"The Once and Future King defied fate itself for twenty years, yet the world saw his actions and proclaimed it true rather than create a paradox. His existence is not one that I can foresee, even with the Eye. Even his smallest actions will butterfly into a hurricane. Yet, do you still wish to continue?"

"You said you wouldn't try to convince me."

"No, I said I knew you wouldn't be convinced," the Ancient One said with sad smile. "But that doesn't mean I won't try. It's the least I could do for a friend."

...

"Fraulein. I don't want to hurt you. Just hand it over."

Even without glancing at her back, Artoria knew she was surrounded. By the sounds of the footsteps, there were two in the rear along with the two she could see at her front. Both her flanks were occupied by tall buildings and she knew from experience that these parts of the city was mostly empty, meaning help would be slow to arrive.

Her ambushers had chosen the location well.

If this were the Holy Grail War, her death would almost have been a certainty. But rather than four heroes of legend, what barred her paths were but four boys, not yet men. All children in every way that mattered, no matter how they tried to appear otherwise.

They held knives in their hand, with the one standing at the head and making demands wielding it with better proficiency than others. But even then, the fingers grasping the handle far too tight and his wrist much too rigid. "This doesn't need to get… messy. If you behave," he grinned suavely, though his eyes betrayed his mask.

"I believe you," Artoria easily agreed. However he acted, he was no true brigand. His eyes were soft. She doubted he would even have the courage to plunge the knife into another if given the chance.

Perhaps it was because her voice showed none of the fear that should have been expected in a distressed damsel, the boy's eyes narrowed in alarm. He quickly glanced over his shoulders, searching for several seconds.

Though he saw no one, his eyes still held a nervous tint when he turned his gaze back to her, cautious yet curious. When she made no move to hand over her belongings, he mocked. "You're a brave one Fraulein. Takes some balls, that."

"Or just stupid," one of the boys muttered. "You know what they say about pretty and crazy."

"Hey!" The leader chastised, frowning. "That's no way to speak to a dame!"

"We're robbing her," came the incredulous response.

"And we'll do it like gentlemen. Like Robin Hood!"

"You're so full of shit Elijah."

Elijah? A fake name? Or were they so inexperienced that they would offer up their identity so casually?

Snorting in annoyance, Eljiah turned back to face her, the same fake smile plastered upon his lips and reached out his hand. "Please. Fraulein," he said, gesturing towards her handbag.

Artoria merely stared, meeting his eyes and left his hand empty. The longer their gazes connected, the more uncomfortable the boy became and his bravado began to crumble to expose the nervousness within. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be," he warned, flicking his knife.

The implied threat washed over her like the breeze from a spring wind. "Is this worth it? To risk the consequences?" Artoria asked. The punishment for thievery was never kind. Even now.

To his credit, Eljiah seemed to consider her words. "Yes," he answered, seconds later and gestured at her purse. "We need it a lot more than you."

Artoria nodded in acceptance, and tossed her purse directly into his hands. The boy nearly fumbled in surprise. "I believe you," she repeated.

The boy smirked. "Knew you were sm—"

And struck him in the abdomen.

Elijah gasped, his body convulsing with the violence of his retching. Nothing, not even bile, left his gullet, leaving him heaving on the ground on his hands and knees like a beast. He cradled his abdomen, rubbing it as if to disperse the sting of her blow. She hadn't struck him particularly hard. But only by her own standards. For an ordinary human, the strike was disabling, though not crippling.

A grimace filled her lips as she glanced at her hand. The boy had appeared thin from a glance, but the sensation of her fist to his abdomen told a clearer picture of his physical state. He wasn't at the point of starvation, but he wasn't far from it.

His three companions stood frozen, dumbly, stunned by the unexpected resilience. Even the two behind her made no attempt to move despite having the advantage of her blind spot. She supposed they had never considered that their prey would fight back. Foolish. Even rabbits had teeth.

"Don't resist," she warned as she stepped towards the other boy in front of her. "It will be easier if you don't."

Her voice seemed to startle the boy, as he shifted his gaze from his groaning leader to her. He snarled, raising his knife as if to attack. But the moment he met her eyes, whatever courage he had seemed to flee. Just before his legs could do the same, she struck again, putting the boy on the ground next to his leader.

With two more following blows, she added two more bodies into the ground. After making sure they were properly subdued Artoria nodded in satisfaction and turned to leave.

"A-aren't you… forgetting something?" A voice retched out, forcing out the words in between gasping breaths.

Artoria halted her steps and glanced at her back. Elijah struggled to his feet, supporting his body with the surrounding wall to remain upright. He dangled her purse in front of him, as if gesturing for her to take it back.

"Keep it," she said.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, suspicion clouding his pupils. "Why?"

"You said it yourself," she said instead.

He stared back incredulously. "If you were going to give it anyways, why'd you attack us?!"

"Because I can't condone banditry."

"What kind of asinine logic is that?!" He shouted angrily.

