"She took an arrow, tied the letter with a thread to the end of the arrow and ordered an archer to shoot the arrow to the English, crying, 'Read it is news!' The English received the arrow with the letter and read it. And having read it they began to utter great shouts, saying, 'News of the Armagnacs' (France's) whore!' At these words Joan began to sigh and weep copious tears, calling the King of Heaven to her aid. And thereafter, was she consoled, as she said, for she had had news of her Lord. And that evening, after dinner, she ordered me to rise on the morrow earlier than I had done on Ascension Day, and that she would confess herself to me very early in the morning, which she did." Jean Pasquerel, Jeanne d'Arc's personal confessor and priest during her rehabilitation trial.

Chapter 9: The Second Siege of Orleans Part 1: Ice and Fire

Artoria stood at the makeshift round table of the recently constructed hillfort of Camelot. Staring at a map on the table, she managed to secure the last of the western Briton tribes and incorporate them into her kingdom.

It had been a costly conquest for the young King. After many overtures of peace, the last of the Briton Lords submitted to the alliance brought forth through marriage. The Western tribes were resentful, but the Gwynedd and Powys, her queen's native tribes, were easily incorporated due to their love of their leader.

Artoria did her best to peacefully incorporate the Britons. In the first two years, she made an exerted effort to mix her Roman people with these Northern Britons. However, the further you entered, the tribes of Gwent, Morgannwg, and Deheubarth were the most resistant to change, actively revolting against Queen Guinevere.

Since her first year, Artoria met the queen of the Britons. A strong and noblewoman, all thanks to Merlin, the liaison between Roman and Briton alike. It wasn't hard to make the queen see to reason.

After a short discussion and the threat of Saxon invasions, especially after the sack of Londinium, Guinevere saw the marriage's fruitfulness and agreed to help Artoria, even though she was female.

And thus, the two agreed to a public marriage.

Guinevere was the second to learn of Artorias' condition. It was, however, been eight months since the marriage. Artoria frowned; time was of the essence to find a solution to her question. Without an heir, there was discontent among the Roman and Britain nobility that could threaten this shaky alliance. The king and queen marriage symbolized mutual cooperation, but Artoria wanted more. She wanted a child to represent a new kingdom's formation and, more importantly, a new people.

Turning away from the small round wooden table, Artoria took her seat on the makeshift throne, a simple wooden chair on a platform. There was no time for niceties while Britain was being invaded.

"You Lord," a soldier snapped to attention.

Artoria looked up calmly, thankful that she was being dragged out of these thoughts.

"Merlin is here as you requested."

"Send him in. Have all guards leave. I must speak to him alone."

The guard bowed and showed the wiseman in. The doors to the hall were closed, leaving teacher and pupil, King and subject, alone in the room.

The old druid approached, bowing slightly. "Ah, Artoria, careful now. Your frown could be chiseled in place if you don't smile enough."

"It is hard to smile without a lack of an heir, Saxon invasions, and civil discontent." Artoria sighed as she pinched her nose in frustration.

The wise man smiled as he pulled back his hood, "indeed. We've found a suitable child."

Artoria raised an eyebrow.

"And the parents?"

"A pair of peasants, an uncanny resemblance to yourself," Merlin explained with a sly smile.

"And the parents?" Artoria asked, dreading an answer. She stood up and walked towards the window, breathing the cold crisp air.

"Dead." The druid said without a hint of remorse.

"WHAT?! You already stole their child. Is that not enough?" She slammed her gauntlet down on the stone window sill. Slain. The possible heir of her kingdom was born through blood. Blood that her hands were stained with, indirectly.

"Dead people do not reveal secrets," Merlin sighed.

Artoria shook with anger. How could that console her? How could her counselor be so…. Careless with human life. The druid religion was… extreme… but this was a whole new level. Without turning to meet the gaze of the old man, she stormed out. Her heavy metal footfall alerted all the guards to snap to attention as the King marched past. Wondering through the halls, she came across the room of her wife and queen.

