Lancer Arturia could not remember when she'd managed to get back to her quaint little cottage in the middle of the woods, but she'd stopped thinking that deeply after desperately combing through the forest for a son that was not there.
Between her daughter's sobs and her distant and whispered words of comfort, all she could hear was white noise, the palpitations of her heart, and the unwillingness to accept reality.
Her mind flashed back, constantly sweeping for anything she could have missed.
Mud stained her clothes, one arm carefully holding her daughter while the other managed Llamrei's reins while desperately urging Annabel to take her back to where she'd seen her brother last.
Annabel could not do so. Anything she was saying lacked coherence, and her child-like terror and aversion in her expression had frustrated Lancer Arturia enough to agitate her.
Annabel was in fact, a child, and no mother could not be understanding about this, but there was a difference.
Annabel was a child, yes, but Lancer Arturia was a first-time mother whose only clue to finding one of her children was her daughter who wouldn't cooperate when it mattered most!
There was blood on Annabel. There was no way Lancer Arturia hadn't noticed it, but she was also quick to realize that it wasn't Annabel's blood nor that of an enemy. Obviously, there was no basis for the assumption, but it was an intuitive and maternal conclusion. Blood sings, and it was especially so for the blood of dragons and their kin.
If the blood on Annabel's face wasn't her own, then it could have only belonged to Artus. Which meant to say that he'd been injured enough to shed a copious amount of blood, and any second wasted meant the difference between saving her child and letting him die.
Annabel's muted ramblings and pointing had led Lancer Arturia nowhere as she'd desperately circled the entire area, but found nothing.
The only reason she'd returned to her little cottage was on the dying hope that her little lion had miraculously found his way home.
That hope died quickly when she entered the grove her cottage was located and saw it empty.
The white noise in her ears continued, not even offset by the sound of roaring flames and explosions in the background. In the end, that too eventually faded with Shirou soaring in on Efret's back and landing near her.
Lancer Arturia didn't know what expression she was making, but it must have been terrible given that whatever Shirou had to say about his encounter with a man wielding a flaming sword died in his throat.
She was not in the mind to care about anything else right now, anyway.
Seeing her father arrive, Annabel pushed out of Lancer Arturia's grip and threw herself at Shirou, burying her face into his face and sobbing.
Lancer Arturia remained motionless the entire time. She stared at Shirou, watching him tense with uncertainty.
"...D-Did you find Artus?" Lancer Arturia asked with a garbled voice, clinging onto her final lifeline.
Shirou did not answer, Lancer Arturia's fingers digging into her palms.
Annabel's crying was all that filled the silence.
"I see." Lancer Arturia shut her mouth, long bangs shadowing her features before she sharply glanced up and flared her magic energy.
Lancer Arturia's magic energy was a torrent of noble blue that dwarfed anything Artus or Annabel had ever made. The sight of it caused Annabel to stop sobbing in disbelief, shattering the illusion that her mother was anything but ordinary.
Wildly dancing in the air, the pressure of Lancer Arturia's magic energy compressed the ground beneath her and weighed heavily on the entire area. Her hair was violently whipping back, and her features were mixed with anxiousness and panic.
Annabel hugged onto her father as the energy began to grow suffocating, but quickly, that pressure disappeared as her father took her into his arms and offset the energy in the air with his own.
"Arturia," Shirou called out to her, eyes downcast before he shook his head. This wasn't the way to go about things, no matter how desperate.
Lancer Arturia quickly reeled in her magic energy, but not because she was listening. Rather, she too was a student of Merlin, and it wasn't as if she didn't learn a thing or two from the Wizard of Flowers.
She approached Annabel, taking a handful of Merlin's flower petals from a pouch strapped to her thigh. Merlin was a Wizard with a domain in dreams and human psyche. The petals he used as a medium were the basis of some of Merlin's spells and magics, the most notable of which delved into the mind.
Annabel had been unable to direct Lancer Arturia back to where she and Artus had encountered the Saxons, but that didn't mean the images in her mind wouldn't be able to paint a clearer picture.
Her little lion was out there, and she was doing nothing!
