desired to say the stranger's country was very strange to not wear something as convenient as a tunic and breeches, but that was not his place to do so. He continued studying the strange drawing before simply shaking his head. It could be done, of course, and far be it from him to debate on the clothing's uselessness, but he was but a simple tailor in the king's keep. If this was what the king's personal servant desired, then it was what would be delivered.
"I...understand," he said eventually, turning his eyes away from the splotched parchment. "We will have your order fulfilled. Please allow us a couple of weeks to a month to complete everything."
Dylan shook his head. "My apologies, Tailor, but I can give you only until the morrow's morn."
The tailor quickly rose from his bow, his eyes as wide as all of his coworkers'. "Surely, you cannot be serious, Steward. That is over twenty pieces of clothing. We could never complete such an order within that given time."
"Feel free to recruit the mages to assist you again," Dylan suggested, his expression unforgiving. "The king has demanded thus, and so you will meet his expectations."
"But, twenty plus articles of clothing is..."
"Indeed, that is a tall order to fill," Dylan agreed. "At least complete two sets of everything, and his current boots will need to suffice. I will inform the king of these conditions."
The tailor still hesitated, but realized there was nothing he could do. Two sets of everything was far better than completing all of the clothing all at once, after all. "I understand, Steward."
Dylan nodded and turned around to look Shirou up and down. "I suppose those rags will have to do for the first day. It is a shame, but there is little we can do about it."
He then shifted his gaze up to Shirou's hair. "Now, if only we could do something about that atrocious color..."
"You aren't touching my hair," Shirou said immediately. "Ever."
The steward only sniffed in reply and spun on his heel to walk out of the room. Shirou gave the tailor one last glance, but the man was already elbow deep in work, preparing the material for Shirou's clothing. The time traveler tilted his head but decided to just leave and allow the people peace to work – they only had a day to finish everything after all. He walked out into the corridor to see Dylan waiting for him.
"What now?" he grunted, not in the mood for scurrying across the entire damn castle. It was fucking huge.
Dylan looked at him briefly before walking on. "You are to move to different quarters. A room on the third floor, as His Majesty has demanded. Though I quite doubt you to have anything of real purpose lying in wait for you in your current quarters, I ascertained you would wish to visit there regardless."
Shirou frowned but didn't bother replying. He followed after Dylan again up until the two ran into a pair of servants. Dylan quickly relayed to them the king's orders about Shirou's new room and they ensured that it would be ready within the next half hour. As soon as the two women bowed, Dylan continued walking, with Shirou tagging along right behind up until the moment they both reached the door to Shirou and Zago's room. Shirou strode in quickly, zeroing in on his cot and reaching behind it to get the backpack he hadn't used for months on end. Slipping it on, he then looked down at the red blanket folded neatly at the end of his cot. He tilted his head slightly before grabbing it and carrying it awkwardly in his arms.
When he left his room to meet back up with Dylan, the latter looked less than impressed with the bulk. However, the man said nothing about the topic and walked away with Shirou following around right behind him again.
"Allow me to inform you of the king's schedule," Dylan said, looking down at the notes he'd been holding in one hand the entire time. "Within the next hour or so, the king is to be in a meeting with a court official from another kingdom – you need not be aware of the details concerning what or who. Providing the meeting does not tally for too long, the king should be available thereafter in his office. Around two in the afternoon, the king is expected to be in the throne room to receive villagers until early evening. I would believe it appropriate to have a meal prepared for before that particular conference. As for tomorrow's scheduling, I assume the king will inform you either at lunch, or at the time for dinner."
Shirou grunted in reply. "Anything else I should know?"
"I suggest you don't screw up," Dylan said in return.
At Shirou's annoyed expression, Dylan stopped walking and turned to face the other man fully. "I wasn't being facetious. I truly mean that you should not mess anything up, if you value your life. Whenever I hear your name pop up, it is not with redeeming factors, I can tell you. You are teetering on a very fine line, and if you so choose to not put your best forth, you may as well have chosen exile instead of this route, like the king had thought you to do."
"I get it," the redhead said. "I'm in a precarious position. I didn't choose that choice just so I could mess up and get kicked back down to my previous rank. I'm here for the long haul."
"Such strange idioms and words you use," Dylan responded, his head tilting to the side. "But, I understand your meaning well enough. May you succeed in all of your endeavors."
At this, Shirou couldn't help his skepticism and surprise. "Wait, I thought you were waiting for me to fail."
"I expect you to fail," Dylan agreed somewhat, much to Shirou's ire. "That does not necessarily indicate that I desire for the event to happen. I expect it because you know nothing. You are nothing. You have come from nothing. What is nothing multiplied by three? Of course, it is still nothing, and so what can I expect but failure? You are most certainly welcome to prove me wrong, however."
Shirou sneered. "You know nothing about me to say I'm nothing. Your lack of information just shows how lost you are – you have no right to act as if I'm all that low on the totem pole. I could be a prince or king from my own land, here just to live a normal life."
