Childhood is precious in that everything learned is new. New colors, new sights, new sounds, and new experiences coupled with the naivety of invincibility, create a false impression that the world was a child's oyster; never knowing that they lived within the protective influence of their caretakers. Naturally, consequences were things children never considered as parents were there to shield them from harm.

It's when children step outside of their safe zone that the understanding, they took for granted, could be challenged.

In Artus and Annabel's case, the forest outside the strict boundary their father warned them not to cross without him or their mother, never felt so foreign. Cold winds blew, and the sound of rustling leaves echoed from within the underbrush, denoting the movement of larger animals.

Back in the boundary, there was always a sense of secureness as if their father and mother were watching over them, but now that feeling was absent. Only the constant vigil of the family bird, Efret remained, but the twins were long since used to Efret's presence.

Efret perched itself on Artus's left shoulder, looking like any ordinary bird with the constant scent of ash on its feathers being the only discrepancy.

In Lancer Arturia's play on normalcy, she had insisted Efret conceal its abilities and named it Shirou's hunting bird.

The twins were none the wiser.

Artus patted Efret on the head, the bird leaning into his palm while Annabel impatiently urged her brother to hurry.

The sounds were getting louder and louder, and the twins could now make out the glow of embers rising into the night sky. Ordinarily, this should have dissuaded any child from progressing further, but it wasn't until the twin's were close enough that they were able to distinguish screams that they slowed their steps.

"Annabel," Artus warned, growing cautious.

Their mother always said to be rational, but Annabel never took this advise to heart as she idolized her father more than their mother. And what would father have to say?

"It's not wrong to help others," Annabel scoffed at Artus, reminding him that their parents had differing views. However, Annabel was smart enough to use their similarities. "People could be dying in the fire, and you want us to just stop now? Is that, ugh, um, yeah that- rightus?"

"Righteous." Artus blanked, taking in a deep breath, and conceding the point. "You mean righteous."

"Yeah, that word!" Annabel said dismissively, already inching forward. "C'mon."

"We're only looking," Artus stressed while following his sister.

"What if people need help?" Annabel asked, dissatisfied.

Artus could only blame their parents for their mother's stories of gallant knights, and their father's tales of heroes. While Artus had internalized the morals and themes of the stories their parents told, Annabel had been captivated by the adventure and heroism instead.

"A knight only helps the innocent," Artus reasoned to an unwilling audience.

"But a hero saves everyone, and turns enemies into friends!" Annabel argued.

"Life doesn't work that way. I give the call. Agree or we go back right now."

"But-"

"Agree or we go back."

"Hmph."

"Alright we're going back."

"No, wait fine!"

Annabel made a face of dissatisfaction, undoubtably carried away by picturing herself the heroine of an epic story, but the two still came to an agreement.

Efret who was on Artus's shoulders suddenly perked up in thought, feeling something in the area.

"Keep a lookout, Efret." Artus said while Annabel hurried forward.

Efret was already doing so, even considering whether to put a stop to this now or not? It had a feeling Lancer Arturia was going to grill it, but no hatchlings could truly mature without a level of danger. Besides, few if any could deal with Efret, and that was a fact Efret knew well.

Then what was this feeling of trepidation poking at its psyche?

There was no time to dwell over such things. Efret focused on remaining vigilant over getting lost in thought.

The twins were little monsters fueled with magic cores. Their 'slow' speed might as well have been a sprint.

It wasn't long before they discovered the mayhem caused by some sort of merchant caravan up in flames. People were dispersing into the forest in all directions, pursued by people carrying whips and chains. Those caught were quickly shackled and harshly rounded back up.

Annabel's assumption of needing to rescue people caught in the fire was stopped dead in its tracks.

This was people being hurtful to other people.

"Those people are the bad guys," she muttered, pointing at the slavers. "Villains like the wicked witch mom warned us about."

Childish as the description was, Artus could only agree. Those were bad people.