Lancer Arturia's gaze on her daughter subconsciously grew harder and harder as desperation began to murder common sense.
Seeing the situation deteriorate, Shirou had enough.
Lancer Arturia glared, lip twitching as Shirou put Annabel down and shielded her behind him.
"...Shirou-" She began to growl but was cut off by a harsh snap back to reality.
"She's scared." Shirou frowned, his brows knitting together before he grimaced at her for the first time in years.
"A-Ah," Lancer Arturia swallowed as her gaze broke away from Shirou, and then down to her cowering daughter grabbing onto Shirou's pant leg.
T-This wasn't her. Lancer Arturia swallowed down the lump in her throat, but at the same time, while one of her twins was safe, the other could be in danger. She had to put her feelings aside.
"I know we're both desperate, but this isn't the way to do it." Shirou coaxed, appearing equally burdened by the situation.
Lancer Arturia opened and closed her mouth, but it was clear she wasn't going to budge on this. It had to be done, and there was no time to waste.
Of course, Shirou knew this, but unlike Lancer Arturia's medieval approach to children, his approach was softer and more modern.
Turning his back to Lancer Arturia, Shirou knelt to Annabel's eye level and did his best not to show that Artus's absence was affecting him.
"Annabel, listen to me." Shirou placed his hands on Annabel's shoulders. "I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me?"
She stared at her feet, Shirou patiently waiting until she eventually stared back into his eyes.
"We need to know what happened to your brother, and your mom has a way to find out, but we need your help. Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes dad." Annabel took a deep breath before Shirou smiled at her.
"That's my girl." Shirou stood up and gestured for Lancer Arturia to approach.
Pursing her lips, Lancer Arturia knelt in front of Annabel and whispered into her ear. "Be strong little lion, I need you to remember what happened in the forest."
Annabel nervously opened her mouth-
"You don't need to say it. Just remember," Lancer Arturia interrupted as she charged Merlin's flower petals with magic energy, touched them over Annabel's head, and then threw them into the air.
The petals swirled, but never fully fell back to the ground. Rather, they blew in a circle, forming a small window tied to Annabel's mind; a doorway to her recent memories.
From Annabel's eyes, the picture of what occurred began to play out.
The twins appeared bickering the forest. There was no sound, but the images were vivid enough to make out even tiny details.
Lancer Arturia soon watched the twins raid a slave convoy, then the encounter with a certain knight, and then the Saxons.
Her children were dragons preying on pigs for all the resistance their enemies were able to muster against them, but they were untrained and naive.
Her son was stabbed protecting his sister.
A shudder traveled down Lancer Arturia's back, but she was eerily unresponsive.
The image wavered as Annabel began crying at the recollection.
More Saxons came, Artus noticing first and turning to warn Annabel to run-
An arrow pierced his neck.
"..."
The images grew blurrier and blurrier as Annabel cried, pressing her face to Shirou's leg.
Magic energy blazed as Artus threw his battered body at the enemy to buy his sister time.
All at once, Lancer Arturia cut off the spell the moment Annabel glanced back and saw the shadow of a small head flying under the light of the moon.
A suffocating stillness pervaded the area.
"Arturia…" Shirou called stiffly.
There was no answer. Lancer Arturia was just standing in place, her face a mask, her gaze unfocused. Without a word, she began walking back to the cottage, her movements robotic and sluggish.
"Arturia, wait!"
Shirou moved to chase after her, but a weight on his leg reminded him that Annabel was still clinging onto him.
"D-Daddy," she called him, seeking comfort. He couldn't leave her, or choose one over the other.
Shirou's stomach dropped. "Arturia!" He called out one last time, hoping she'd listen and come back, but it was as if Lancer Arturia couldn't hear anything.
She disappeared into the cottage.
White noise intensified to an unbearable degree until Lancer Arturia felt nauseous.
The door closed behind her, and she leaned against it before she steadily began to lose strength in her legs. Her knees wobbled first, gravity pushing her down and dragging her back against the door.
Out of sight, her expression finally began to crack.
Grief became heartache, and heartache became despair.