At this, Dylan paused. "There is truth in those words. You could be playing a dangerous game with no one necessarily understanding your exact position upon the board. In which case, might it be you who is orchestrating all that has gone wrong so far?"
That put Shirou on edge so quickly he couldn't help but show his displeasure. "Don't put recent troubles on my back. I haven't done anything wrong."
"Either you are more than you are, or you are nothing at all," Dylan countered easily. "However, you must be one of the two, for there is hardly an in-between whatsoever."
"Life isn't all about the black and white of a situation," Shirou argued.
"Even grey has its limits," Dylan said, finishing the conversation. "So, for now, shall I just assume you are nothing if you are not something?"
He turned away from the shaking redhead again, taking the lead as he continued walking towards Shirou's new room. Shirou fumed in silence as he continued following behind the sinewy man, his eyes attempting to burn a hole in the back of the man's skull. By the time the two reached the third floor, Shirou was ready to be done with the man. Dylan stopped in front of one room, looked at Shirou, and told him to wait outside as he kept walking down the hall. Shirou stared after him before looking at the door next to him. Was this his new place?
Shifting the pack on his back to a more comfortable position, he looked at the general door itself. It was much better crafted than the servants' doors were – that much was for certain. It had a very beautifully carved door handle, and looked of even better quality than the ones on the second floor. He jiggled the handle a bit, but it was obviously locked shut. While being led to stand directly in front of this particular room led him to believe it had to be the one he'd been allocated, with his retarded luck, he'd probably just be attempting to break into some woman's quarters or something.
Dylan came shuffling back some time later with a key in hand. The man placed the piece of metal into Shirou's hand, gesturing to the room in front of them with some flourish.
"Please, have a look at your new place for rest. Inform me if it is lacking in any way, shape, or form. I believe it should have whatever basics you would ever need."
Shirou pushed past the other man and easily slid the key into the keyhole. When he heard the gentle click of the lock's clasps, he pushed open the large wooden door, slowly walking in to take in the entirety of his new lodgings. Shirou looked from the desk in the corner, to a window overlooking the castle gardens, to the sheeted bed on the other side of the room. His boots treaded over a beautiful rug placed on the stone floor, and he also took note of his own personal fireplace in next to the window. He couldn't help his jaw falling somewhat as his pack fell from his shoulders and onto the floor with a soft thump, the blanket right along with it, while he automatically steered himself toward the window. The sun had already began its ascent into the sky and its gorgeous rays shone in on him as he stared through the barred window.
He turned back to look at his room at a new angle, now noticing the wooden closet tucked in near the wall beside his door. Shirou looked blankly back at Dylan, seeing that the man hadn't once attempted to cross into the threshold. The redhead simply couldn't believe it. His new room and his old quarters were like night and day – he never would have expected to have a window with solid shutters, or a fireplace, or a wonderful, actual bed, or... Why did rank seem to matter so much to get a modicum of a half-decent life in this time period? In his time, everything had been based on money. What kind of person you were didn't matter so much as you had the money to support your ideals most of the time, and here, it was blood and advantage. If you somehow found an in, you were blessed. If you were related to those with advantage, you were blessed. If you had neither, then, good luck.
The point was, though, that anyone could earn money when given half the chance. You couldn't change who you were born to, which meant you might not be able to change who you knew all that much either. It wasn't very fair, in all truth.
"Are you satisfied with what you've seen?" Dylan asked Shirou quietly, not wishing to disrupt the personal servant's thoughts.
"Yeah," Shirou replied, his voice sounding dull and empty, even to his ears. "This is enough for me."
Dylan nodded. "Good. I must show you to where the king's study is on the fourth floor, as well as notify the monitoring guards of your new position and your right to access it. Then, you will begin preparations for the king's afternoon meal so that you may present it to him there in person."
"Right," Shirou consented, unable to manage many words. He was still too shaken from his realization.
He trudged out of his room, a frown on his face as he shut the door and locked it with his key. Looking down at the key in his hand and then back at the door, Shirou thought of how much he'd bled, sweated, and cried to get to where he was now. Was his new position even worth everything he'd gone through? He wouldn't know until he let himself experience life a little bit more as he was now.
Shirou peered into the oven of the personal kitchen given to him by the mage population. It was similar to the incredible kitchen allowed to him, Eos, and Zago when they were feeding all of the servants, but it was far smaller and the main difference was that he was the only one with permission to use it. Essentially, the kitchen had been made for his use, all in all. The ingredients were still all in the main storage, but as long as he provided a list for Baeddan on what he specifically needed, the servants would have each item prepared and brought to the entrance for him to take. It was easier, but, now, he really was alone.
