In the top floor of an ordinary inn, a single candle lay alight. A meagre flame, little more than an ember, dancing upon a pillar made of wax. Small. Lonely. Insignificant. It was all of these things and more.

But never, never was it without purpose.

Like a beacon it flickered, a shimmering star imprinted onto the surface of watching eyes. The last line of defence, the final bastion of hope, a symbol, burning in stark defiance to the encroaching night. It captured the mind in a way that was almost… irreplicable, a sort of transient beauty ascribed to its hazy form.

For a moment it flared up, casting long shadows on the wall behind it, before settling down once more.

The light the candle gave off did not illuminate much. What it did, though, was bathed in a warm glow, strokes of gold and red painting slender legs like a tapestry. Legs which supported the body of a familiar figure, all svelte lines and soft angles that lead to delicate flesh.

Grey eyes stared blankly at the inn wall. Evelyn wasn't too sure what it was, exactly, that she was looking for, but it certainly wasn't going to be found between the dull bricks and flaking mortar.

'When the fuck is Raphael coming back?!'

Pretty features pulled into a frown, barely visible amidst the gloom. She thumbed at the ends of her nightgown, thoughts engulfed in a mixture of wistful longing and barely-suppressed frustration, before sighing in defeat.

'I wonder what's keeping him for so long…Surely he's not sleeping somewhere else, right?!"

Just the possibility of it caused Evelyn's fingers to curl up in discomfort. It was silly, she knew, grown woman that she was, but his presence was… comforting to her. Like a warm blanket, easing her soul into dreamless sleep. She had grown so used to his being there, so accustomed to those suave smiles and mischievous eyes, that it felt almost wrong to rest in his absence.

Even admitting this brought a hot flush to otherwise pale cheeks, something she was thankful no one else was around to see.

'Relax, Eve! Let's just go to bed, and we can give that idiot a piece of our mind tomorrow…;

Evelyn swung her legs onto the mattress, and tried to put her previous worries out of mind. She shuffled underneath the covers - a lot more comfortable than she was used to- and closed her eyes, but after a while of just laying there, she came to the realisation that sleep was going to be a particularly elusive customer.

Her eyes peeled open once again, glaring up at the ceiling as if it had done to her some unforgivable wrong.

'Really? It's getting a little pathetic at this point, girl…'

The little voice at the back of her mind was ruthlessly suppressed, although it didn't do much to help with her current situation. She sighed, a steady release of all her pent-up emotion, and when that didn't work as she had hoped, the girl simply gave up, resignation clinging to her weary features.

'Whatever… there's no helping it, I guess. Tomorrow morning is going to be a bitch.'

Without much else to do, Evelyn's thoughts drifted towards the day's events. She had always known Raphael to be strong - a lot stronger than her, at the very least- but up until now, there was always startlingly little to compare him against. The worst she had seen him fight were simple bandits, a foe that couldn't possibly be defeated as easily as an actual knight, right?

Well, it was what she had thought at the time…right up until the first match, that is.

Evelyn was probably the only person in the crowd who had some measure of Raphael's abilities, and even she had been taken aback by his performance. The speed with which he dismantled each opponent was awe-inspiring- ridiculous, even, and possessed of a brutal sort of elegance, the likes of which she had never before seen from the man.

It was to the point that you had to make sure you didn't blink, lest you wished to miss half the action.

How much had Raphael been holding back in their spars? It really put her own strength into perspective, a sentiment that didn't bother her nearly as much as perhaps it should have. This was, most likely, because her thoughts had been rather preoccupied at the time.

Mordred. Just thinking about the boy was enough for her to begin seeing red, a feeling only further compounded when she remembered her embarrassing defeat. As if humiliating her wasn't enough, the knight was apparently a bloody overachiever, and he had seen fit to target not just her, but her friend as well.

Now, this of course had pissed her off to a… greater degree than usual. Angry wouldn't even begin to describe her mood at that time. Rage had clouded her vision so much, in fact, that at one point, Evelyn was about thirty seconds away from rushing down there herself- although thankfully, the king cut her off in just in time.

The girl had settled down at the prospect of an actual fight, but such ambivalence wasn't destined to last long. Why was it, that out of every contestant Raphael had gone against, it was Mordred that decided to put up the most fight? It infuriated her to no end, but Evelyn decided to content herself with the fact she would eventually be able to witness his stupid helmet getting beaten in.

Was it unchivalrous? Perhaps. Petty? Unashamedly so. Her mother may chide her for it, but she was a big girl now, wasn't she? And besides, her dream was to be an actual warrior- not some boring old nun, stuck milling around a church all day. Not everybody could be as forgiving as Raphael was.

Unfortunately, her desire to see Mordred punched in the face would remain unfulfilled. No matter how badly she wished for it, praying for the knight's downfall with all that she had, it seemed that today, God wasn't on her side. The fight was stopped just as it was reaching its climax, everyone sent home in a daze, and what was Evelyn left with? Stuck all alone in this blasted inn, unable even to sleep, and burdened with the terrifying knowledge that Raphael was out there, somewhere, running amok in the streets of Camelot.