Glancing towards his sister, Artus immediately grabbed her before she could be impulsive and jump right in. Mother never looked amused when she recounted some of the stories she shared about their father and his recklessness. Low would Artus be if he couldn't even rein his sister in.

"What?" Annabel hissed, confused about why Artus was stopping her.

Artus shook his head, keeping quiet to avoid detection and picking up a stone.

He looked right into Annabel's eyes before he called upon his 'energy' and blue magic covered the stone, making it shine with a dull hue. He passed it over to Annabel who understood while Artus started infusing more stones.

Artus understood that he and Annabel were just kids. Without their special powers, they'd never win against adults. As the one his mother entrusted to care for his younger sister, Artus matured earlier with the weight of responsibility. His mother could not be any prouder. He was her little lion, while mother still struggled with Annabel's obstinance. Then again, Annabel was a father's girl.

/-/

While the slavers were regathering their lost slaves, many of them were sneak attacked by thrown stones and knocked unconscious.

Different from Artus, Annabel had scary accuracy that she'd apparently inherited from their father and their hunting trips. She'd never miss a shot she threw with careful aim.

"W-Who?!" The caravan master had just got the word out before a stone smacked the back of his head, his body slumping as drool escaped his mouth.

Meanwhile, the freed slaves continued their escape into the forest.

Artus clapped hands with his sister.

"Nice shot!"

"Naturally!" Annabel was all too willing to accept the praise.

The twins found it odd that such a large caravan only had a few slavers nearby, but were content with their work. They didn't even consider where the majority of the slavers could be, and were just thrilled at a job well done.

This would come to bite them in the back a few moments after Artus and Annabel decided to return home.

To begin with, where did all the fire come from?

The twins, as children, didn't have many considerations.

It was only when they passed a crest of a hill and into a flatter area of the forest that they froze. A man dressed in rags and holding a sword covered in flames cut a man in half right before their eyes. The two halves of the man caught fire mid-fall, and ashes were all that remained before the pieces could even touch the ground.

Just as Artus and Annabel saw the man, the man saw them.

Splotches of blood stained the man's rags, and the aura he emitted greatly pressured the twins who stood rooted. Caught up in the pressure, neither of the twins noticed the man's expression softened in confusion. Naturally, when he saw two kids no taller than his shins appear in front of him in a forest at night, he was bound to be bewildered.

In contrast, Efret immediately reacted to the fear he could see on the faces of his charges.

Jumping off its perch on Artus's shoulder, Efret landed in front of the twins and immediately ignited in flames. Its size rapidly expanded, revealing its true form to the twins for the first time.

A flaming mythical bird.

Efret stepped forward drawing in the remnant flames that burned in the area and fusing them with its own.

"Efret?" Annabel gasped in amazement while Artus was more focused on the man.

"A monster, here?" The man muttered.

The man didn't look panicked nor nervous, just surprised.

Efret threateningly reared its body up, flapping its wings and sending gouts of flames in warning.

Efret could sense that the man before it was not someone the young chicks could handle, and was immediately spurred into action as the family's guardian.

Glancing at Artus and Annabel behind it, Efret gestured for them to run. Annabel was stubborn, but in the end, Artus pulled her along, and this time she was forced to obey much to Efret's relief.

The man tried to say something, but the voice was drowned out by a blanket of flames that Efret released to cover Artus and Annabel's escape.

Artus pulled Annabel back into the forest on a winding path to prevent getting followed. Not that the prospect was likely given the man was preoccupied with Efret. Artus's mind continued to race, interrupted only when Annabel managed to free herself and voice her protest.

"We can't just leave Efret behind!" Annabel screamed, nervously chewing on her lip moments before an explosion caused the ground to quake.

She and Artus nervously glanced back and gaped, their mouths going dry.

The sheer heat of the flames and the heavy pressure in the air practically swallowed all else before what could only be described as a miniature sun began forming in the air. Efret's large body could be seen gliding up, and then swallowing the ball of flames before it could fully form, converting it into its own energy.