The redhead had expected to be working with the rest of the kitchen staff, but without the same pressure and without Baeddan yelling at him to get his shit together. When he found out he would be by himself with no other company, at first, he had been surprised. As he'd started preparing the king's lunch, however, Shirou began to feel a bit better about his situation. When he needed tools, he could simply trace them without anyone knowing. If he messed up and starting cursing in Japanese, no one was around to care. If a mess was made, he knew it was his own damn fault, and had no trouble picking up after himself. The best of all, though, was that it practically guaranteed that there would be no one to ruin anything for him or make his life miserable.
Sure, through the first hours of his new position, Shirou kind of missed having Dago and Eos around to chat with, and, for some seconds here and there, Baeddan even, but the fact that the only person depending on him was the king and that he was in charge of solely himself, trumped over any thoughts of loneliness he may have ever coincidentally considered. If he screwed up, it was all on him. If he did well, that was all due to his skill as well. There were not external factors to concern himself with, and that made everything a bit easier. If nothing else, he definitely had the king to thank for that.
Shirou pulled out the rendition of butter parmesan chicken that he'd come up with. While it was unfortunate that parmesan wasn't in cultivation yet, normal cheese would do well enough since the king wouldn't know the difference at all. It definitely irritated Shirou to cook a meal that wasn't up to his normal standards, but a lot of the bread-like dishes would've needed time for the dough to rise, and chicken didn't take that long to cook. He'd baked the vegetables around the chicken, letting the natural taste of the seasonings on the chicken flow over towards the vegetables as well. Honestly, Shirou really wished aluminum foil had been invented – he'd tried to trace it, but the his version was far too dense and it would've been like putting the chicken in an oven within an oven.
He looked up at the empty kitchen briefly before tracing a metal dish to plate the chicken. Shirou cut the large piece into smaller slices for appeal and aesthetic beauty before arranging the vegetables in a more graceful manner next to the chicken. He next went to the wall where there were a few bottles of wine and a keg of ale. Looking back at the chicken and then looking at his two options of alcohol, – because water just wasn't going to cut it – he decided on the red wine for taste value. Ale would cover up the richness of the chicken too much instead of complementing the meal. A nice, smooth lager would've done well with the chicken, but Shirou hadn't yet had the opportunity to work with growing the hops, – he'd have to find some to work with first – getting the necessary yeast, and he didn't even know if there was any barley to work with around here. That would probably be his first big project: dealing with alcoholic beverages. He would've never originally thought of Saber, no, King Arthur, as a drinker, but, it only made sense.
Shirou set the cup full of wine, together with the plate of food, onto a tray. He mentally calculated the entire meal to see if he was missing anything of importance, but just shrugged and traced some silverware to eat with.
"Drink. Food. Silverware. I don't have any napkins. I'll have to appeal to someone to make that a thing here," he murmured to himself. "Is there anything else? Mm. Guess I'll find out later if she doesn't like something."
After tracing a lid to cover the steaming plate of food, Shirou carefully picked up the tray and headed towards the door leading out into the castle gardens. He allowed himself a small smile when he saw the view, and thought himself lucky to be able to see it every time he went back and forth from the kitchen. Walking through the grass, he breathed in the wonderful aroma of all of the flowers. He'd heard that Queen Guinevere had had a hand in picking whatever plants would be planted and in what manner. Shirou thought that she'd done a great job. Everything seemed so warm and inviting that it was a shame no other people really visited. He still couldn't understand why Zago had acted the way he had when they'd first visited.
The Japanese slowly ascended the steps, making sure to keep the tray even so as to not jostle the cup full of liquid. When he reached the fourth floor, he came face to face with the two soldiers guarding the staircase on the side he'd taken. They both offered him a bow of their head before stepping back and opening a path for him. Shirou offered the two of them cordial nods as he walked past them and down the corridor. The sounds of his boots scuffing against the stone as he walked bounced against the walls and high ceiling above him. It was odd being on the fourth floor – it was so quiet and...strangely lonely.
The moment he approached the door to the king's office, he let out a breath to relieve him of his apprehension. It all started here. If he did well here, then he would have survived the first step of the journey. And fuck it if he didn't want her to appreciate what he'd made. Shirou balanced the tray on his left arm with his hand securing it from falling. His right hand rapped gently on the thick wooden door before he let it drop and waited.
"Who is it?" came the query.
A bout of nervousness suddenly hit him before he quenched the feeling. "Uh, Shirou, Your Majesty. I have your food?"
Well, wasn't that wonderfully well-spoken of him? Note to self: learn how to speak better.
There was a pause and he heard some mutterings come from inside before the door suddenly swept open and the tall figure of Kay came into his vision. Shirou hesitated when he saw the other man, but Kay only nudged his head, indicated that Shirou walk in. Shirou glanced at the man as he passed him before turning his attention to the blond patiently waiting for him to acknowledge her.
"Your Majesty," he said quietly, not sure of what he was supposed to do. "I have brought your afternoon meal."
"So, I see," was her short reply.