The same queen that had been in hiding due to her "carrying child."

"Come in." She said

In the royal apartments stood her wife, Guinevere, nuzzling the child as if were her own. "Would you like to see our child?" She said sweetly, looking down with warm and inviting eyes brimming with love and admiration for the baby child.

Artoria gritted her teeth. That was not their child. That child has unduly ripped away from their parents and then murdered on the count of Merlin. This child was a child born of blood, not of her blood.

Artoria walked into the room; the clanking of her boots filled the air. Guinevere held out the child, and Artoria received the baby with a neutral expression.

Looking down at the child, he realized it was a girl—a girl who had the uncanny resemblance to herself. A touch of blonde hair poked up with laughter of the child filling the air. Her large green eyes met with Artoria's.

This child looked up to her with a particular innocent love as she giggled and cooed.

'Maybe..' Artoria's heart ached. Seeing this bundle of joy reached out to her. Despite how she wanted to have the child sent away. She just couldn't… on a certain level; she owed her that. "You may raise the child, but this will not be the heir.' Artoria announced with a hollow voice as she handed the baby back to her wife

"What…? why?" Her wife was shocked and stunned. "She's perfect. She looks like you!"

"Because." Artoria turned with a wounded and cold heart, "that child will only know blood." She stormed out of the bed-chamber. No. No. No. Never. That child was so cruelly taken, she would not let such a child rise on a throne built upon blood. She ignored the shouting and raging of Briton Queen. Nothing would dissuade her on the course she had set.

Artoria started to stir, a resounding headache and the pain in her heart at seeing her heir, her daughter. So… she was resurrected too.

There was some shuffling off in the distance. Scanning her surroundings, she saw Jeanne praying by the alter, the red banner draped over the ancient stone table. Trying to hoist herself up from the ground, Artoria hissed when her boots started to clank, which would inevitably interrupt Jeanne's contemplation. Things were still dizzy for her as she tried her best to balance herself.

The Maiden stood up and rushed towards Artoria, "You shouldn't be up like this…" Jeanne reprimanded with a look that told Artoria to sit. And so, that's what she did.

"Alright… Alright…" Artoria murmured as she collapsed on the stone bench, "How is Atalanta doing?" She asked as her gaze fell upon the huntress.

Both of them gazed upon the huntress who had the rest of Jeanne's shawl draped over her... "She's sleeping, but her wound has healed. Apparently, we have accelerated healing in this world."

With that, Artoria unwrapped her head dressing to find the blood had dried away. "Indeed…" She said as she inspected herself. Despite feeling a bit woozy, the blood had dried.

"That… knight..So that was your-?"

"Daughter… and claimant to my throne." Artoria sighed, still feeling the pain from the dream.

"I thought… Mordred was a man." Jeanne professed.

"As the world thought about me." Artoria countered with a huff of amusement.

"I.. uh… yes… well… I apologize for that offhand remark." Jeanne murmured.

Artoria chuckled, "It's fine. I'd say we did an excellent job at covering it up then." Her smile instantly faded away, "What were they after." She did her best to shift the conversation's direction; she was in no mood to deal with Mordred.

"It's the spirit of France, the Oriflamme." Jeanne said with amazement as she looked at the crimson banner. "It is France's holy war flag."

Artoria, it was the spirit of the nation, something she could understand. "I see… it means a great deal to your people…"

Jeanne nodded, "It must have been moved with the fall of Paris…" Jeanne guessed.

"So maybe that's our next destination, Paris."

Artoria noticed a hesitant look of her friend, "You don't think so?"

Jeanne's hesitation switched to pure conviction, "They have a way to attack from the underground. The city cannot hold."

"Unless we intervene." Artoria guessed correctly.

Jeanne nodded.

"Well then, let's go." Artoria nodded as she stood up. Jeanne bowed before the altar and picked up the crimson banner while the King made her way up to Atalanta.

