Hey all!
I discovered this site not too long ago and I haven't managed to crawl my way out.
Enjoying the fics other have created inspired me to try and give it a crack. I was torn between a couple of things until I found that no one did a cross-over of Fate and Stormlight. I was surprised, both works share many themes.
Therefore, I decided to take it upon myself to try and combine aspects of Nasu's and Brandon's work.
I should warn you that I'm no literary genius and will be borrowing ideas from both authors but I'll try and inject my own stuff to avoid having a retelling.
Also, the world the story takes place in is Roshar. I know many of my readers haven't read stormlight so I'll try to make this story as beginner friendly as possible to someone new.
Hope you enjoy!
Prelude
[The Abandoning of the Oathpact]
The battle was over, but his was not. Amidst the valley of corpses, Kalek dragged his beaten and worn-out body up the plateau. His black beard was unkempt and his regal steel plate had been battered and dented. Certainly, the man was a far cry from the image of a Herald but he still clung to that title.
His reserves of stormlight all but ran out. The pouch of spheres on his belt were all dun forcing him to knit his wounds together with the mana in his body, called Od. While using the bodies mana was much more consistent, it was less potent than the strength found in stormlight.
As the Herald walked, he told himself, 'This Desolation could have been worse.'
Despite the stench of death, and the blood that painted the rocky landscape, this Desolation could have been worse. Living for as long as he has, Kalek found ways to cope with the endless slaughter.
'How many died this time? Were most of the capitals still standing? How much of Roshar was scorched by the malice of the void bringers?' Yes, compared to others, this Desolation was tame.
Kalek's eyes glazed over as he pondered, his mind receding into itself to avoid facing the fact that he was now walking into hell. However, he suddenly snapped awake as he made it to the foot of the agreed upon meeting place.
There stood Jezrien, standing next to an open spot of a ring of blades. Each was a Noble Phantasm that was gifted by Honor to the ten heralds.
"Where are the others?"
Jezrien, King of Heralds, looked almost ominous to Kalek. "The others have already left; it was my duty to stay behind and inform you of our decision."
The young man, with hair of gold – now tarnished by flecks of blood and dirt, wore a solemn expression. "The Oathpact has gone on long enough."
Kalek shook, his mind couldn't accept those words. His heart started to thunder in his ears. The suddenness of it confused him. The person before him was supposedly their noble yet humble leader. Now, the hero, whose eyes once gleamed like emeralds, were now fixated on the ground
"They rely upon us Jezrien." Kalek's hands tightened into a fist, "we are all that they have left." Kalek gazed upon the ring of blades, to find that three noble phantasms were missing. His own, the spear Gungnir, Jezrien's holy sword Excalibur and one other. The twin married short swords, Kanshou and Bakuya belonging to Emiya.
Jezrien waited for the flash of recognition. "Ishar believes that one should be enough."
"He will not remain bound to this. Emiya will break and humanity won't have enough time to recover."
"Perhaps." The King of Heralds offered no further explanation.
Images flashed in Kalek's head. The flesh burning, the fires, the pain. Over and over and over. The only respite that can be had there was that brief period were the demons tormented another.
"Better for one to suffer than ten." Jezrein brought his eyes up to meet Kalek's. "As he was dying, I infused Avalon into his soul. He is a tenacious one, I'm sure Emiya will last long enough."
'Who was this man?' He fought beside his king, witnessed hell alongside him. Kalek knew his friend yet the man before him seemed so cold. What was before him now was like the shadow remnant of someone once true and honourable.
Jezrein turned away, lifting his hand to the side to summon his blade. Light formed in his hand, taking shape into the Sword of Promised Victory. It appeared in his hands as if a prayer had been answered.
Runes adorned the flat of the blade with a simple golden cross guard. It wasn't embellished with intricate and complex engravings; the sword didn't demand respect. No, this weapon was a blessing. To all those that fought with honour in their hearts, its lustre a reminder: that there was always light in the darkness.
"It has been decided. We will go our separate ways and we will not seek out one another." The king walked up to the ring of swords, and rammed Excalibur into the stone with the others. "We must leave our weapons, the Knight Radiants will have to be enough." Jezrein hesitated, looking at the sword, then bowed his head and turned away. "We chose this burden willingly, we can choose to drop it. "
A wave seemed to wash over Kalek, then shame. He wanted to curse himself yet he couldn't help but feel relief. This nightmare was over.