She gestured at the cleared desk in front of her and he walked in further, adjusting the tray so that the plate would be right in front of her. Setting it down on her desk, he barely noticed Kay shut the study door and flop down into a chair behind him. Shirou pulled off lid and a small cloud of steam rose up from the food, showing how hot it still was. King Arthur looked down at the meal before looking back up at him.
"What is it I am looking at, Shirou?"
Shirou nearly palmed his face when he realized there was no way for her to know what it was. When Kay popped up next to him to look at the meal, he slid to the side somewhat before answering her question.
"At the center is the breast of a chicken baked to perfection in a number of seasonings" – the ones he could find anyway – "as well as butter and what was meant to be parmesan. To the side are the vegetables I baked alongside it. I did not season them too much, so I would advise that you eat them together with the meat instead of separately. Then, I also brought you a glass of wine to complement your meal."
King Arthur nodded as she listened to his explanation. "Yes, I see. But, what do you mean by 'what was meant to be parmesan'?"
Shirou shrugged helplessly. "The type of cheese I'd normally use doesn't exist here, Your Majesty."
"You appear somewhat irritated by that fact," she pointed out, making no move to eat her meal.
"It just makes things a bit harder to make when I don't have the ingredients I'm used to using," Shirou responded. Or when they don't exist at all, even remotely.
She tilted her head. "I believe I understand your frustration. Perhaps if you –"
"Could you just eat the damn meal already, brother?" interrupted Kay with an expression of irritation. "Play king later. Eat now."
The blonde frowned deeply at him for interrupting her conversation. "You act as if my eating somehow relates to you in any way."
Kay harrumphed. "Well, I can't sneak away any food until you at least take your first bite. By all means, talk your life away with the man, but only after trying that first nibble."
Shirou backed away slowly as the king only stared at Kay. "This meal is mine. You will not receive any."
"You would deny your own brother this gratification?"
"Within a heartbeat," she deadpanned. "If I even so much as see you gesture at my food, I will stab you. And then I will kick you out."
Kay's jaw dropped somewhat. "Where did this viciousness come from, brother? I simply wish to test it!"
"You are just like Percival," King Arthur continued. "If I gave you even the slightest morsel, you would only fight for more. Go sit down."
"My brother is so cruel to me."
"Sit in that chair like a good, little puppy."
Kay stared back at the blonde as she just blinked somewhat innocently. "I cannot believe you used my own line against me. What a terrible person. Fine. Have your wonderful food."
He sulkily sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. King Arthur chose to then ignore him, the danger to her meal no longer existent. She looked back at Shirou who was off in the corner, trying to stay as far away from the fight as he could manage.
"Now, Shirou, back to what we were discussing previously..."
"Saber Lion came back," he muttered to himself. "Damn, Taiga was bad enough, and now this?"
King Arthur and Kay both looked at him at this point. "...I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing!" Shirou exclaimed. "Nothing! Hah. Yes, you were saying? Something about if I do something?"
She looked at him oddly before replying, "Give me a list of the list of ingredients you might need procured to better operate in the kitchen, and I will see if it is possible to gather them at some point. I make no promises, however."
"Ah, yes sir," Shirou answered. That would require me knowing how to write though. Maybe I could have the steward guy write it out for me?
With the discussion finished, the king finally turned to her meal and picked up her knife and fork with almost practiced fluidity, surprising Shirou incredibly. She'd done that with the first meal, too, but Shirou could swear that utensils weren't a normal thing back here in the past – at least, not yet. Weren't table manners originally a French thing passed over? The king used the combination of tools as if she'd been doing it for years, though, and Shirou definitely thought that to be strange. But, since Kay wasn't saying anything about it, then it definitely wasn't Shirou's place to, either.
The first five minutes passed quietly, with only the odd scrape of metal against metal here and there interrupting the silence. Kay watched her eat before letting out a loud sigh. Her green eyes drifted up to look at him as Shirou did much the same.
"Well," Kay began, his head hitting the wall behind him, "this is about as exciting as watching the grass grow."
Shirou didn't say anything, only watching as the king set down her fork and sighed herself. "Forgive me if my eating is inconveniently boring for you, Kay. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me why you're here then?"
Kay scoffed. "And leave you here by yourself with this guy? He might try to seduce you into doing something awful. I must stay here to protect you."
Just as Shirou interjected, "I wouldn't do anything to His Majesty," King Arthur simultaneously sputtered out,
"S-seduce? Seduce?"
At this point, both men looked at her and the king realized she was acting very much out of character. "Kay, that is nothing short of nonsense. I am married, if you would recall."
Kay blinked at her reaction before a smirk drew across his face, thereby filling her with a sense of dread. "Oh, hoh, have you realized the appeal of men now, just like Percival, Arthur?"
She opened her mouth before shutting it quickly, knowing all too well that this was punishment for her eliminating his chances of trying her meal. Her eyes darted over to a bewildered Shirou before she pointedly stared back at her brother.
"Kay..."
Her brother only decided to stand up and throw an arm around Shirou's shoulders, making him stiffen with confusion and a tinge of fear. Kay chuckled.