Giving the huntress a light shake, the huntress stirred awake. Verdant emerald eyes fluttered as the huntress tried to make sense of her location. "Well… I'm not dead a second time…" Atalanta said as she sat up, the violet shawl fell away. Looking down, everyone was amazed to see that the blood had stopped, but even the armor seemed to restore itself.

"That… that is useful." Atalanta said as she patted herself down gently, "Not a scratch…" The Huntress stood up and handed Jeanne her shaw, "Thank you." The huntress bowed her head.

Jeanne accepted it back and draped it around her, clasping it in the middle of her chest. "So we need to lead the city's defenses?"

THUD

Dust fell upon the three in the old catacombs.

THUD

The ground shook

THUD THUD THUD

"I believe it's time for the Maid of Orleans to return," Jeanne stated resolutely as she walked up the stairs. Red lights glimmered, filling the cathedral with eerily blood light. Artoria followed closely behind, with Atalanta covering the rear. The massive doors opened as fire reigned from the sky as huge fiery boulders were hurled into the sky, illuminating the streets filled with terrified citizens.

Houses came crashing down with people still in them. Houses were set ablaze like torches in the morning sun. People screamed and shouted in fear as they tried to leave their homes only to end up splattered by another fireball.

Standing out of the cathedral, a soldier was waving for civilians to evacuate towards the river wall. He pushed a crowd of them forward, only for him crushed by an eighty-pound stone that skipped along the street, rolling over anyone that dared entered the path of the projectile.

Jeanne balled her hand into a fist. This was a much more ruthless attack than the siege she had first experienced.

Without a moment to waste, Jeanne launched forward at a dead sprint towards the walls.

The city was in full panic as the sky continued to rain down with fire setting buildings on fire. Guards rushed to the wall as citizens helped to put out fires.

It wounded her heart to see the people, no, her people, being pulled out of the buildings. She noticed some people pointing and whispering at her as she made her way to the wall. Did they see the banner she carried or the speeds to which she moved? Frankly, it didn't matter as the three of them rushed throughout the city streets leaping over carts and charred ruins that blocked the way.

Jeanne climbed the ramparts towards the gate, only to be met with guards who blocked her path with crossed spears. "Let me through," Jeanne demanded; the authority in her voice caused the men to hesitantly step back.

The militia shared glances. She unfurled her banner, and the guards instantly recognized who it was, turning them in nervous wrecks.

"Impossible…" One murmured.

"The Lord provides," The other whispered.

"Will you let me through now?" Jeanne impatiently tapped her boot.

The guards moved aside while apologizing for offending their saint and protector. Usually, she would have tried to console them, but now what not the time for that. Her metal boots clanked with authority as she made her way to the gatehouse and headquarters for the front line.

A fortified gatehouse that acted as a fort and point of entry forming. It held a commanding view of the Loire valley and the site where the English were encamped. Oddly enough, the English commander didn't target this point for the bombardment.

Thrusting the door open, she walked in with a commanding presence, followed by Artoria and Atalanta. Putting her banner down, she walked in tall and proud. "What is the situation." She demanded a report.

The room was deathly silent as the French captains looked from their war table to see a person they least expected.

There stood a man with gruff and scraggly raven black hair, his armor in tatters just much like his appearance, yet regaled in golden French fleur di lis, lacking their former shine.

"Jean de Dunois." Jeanne said with a calm expression, "I assume you're in command here?"

"Jeanne…" The man stumbled, blinking his eyes several times, "This can't be you… I watched you…."

"It is I," Jeanne reassured him as she asserted herself at the table.

"Damn…" Jean murmured.

Jeanne marched over to the grizzly veteran, and without any hesitation, struck him as hard as she could on his cheek, "I told you to stop swearing just as I had with La Hire." She glared with fiery righteous intent.

The man recovered, rubbing the red handprint. "No… it's Jeanne…." He grinned as the man straightened up, shaking the daze of the slap; he embraced his former general, "How I have missed you, Jeanne!"