The impression Artus and Annabel had about Efret was entirely overturned at this moment.

Rather than help, both had the impression that they'd only get in the way which quickly quieted Annabel down.

"Let's go home." Artus suggested. "Efret can fly. H-He's staying because of us."

When Artus put it that way, Annabel nodded stiffly as she realized their little adventure was turning dangerous.

Artus led his sister through the forest, trying to remember the way back, but unable to admit he was lost. Annabel had grown quiet, blindly following him while she kept glancing in the direction Efret was battling.

She wanted to help, that much was clear, but Artus soon noticed another problem as he stopped Annabel in her tracks and pushed her behind a bush. He followed soon after as Annabel grumbled at him.

"What?" She asked, pulling twigs out of her hair.

For a moment, Artus didn't answer, quietly peering over the bush before looking back at Annabel.

"Annabel…Saxons." Artus shuddered.

Hard as it was to believe, there was a group of armed men wearing thin strips of iron held together by leather straps. Round shields were hung over their backs, and each was armed with either a spear or a sword.

It was a type of armor Artus remembered his mother describing about evil people.

Saxons, the people their mother told them would come after naughty children, it was all true!

They disobeyed their father, and Arus had let Annabel egg him into it! Mother was going to scold him if the Saxons didn't get them first.

"S-Saxons?" Annabel swallowed, eyes widening.

Logically, the Saxons weren't actually after the twins, but were instead the recipients to which the slave caravan intended to sell their goods. It was natural that they were nearby. The noise and fires likely drew their attention from their camp.

Artus and Annabel were kids; they acted like they were facing the boogiemen that their parents had always warned would crawl out of their beds at night if they misbehaved.

"Hey Anna." Artus suddenly whispered.

"W-What?" Annabel's voice cracked from her nervousness.

"If we run back home, what if we lead the Saxons to mom and dad?"

Thinking about these bad people hurting their mom and dad left the twins exceedingly anxious.

"We have to beat them up," Artus grew resolute, arming himself with his wooden sword. "Like the stories."

"Like when the heroes beat the monsters?" Annabel gathered her courage and found a stick to wield as her mother had confiscated hers as a punishment for something she did prior.

"Sure." Artus nodded. Annabel's response wasn't quite what he was going for, as he leaned more towards his mother's stories about knights, but it works.

"Remember what dad said about hunting?" Artus began covering himself and his sword with magic energy.

"That archers don't have to use arrows?" Annabel said, her magic energy focusing solely on the stick she found.

"No, not that one. The one about fighting a pack of wolves."

"Aim for the leader?"

Artus blinked at Annabel before frowning in realization. "Why can you remember everything dad says, but only remember half of what mom says?"

"..." Annabel blushed and looked away, unable to admit the truth.

Artus didn't pursue the matter, too focused on what was to come.

He pointed Annabel to circle the Saxons in one direction after he'd given her a few stones to throw, and then moved to circle in the other direction.

The target of the twins was the man directing orders to the group near the front. The man looked like a hardened warrior, a long beard reaching past his shoulders while the gray in his eyes shone with indifference to death. He was undoubtedly the leader.

Hunt the leader, and the group falls into disorder.

Artus slowed his breaths, his heart beating quicker as he maintained eye contact with Annabel on the other side. On his signal, she'd hurl a stone at the leader, knock him unconscious, and then the two of them would beat up the others in the chaos.

Perfect strategy.

As cautious as Artus and Annabel were being, they hadn't factored in the overwhelming difference in pedigree they had with the common man. The mana infused stone Annabel hurled at Artus's signal practically caved the leader's skull when it hit. Driven by nervousness, Annabel had not held back her strength at all.

The leader went limp, and the twins used that as the signal to act before the leader could recover, not knowing the leader was already dead.

"Enemy attack!" A Saxon yelled before his shout was muffled by a smack to the stomach.

The man crumpled under Artus's untrained strike. The mana infused into his wooden sword crushed any armor or resistance in the way like paper.