But Artoria paid him no heed and continued her way out of the alley, until her purse struck the wall by her side. Once again, she turned.

"Keep your fucking charity," Elijah snarled, his eyes suddenly filling with anger that should not have been present in someone so young.

Artoria frowned. "You would rather rob with steel?"

A glob of phlegm landed by her feet. "Go fuck yourself, schweinhund."

Her eyes narrowed at the insult as her temper rose. "Watch your words. Boy," she growled. If he had been a man grown with true steel in his hand, she would have— no… this was no longer her era.

He flinched at her voice, stumbling back as if struck. His face paled, and his hands began to quiver. Yet, he held his ground glaring at her with whatever defiance he could muster.

"Leave it. Take it. Do as you wish," Artoria said before she left the alley, leaving her bag and the pile of bodies on the ground. She acutely felt the boy's glare until she turned the corner, out of sight of his line of gaze.

Thirty-nine times.

In the years she had traveled the world, she had faced attempted robbery and kidnapping the count of thirty-nine.

She supposed she could see the logic. A single woman walking alone without company must have seemed like an easy target to many, especially one unmarred with signs of hardship.

She did not begrudge their attempt. Nor did she blame them. Eras shaped men. And in dark times, it was only natural for humans to become demons in times of suffering. But they were still human. Humans that had become demons, but human nonetheless.

Thus, Artoria had dealt with each of them appropriately, with whatever fairness she could give, as she wanted to avoid the strange looks the guards gave when she handed over multiple unconscious men.

The sound of cries broke her attention. She turned her gaze to an ongoing scuffle, as black uniformed guards ripped a man away from his screaming family. A woman and a child. The man fought back against his capture, futilely trying to shake off his captors. But a swing of a baton ended his struggles, and the guards dragged an unmoving body into a vehicle and loaded him in as if he were a rolled carpet. The wife tried to intervene, but received a strike to her face for her troubles and was sent sprawling into the ground.

Artoria frowned, but in the end ignored the sobbing family and moved on, much like the rest of the audience. The treatment of the woman was harsh, but she had little business interfering with another land's justice.

Half an hour later, she found herself by a fountain, several meters wide and took a seat upon its ledge, taking time to truly observe her surroundings and its people.

She had heard that this land was a prosperous one, recovering the swiftest from the economic turmoil that upended the world even after their devastating defeat in the Great War. They were right. But only as much as the difference between the size of a gnat and a fly.

True, if she were to look carefully, she could see a vibrance in the air- a bounce in the steps of certain individuals. But all in all, it was the same picture as elsewhere. The fear. Anxiety. Depression. It cloyed the streets like tar. She shook her head. Compared to a millennia ago, the world had so much more, yet it often felt like it had far less.

Artoria's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the rumblings of a lion. She turned her head in alarm, having failed to notice a beast's approach. To her increasing worry, she failed to find the source. But a second later and to her embarrassment, she quickly found the source to be her own stomach.

On hindsight, she should have retained some of the money for lunch.

"Fraulein," a wizened, yet refined voice spoke from her side.

Artoria nearly flushed in embarrassment. Had someone heard?

"A moment of your time please," the voice continued. Its owner was an aged man, with a head full of white and a visage covered in wrinkles. While his clothes were ordinary and common place, he carried himself with a sense of refinement. But most importantly, he was no warrior.

"Yes?" Artoria asked, praying that this was not another of those 'incidents'. While most limited themselves to open stares and side glances, both of which she had gotten accustomed to in her time as king, the bolder ones were far more… proactive.

At first, she had mistaken their attempts for banditry as they often professed that they would steal from her. Thus, she proceeded to knock them unconscious. It had taken her friend to sit her down and explain before she finally understood that their actions were in reality, attempts at courtship.

With better understanding of these matters, when she found them far too persistent, she… knocked them out unconscious, as she had little idea how to deal with unwanted courtship when 'no' proved insufficient of an refusal.

But that method was hardly advisable on an elderly man.

"I'm terribly sorry for your disturbance, but I couldn't help but be captivated by the picture you create," he said with a gentle smile on his lips.

Artoria grimaced. She could recall having heard such lines at least three times from her memory alone. "I—," she started.

"Do you mind if I paint you?" He asked gesturing to his brush and easel to the side.

"—will be happy to agree," she finished, with a smile.

"Excellent!" The elder exclaimed with a pleased look on his visage. "With you as the subject, I'm certain this year's focus will be— ah, where are my manners. I haven't introduced myself. "I am Hermon Griepenkerl and it is my upmost pleasure to meet you!"

Artoria let herself smile. "The pleasure is mine. I am—"

"Ah please!" Hermon interrupted, waving his hands. "I know this may sound rude and strange, but I would rather not hear your name. A hint of mystery adds flavor to art, you see."

She didn't, but she nodded along nonetheless.

"Please tilt your head to the side and raise the chin slightly up. Place your right hand across the fountain and lean back just slightly— no, too far. Back— that's it! Good, good! Perfect!" Hermon praised he readied his instruments and sat himself across from her.

