Beyond duty, honour, and belief, the only thing that truly mattered to Shirou now was love. He knew it sounded cliché or anticlimactic, but this was all that was left of his desires. He once had a dream to be an Ally of Justice, but he'd already abided by it throughout the duration of his life.

Cracked and broken, even the strongest of steel falls prey to the deluge of time. Nothing is ever permanent.

The sword, unbending and steadfast had long since been laid to rest upon a lonely hill in the middle of nowhere. Friends, family, and acquaintances, he'd lost much over the course of his journey and it reflected in the world of his soul. The land was barren and filled with loose gravel blown into dust in the wind. The sky was a hazy twilight begetting the end of a fool's dream. Blade after blade stood erect over the ground, each representing a battle, an experience.

He who knew not the meaning of victory or defeat would create sword after sword while traversing numerous battlefields.

I who have created over a thousand blades…

His only purpose was to keep blindly walking forward.

He'd lived a life staying true to his ideals, so it only made sense that now at the end of that life, all that remained was what had kept him sane enough to keep moving forward.

A promise found in an unseen miracle.

No matter how many years pass, or how many decades I waste trying to enact this sole miracle, this road that leads to you is one I will never abandon.

This may not have been the promised fields bereft of the shackles of strife and misery, but this was his Avalon: A land of war, grief, ambition, and the underlying assurance of peace. Did you imagine an idyllic landscape? Rolling hills, lush grass, and calm wind?

Well, from the very beginning, it was never about the location. His ever-distant utopia would forever be wherever Arturia remains waiting. In this case, it was in the past. A place where the confines of time could no longer separate them.

Right here, right now, he would always be by her side.

"Maintain formation and call in the left flank when I give the order! Right flank is to hold its position and raise the unit banners! Do not engage!" Arturia yelled out orders while leading from the front.

Shirou observed Arturia while riding beside her on horseback. She was in command of the Gunhildr unit and was making full use of her men. She was shining vibrantly, not in a literal sense, but metaphorically. The battlefield was her home; the place she'd been raised to thrive within since young, and she was excelling in it.

Arturia raised her arms up in signal formation and surveyed the enemy infantry before her. They were on their way to cut off Horsa's supply lines but were facing resistance in the form of Saxon barricades hastily made out of toppled trees. There were about two dozen of them manned by pairs of Saxon warriors and none could be left ignored. Doing so would leave the army open to flanking attacks.

In total, forty-eight men were deployed to slow Gunhildr's march so that the main Saxon army could fortify their defences. Of the forty-eight men, none looked like they were willing to back down despite facing Arturia's unit of five-hundred.

To die was to die with honour.

Shirou had made sure to understand the motives and beliefs of his enemies as Agravain and Merlin had advised him that war isn't just about winning. It's about knowing the enemy.

Valhalla as defined by Saxon belief was the notion that only warriors could reach the great hall of the All-Father. Cowards would never be granted entry.

Shirou looked towards Arturia and tried to understand what was going through her mind as she assessed the situation. Her teal eyes were focused, and her bearings were regal. There was not a sign of hesitance or indecision. She wouldn't retreat nor give up.

The both of them were pupils of the Wizard Merlin who'd passed down his worldly knowledge to them, and as such, were not simple people. They were born leaders, people acknowledged by the Sword of Choosing, Caliburn.

A moment's thought was all that he needed to come up with an unconventional tactic to undermine the enemy's strategy, granted his magic allowed him access to a plethora of differing methods. Meanwhile, Arturia had yet to give the order to attack. She just stood there staring; lips spread into a thin line.

"Your orders, commander?" A Saxon platoon leader called.

"A moment longer if you will," Arturia replied curtly.

Arturia had divided her unit of five-hundred into an old Roman-based system with nine men assigned to a single adjutant who acted as an assistant to the hundred-men platoon leaders. There were five platoon leaders in charge of ten adjutants in charge of their own smaller units to maintain order. Should a leader die, there were other leaders available to lead the remaining forces.

Arturia was the commander of the entire Gunhildr unit while Shirou was requested to remain on stand by. Arturia called him her trump card, only called when needed or to make an example of the unit's capabilities. In this case, he maneuvered himself to be within Arturia's line of sight and inclined his head.

'Can I be of service?'

His silent offer was interpreted by Arturia who smiled warmly at him. However, she didn't ask for his help this time. There were too many others watching and she was the one in charge of the unit. Seeing her defer to another's judgment would have her subordinates question her capabilities. Arturia found her resolve while staring at him.