How could she not return the embrace of one of her former captains, "Jean… it's good to see you too. I've come to help in the battle."

Her two friends laughed light-heartedly. She pulled away, gesturing to the other two, "These are my two friends. "Artoria"

She bowed slightly.

"And Atalanta"

The Huntress crossed her arms as if waiting impatiently.

"Well, pleased to meet you, though I do wish it was under better circumstances," Jean said as he looked out towards the window.

"What's the situation?" Atalanta asked with an annoyed tone. It was clear she wanted to do away with these silly niceties.

"Right well… They have the city surrounded just on one side, but they have multiple siege engines. With the current bombardment, we'll be lucky to hold no more than a week. We still hold the Tourelle and bridge, but… they outnumber us three to one.

"They have a way into your city," Artoria added to the surprise of the French captains.

Jeanne nodded and pointed "towards the Cathedral, the catacombs underneath the Cathedral."

Jean rubbed his in thought as the ground shook underneath them. "If they attack from the underground while scaling the walls… I don't know if we can handle both assaults." The man sighed as he looked up at Jeanne, "I already know not to question you. What is your gut say?"

Attack. A voice whispered when she tried to zero in, she had hoped it was Emily, but unfortunately, she was out of commission. But the voice urged her to attack.

She approached the map. "We attack."

Jean gave a low whistle, "We are tied up as it is… I don't…."

Jeanne shook her head. "Give me fifty good archers. We will sneak behind enemy lines. Destroy the siege weapons. Once the last one has been destroyed, sally forth with the cavalry and infantry."

"Hmmm, it's risky…" Artoria thought out loud, "but their attention will be on us, allowing you to hit them from the rear. It is a bold strategy."

"Well…" Jean looked at his former general, "if your gut says to do it, we're doing it."

"Good, we'll move during the night. When they'll be most at ease. Until then, I will send the English a message requesting their surrender."

The man laughed, "Truly, you haven't changed a bit. I'll get a scribe."

Jeanne shook her head with a smile, "no, thank you, I wrote it."

The man's jaw dropped again, "I have so many questions…."

Jeanne frowned, placing a caring hand over her captains' "And I barely have answers, myself…"

The ground shook again as the trebuchets continued to launch their bombardment. "They are now targeting the wall." A soldier reported.

"Right well, I'll have those fifty archers for you at the Cathedral."

The tower shook as a stone ball struck the gatehouse. "And I have a message to deliver to the English."

Stepping out, Jeanne could see the English army encamped. They had six trebuchets targeting one section of the wall with several large bombards.

It wouldn't take that long to crack the wall.

"Why did you write a letter?" Atalanta asked as she leaned on the ramparts, taking in the battlefield. She was filled with awe watching the siege engines hurl their rocks. They most likely never had anything to the same scale in ancient Greece.

The maiden rested on the wall, ignoring the awestruck soldiers, "I want to give them one last chance to make peace. I want to avoid bloodshed as much as possible."

Artoria placed a hand on the wall, looking out at the camp with a deadly look in her eyes. "I'm sure learning of your survival would also be a moral loss, but if Mordred is leading this army..."

Jeanne looked over to her friend, "Are you going to be alright with… with your daughter."

"She is not my blood. Never. Ever. Say that again." Artoria snapped back before leaving the two, "if you excuse me, I must prepare."

"The two are related?" Atlanta said in a hushed tone, "I should have figured as much…"

Jeanne raised an eyebrow, "she said Mordred isn't of her blood, but nothing about her being her daughter."

"What do you think it means?" Jeanne asked.

"I can only guess, but there is deep-rooted tension on the topic of family for Artoria. I imagine even greater if your death was at the hands of your kin."

Jeanne could sense wisdom behind her words..

"Well, let's let her settle down, coming to realize your enemy is your daughter. I'm sure it would be extremely shocking."