"What do we tell the people Jezrien?"
"It's simple, we tell them that they finally won. It's an easy enough lie… Who knows, it may turn out to be true." Jezrein turned his back, and began walking away.
Kalek watched as he departed the defiled landscape. On top of the rocky plateau, he could see that the flames were burning out but the land itself was split, shattered from the powers of noble phantasms over countless Desolations. Finally, he summoned his own and stabbed his spear amongst the others.
He turned to depart, walking the opposite direction of Jezrein. As he did, the immortal couldn't help but glance back at the ring of blades, and at the opening for the tenth. The one that was lost. The one that they abandoned.
Chapter 1
[The Way of Kings]
4000 Years Later
Artoria was not particularly special. She was a lighteye, possessing a pair of strikingly green eyes and was the adoptive daughter to the lord of the port town of Bristol.
Situated near the mouth of the river Avon, the economy relied on fish and salt but that didn't stop them from growing crops. The High Storm, that blew east to west across Roshar, were rich in nutrients and allowed grains and vegetables to mature quickly. However, the High Storm was not a resource. It was a force that everything on Roshar had to adapt to. It was the ultimate expression of nature's power: untamed and ruthless. There are two parts to the storm. The Storm Wall is a massive wave of water, reaching several hundred feet in height. It was ferocious, with the winds even lifting boulders and hurling them into the sky. The second part, that trailed the end, was called the Riddens.
It was during this period that Artoria went out to challenge her brother. Both trained together yet Kay, almost a fully-fledged knight had the upper edge in terms of strength. The battle took place near the ocean, up upon the cliff that the town was built against to take the brunt of the storm.
The waves that once crashed against the elevated spot, like the white manes of a legion of brilliant horses, now stilled to a gentle lapping. The winds have died down leaving a light drizzle that pattered her porcelain skin. It was cold, but she liked it. It kept her alert.
Artoria braced for the blow. It was a powerful overhead strike that aimed to batter her sword away leaving her exposed. She knew what to do. Following the momentum of the strike, she allowed the sword to follow through but deflected it off to the side. There can be no room for doubt, they fought with steel blades, dulled but still capable of biting into flesh.
Her brother, almost in his sixteenth year and ready for war, smirked. Her sword was levelled to his chest after the impact and he could pick up on the tell that she was preparing a thrust. Kay quickly side stepped, whistling after realising how close the strike was from hitting true.
"Kalek's breath, are you trying to kill me?" Kay sighed, backing away from his sister. Her golden bangs clung to her face in the drizzle. Artoria changed her stance, bringing one foot forwards and one behind; back arched with the tip of the blade pointed towards the opponent's heart. 'Smoke stance,' Kay thought.
"Kay, if you cannot keep up with me, then forget about joining one the high prince's armies." Her voice was stern, it would have even been intimidating to Kay if he didn't hear her practicing that regal voice before bed.
"Ahh, dear Artoria. Is this why you brought me out here?"
Artoria began to blush. That contrast between stoicism and girlishness was always endearing to him.
"W-w-well, I just wanted to make sure you are ready."
"I'm more than ready." The drizzle began to abate: this moment after the Riddens was always mesmerising to Kay. In this scene, he could make out that the clouds were clearing revealing the warmth of the sun. "We should probably head back before people start heading out of their homes."
"Why?"
"Look down." Kay tried to stifle his chuckle
"…Aaah!" Artoria dropped her sword and brought her arms to her chest. The rain had soaked her white tunic allowing the sun light to shine through.
"Idiot." Kay took of his brown tunic revealing his trained body. "Put this over you."
Artoria gingerly accepted the oversized shirt and wore it over her own.
"You smell."
Kay gave his sister a sour look. "Shut it, you smell just as bad."
It was Artoria's turn to stifle her own laughter. The two walked down to the base of the hillside to round back to the manor. Whilst they weren't related by blood, it was easy to tell that Kay's wit and mannerisms were rubbing onto the young adolescence. Both even wore their hairs in a simple ponytail, Kay's dark hair was glistening with dew whilst Artoria's seemed to shine in the sunlight.