For a moment, he couldn't help but feel a pang of melancholy. To him, the five years that they'd been apart from each other were like fleeting memories. His time as a blacksmith still registered in his mind, but it felt as if it were only yesterday that Arturia would rely on him for everything despite having the ability to do things herself. Now though? Now was different.

In the time he'd spent away from her, she'd learned to spread her wings as an equal.

If he had acted on Arturia's behalf in the past as a result of his devotion to her, then now after they were married, Arturia wished to act on his behalf to show her devotion to him. The two of them were like peas in a pod, each wishing to make it easier on their partner, and they could accept that.

Arturia subtly shook her head, and without a single argument, Shirou fell back in line behind her.

"Hmmm," Arturia hummed in thought, the ringlet armour over her fingers clanking as she tightened her grip on Llamrei's reins.

The enemy barricades were spread unevenly throughout their defensive line, making the entire situation bothersome. If they were spread further enough apart, she could simply encircle them with her men and breach the barricades one by one. As it is, the majority of the barricades were holed up around each other to create something of a defensive perimeter with dug up trees bound together to make a wooden palisade. Although they were built in haste, most men couldn't cut through the palisade in just a few swings, especially if a defender was manning the fortification. Doing so would be suicide as everyone knows that for a short period of time, a person is vulnerable the moment after a swing.

Arturia herself could circumvent the disadvantage of attacking a defensive structure, but what she'd learned in her experience was not to compare others to herself or her Knights of the Round. If she could cleave a boulder in half without any added magic power, then it would take at least ten or twenty ordinary men to replicate the feat.

A leader is only as strong as his or her subordinates.

Knowing Arturia, she'd always opted to use excessive force to solve a problem. Words could not describe his level of bafflement when he'd first discovered how Arturia 'hunted' for wild game under the encouragement of her Knights. She'd use Excalibur to level an area of forest where she'd spot a deer. Needless to say, he wasn't impressed considering Agravain would snidely remind him that the burning wood he was watching could have been used for infrastructure. (Sure, complain to me, but smile and encourage Arturia.)

In any case, this was beside the point. What mattered was this sort of finer predicament with the Saxons would be troublesome for her to solve. Still, if it was her, then surely this task could be accomplished.

Love was blind, and there was no way Arturia would admit she was tempted to just blast everything.

Arturia shifted her gaze away from Shirou, momentarily unwilling to meet his expectant gaze.

Think. Think. This should be easy as this wasn't the first unit of Saxons Arturia had dealt with. However, this was also the first time she had to deal with palisade barricades while commanding and unfamiliar unit.

"Orders, milady?" The same platoon leader called out again.

Arturia no longer had time to think, but it was at this moment as she caught sight of Shirou and then at her armour that realization sprung in. She was playing a role. She wasn't Arturia, Queen of Camelot, but Hildegard the Valkyrie.

Arturia generally preferred the way of the sword, but it didn't mean that she didn't possess her own magecraft. She too was a student of Merlin, and she'd picked up her own sort of supportive magic. Of course, she'd never used it before against her enemies as she wished to uphold her honour as a Knight, but this situation was different.

Right here, right now…

'I am not a Knight.'

The logic was this simple.

She just had to have more faith in herself, but with someone like Shirou to compare herself to, she didn't want to look inadequate and spent too much time feeling self-conscience.

No. No more getting distracted.

She'd yet to reply to the platoon leader's question and the silence was stretching. One cursory glance at Shirou was all it took for Arturia to see him moments away from action in order to help her. A tender feeling emanated from her heart, but she couldn't always rely on him. She took in a breath, puffed out her chest, and maintained a neutral expression. She decided that actions would speak louder than words.

Meanwhile, Shirou felt the magic core within his chest thrum to life. He knew Arturia hadn't asked him for help, but he could discern that she was brooding over the current issue. So as not to undermine her, he opted to subtly project a few swords behind the Saxons manning the palisades to subdue them.

He opened one hand and began to focus on the enemies before him. There were forty-eight in total, so he'd have to create forty-eight blades in forty-eight different locations. A sheen of blue flickered across his eyes.

"Trace. O-"

He stopped mid-incantation.

Mots of light were glowing around him and the Gunhildr unit. Twinkling like particles of sand, the soft hue of their light seeped into the bodies of all, granting strength, granting fervor. The uncertainty in the unit faded away as if it had never existed, the light bidding all to remain steadfast.

'Believe in me.'

It seemed to say.

A surge of wind originated with Arturia at the center. A blue magic circle manifested beneath her feet, and she was levitating slightly from off the ground. She was the cause of the light, the miracle taking hold in the hearts of her unit.