She really hoped he wasn't doing anything crazy right now, although the chances were probably slim. Evelyn knew how the man could be sometimes. He wasn't unintelligent by any means, but Raphael had the unfortunate tendency to… think with his sword, at times, rather than with his head.

And no, that wasn't a euphemism, no matter how much Evelyn might fantasise otherwise.

'Ahh, Fuck…'

For a brief moment, her thoughts meandered into… scandalous territory. From the recesses of her mind emerged a figure, tall and strong, with crimson eyes like that of a predator, twin rubies piercing through the darkness. They locked gazes, and instantly Evelyn was mesmerised. Enraptured within those swirling orbs, burning with lust, with passion enough to engulf the two of them in flames.

A shiver travelled like lightning up her spine.

Evelyn lay back in submission, as a warm hand began to caress her thighs, moving slowly, sensually upwards. Hot breath tickled at her ear, an invisible lover whispering in dulcet tones. She resisted for a second, before ultimately giving in, luxuriating in his embrace and tender ministrations. The ghost of a touch at her molten core, the fluttering kisses made just beneath her clavicle, the steady thunk of somebody walking up the stairs…

Wait…

Evelyn froze. She thought at first it might have been a simple product of her imagination, but no.

*Thunk*

There it was again.

There was, without a doubt, somebody ascending the stairs.

Her libido sputtered out almost immediately at the realisation, replaced with a cold chill that pervaded her bones. The girl sat up in a hurried fashion, pushing her lower body underneath the covers, and sure enough, after a few seconds of waiting, the door to her room was opened.

"Hey, you still awake? You'd never guess what just happened to me."

Illumined by the candlelight, Raphael's face was just visible enough to be able to see his beaming smile.

"..."

Evelyn attempted to level the man with the driest look in her repertoire. Unfortunately for the girl, any impression she wanted to project was ruined, rather handedly, by the dark flush that tinted her cheeks. He saw this of course, but due to Raphael being, well…Raphael, he decided to simply ignore it for some reason or other, and carried on like she wasn't there.

"She's asleep, huh? Oh well. Guess she wasn't interested in the super interesting story I had to tell…What a shame, too. I don't think I'll be able to remember it come morning…"

The room remained silent for a while. Then, without warning or proper consent, an amused snort pierced through the night air, Evelyn only realising it came from her just after.

Crimson eyes snapped to her own, as regal features twisted up into an amused grin.

'Shit…'

Just the sight of it caused Evelyn to shiver. Memories of what she had been doing previously began rushing to the forefront, and for some reason, this time, she was unable to fully dispel them.

'Fuck, not now body! Quick, Eve, think of something unsexy… l-like a fat noble, or something!"

Her gambit seemed to work… for all of two seconds, that is. It was becoming increasingly clear that perhaps, right now, going to sleep this close to Raphael might not be the wisest decision she could make.

Seeking to distract herself from the growing heat within, the girl decided to try humouring the man. If nothing else, the warrior had a rather special talent for storytelling, enough so that it became scarily easy to lose track of the real world whilst listening in.

Perhaps he had been a Bard in another life. It would explain the smoothness of his voice, at the very least.

"W-what, You get invited to join the roundtable or something? Wouldn't be the craziest thing I could think of…"

Evelyn's tone was laden thick with sarcasm, but for whatever reason, Raphael didn't seem to pick up on it. Golden eyebrows furrowed into a frown, the look on the man's face turning to one of faint puzzlement.

"Huh, how'd you know so fast? Did somebody tell you?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Yeah, right. Spit it out then. You've actually made me kind of curious now, y'know?"

When his confused expression refused to fade, and his eyes remained as sincere as they had always been, slowly, Evelyn began to realise that perhaps the man was actually telling the truth.

'There's no fucking way…'

Well, if nothing else, at least the news served to quench the girl's growing desire, although the rictus grin that was now carved onto her face probably wasn't a healthy alternative.

/

She awoke with a start, heavy breaths blending together with the sound of songbirds in the early morning. She shot up from her bed, heart hammering like a drum within her chest, as the dawn light filtered through the shutters. Verdant eyes darted to every corner of the room, searching; but in the end, just like always, everything was the same as it always had been. The same wooden dresser, the same drab walls, the same carpet, gifted to her by some old baron… and most importantly, there was nobody else in the room with her.

Unbidden, a relieved sigh left her lips. She got up from her mattress and walked over to the mirror on bare feet- a large, gilded thing, inlaid with gems and other such things. It was a tad too ostentatious for her tastes, but turning down such an expensive present would have been an action made in poor form.

She peered in, and was greeted by the image of a small, waifish girl, with dark bags like trenches dug beneath her eyes. Full lips started to downturn, but she caught herself midway, leaving her expression stuck in an awkward grimace.

To many, the sight would be almost incomprehensible. Impossible, even, especially to those that supported her the most. Apart from their similar features, both the girl in the mirror and King Arthur Pendragon had absolutely nothing in common.

Perhaps that was true, in a world more hopeful than this one.

She stared for a while, unblinking, at the reflection in the glass. At the worried set of her brow, at the unkempt mess of her hair, the sweat-soaked smallclothes plastered to her skin and every minute detail in between, before shaking her head in frustration. She shouldn't be wasting time on such pointless things.