It was all too easy. One swing, one down.

The two little Pendragons were mowing down the Saxon raiding party at an unbelievable rate.

"M-Monster!" A Saxon roared, rearing his sword back and swinging down at Annabel. She blocked, but the stick she was using tore in half. "Got you, you little bi-"

Mana flooded into Annabel's hands as she punched in retaliation rather than retreat or dodge.

When the sword met fist, it was the sword that shattered, causing the Saxon to despair when another punch came and shattered his thigh.

"Argh!" He blacked out from the agony.

Meanwhile, Annabel glanced at her broken stick, then back to her hands, and just started punching. The sheer power of her strikes was only further augmented by the fact she directed all her energy into her fists and didn't cordone any of it off to enhance her body.

The result was flying bodies smashing into trees or getting tangled in the foliage on the way down from the sky.

The Saxons that Artus and Anabel had been afraid of, suddenly weren't so scary. Gradually, Annabel's complacency got the best of her. She began to view the fight as a way to prove to Artus that her method of fully augmenting their special powers for attack was the right way to use it.

Compared to Artus who was armed with a wooden sword, the Saxons were more wary of Annabel who was unarmed.

"Behind you, stupid!"

Annabel only had time to scowl at her brother for making fun of her before he was next to her and shoving her away. She squawked. Indignant.

"Hey! What's your proble…oh," Annabel's voice grew quiet as Artus eliminated a Saxon she hadn't realized was behind her.

It was also the last Saxon still standing in the group.

Artus let out a shuddering breath, his sword held loosely in his grip before he glared at Annabel the same way their mother did when she was angry.

"That's why I told you putting all the energy to your fist is stupid!" He hissed. "Even if you noticed at the last minute, you wouldn't have been able to dodge in time."

Annabel made a face and shoved her brother, not wanting the lecture, but her mood improved when she saw all the Saxons were downed.

"We did it!" She cheered.

Her brother was silent, her shove having dropped him on his butt.

Now that she thought about it, how was she able to shove him? Artus was not weak, and the shove was more playful than it was meant to harm. In fact, it was so choreographed he could have stepped out of the way.

Annabel looked back at her brother

"A-Artus?"

She helped stand him back on his feet, confused why his clothes felt so damp at chest level.

Annabel pulled her hand back and noticed it covered in blood. Now that she looked closer, Artus's complexion was deathly pale.

H-He'd been stabbed?

But how? Artus was never hit once in the entire scuffle! His special power spread over his body, augmenting his agility. Then it suddenly dawned on Annabel.

The Saxon that had tried to stab her at the end, and Artus pushing her away…this was her fault.

"...I-It hurts, but mom said men don't cry." Artus gasped, staggering on his feet.

Annabel panicked and immediately moved to support her brother, his blood staining her clothes and hair.

"I-I'll get you to dad. Dad knows everything!" Annabel stammered.

Artus wasn't paying attention to his sister. Instead, he was listening and maintaining his vigilance just as his mother had stressed that all promising knights would do. That's why he heard it first.

Footsteps. Lots of them.

Artus's eyes widened at the conclusion that there were more Saxons coming. Injured as he was, Annabel wouldn't be able to handle this on her own the moment she ran out of magic energy.

"R-Run!"

Artus pushed Annabel forward and turned to buy her time. Confused, she just stood there dumbly before she too noticed the new crowd of Saxons approaching.

Her brother's words finally registered as she recoiled in horror.

"NO!" Annabel tried dragging him, but he shoved her again, stronger this time, desperate.

"GO!"

Guilt weakened Annabel, her brother's forceful shove pushing her to the ground as he used more strength then he'd intended.

Annabel's pupils dilated just as she turned to look back in protest.

An arrow pierced through her brother's neck, a gurgling noise cutting off whatever response her brother had. The light in his eyes flickered, but even to the end, he pushed her, croaking out a final 'go' before igniting his entire body with magic energy.