Hildegard the Valkyrie.

"May battle lead us to the great hall of Valhalla," the platoon leaders whispered somberly.

There was no cheering, nor wild zeal, only hardened silence that penetrated deeper into the hearts of the Saxons manning the barricades than any spear or weapon.

For a moment, Shirou had to shield his eyes as a cross-shaped golden rune appeared over Arturia's forehead; a direct representation of her blessing of the moon Goddess and the favour of the Lake.

Just as Agatha had chosen him, she was the chosen of Lady Vivian.

How you've grown.

She didn't need his help anymore. He could still picture the young Arturia captivated by a reinforced stick in their sparring matches, and now here she was using a magic beyond even him.

It was a Charisma of Hope.

Just like Merlin, Arturia had taken to learning support-based magic rather than destructive. Already, he could feel the pleasant thrum of her energy pulsing within his body. His own magical energy dancing in tandem to her rhythm. He could only imagine what it must have felt like to the other men in the unit who looked at Arturia in a daze. Then again, it wasn't as if he was any different.

She was grinning at him, proud and content, as if saying 'look at me,' or 'praise me,' without a care in the world, a far cry from how she'd been before.

It was an expression he regretted that the Saber he knew would never be able to make while immersed in her burdens…And this was precisely why he'd chosen to become King. The burdens of a loved one would never be theirs alone to shoulder.

'I am here, and so long as I can protect that smile, nothing is too much.'

After the issue of the Saxons, all that would be left was Morgan. For the sake of a dream, he would not allow another tragedy to occur.

"Seize them," Arturia gave a simple command, but it was as if she'd just declared the death sentence to the Saxons behind the barricades. "Sound the horns! Gunhildr, full charge!"

Agravain would surely admonish her for her lack of tactics, but she argued that using magic was in line with the role she was playing as a Valkyrie. Besides, words couldn't describe how effective her magic had been.

She was glowing, her light enveloping the entire unit into a spear formation, Merlin's illusory magic altering their perception to see what they believed. The image of a golden spear reflected in their pupils.

The spear that never missed, Gungnir.

When the Gunhildr unit reached the first barricades, the magic Arturia had bolstered everyone with allowed them to uproot the palisade defences with their bare hands. The enemy Saxons could only stare in disbelief before they were captured and bound in ropes. Moreover, as Arturia passed, her Charisma of Hope seeped into the defeated Saxons.

"By the Allfather…" The defeated Saxons looked at their own bodies in disbelief. "The Gods really do stand with them."

By the end of the encounter, Gunhildr had increased from five-hundred to 548. The original unit had only been a simple two-hundred, but each enemy encounter had bolstered their numbers.

To many Saxons, faith was their guide in battle. To fight alongside their faith was a simple choice when it was known that both Horsa and Natalie had the qualifications to rule. In the past few days, a rumour had begun to spread through the military.

Lady Natalie had the favour of the Allfather.

"At ease," Arturia pulled on Llamrei's reins and eased her horse to a slow trot. The rest of the Hunhildr unit remained in line behind her to take the time to reorganize ranks. By this point, the original two-hundred of the unit were accustomed to assimilating enemy forces and merely gave their Saxon counterparts a cursory warning that betrayal would not get them to Valhalla.

Only Shirou moved to stand by Arturia's side.

There it was, Dover Fort.

The barricades set up by the Saxons had been a diversionary tactic to buy time for the main force to prepare a defensive. Just past the barricades and over a large hill was Dover Fort, one of Horsa's main strategic supplies for his military.

It was a castle in all but name. It bordered along the straight of Dover and possessed an old Roman light house that guided ships crossing the straight. The great tower created at Dover Fort's highest elevation was abuzz with activity. Bells being rang at the bell battery and hundreds of archers were lining the stone walls. Without Excalibur or the use of any magic, breaching the fort's defences would have been impossible even for an army thrice Gunhildr's current size.

Gunhildr's flag billowed while Arturia and the rest stood on the bluff of the hill overlooking Dover Fort.

Arturia squeezed Shirou's hand to convey her trust. She'd done her part, now it was his turn.

He nodded towards her. She didn't need to tell him what she wanted of him which spoke of the depth of their relationship. Their fingers interlaced, her warmth seeping into him through the contact before he let go and began channeling the strength of his magic.

He took a step forward, Mjolnir (Fake) crackling with lightning in his right hand. The rectangle-shaped block of steel pulsed with energy that caused the scent of ozone to permeate. Veins popped over his skin, his forearm muscles clenching as he tightened his grip.