A choked wail escaped her mouth, the sound so miserable she had no choice but to cover it with her hands,
In the silence of her cottage, she wept bitterly at the image of her son doing his best to emulate her, and then at the hollow stillness of her dark cottage.
It wasn't fair.
Her expression contorted, lips warping into an ugly and desperate line as she whined.
.
.
.
Something died inside her when Shirou eventually returned with a tiny body and buried it in a small grave near their cottage. She didn't want to believe it. Rather, she refused to, but all of them could feel it.
Inside the body was a resonance of dragon blood and fire that was unique to her family.
Annabel grew withdrawn, and Shirou would often stare lost into space.
From several weeks, Lancer Arturia lost her appetite.
This wound though dulled by time, would never heal.
A homunculus is a being born of alchemy, science, and magecraft, a mixture of properties and elements based on the discretion of the creator.
In this world, Lancer Arturia wasn't the only one who could create a homunculus with a Dragon's constitution, rather after numerous failures, the Witch Morgan was the foremost expert.
Depositing the body of a failed homunculus to be found in her little sister's forest was child's play to her, but creating the ideal one was far trickier. That came with a mixture of her own blood born of her womb, and essences of her sister and sister's husband.
The perfect homunculus, Mordred was born.
/-/
Artus was dreaming. His mother was smiling proudly at him, his sister was snorting on the side, and his father was patting him on the head. He had become the best of Knights. No one was his peer, and like his mother's stories, he slew monsters, saved the damsels, and protected his people.
He woke up to the sensation of a small finger poking his cheek.
Happy dreams vanished, and the half-awake grumble at Annabel's antics had him sitting up before she decided to jump him. Of course, his expectation was different from reality.
He was inside a sparsely decorated room made out of stone rather than the warm wood he was used to in his family's cabin. There was a bed, and candles illuminating small parts of the wall.
"A-Ah, you're awake."
Artus blinked, memories of the fight in the forest hitting him like his mother's feared punishment stick.
A little girl roughly his age stumbled away from him, as if caught doing something she shouldn't. The girl…resembled his mother and sister, only that her hair was wilder and messier as if there had never been a person to braid or come it properly.
She was wearing a white tunic and trousers that resembled shorts more than pants.
"W-Who?" The word barely escaped Artus's lips before the clicking sound of heels approaching alerted the two of another person's approach.
"Shh!" The girl placed a finger to her mouth and quickly climbed into a large bed trunk.
Artus knit his brow, but winced from lingering pain from the stab wound at his stomach.
Just in time, the door of the room opened as if the owner of the building was able to sense the very moment Artus awoke.
Initially, Artus perked up at the appearance of the woman who entered with a cool expression and trained gait.
"You're awake," the woman observed.
"Mom?" Artus blurted, taken aback by the identical facial features. The only differences were hair length, colour, and general attire.
Where his mother often wore simple garments, the woman before him was in a luxurious blue and flowing dress. It cued Artus in on the inconsistencies. His mother's gaze was always warm, but this woman's gaze was heavier, sterner.
"No child." The woman shook her head, moving to sit by Artus's bedside. Her stiff expression twitched as she tried to pull off a smile, she was evidently unused to. "I am your aunt, Morgan, though if you wish to call me mother, it can be arranged."
Artus was young, but compared to his sister, his mentality was further developed. He was his mother's little dragon.
"I had an aunt?" He asked hesitantly.
"Your mother and I are estranged," The woman answered.
"Estranged?" Artus did not know that word, but he shook his head and asked what had been bugging him. "W-What happened to me?"
"You were dying, and I saved you," Morgan said, features neutral.
The gaze was not as warm as his mother's, but the tone and demeanor were similar enough to reassure Artus who took in the lack of pain. There was still some discomfort, but it was far cry from the agony of when he'd first been stabbed. No- more importantly, what mattered was the reason he got stabbed.
"M-My sister?" He stammered out in concern, drawing closer to Morgan and holding her hand.
Morgan's expression flickered, her gaze shifting from Artus, and to her hands which he held.
"Safe I presume." Morgan answered flatly, dubiously squeezing Artus's hand to reassure him. "She wasn't there when I found you, nor did I find a corpse."