Annabel felt like she couldn't breath, her body subconsciously obeying her brother.

Her eyes never left his figure even as the Saxons approached, and her brother burned brighter than any star.

Her mother's little lion would roar for the first and last time.

It was only when a shadow of a small head flew under the light of the moon, and a tiny body toppled forward never to stand again, that Annabel wailed.

She screamed in anguish, soiling her breeches as she stumbled on her feet in despair.

Instinct was all that drove her to flee.

"Dad! Daaadddy!"

She broke down crying, her stubbornness shattered.

A feeling of uneasiness subtly worked its way through Lancer Arturia's mind, causing no end to her growing apprehension. Worse, she was left to her own devices as Shirou had left ahead in the direction of the flames lighting up the night the moment the two registered them.

Considering the type of Phantasmal species Efret was, Lancer Arturia could not fault her husband. More than that, Lancer Arturia knew full well that she and Efret had agreed on secrecy.

Efret would not release such flames for any ordinary foe.

Then what did it mean?

It felt like a hand was squeezing her chest, each heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Where Efret could be, was where their untrained children could be.

Lancer Arturia had never been a mom in her past life, but inherent maternal instinct was pushing her on edge like a mother bear baring its fangs at any danger it perceived to its cubs.

Impulse urged her to follow her husband with Llamrei, but reason narrowly managed to overcome the urge. Efret was intelligent. She knew this.

If Efret deemed itself against an adversary on par or greater than its ability to protect her children, Efret would likely instruct them to flee.

On the off chance that they didn't, Lancer Arturia was more than assured that Shirou could handle it, but if they did flee and she made the wrong decision, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to forgive herself.

'If they fled, they had to be nearby.'

Squeezing with her calves and heels, Lancer Arturia spurred Llamrei into a faster gallop as she leaned forward to reduce the pressure of the wind.

Hooves kicked into the ground with each gallop, dredging up dirt and grime that did little to hide the radiant light of the simple spear held in Lancer Arturia's hands.

She squinted her eyes, desperately searching in the dark underbrush of the forest canopy, finding nothing of her children still. However, her senses warned her of the commotion nearby. Pieces of broken debris, bodies, and the scent of blood soon turned her apprehension into anxiety.

A battle had occurred here.

Broken carts and spooked carriage horses freed from their reins was an ill sign. People fleeing past her in rags and broken chain collars screamed of a raided slave trader's caravan.

Of all the times for her children to disobey her, it had to be when violence was involved.

Lancer Arturia refused to entertain the notion that slavers desperate to reclaim their slaves had kidnapped her children along with them. She couldn't bear it.

Her children were strong and healthy, much like herself and Shirou in their youth. It would take a full-grown bear to wrestle them down let alone just slavers!

She found herself constantly reassuring herself in a bid to quell the shaking of her hands. She'd never understood how a mother could feel so weak and helpless for their babies until now.

Throw anything you had at Lancer Arturia and she wouldn't flinch, but endanger her kids, and she would be a frozen deer. It was like parents losing their children at a grocery market and not finding them. That kind of despair where every second feels like an eternity.

Her ears perked up at the sound of a voice she'd never fail to recognize, instantly causing Lancer Arturia to pull Llamrei to a stop and hyper focus to her immediate right.

"-ddy! Uwah- DADDDDYYY!"

Lancer Arturia's pupils dilated, magic energy erupting around her as she and Llamrei vanished into a sprint.

Trees, shrubs, bushes, none of that mattered. Hers was the straightest path; her lance cleaving through all until she arrived on scene.

There she was, her daughter tripping and falling over herself as a group of Saxons leered at her.

There should have been no honor in killing a mere child, but considering the damage Artus and Annabel had done to them prior, all the Saxons saw was a little monster; never knowing that a mother's ferocity was now fully directed on them.

A ray of golden light incinerated them before they could even react, creating a blank zone that sizzled with wafting steam and burnt ashes. One moment they had been running, and in the next, a figure on horseback with the coldest eyes pointed a blinding lance, and they saw no more.