Lightning abruptly struck down in front of him, drawing the eyes of those watching from within Dover Fort.

He needed to make a spectacle.

Wining this civil war through the number of dead wasn't going to support Natalie in any way. Each warrior had family, and if killed, this would only foster resentment and hostility from their loved ones. The Britons and Saxons were the same in this sense.

The highest achievement in any war, was to win the war without any battle. This method would serve Natalie the most efficiently.

If the backbone of war was strategy and capability, then morale was the foundation of everything.

The roar of thunder rumbled from the heavens, the dark clouds trailing after Gunhildr coalescing above him. Rain began to fall, the pitter patter of the droplets clanking off metal armour. Coastal winds began to blow, forming a deluge of turbulent waves in the distance.

Lightning struck again, the flash of light revealing the glow of blue magic energy humming over his skin.

Like it or not, the fact that he was being regarded as a figure of worship gave him divinity through the power of faith. As he was now, there was no way any ordinary human could stand up to him. This was a fact that made him question whether or not he was truly human anymore.

He glanced to Arturia at the corner of his eyes, saw the love and devotion in her gaze, and suddenly could care less about what he was or had become.

Your happiness and future…Our future. I will surely help grant it.

He closed his eyes, an older image of his family appearing in his mind. Arturia sat in the middle of a family painting cradling a newborn child wrapped in blankets with a tender expression on her face, her lips tugging into a gentle smile. He stood beside her, an arm wrapped around her shoulder while his other arm wrapped around Artus and Annabel. The two were both teenagers possessing their mother's eyes, their father's spirit, and a life free from the burdens that he and Arturia had endured. Near the edge of the painting was Mordred, embarrassed and acting tough with her arms crossed while Efret forced her closer to everyone by blowing flames at her butt. Agatha was the one drawing the painting.

This was his family. The future he would stop at nothing to achieve.

The power of faith congregating over him was an energy he had never tampered with, but at this time, he allowed himself to assimilate it all in a single action.

The Age of the Gods was near its end, but in this period where science and the supernatural had yet to fully part from the common people, the impossible becomes possible.

The Gods would soon enter slumber, but their authority remains in this age of swords and shields.

Mjolnir (Fake) was suddenly hurled into the air, white lightning blurring its figure as it melded into the clouds.

'I am the one who heralds the coming of the storms.'

A pregnant pause transpired before a shockwave blew a hole through the heavens to reveal a mighty hammer the size of a building hanging in the sky. Lightning formed web-like arcs around it, the high voltage currents producing heated sparks that showered over the earth.

Wind. Rain. Thunder.

The fake hammer representing the God of Thunder loomed over the horizon poised to strike.

A sword of Damocles whose shadow enveloped all of Dover Fort. Astrid and her brother who had been yelling order in Dover Fort suddenly grew mute. Many in the fort looked to the hammer, and then to Shirou whose body was glowing in Nordic runes. Not a single Saxon would fail to interpret what the hammer in the sky represented nor its apparent wielder.

What will it be?

Loyalty to the King? Or strength of belief?

Astrid swallowed in indecision.

Their war god of roaring thunder stood before them.

Kent was a bustling town of new beginning for many Saxon immigrants. The markets were filled with caught fish, fruit and vegetable stalls, and cured meats. It was a bustling town that would surely span a history of over a thousand years.

For the first time in many seasons, the Saxon Jutes no longer had to suffer through the hardship of poverty and hunger. Just as it was said from across the sea, a new life was waiting for them in the British Isles.

Hengist and Horsa were the warrior brothers that spearheaded the immigration of the Saxons through invading British-owned lands. Hengist enjoyed the thrill of the fight, but Horsa was a more level-headed individual.

Every battle had meaning, and when Kent was secured as a Saxon territory, Horsa settled on being its King while Hengist launched a campaign to rule over Essex.

Horsa had not seen Hengist ever since, but knowing his brother, Hengist was probably still fighting in the war effort with the Britons.

Horsa focused on securing his foundations, and as such was known as a harsh, but fair ruler. The warriors respected him, and the townsfolk tolerated his brutality in battle for constantly pushing back the Briton offensives.

Now though? Now he was dealing with a civil war that had been raging for the past two weeks.

Horsa sat on the throne within the castle of Kent's audience hall. He was leaning his face over his fist while propping his elbow on the throne's armrest. On his person was a King's purple mantle, and on his head, a crown of gold holding up his unruly brown hair. His beard was clean shaven, but he grew a thick mustache which curved up at the ends.