Artoria scowled as she walked through the streets, her hand gripping her sword, Excalibur. Mordred.

How on God's Earth could she be resurrected? Let alone be leading the enemy. The depravity of her daughter was nearly too much stomach.

Images flashed in her mind,

It was Christmas. The first snow of the year had lain, and the fresh air helped Artoria calm her mind during stressful moments and she was always fond of the snow.

The kingdom faced invasions from the Saxons and the Picts, and she needed to prepare for campaigns. Ruling for six years did not get any easier.

Walking through the causeways and inhaling the crisp, clear air helped her get away from the court. It was truly a miracle for it to have snowed, and it was something that she was going to take advantage of. She loved the snow.

Exhaling slowly, she walked down the balcony, enjoying the snow. She made her way to the gardens. Even a King needed to be alone with their thoughts. The business of running affairs and costly campaigns can be so taxing. Rarely did she get to go outside, besides on campaign, just to walk, with no purpose. Enjoying the wintery air, she looked when the clacking of wood and wood broke through the quiet winter snowfall.

Artoria raised an eyebrow, who would possibly be out in these frigid temperatures. Walking down the balcony and around the corner, Artoria stopped..

A small child with wild tufts of blonde hair was fighting out in the courtyard, unruly and unimaginable. She looked up, staring at Artoria with eyes of wonderment. It deeply wounded the King that she could never return the affection of this child who so clearly looked up to her as a parent.

This child, her… daughter, dropped her sword after the guard she was training with saluted. If only the guard did not do his duty and saluted, Artoria would have been free from this rather awkward encounter.

The child walked towards the king, clearly wanting attention. This child was a product of blood and court intrigue; she would corrupt the nation if put on the throne. Blood and intrigue only brought ruin. Look at Rome. She would not have her Camelot turn into another Rome.

Artoria watched with no emotion as the child took hesitant steps towards her. The King shook his head and walked off, blue cape flapping behind her. Little did she know that was the last time she would see that child for a very long time. After her real mother and father, not some lowborn peasants, abducted the child and corrupted her. Instilling in her daughter, Mordred, all things that Artoria reviled. Vanity, Pride, Arrogance, Selfishness.

Severe guilt wrapped around Artoria's heart like a vicious snake wrapping itself around prey.

Artoria shook her head violently; these incessant memories would not leave her! The flaming streets of Orleans started to merge with the winter gardens of her Camelot. No. No. No… something was wrong here.

You're starting to desync. Ava warned.

It definitely made sense. These memories would not stop flowing.

Shall we try to put our energy and mind into other tasks?

"Indeed," Artoria said as she saw a group of villagers rummaging through the ruins of a house. "Let's see if we can help them."

Atalanta grabbed her bow and followed behind Jeanne on her own horse. Writing a message to the English? It was a waste of time. The enemy was here and wish to do battle. Why deny them that request. It made them look weak if they asked for their opponents to surrender.

Let them come and meet their deaths. Atalanta sighed… this girl was naive, yet there was something about her that the Huntress respected, and that was her conviction. Seeing Jeanne sit tall and proud on horseback, her banner flapping in the wind behind. It was like she was the vanguard of a mighty host behind her. She was a champion, that much, Atalanta knew.

Trotting across the moat bridge, Atalanta prepared her bow and arrow. Jeanne undeterred rode on as the siege engines continued their bombardment. She did not cower or cover her head as dust fell upon her.

Roding out into the open field, with Atalanta there, the English immediately stopped their bombardment, hoping that it was the French offering unconditional surrender. A still silence fell upon the city, field, and camp. Both French and English peeked out of different fortifications to watch with interest.

"MESSAGE!" Jeanne shouted over the line. "IT IS NEWS!" Her voice boomed over the field.

Giving the nod towards Atalanta, the Huntress pulled back her bow and aimed at the trebuchet, doing her best to ignore the parts within her that told her to shoot the enemy. How easy it would be for her to pick one of them off right now.