With the High Storm long past, life once again revealed itself. Rock buds came out of their shells, taking in the wet air with their leaves. People began leaving their homes to start collecting their renewed spheres filled with stormlight. Some even began the chore of cleaning crem from their homes.
As the two walked, it dawned on Artoria that this would be their last few moments before Kay was sent off to one of the High Princes armies.
"Which High Prince are you enlisting for?"
"Bright lord Roion's."
"Huh, doesn't his army specialise for archers?"
"We both know enough to put anyone in that army to shame… and father was able to put in a good word for me there."
Artoria gave him a face, not believing his first statement.
"What, I'll still be fighting with a sword… And organising the ranks. You can't have an army of just bowmen."
Unlike darkeyes, lighteyes were able to skip fighting on the front lines and organise squadrons of soldiers. According to the Vorin religion, light eyes were chosen by the 9 Heralds since birth to rule.
As the two heirs walked, they were ogled by the working girls. Artoria had built up a group of admirers however, that was only because they believed that the pretty face belonged to a boy. Artoria lived all her life as a male in order to better fulfill a prophecy. Kay seemed to bask in the attenision, returning the waves and greetings with a subtle nod and wink. Artoria tried to ignore it.
Once they made it to the gate of the manor, someone unexpected was waiting for them. He wore a white mantle. Unlike Artoria's tunic, it was unmarred by dirt and seemed to retain its sheen, even in the rain. Anyone would have thought it was magical, the two heirs knew it was magical.
"Arthur, you're back." The man sighed, "Here I thought I had more time to appreciate the beautiful flowers in Bristol."
His voice rang like a bell, calm and pleasant to the ears. Anyone would take this man as a gentleman but Kay knew better.
"Pervert."
"How rude. I'm not the one parading my half naked body."
Kay stuttered, biting his lips as he tried to think of a response. 'There was no way I can get along with this creature.' He thought.
"I was here to talk to our little Arthur so – if you wouldn't mind of course. I recommend that you go inside and put on something that's a little more modest."
Kay begrudging shoved past him to enter the manor. Artoria didn't understand Kay's resentment for the man so, she tried to ignore it.
"It is good to see you Merlin, may I ask why you are here in person?" The magus often appeared in Artoria's dreams to train her in politics and magic. So, this was a surprise.
"Ector informed me that his son will be off to participate in the High Princes squabbles. It will be hard for you to train without you're partner so, perhaps it is time to give you this."
From his sleeves, Merlin pulled out a book. It was small and unassuming yet the title sent chills down her spine. "The Way of Kings, written by king Nohadon." Merlin presented the book to his student; she accepted it, handling the old book with care. "It used to be one of the greatest masterworks of philosophy… Until it was deemed blasphemous."
"Do you want me to study it?"
"By the Almighty no, you have enough on your plate as is. I'm sure you will be the leader this world needs when the time comes." Merlin looked down at the girl and placed his hand onto to the cover, as if stroking something precious. "There is a reason why this book was deemed blasphemous. It contains nothing but foolish ideals."
"How can ideals be considered foolish?" Artoria levelled an accusatory look at her mentor, as if offended.
Merlin voice became a whisper, "It's obvious Artoria, they aren't practical in the real world. Humans are not perfect beings and only a fool would expect otherwise."
Artoria green eyes remained on his mentor, as if begging him to say more. Merlin looked away.
"Well, I'm afraid that I have to take my leave. I was only passing by and gave this on a whim."
"Really, I'm sure Ector would be more than happy to provide you something to eat." Her mind already began wondering to what the servants were preparing. 'Hunger is the enemy,' she thought and she was famished after the recent spar.
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline; I have urgent business to attend to."
"Alright." She tried to hide her disappointment. Despite being a womaniser, Artoria knew that her teacher worked hard in the background to prepare the realm. For what, Merlin wouldn't say. As he turned around, she gave him a quick hug from behind and raced back into the manor.
Merlin was shocked but as he turned around, he could only find his students back racing towards the manor. He couldn't help but smile.
As Artoria raced back to her room, she thought back to what he said about ideals. Merlin had a habit of delivering his messages cryptically; Artoria made it a habit to deconstruct every word out of the magus.
'Maybe this book has the answers.' She thought as she made it to the study.