The small jewels that adorned parts of the regal trousers and tunic he was wearing were meant to show off his wealth and Kent's prosperity, but they never failed to make him frown. He was a warrior so he'd never taken much to dressing like a noble. It was his aide's idea.

In any case, what mattered to Horsa now was to get a grasp on what he was dealing with.

He was thinking while waiting for his aide to be begin reading him military reports. Although Kent possessed a plethora of natural talents, no militarily strategist had yet to surpass Horsa in his experience leading wars.

"Well, go on," Horsa called out flatly while looking at his aide who was silently reading the reports without saying anything.

Sweat was dripping down the aide's brow, making it clear that the man was nervous. Still the aide eventually read the report aloud. "Word through the ranks is that our men are defecting to the rebel side. It's not happening often, but it's said that anyone who encounters a unit called Gunhildr willingly defects."

Mother of Kings?

Horsa hummed in thought. This was the direct translation of Gunhildr.

"They say that the Gods are on their side," the aide elaborated while reading the report, finally getting Horsa to sit up from his slouch. "Where Gunhildr goes, the storms follow. Moreover, the rumour about Lord Hengist and the Mjolnir may have some truth. A Nordic Warrior wielding a mighty hammer is said to be part of Gunhildr's leaders."

Hengist you fool.

Horsa's expression twisted into a scowl. Every time he though of his deceased brother, he could only sigh in lament. He'd mobilized shortly after strange rumours about the Mjolnir appearing had spread through Essex. Horsa suspected it was a trap by the Briton and sent a scout with a letter to advise Hengist to be cautious, but the damn fool had already charged head-first into his own death.

One of the Warrior Brothers had fallen, and this caused Saxon morale to plummet.

Could the rumours of the Mjolnir suddenly appearing again be coincidence?

No, but this time it didn't appear in the hands of a Briton but a true Saxon warrior as legends foretell. Could this rumour be credible? If so, he could understand why his loyal warriors would defect.

"Where is Gunhildr marching?" Horsa narrowed his eyes and ordered for a map to be laid out in front of him.

The aide didn't even have to point out the location in the map before relaying the heavy news. "Dover Fort," the aide said.

Horsa fell silent. He knew what it would mean should Dover Fort be compromised. Over a quarter of his army's supplies would be cut, and an army without food and equipment is nothing but an army of beggars.

"Has Dover Fort fallen?" The most pressing question was asked in a heavy tone, revealing all the weight over Horsa's shoulders.

"I'm afraid I do not know," the aide paused to wipe his clammy palms over his tunic before going back to skim over the rest of the report. He found no good news at all and couldn't meet Horsa's gaze. "There hasn't been word from the fort since they relayed the message that they spotted Gunhildr marching in their direction."

Horsa placed a hand beneath his chin in thought. "My niece is able to command such a unit?"

"From the reports, it would seem this way," the aide placed the reports aside and waited by Horsa's right. "Is there a reason you're asking, my King? You're generally not one to take interest in another commander's units unless it's a method to eliminate them."

Horsa didn't correct the aide's words, instead, he nodded and gave a straight answer. "Why would I seek to kill warriors of Kent? Hengist may see threats to his power as betrayal, but I'm not the same. My name will already be recorded down in history and that is enough for my fame. I lived as a warrior, and I will die as a warrior."

The aide blinked, trying to process the meaning of Horsa's words before his eyes widened. "You would give up your power, my King?"

Horsa didn't answer right away. Instead, a far-off look entered his eyes before he sighed and stood up from his throne. He was a giant of a man, and he towered over his aide at a height of eight feet.

"I have learned in my time as King, that I am not meant for the seat." Horsa walked to the far wall of the audience hall and picked up a pair of large battle-axes held up in display by lit candles. "I can lead the warriors, but I admit, I am not the most knowledgeable when it comes to earning and understanding the hearts of my subjects. If this were the case, Natalie would have stood no chance in inciting a civil war."

The Aide couldn't offer a rebuttal. He was conflicted as to him, Horsa would forever be the King who ruled Kent to prosperity.

"Do not be concerned. Natalie and I are of blood." Horsa nodded while doing a few test swings of his axes. The air swished from the speed of his swings even without magical augmentation. "She is family. Whether or not I'm King, I trust her to keep me in a position of power. She has the support of the people, and I have the loyalty of the armies. Put together, and even my most vocal advisors would have no negative opinions, nor doubt this decision."

The aide wasn't convinced. Civil war always ended with the leader of one side dying. Why would Lady Natalie who lusted for the seat of Queen spare Horsa? "My King, how can you be so sure of your conjecture?"