"Hey, what's your name again?"
"Shirou..." the redhead replied uncertainly.
The king quickly stood up. "Kay."
Kay turned both himself and Shirou around so that their backs were facing the blonde. "So, Shirou, was it? It seems my brother has not only a wonderful taste for women, for what is the queen if not a beauty in every way, but also for the other sex as well. While I do not see him ever attempting to marry you like Percival claims on a normal basis, I believe I should warn you of his tenacity, regardless."
He snuck a quick look back at the king to see her face aflame with red, though whether that was from embarrassment or anger, he couldn't be entirely certain. It was time to find out, though. Ah, the role of a big brother was a tedious, but amusing, one.
"Allow me to regale you with his less-than-finer moments of life..."
Within a flash, his little "brother" was standing in front of him, her face entirely devoid of emotion. Oh, oops. It seemed he'd jested with her a bit too, too much. Well, the day was never done if he didn't.
She glanced at the wide-eyed Shirou, nodding her head back at the chair behind him. "You. Sit."
Kay winced. She hadn't even used the man's name. He felt a shiver run down his spine the second her cold gaze landed on him.
"Arthur, it was just a bit of..."
"You. Out."
"What is life if you don't..."
"Out."
Kay held up his hands to try and placate her fierce fury, but she only opened the door and stared at him, unmoving. He finally shrugged his shoulders, making sure to lean in and whisper to her as he left,
"If you like the man, you should at least be honest with your feelings."
He grinned at her as she froze and continued staring back. She sent a glance back at the still confused Shirou before pushing Kay out and closing the door after her as she left as well. Shirou wondered when his life had gotten to be so strange that he was seeing the king's brother brazenly tease the king as if she were just a normal person. Of course, Kay had known her long before she'd ever become king for real, and was basically treating her as if nothing had changed over the years. Shirou felt himself grin when he thought of all the crazy stuff Taiga had done to him once upon a time as his older sibling. It was always nice to have someone who would treat you like the real you, without paying any attention to how much you might have grown up over the years, or what you might've become.
His grin vanished when he heard a loud yelp of pain and the sound of something hitting the ground. Shirou gaped as the door then opened as King Arthur gracefully walked back in, shaking out her right hand somewhat. She glanced at Shirou once before sliding into her chair with a sigh.
"Please forgive that interruption, Shirou."
He just smiled softly, much to her confusion. He chuckled a bit. "It must be nice to be on such good terms with your brother."
An unreadable expression overtook her face before she blankly looked back at him. "I would rather not discuss such a topic with you, if you do not mind. And, if you could forget such an event ever occurred, it would be much appreciated."
Shirou's smile disappeared from his face entirely. He cleared his throat before sitting up straight. "Right. I'm sorry."
"There is little need for apology," she stated, situating herself to finally finish her meal. "Sir Kay simply is not the type to differentiate between times when such foolery is allowed and when it is not. Which brings me to another point."
Shirou gave her his full attention and she nodded. "You are my servant. Never again do I wish for you to act as if you are a part of anything like the matter with Sir Kay. You are to serve my meals and whatever else I ask of you, and nothing else. If there is something you need, I will of course attend to your needs if I am able. It is only reasonable that I do so. Should I not be available, it would be in your best interests to consult with my steward. However, even if you should be brought into a discussion by any other person within my study at any time, never will you participate in the discussion at any point in time. Ever. Have I made myself clear?"
At this point, Shirou felt his fists clench tightly. "Yes, sir."
"Good," she replied. "Let us now discuss your role."
She ate a piece of chicken, swallowed, and then looked at him. "When you come to my door and ask for entrance, you will say the following words: 'Your Majesty, may I be granted entrance?' Now, repeat those words."
"Your Majesty, may I be granted entrance?" he repeated dully, his emotions closing off.
"Good. When I allow you entrance, you will then walk two steps forward, bow, and say, 'Your Majesty, I have come to serve you your breakfast, lunch, dinner,' or what have you. Repeat those words, as if you were here to serve me my midday meal."
Shirou closed his eyes, feeling irritation flow through him. "Your Majesty, I have come to serve you your lunch."
She narrowed her eyes. "Your tone leaves much to be desired, but we will work on that. In any case, once you have set down the tray, you will immediately explain to me my meal and any issues you may have had concerning ingredients. Thereafter, I expect you to retreat back towards the wall over there, and stand there at attention, and as still as a statue. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," came the forced response.
"Very well, then. Even should my brother or any other attempt to include you into any conversation, you are to simply say, 'Forgive me, but I am only here to serve.' Nothing else. They will understand given enough time. Now, say those words."
Shirou breathed out slowly. "Forgive me, but I am only here to serve."
"Good enough, I suppose," she murmured, setting down her utensils and downing the cup of wine. "Your meal was delectable, Shirou. I expect more of the same quality. Now, let us see how you leave."