Children were innocent. They could tell if someone meant them harm or not, and Morgan was being considerate.
Artus looked around at the familiar room, the unfamiliar environment, and naturally focused on a familiar face to orient himself.
"Where am I?" He asked.
"You are in my castle." The edges of Morgan's lips twitched upward for the first time during their conversation. "Camelot."
"Castle?" Artus echoed. "Mom said only important people own castles…"
"Did your mother not tell you, child?" Morgan raised her chin high, clicking her tongue. "We, are family, are royalty, and it is our obligation to safeguard and rule our country's people. I am your aunt Morgan Le Fay, Queen of Britain."
Artus opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say when he suddenly became related to the kings and queens his parents spoke about in bedtime stories.
Morgan's eyes softened. She flicked Artus's forehead with a finger, snorted when he recoiled, and then made to leave the room.
"I suggest you rest and recover. I will fill you in on the rest of your circumstances later."
Artus heard big words, but still nodded his head as he didn't want to give away that he didn't know exactly what his aunt Morgan meant.
"Good." Morgan said before leaving, her steps echoing until they became distant.
The trunk or large chest at the foot of the bed chose that moment to wobble, as the girl from before burst out. She stared once at Artus, and then stared longer in Morgan's direction, not knowing how to feel that Morgan spent more time talking to Artus than she'd ever had her.
The girl flinched when she realized Artus was looking at her.
"Hi, I'm Mordred." Coughing, she introduced herself with a feigned cheerfulness. "Esteemed mother said you're my brother?"
Still processing from the revelation of his royalty status, Artus was in a daze.
"I am?" He murmured without much thought.
The girl, Mordred, kicked her foot on the ground, pouting as she used her head to recall things she'd heard prior.
"Mother doesn't speak about father much, but uncle Tristan thinks he was part of a love triangle with my mother and yours." Mordred accused as if blathering just to keep the conversation going. "Ah, wait! Half-brother! That's what that old bit, Agravain said. Yeah!"
Artus shut his mouth as he listened.
Annabel would have staunchly defended father, but Artus was looking at Mordred's face, comparing it to his mother's, and then comparing it to Morgan's. The streaks of red highlights in Mordred's hair weren't helping Artus to harbor doubts.
It kind of made sense.
Recalling some of the stories his mother had said about his father, his father was apparently the target of many amorous gazes. A sinful man that was even pursued by a Mage Tower associate named Emily that his mother always grew tense with when she flirted with his father.
Then really- he had another sister?
Artus shook his head.
His family must be worried about him.
He had to go back, or send a letter-
Mordred grabbed his hand, and started dragging him towards the door.
"Let's go," Mordred grinned, making Artus lose much of his resistance. "I'll show you around Camelot!"
Exiting the room, Artus saw first hand that he was really in a castle. Tapestry and ornaments lining the halls were likely more expensive than his home. A carpet was laid out for people to walk over in places where the white tile and marble didn't reach while arched windows emitted coloured light through achromatic glass.
Knights in armoured plates and aristocrats in flamboyant attire from songs and camp fire stories were everywhere. However, Artus couldn't help but notice the way they treated Mordred as she passed by with him following along.
It was like that ugly duckling story his father told him.
Many people either whispered, ignored her, or showed too much deference to Mordred as if scared about her mother's temper.
Staring at Mordred's excited expression, there was a clear level of isolation that had been weighing on her. The look on her face was the same one his sister made when their father first introduced Efret when they were out hunting together. It was as if she was meeting a friend for the first time in her life.
Artus subconsciously patted Mordred on the head while they were walking.
"H-Hey, what's the big deal! Stop!"
Mordred reminded him too much of Annabel.
"I'm going to punch you!"
What should he do?
Annabel had their mom and dad, but what did Mordred have with a busy mother and a castle where no one really acknowledged her?
Then there was a sense of duty as royalty that aunt Morgan-
Artus suddenly blinked, a small fist rapidly enlarging before his face.
A split-second thought came by at the end.
Definitely like Annabel.
He saw stars.
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Free web novel :[Apostate in Grim Fantasy]
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