"Because she is my nephew and I helped raise her. I'm more a father to her than Hengist which is why I couldn't fathom why she'd rebel against me. Besides, I'd be more valuabe to her alive then dead." Horsa glanced up at his aid. "Under the favour of the Gods, she will rise as Queen of Kent, and her husband shall be the new Saxon King who will carry on the legacy of the Warrior Brothers. You see now? It matters not who rules between us."

The aide would beg to differ. The loyalist of Horsa's men would never agree. This included the aide who was thinking desperately for anything to say to convince the King to change his mind.

"She is soft, Horsa." The aide's voice sounded frantic, a tinge of unease in his tone. "Under her rule, she'd never actively launch a campaign to end the war with the Britons."

"It matters not." The light of wisdom shone over Horsa's rugged features. "It's true that she and I share different views. I am a warrior, and she was a sheltered lady with her own hardships. I sought to eliminate the threat of the Britons, but look at us now? We've been at war for years with no end in sight ever since a new King took over Arthur's place. It's time to try something new."

"You've already made up your mind, haven't you, my King?" The aide swallowed audibly.

"Yes." Horsa answered before putting his axes back on the wall mount. "However, my niece will still have to earn the seat. She must show me her resolve. I wish to speak face to face with her. Schedule a meeting."

The aide didn't move, causing Horsa to narrow his eyes sharply; however, the aide remained steadfast out of loyalty, causing the aging King to relent.

"But my King, what if they set a trap?" The aide muttered out.

"Then she will understand that a coward will never have the right to rule." Horsa was not his brother. He would consider all possibilities before taking any action. It was he who convinced his brother to betray their contract with King Vortigern. "Should I die, I've already made preparations."

Saxon blood would not be spilled by Saxon warriors.

Horsa was decisive.

He would not allow this civil war to harm his own people.

This was his duty as the last mission of the mercenary brothers.

Far from the battle occurring within Kent, Mordred was flying on Efret's back and doing her best to hold on for dear life. She was gripping tightly onto the plumes of Efret's feathers with one hand while securing Caliburn around her waist with the other.

'Man was not meant to fly.'

She was never going to get used to flying. Complexion paling from the view beneath her, she frantically secured Caliburn by running it through her tasset belt before using both hands to steady her balance on Efret.

If she wasn't terrified of heights before, Efret was going to change things. It wouldn't have been so bad if she actually trusted Efret not to let her fall, but this was the same fiend that made sport of scalding her butt cheeks whenever she dropped her guard. How Shirou could tolerate this bird was lost on her.

"Friend?"

A voice echoed in her mind, promoting her to glance up at Efret who'd craned its neck back to stare at her.

"Friend! I'll show you friend if you even try to nose dive again you oversized chicken!"

Efret flapped its wings, and Mordred's expression fell as inertia swayed her balance. "Oooooh Don't you fucking dare…."

Efret flipped on its back mid-air and glided straight down towards Camelot which appeared like a dot at their current elevation.

Her hair whipped back instantly, her pony tail breaking and causing her unruly hair to cascade behind her. Her cheeks were flapping before she forcibly shut her mouth and pancaked herself to Efret's body. She clamped her legs around Efret's torso while bundling her hands with Efret's feathers. She was trembling like a frightened toddler afraid to fall.

'One day. ONE DAY I'll be having roast chicken over a spit.'

The dive down to Camelot's front gate was far faster than the trip from Kent, East of the British isles. Efret didn't land itself directly at Camelot's walls, but a short distance away to prevent any normal citizens from panicking at its appearance.

Efret had landed and perched on its feet, but Mordred was still clinging onto its back. Her limbs had stiffened in her exertion to remain latched in place.

With a thought, Efret shifted back into its smaller form, leaving Mordred sprawled on the grass and panting for breath. Her composure had been replaced with a murderous glower, and when Efret tilted its head towards her in confusion, she screamed, pulled at the grass beneath her, and tossed them at Efret like a petulant brat.

The grass burned into ash upon touching Efret's fiery form before Efret flapped its wings and took off in the direction of Camelot, likely to check up on the twins.

Mordred got up on her feet, her knees wobbling, forcing her to use her arms as support. However, her narrowed eyes never left Efret's flying form.

"Yeah you better run!" She shouted while patting off the grass that clung to her armour. "YOU'RE DEAD! YOU HEAR ME? DEEEEAAAAD!"

Efret revealed no indication of hearing her, forcing her to take a moment to swallow down her anger. She had a job, and couldn't allow herself to get carried away because she was infuriated. Disappointing the King was the one thing she could never allow herself to do.