He stood up slowly, his eyes downcast as he bowed courteously and took the tray from her desk. He rose to his full height.
"By your leave, Your Majesty."
King Arthur rubbed her chin before nodding. "That will do. You may leave now."
"Thank you," he bit out before bowing again and walking away.
He opened the door to the study, walked out, and then closed the door behind him. As soon as he left, King Arthur let out a small sigh and fell back against the cushioning of her chair. She stared at the wall across from her as the silence permeated throughout the room. She gave the door long glance before leaning forward and setting her elbows on her desktop. Her face fell into her hands as she thought over what all she had told Shirou and how she had acted towards him.
"Am I really doing the right thing? However am I to truly know?"
There was something that had been plaguing the back of her mind over a number of days that she had nearly forgotten, what with her busy schedule and the generally low importance of this particular task. King Arthur gracefully set down her spoon – the soup had been very rich and creamy, and definitely to her tastes. It intrigued her how well he cooked despite the odd circumstances thrust upon him. She wondered if there was anything lacking or impeding his ability to...
Ah. And there it was.
As Shirou pulled away the tray away from her desk, King Arthur smoothed out her brow with a couple of her fingers as she tapped her fingers against the wooden surface. Shirou backed away, respectfully announcing,
"By your leave, Your Majesty."
"Hold, Shirou," she said, stopping him in his tracks as he looked up with an expression full of emptiness. "It has since left my mind, but I can almost certainly recall that I asked for you to provide me with a list of ingredients that are currently lacking in the kitchen. It has been over a week since then. Where is that list?"
She felt a wave of annoyance and irritation pass through her when he automatically stiffened at hearing her words. By the Lord above, she had not asked the man to fight a one-man battle against the whole of the Saxons – she just wanted a piece of parchment with a list of ingredients on it. How difficult was it to supply something so simple?
"You do not have it," she deduced, not even bothering to ask it as an official question.
Shirou made a small noise of irritation himself, which only annoyed her further. He hid a glare – he was getting better at that, she would have to admit – and looked at her fully.
"I know what all I need, and I do have a list, Your Majesty," he explained slowly. "It's just..."
"Just?" she repeated after him, eyes narrowing. "Just what, exactly?"
He turned his gaze away, muttering, "You just wouldn't be able to read it..."
For a moment, the king thought that her servant was trying to insult her. "...I beg your pardon?"
Shirou cleared his throat and glanced at her as he asked, "May I set this tray down, Your Majesty?"
She waved her hand, silently permitting him to do so. As soon as Shirou balanced the tray on a chair, he slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. As soon as he unfolded it and passed it to her, the king immediately realized what the issue was. King Arthur stared down at the mess of kanji, hiragana, and katakana written down rather neatly. Her eyes scanned over each character before she blinked a couple of times as it if to clear her vision. The blonde turned her attention back to her servant.
"What is this?"
He grunted slightly. "It's the list, in my native language. I can only speak Brythonic, but I can't write or read it."
King Arthur sighed a bit as she laid the parchment on her desk. "I see. You are illiterate of the country's language. That will not do."
"Your Majesty?" Shirou inquired, noticing her stand up from her chair and gaze out of her large window.
He watched her tilt her head almost indecisively before looking out once more. King Arthur smoothed her brow once again, a habit he was beginning to recognize as something to calm her down when she was harried. Saber had never done that, but then again, when Saber hadn't been fighting, or arguing with him, or eating, she'd been sleeping. She'd actually lived a pretty low-maintenance lifestyle for those two weeks. Would she have adopted these mannerisms, given enough stress? Then again, who's to say she hadn't when she'd been king? Ruling a country as opposed to just dealing with an idiotic teenager who didn't know how to jump into dangerous situations had to have been like comparing apples to dogs. Sleeping most of the time had to be the easier of the two.
"I have some time left still," the king muttered to herself before walking back to her seat and gesturing towards one of the chairs.
"Have a seat, Shirou," she directed as she made a bit more space available on her desk. "Pull it forward and pay attention. I do not intend for any personal servant of mine to have the educational level of an average peasant."
The redhead hesitated, but after noting her no-nonsense tone, quickly reached for the chair without the tray laying on it and set it down on the rug right in front of her desk. As soon as the man sat down, King Arthur took out her quill and began writing down what looked to his like a bunch of scritch-scratch. She wrote out, in large script, twenty different symbols, with more writing next to each one. Five letters each were separated out into four different groups, that he could tell, but it all looked the same to him. English hadn't seemed this difficult, although the "d" and "b" looked ridiculously similar, like the "p" and "q". And, that was just the letters themselves – don't even get him started on the sounds everything made.
King Arthur set her quill back into its inkpot before gesturing to the entire sheet, turning it around so he could see it the right way. "There are currently twenty letters in the Ogham alphabet –"
"'Ogham'?" he accidentally interrupted, sounding confused.