Artoria calmed her still racing heart, and decided to carry on with her daily routine. A quick bath, an oil rub to cleanse the grime from her face, and after pulling on a new gambeson she was back in front of the mirror. With slender fingers she plucked together strands of spun-gold, pulling her hair into its signature braid.

It was a lengthy process, but not one that she could ever go without. Artoria was King first and foremost, and as such, her appearance reflected that of her kingdom. Never could she be seen as anything but perfect, for it would break the illusion she had placed everybody under.

In reality, the king was not as infallible as he was made out to be.

Artoria let out a deep exhale, making sure to push out all of her negative feelings, before refocusing. With a final motion she finished her braid, the figure in the mirror now almost as perfect as it always should have been.

Only one last thing was missing.

Artoria stared at her reflection for what seemed like an age, attempting to change her expression back to a neutral line, but she wasn't having much luck. As soon as she stopped consciously maintaining it, her lips would always dip back into that selfsame frown.

Eventually, after a while of doing the same thing over and over with little success, she realised the futility of her actions, and gave up for the moment. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would do her some good?

The king moved to the window with halting steps, before opening the shutters and taking a look outside. From the topmost spire of Camelot Castle she cast her gaze, down upon the sprawling streets below, taking in every detail of the familiar scenery.

Even at this early hour, the city was alive with activity. From streetside merchants attempting to peddle their wares, working men hauling their produce over to the farmers market, to simple early-risers, looking for a hearty meal to start off the day. It was utopia compared to what had been there before, one built by her very own hands.

She looked out past the city limits, into the rolling hills that lay beyond. Like the humps of sleeping giants, the sight stretched off forever into the horizon, endless fields of green dotted with lilies and daffodils. Coupled with the soft song of tittering birds, the atmosphere was nothing short of idyllic, picturesque in a way that was usually only found in silly bard's tales.

All things considered, it was an utterly beautiful morning.

Artoria just wished that she could enjoy it.

As soon as the thought came, it was crushed with ruthless efficiency. In an instant she tore her gaze away from the window, staring instead at the floor, the reds and blues of the carpet filling the entirety of her vision.

What was wrong with her? Even after all this time, after all those campaigns and hard-won battles, this part of her still existed? It was pathetic. She was pathetic. As king, she had to be better.

As king. All of this, every privilege and luxury that was now available to her people, and still she was struggling with that simple price? What a farce it all was. If any were to find out, they would surely mock her for it.

She had to remind herself. She had to remember. That single sentence, the foundation on which the entirety of Camelot was built, that one concept that she could never, ever lose sight of.

'To be king is to discard your humanity.'

She had always known it to be so, ever since that fateful day so many years ago. Hadn't she resigned herself to this destiny already? As soon as she had pulled the sword from the stone, there was never any chance of going back.

A deal was made at that moment. To lead her country into the future, to protect them, to secure their safety against the barbarians from across the sea; for the power required to do all of these things and more, she simply needed to give up that which made her Artoria.

For the girl, it had been a small toll to pay. No matter what Merlin said at the time, for her, there could never have been any other outcome.

A perfect king was one without a human heart. This she knew with the utmost certainty, an ingrained truth that had paved the way for her every deed since. To feel was forbidden, for was it not emotion that led, ultimately, to instability? This country did not need a man at its helm, but an idea. An unchanging constant, forever untainted and eternally present.

And so, to achieve this, Artoria discarded her very self. If King Arthur was happy, then he suppressed it. If King Arthur was sad, then he pushed it down. He did not hesitate. He did not falter. He never lied, or cheated, or did anything that could be considered improper. He did not know fear nor guilt, nor desire in any of its forms. Only he stood alone at the pinnacle, a shining example that all looked up to in reverence.

To most, he was as exactly as he presented himself to be. Immaculate. Untouchable. Immortal, even, the victor of every battle he had ever fought in.

King Arthur was perfection made manifest. And surely, for someone as virtuous as he, a mere nightmare would be all but impossible…

…Right?

A touch at her waist, cold as ice. The fear, the shallow breaths, the sheer panic she felt, as her very agency was robbed from her. That foreign sensation that tingled at the base of her spine, as alien as it was repulsive. And those eyes. Those haunting eyes, alight with malice and glee and sadistic pleasure, burning like lanterns in the darkness of her room.

Those familiar eyes.

The stab of pain broke Artoria from the illusion. She looked over, and found that her nails had carved bloody tracks into her forearm.

'No...please. Not again...'

She grit her teeth, but alas, it was already far too late.

A single teardrop tracked down the contours of King Arthur's face.

/

AN: No way, author updated 2 times in the same week?! It's crazy times we live in, I know.

I spent quite a long time going over that Artoria segment, so I hope I managed to portray her perspective properly. I did enjoy writing it, though, so it wasn't like it was annoying to do or anything.

Also, Kudos to anyone who can figure out what Artoria's nightmare was about. I don't know if I made it too vague or too obvious, but just in case, I'll give you the hint that it was less an actual nightmare, and more a traumatic memory.

As always, thank you for the support, and I hope you all enjoy!