She sucked in a breath, and soon made her way towards Camelot's front gate. Armoured Enforcer Knights were making patrols near the front, but all recognized her from sight and inclined their heads towards her in acknowledgment.

The attention caused her to murmur a hasty 'at ease' before increasing her walking pace. It was no secret that she was somehow related to the Queen. Her face said it all.

The problem was that Mordred still had to get used to all the attention. Well, the attention itself wasn't the problem as she'd once been notorious as a Knight before becoming the King's Guard. The issue was with how they treated her.

If the same people who used to scorn you and call you a failure of a Knight suddenly turned around and began lavishing you with praise and respect, would that not feel jarring?

Mordred didn't know what to make of it, and has been ignoring it ever since it started.

Soon enough, she passed the patrolling Knights and was directly facing Camelot's gates, making eye contact with Gawain who acted as Camelot's guardian. Gawain glanced at Caliburn on her waste, and a sense of dejavu caused the two to blink at each other.

They stopped a foot away from each other before Gawain gave the signal to open the gates.

"The King entrusted me with temporary leadership of Camelot," Mordred explained in the silence before leaning in towards Gawain and whispering into his ear. "I am to make sure none of the nobles try anything shoddy in the King's absence."

Gawain nodded acceptingly before a sly glint appeared in his eyes. "So, you're technically the ruler of Camelot at this moment?" He said slowly.

"Damn right," Mordred puffed out her chest, placed her hands over her hips, and haughtily turned up her nose. "So, treat me with respect."

Hook, line, and sinker.

"As you wish, Milady." Gawain was suddenly grinning, his smile as bright as the noon sun. "Tis a knight's duty to offer utmost service to a gem such as you."

Gem? What gem?

Did he mean me?

Mordred was reasonably confused, but one look at Gawain was enough to dispel her confusion and shift it into awkward horror. W-What was happening right now?

"Shall I rub your shoulders? Offer you a drink? Prepare a tub of warm water to soak your feet in after a long day's journey?"

She balked. Oookay this was getting weird, and one look at the mirth on Gawain's face and it was clear he was doing this on purpose. It was super effective: A form of 'attack' Mordred hardly experienced before.

Compliments and kind gestures, the bane of her existence.

"Will you do me the honour of letting me kiss your hand?"

She flinched as Gawain knelt and grasped her right hand. She recoiled and pulled her hand away, shying away from Gawain as if he carried the plague. "P-Piss off, you're seriously freaking me out," she stammered, a shudder travelling down her spine.

"On the contrary Milady, it's only natural to acknowledge a woman's beauty." Left unsaid, but the Queen of Camelot was gorgeous. The fact that Mordred shared Arturia's face meant that she had no small number of secret admirers that the rest of the Round protected her from as surrogate older brothers. This didn't mean that they wouldn't tease her though to give her some experience should the opportunity arrive, and this was Gawain's opportunity.

"Your eyes are as enchanting as the full moon, wide and alluring."

Shut up!

"Your personality is that of the sun, wild, exuberant, and warm."

Stop it! Stooop it nooow!

"Your hair resembled the brilliant colour of golden wheat, and every step you take in Camelot blooms a path of flowers."

Fuck you Merlin!

Mordred involuntarily backed up several steps and wearily glared at Gawain's grinning face. He took a step, and she took a step back. The process continued until Gawain's smile began to wane. Mordred was hissing lowly in warning, but had no justification to slap the smirk off Gawain's face.

"What are you doing? You almost seem scared." Gawain straightened his back and stood up to his full height. The action startled Mordred and caused her to jump back, her arms raised in a fighting stance that appeared as if she was ready throw down right then and there.

"Scared? As if! W-What are you doing?"

Ah, she bit her tongue.

"Acting as your escort Milady?"

"Who the hell needs your escort you womanizing oaf!"

Mordred swore that all of the members of the Round were trained lady-killers, and they took pride in it. Why her? Why her of all people? She really couldn't stand this guy right now, nor the other knights of the Round after the first time they saw her without her helmet. The bastards were making fun of her.

It was Lady Mordred this and Lady Mordred that. To make it worse, they stopped trying to punch her hard whenever they got into a brawl. Despite being able to dish out as much as she could take, they were treating her like she'd suddenly become a fragile doll

"Shall I carry you, Lady Mordred? It is a sin to force you to stand in this heat."

Yup. Nope. Fuck this.

…and there she goes with a cloud of dust and debris in her wake as she bolted towards Camelot's central castle.