"The term 'Brythonic' is too encompassing," the king explained patiently. "Brythonic refers to a myriad of languages, nothing particularly specific. When I say 'Ogham', however, this solely means the alphabet used in all of the Celtic region. As I said, there are twenty letters in the alphabet at the moment."
Twenty wasn't bad. If only they didn't all look the exact same...
She pointed at each letter as she went down the list. "First, you must know that the letters, also known as 'feda', are separated into four different groups, otherwise known as 'aicme'. The first aicme, named 'Beithe' after the first feda, has the letters 'beith', 'luis', 'fern', 'sail', and 'nion'. Write down those words, if you must."
Shirou stared at the parchment with wide eyes before they snapped up to look at her. She gestured towards her quill and was surprised to see him glare at the utensil as if it were his enemy. He grudgingly took the quill out of its pot and started trying to write the sounds he'd heard in katakana for easy reference. Katakana couldn't really do the language justice, and he'd be sounding like a hick for a while when he'd try pronouncing everything, but it was better than nothing. He made a small sound of frustration when a blot of ink fell onto the paper when he tried using the quill. Shirou heard a small snort and looked up to see the king eye's dancing with some mirth.
"Must I teach you to write correctly as well, Shirou?"
He felt embarrassment race through him as he stiffened. "This is only my second time using one of these stupid things, Your Majesty."
"Well," she began, shaking her head, "as these 'stupid things' are the only utensils around for you to use at the moment, might I suggest you learn to get used to them?"
Shirou grumbled under his breath before she finally admonished him. "Shirou. Remember where you are."
He finally fell silent, only letting out another sound of frustration when another blot landed on the page. Before he decided to try and break her quill, she grabbed his hand to still him. Shirou frowned as he looked back up at her again and she sighed. Standing up and moving to stand behind him, she placed a hand over his right one and forced him to take up the quill again.
"You're pushing down too hard, and at times, too lightly," the king informed him as she moved his hand in careful motions. "The quill is a tool meant to be cooperated with, not conquered. Should you attempt to force it in any way it does not like, it will reciprocate as you've already seen – with blots all along the page. Do not fight the tool – only guide it as an external embodiment."
Shirou had only heard the gist of her words, his body immediately freezing the moment she came up behind him and touched his hand. It didn't matter that he was currently pissed at her for everything wrong in his life lately – the second he felt her breath against his ear and the electric feeling of her hand upon his, his brain started to shut down. Suddenly, he remembered that night and his brain then pulled a one-eighty on him and kicked into overdrive.
She noticed him still and frowned as she moved away. "Is there something wrong, Shirou?"
"Nothing but my imagination," he muttered to himself before telling her, "No, Your Majesty."
"I see," she said as she made some space in between the two of them. "Now, if you'll look at the next aicme, named 'hÚatha', the feda go as followed: 'uath', 'dair', 'tinne', 'coll', and 'ceirt'. The third aicme is 'Muine', and has 'muin,' 'gort', 'ngéadal', 'straif', and 'ruis'. The last aicme is 'Ailme', with 'ailm', 'onn', 'úr', 'eadhadh', and 'iodhadh'. Understand?"
"No," he wanted to say, desperately writing down all of the sounds in his own language. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good, then we're finished," she was quick to reply, moving back behind her desk again. "While I do not expect for you to have everything memorized all that quickly, I do want you to continually practice in your own free time. You cannot say you are not given enough of that."
Shirou stared blankly at her before looking back down at the paper. "Uh, if I need more help...?"
"Yes, yes," she sighed. "I will arrange for someone to work with you. Expect a notice within the day or so. A scribe from the library should come to retrieve you in your downtime."
He couldn't help but continue staring as blankly as before. "There's a library?"
This time, it was she who stared at him so blankly. "Not one you've ever apparently seen, it would seem..."
In his defense, the castle was incredibly enormous, and he'd never had the time. And what would he have done even if he had discovered it? Look at all of the scritch-scratch and wish he could actually read it? The king merely looked at him with some amusement before waving him away.
"Be off with you, now," she ordered. "I have important tasks to take care of."
He rose from the chair steadily, quickly putting it back where it'd originally been before looking back at the parchment on her desk and reaching for it. Shirou started to fold it when he noticed her shake her head just a smidgen.
"Roll it," she directed. "The creasing from folding the parchment may interfere with the writing itself."
He frowned but did as she'd told him. Holding the parchment in one hand and the tray in another, he bowed and once again said, "By your leave, Your Majesty."
"Go," she commanded. "And be certain to study."
Yes, Commander, he wanted to gripe. He stayed quiet though, simply bowing as he tried to open the door without knocking over anything. As he was about to leave, Shirou turned around once more. King Arthur raised an eyebrow at his hesitance.
"Yes, Shirou?"
"I was just wondering," he started slowly, "is there any way I might be able to visit the village?"
She frowned at this. "For what reason would you need to go there?"
"All the recipes I know are from my country, but since I don't have all of the ingredients right now, I was thinking I could see what normal people cook for their families."