As for Annabel, she was hysterical, not even registering what had happened and flinching when Lancer Arturia tried to grab her.

This startled Lancer Arturia enough that she stared stiffly at her hand, and her daughter skittering away in a panic, not caring that branches and twigs were scraping her skin.

Lancer Arturia immediately shook away her idle thoughts and spurred Llamrei into a trot after her daughter. Easily catching up to her, Lancer Arturia scooped the tiny girl who barely reached her shins in height, up onto Llamrei's saddle, and into Lancer Arturia's arms.

Annabel thrashed and screamed, clawing at Lancer Arturia's hands like a feral animal.

Lancer Arturia noted traces of magic energy rising in her squirming daughter's fists, and endured the numbness when her daughter struck her with it in a bid to escape.

She hugged her to her chest, earning a headbutt to the chin. Lancer Arturia was unperturbed and held her hug, going as far as to dismiss her armour to pull her daughter into her familiar warmth.

"Relax, relax." She coaxed, drawing soothing circles on her daughter's back the way her husband often did when the twins were babies. "It's mommy."

At first, Lancer Arturia's actions seemingly had no effect, but as it became clear that Annabel was not going anywhere, and that Lancer Arturia was not letting go, the thrashing began to abate. Then, and only then did securing Annabel in her embrace reveal its effects.

"M-Mom?" Annabel rasped, craning her neck up to actually look at who was holding her; then taking another second to process. "Mom!"

Annabel desperately threw her arms around Lancer Arturia, clinging to her like a koala, and burying her face into her bosom. The little girl was shivering, her clothes soiled and muddied with dirt and grime. Then there were the bloodstains.

Lancer Arturia didn't care, but Annabel hadn't even registered that the Saxons were gone, and that she was no longer in danger. What she did register was that her mom had run into a danger zone for her.

Annabel searched for her father, her greatest source of protection.

"W-Where's dad?" She croaked, complexion pale.

By now?

"Venting," Lancer Arturia said icily.

It was exactly what Lancer Arturia wanted to do right now, however she let the anger seep away before it could impair her judgment further.

Comforting her daughter, Lancer Arturia began uneasily glancing back and forth with expectation. If her daughter was here, then her son must be nearby.

Nothing. There were no traces other than blood stains and shattered weapons.

Where was her little lion?

Lancer Arturia's breath hitched in growing doubt.

She stared at her daughter; her brash, impulsive, yet stubborn troublemaker of a daughter. She was terrified, looking smaller than she'd ever seemed before. Her head was tucked between her shoulders, and she'd lost the obstinate willfulness that she carried everywhere. Her confidence had been shattered.

Why? A person's character does not change easily, let alone with her brother around to-

The clues all clicked at once.

"Anna…" Lancer Arturia's voice cracked; the tone warbled in a mother's growing desperation. "Where is your brother?"

Her girl's eyes went dead soon followed by her mother's as the implication set in.

Sobs were Annabel's only answer.

A lone woman quietly made her way far out of the forest on a noble donkey, an unconscious child saddled in front of her. Flecks of dried blood and scabs covered the area above the boy's stomach, but if one looked closer, a wound previously there had been healed.

Closer inspection would reveal the boy to be none other than Artus P. Ashton, possessing a middle and last name, a hallmark of nobility unknown to the boy.

Contrary to Annabel's beliefs, Artus's neck was not pierced, and his head was also still on his shoulders. He'd just been knocked out, and induced into a deep sleep.

The gruff woman who had quietly carried him off in the commotion was the very slaver that had been part of the slave merchant convoy.

However, the gruff woman's scarred face and boorish character were steadily replaced with cool indifference the further she left the vicinity of the forest. The noble donkey too, gradually transformed back into a black-pelted prize stallion.

The woman was no different.