Releasing the bow, the arrow flew and made contact with one of the siege engines.

No one moved. The English dared not break the arrow. Yet they shifted and parted ways as the armored behemoth made herself known. Englishmen moved aside in fear as the metal titan snapped the arrow and unfurrowed the message reading it through their helmet.

It took all of Atalanta's effort not to go for the kill. The knight stood there as the two waited on the field. What happened next was something that infuriated the archer, but it wasn't something she didn't expect.

The knight laughed, "You expect me to lay down my weapons and go home?" she shouted. "You will give yourself up if only we fall back?" The knight doubled over in laughter.

How it would be easy. Atalanta's hand drifted to her quiver.

"How about this!" Mordred shouted back as she stepped forward from the army, "I'll bust down that city wall. My men will pillage and burn to their heart's content. We will butcher every single living creature behind that wall. Your city will cease to exist. I will erase it from all maps. No one will know the name of Orleans."

The army cheered fiercely like a pack of wild animals.

"I'll go from building to building, and I'll remove your heads and toss them at the feet of my father before I do the same to her!" Mordred roared in a fury.

That was enough. Atalanta had enough of a pompous, arrogant pup. Drawing back four arrows, she pulled released within a flurry.

"ATALANTA!" Jeanne shouted in righteous anger.

The arrows fell upon their mark, bouncing off the heavy armor. To be fair, Atalanta expected that.

"I like her!" Mordred shouted with a large grin.

"Leave!" Jeanne shouted back, "Go back to your homes! If you do not go home, you will be buried in this field! I have seen enough blood, but if you want more, I can't stop you!" She implored.

Mordred nodded towards an archer who pulled back his longbow who shot an arrow in response.

Jeanne's horse fell to the ground with an arrow in the neck. Atalanta hopped off her own horse without a moment to lose and dragged the Maiden out from underneath her majestic stallion. "I don't think they want to negotiate any longer." The Huntress whispered as she got the Maiden onto her own horse.

The Maiden picked up her banner with a sullen expression, "Let's go back."

With that, Atalanta galloped back into the city. Once the drawbridge was pulled back up, the two dismounted. "What was that?" Jeanne hissed as she pointed a sharp finger into Huntress's chest.

Atalanta's eyes narrowed. "It was clear they no longer wished to negotiate. Killing the commander in a moment of weakness would have been a better decision. It is customary to kill someone who throws grievous insults during negotiations."

"Not under a banner of peace!" Jeanne countered angrily. Taking a moment, she exhaled slowly, "I will never. Ever condone such actions."

This land and their strange practices… Atalanta shook her head. No one would threaten her comrades and live, especially during peace talks.

Jeanne closed her eyes, letting out a sigh that contained much anger. "I… understand the meaning behind actions. But… please, never again."

Atalanta nodded, "I will make a note of that."

Hello everyone!

This was a bit fun to write. We're exploring a little bit into Artoria's more… Roman… backstory. Also, we're diving into the thick of things.

Side note, I'm trying to reconcile Fate Jeanne's personality with the irl Jeanne… cause from what I'm gathering she was a nice person… until she got impatient, and she was very impatient lol. That being said, she was rather bold and steadfast on the battlefield but everywhere else pretty calm if not timid. As sources claim her to be "timid in all things but matters of war and arms." And I really want to portray that.

Also Artoria has some family issues to work with Mordred lol. I know in Fate, Artoria states she had no ill will towards Mordred. On the one hand I do want to keep true to that. However, I think deep down, she would have everlasting resentment to Mordred who caused the collapse of Camelot from within. I feel like Mordred is the complete opposite to Artoria.

And yes.. I know Mordred's backstory isn't canon, but shucks lol, I guess we'll have to see how that develops.

Please leave a fav, follow, and/or review. I'd love to hear your thoughts, reactions, opinions, suggestions, theories, anything and everything that means the world.

As always.

I am and will always be your most obedient and humble of servants.

Sauron.