King Arthur sat back in her chair. "...And, for whatever reason, you believe a normal peasant's meal is in what I should be partaking?"
There was an edge to her voice that had him rolling to a full stop before he tried to change tracks. Shirou shook his head emphatically. "No, Your Majesty. The kitchen has a plentiful supply of things to use, but I wanted to see how people without much to work with create meals for themselves. For the sake of conservation."
"You wish to feed me peasant food."
She almost sounded irritated again. He wanted to stamp down his foot.
"No. I want more options!"
"What's wrong with asking Baeddan?"
You act as if I'm taking away your favorite toy, he thought to himself. "Baeddan is too high-class to know anything about conservation, and most people brought into the kitchen didn't have any kind of reputation with cooking beforehand. It's a new thing to them. I just want more ideas, that's all."
King Arthur eventually sighed. "I'll consider it only when you can write on par with a five-year-old."
Oh, ouch. That was mean.
"Fine," he muttered. "By your leave, Your Majesty."
She waved him away and he closed the door behind him. He huffed to himself. How was it that one moment she made him feel as if he was on fire, and then the next, she could piss him off like nothing else? It was as if she had a gift.
Shirou looked down at the paper in his hands and puffed up his cheeks.
"Great. Now I've got homework to deal with all over again."
Omake:
Shirou stared hard at the king from his spot at the wall near the door, his eyes narrowing as he monitored how the woman went through her paperwork. He had to hand it to her – she had a solid defense, with hardly any holes or weaknesses to exploit. But, that didn't matter in the end. Where there was a will, there was a way, after all. Nothing shy of her kicking him out of her study would keep him from succeeding that day.
Not even a moment after he thought that, Shirou saw her pause to cover her mouth, probably to hide a yawn from him. That didn't matter. This was his chance.
He saw her hand lower from her mouth and his golden-brown eyes glinted dangerously.
There!
Shirou dashed forward with every ounce of speed in his body, the dish of cakes he'd managed to bake sliding softly across her desk as her hand fell down to meet it perfectly. Then, without a word, Shirou silently leapt back, mentally fist pumping when he noticed King Arthur automatically pick up one of the cakes and start nibbling on it. He chuckled to himself – she hadn't even noticed his movements. Ah, he was good. No, he was the best.
Shirou, the quickest draw in the West, armed to the hilt with every delicacy known to the sixth century! Yes, he was brilliant.
There was also far more where those cakes had come from. Baking small batches was a pain in this time period, so he'd made the equivalent of two pans worth, and had only given her barely a quarter of one pan. The other dishes rested to the side, and he eagerly awaited her asking him for more, because, she obviously would. He was amazing.
His grin grew when he saw the king eat up the last piece of morsel on her plate, but she never turned her gaze away from her paperwork. Her right hand flipped up one page before lowering it back down while her left hand picked up the plate and held it out towards him.
"Okawari, Shirou," she demanded of him in crisp, clear, proficient Japanese, and Shirou was quick to respond.
"Sure thing," he said, automatically reverting back to his native tongue, his facial expression joyous.
Shirou put the empty plate on the ground, humming to himself as he reached for the top plate on the stack of sweets. This made him recall the number of times Saber had held up her rice bowl to him, always asking readily for more. She and Taiga had always made his slaving in the kitchen worthwhile whenever they requested for more and more food. It was always nice to be appreciated for his deeds and hard work, even if the food bill was always beyond exorbitant.
"Good, old Saber," Shirou sighed out happily. Ah, those were the days.
He quickly set out another plate of cakes for the king to eat. "Here you go, Saber!"
"Thank you," came her quick reply.
As Shirou went back to his spot against the wall, it wasn't until the king was halfway through her next plate that he suddenly froze, his face blanking as he stared at the blonde. Had... Maybe he was just over thinking things, or maybe he'd heard something and interpreted it wrongly, but, had the woman in front of him spoken to him in Japanese? She said "okawari", right? That meant "seconds" in Japanese. That meant she wanted more, in Japanese. That meant she knew Japanese. But, wouldn't that mean that she was...
"Uh, uh," he stammered, catching the king's attention. "Excuse me, but could you say that word again?"
"...'That word', you say?" she asked him warily. "Which one? I've said a great many."
"You... Uh, didn't you say 'okawari' to me for more food? Does that mean you speak Japanese?" he asked, half afraid of the answer and half excited.
The king stared at him blankly. "I have no earthly idea of what you are talking about, Shirou."
"But, you said..."
"You're imagining things, Shirou."
Shirou stared blankly. "But... You... You answered to 'Saber' and everything... So, you..."
"You're imagining things," she repeated and turned back to her paperwork.
Shirou never realized a person could become as absolutely confused by a situation as he currently was then.
Wha-a-a-a-a-a-t? Why me?
And, done. So. I hope you enjoyed everything, and I'll see you for the next chapter! Take care all!