"How long will this take?" Artoria asked.

"Hm? Ah, around three hours."

"Three—" Artoria grimaced, as she struggled to keep her hunger at bay. It had nearly been four hours since she had last eaten. That would mean that by the time the man finished, it would be seven.

Seven hours in between meals…

Artoria grimaced, physically shuddering at the thought.

"But all I need is a brief sketch," Hermon added with a knowing smile. "That should take only thirty minutes, though for one as intricate as you, a bit longer."

Artoria smiled at that with a small sigh of relief.

"If I may, what brings you here?" The painter asked as his eyes rapidly darted from her to his canvas repeatedly.

"Is it so obvious that I am a tourist?"

"Nein. If anything, your German is flawless. But you have an accent you see, though I cannot place it, nor do I recognize the dialect."

"… I'm—" Artoria started hesitantly.

"If you're uncomfortable with answering, there's no need to force yourself. I am not ignorant to the disagreements the fatherland has with other parts of the world," he reassured. "Though I am curious, and albeit worried, why a young woman in her twenties is unaccompanied. While Berlin provides unmatched security, it is not innocent of Untermensch."

"Untermensch?" She didn't recognize the world, though she could infer its meaning by context. "I've been travelling the world," she explained, engaging the conversation as she had little else to do.

"Oh? I suppose it's not uncommon nowadays. For how long?"

"Eleven years."

Hermon paused at that, his hand halting mid brush. He stared at her in shock. "Eleven years?! That… is quite impressive," he grudgingly said, though he appeared to have different thoughts. "Were your parents ambassadors?" His eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps gyp- no," he shook his head. "Forgive me, that was inappropriate to ask. I'm sure you're as pure as the white you wear. Though, I am still curious. Why? You didn't travel alone the entire time, did you?" He asked with a hint of worry.

"I… I wanted something," Artoria admitted. "But many told me that it was impossible. That what I sought was impossible. Though, I suppose my efforts were worthwhile in other ways in the end. I've seen and heard many things during my journeys, you see. Sometimes alone, other times not. It was… enlightening."

"Ah, the stubbornness of youth," Hermon nodded sagely. "I have all too much experience with that. Though it seems to me that you've given up," he said, his voice neither approving nor criticizing.

"In time, I realized that they were right."

"To pursue something beyond oneself will only end in hurt," he agreed. "Or at least, that was what I would have said some years ago."

Hermon met her eyes and continued on. "Once in the past, I called another's work unsatisfactory. Unremarkable. At that moment, I was convinced that he would never amount to anything and rejected his application. Some years later, he became chancellor."

Artoria smiled bitterly. "Quite the story. But it is hardly the same."

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "But imagine if I had accepted that application. Hah! This country would still be in the hands of fools and he would be in a room painting away as the fatherland rots. Fraulein… life is full of surprises. Many terrible, but some wonderous. For one, who would have ever expected my rejection would have changed the world?"

"I—, yes. You may be right," Artoria lied.

"Good, good! You are far—"

"Excuse me. Herr Griepenkerl," a deep voice interrupted.

Hermon's aged face twisted into scowl at the interruption and turned towards the voice. "Can't you see— ah, Lieutenant Klein," he paused as recognition dawned, displeasure quickly changing into one of wariness. "How can I help you?"

Lieutenant Klein fell silent, unresponsive to the question. Instead, his eyes were opened wide with his jaw slightly slack as his gaze fell upon her. In turn, Artoria took the time to examine the man before her.

The man's uniform was entirely black, similar to the guards' she had seen wandering the city. However, his was more embellished, signifying a higher rank. But what was most curious was band he wore around his arm. Or more specifically, the symbol that adorned it.

A swastika.

She had seen the same symbol all throughout the city, from flags to posters, and even embroidery attached to clothes. She was hardly an expert in what it meant, but she recognized it through the knowledge of the various Hindu legends the Grail had given her. To see it in a place like this, so far and different from its place of origin was…

"Lieutenant!"

The man finally startled awake, despite having never been asleep when Hermon roughly shook him by the shoulder.

"Oh…" Klein blinked. "M-my… my apologies. I…" He trailed off as his gaze once again settled upon her.

Hermon followed his gaze and smirked, before slapping the man in his back with a knowing glance, startling him once again. "It's not that I don't understand, but have so propriety. If I were a few decades younger, I would have— ahem… anyways, are you not here on some urgent matter?" He reminded.

"Ah, yes," he admitted, looking away in… embarrassment? But his eyes quickly hardened. "Apologies for interrupting Herr Griepenkerl, but do you recognize this man?" The Lieutenant asked before gesturing with his hands.

At the implied order, two men adorned in similarly colored uniform marched forward, securing and dragging a prisoner in between them by the elbow.

"This is beyond embarrassing…" The prisoner complained before meeting her eyes. "Hey Artoria."

"Mobius," she greeted in return, though her voice contained little joy.

...

Just something I've had. May continue if there's enough interest.