Scraggly and unkempt brown hair grew lush and increased in volume, the color returning to a pale blond. The scar the woman had over her eye began to fade, her hunched back straightening as her windswept cloak billowed to reveal a regal dress, scepter, and a sword none would fail to recognize tucked beneath.

Morgan the Witch, better known as Morgan the Fair, Queen of Britain, and enemy of Vortigern, appeared, fully lifting her concealment magic.

A tired sigh echoed around her, her expression tightening as flower petals drifted callously near her face. She swatted them away in annoyance, but gave up when it became clear it was futile.

Expectedly…It was Merlin.

"And you wonder why your sister calls you a Witch, kidnapping little boys and tricking little girls now?"

The final scene Annabel witnessed was nothing more than a mirage, an illusion Morgan had cast while biding her time spectating in the distance.

It was no coincidence that the slave caravan was ambushed here in this forest as she'd tipped Gawain off of their location, and as for the Saxons?

That was even easier.

They were real, and Morgan herded the Saxons here for a timely encounter the moment she detected Artus and Annabel's presence outside her sister's damnable Bounded Field.

Her quick execution to pull everything off the moment an opportunity came was tantamount to Morgan's skill and capabilities. Namely, excellent.

"I get results," Morgan scoffed at Merlin's derisive tone.

"Then what of the civil war, and the Saxons on your kingdom's shores?"

Morgan knit her brows at the jab. It was one thing to be insulted from fabrication, it was another if it was true. Her contemptible Court Advisor had always been sharp with her.

"You were the one who stressed that I needed Arturia's participation? Well? I listened and I've secured it."

"By directing her grief on the Saxons?!"

Merlin simmered at the simplicity of another manipulation ploy. Were words truly lost between family? Arturia loathed Morgan, but she was not so petty as to not act for her country's people. This feud will only result in blood.

"You kidnapped her son, and traumatized her daughter. Have you not done enough?"

"Be silent, Wizard. You're no better; your hands are no cleaner. You proclaim yourself an observer, so observe."

Morgan adjusted Artus's position in front of her so the unconscious boy could lean into her rather than slump forward. She detested Arturia, not her nephew. And if anything, actually sitting on the throne she so desired had mellowed her out even if Vortigern insisted on contesting her.

"What makes you so confident that she will do nothing if she discovers your treachery?"

"Arturia already hates me. What's a little more hate added on top? Besides, I'm not hiding and it's not like I killed my nephew." Morgan tightened her grip on her stallion's reins, looking strikingly like Arturia in her determination. Merlin could give her that. "I'm just going to put him to better use."

"Against Vortigern?"

"No. For legitimacy."

Morgan shook her head and carefully took Caliburn off her waist, making sure not to touch its hilt. Then, she placed it into Artus's hand.

Like she'd thought. There was no rejection. Her future plans finally consolidated.

"I will claim him as mine, and gain rulership as the rightful reagent."

The resemblance between Morgan and Artus was impeccable other than the color of his hair and eyes. It would be easy to pass off.

The flower petals momentarily froze in their dance before picking up in intensity.

"And you think your nephew would just agree if you persuade him? That Arturia will not hear of it and come running?"

Amateur. Morgan had already considered that to an extent.

"Would she care for any son of mine, especially if I name him 'Arthur' just to snub her or remind her of the boy she thinks she's lost? I just have to be careful not to let her or her husband see the boy. And persuade? If Artus's anything like Arturia, I won't have to."

Morgan would play the good aunt, Arturia would lash out at the Saxons, and Morgan would use the opportunity to focus on crushing Vortigern.

The boy would do his part, besides...

"Caliburn's acceptance is proof enough. Go back to his family, or save his people and country? What choice did Arturia make at her age, let alone her son not yet led astray by love?"

Morgan also wasn't without insurance.

What of the revelation of a neglected half-sister purposely left to grow at a natural rate for this purpose?

Morgan had considered growth accelerants to make her daughter more useful, but she'd changed her mind.

Children were too impressionable and a tiny Mordred too needy.

Would Artus dare to leave?

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