Gawain smirked from ear to ear before letting out a bark of laughter and reassuming his place guarding Camelot's gates.

Mordred had run away with her tail between her legs.

Agravain had always complained that Mordred was too crass to handle, but the thing was, you just had to know the right buttons to push. Gawain already had an idea of what made her tick and was trying to let her build tolerance in the case some unsavory bastard tried to flirt with her without getting past the Knights of the Rounds strict screening. No joking though, but Mordred really would grow up to be a beauty some day. Might as well get her used to compliments early on, right?

Mordred would beg to differ.

"Stupid gorilla Chad bastard!" Mordred was red faced and panting for breath. She was leaning on a wall inside Camelot's castle with her right hand acting as a support. One breath, then two, before she pushed off the wall and regained her bearings. She fought hard to fight down the blush, but if anyone noticed, she'd blame it on having run all the way to the castle.

Caliburn clinked from its sheath as she began walking down the castle's hallway. The sword would be proof of her right to rule, and would silence any opposers. This was the main reason Shirou had given it to her.

All that she needed to do now was ask Agravain to set up a meeting with Camelot's nobles to announce her temporary leadership. The sun was still up, but knowing Camelot's nobles, they would only show up for an afternoon gathering near four. It was noon right now which meant she had some time to kill before finding Agravain.

To be honest, she could search out for Agravain right now, but the relationship between them was unpleasant. He thought her a brat and clearly said it tested on his tolerance level whenever she was around. Well, he was a jerk anyway, so what did she care?

Still, with a couple hours on hand, she made her way to a certain room where Merlin should have been if he wasn't flirting with maids in the castle square. How did she know this? Well, she'd seen him on the way.

Mordred opened the doors of Shirou and Arturia's bedroom and moved towards the crib at the middle of the room. Annabel Pendragon and Artus Lucian Pendragon lay sleeping within. Their limbs were sprawled over each other and Annabel was sucking on her brother's thumb ignorant of the way her brother was making a face at her in his sleep.

"Hello brats, it's big sis Mordred," she said softly, so as not to wake them.

Shirou didn't have to tell her, but it was implicitly implied that another of her duties while taking over Camelot was to take care of the twins. This wasn't a hassle to Mordred at all as she'd gotten accustomed to spending her time with them.

The other Knights acted weird around her after the revelation of her face, and there was no way she'd seek company from Merlin. All that was left were Shirou, Arturia, and the twins. Shirou was generally busy with running the kingdom, and Arturia was often spotted with Guinevere learning a Noble Lady's etiquette.

All that was really left for Mordred to spend time with were the two brats who'd taken quickly to her.

Staring at Artus and Annabel, Mordred poked a finger at their bellies and simply watched them squirm in their sleep. The little shits actually looked cute when they weren't gumming Merlin just to cover him in spit.

Seeing as Artus and Annabel were sleeping, Mordred realized it probably wasn't a good idea to just wake them up just to keep her company for a few hours. She moved away from the crib, but suddenly winced as a throbbing pain forced her to place a hand over her temples.

It was this damn headache again.

If not for this headache, perhaps she'd still be campaigning with Shirou and Arturia. Vexed, she grudgingly decided to ask Merlin if there was anything he could do, but all thoughts left her mind an instant later.

Goosebumps travelled down her skin, a chill causing her to shudder.

"Adorable, aren't they?"

That wasn't her voice.

Mordred whipped her head around to stare at the crib, only to see a hooded woman looming over the twins. She reacted on instinct and hurled her sword at the woman who simply dodged out of the way by leaping back.

Mordred took the opportunity to put herself between the twins and the hooded woman in front of her, before her body stiffened and refused to move out of sheer trepidation.

"Hello Mordred." The woman pulled down her hood to reveal the veiled face of Morgan the Witch. Her hair was like silk cascading down her back, her appearance ethereal. However, beyond the beautify of her person was the ugliness of her personality twisted by negativity. "Don't mind me. Can't an aunt visit her niece and nephew?"

"Y-You shouldn't be here," Mordred's eyes were darting left and right, her feet backing away step after step. The fear of her mother ingrained within her caused all her haughtiness to be replaced by feeble helplessness. Far from run, her need to protect the twins prevented her from leaving. hastily, she drew Caliburn but nearly dropped it due to the shakiness of her grip.

"Oh? Scared that your King isn't here to protect you?" Morgan leered, the clacking of her heels echoing in Mordred ears with each step towards her she took.

"You better leave before Merlin gets here!" Mordred knew that Merlin could be unreliable, but his capabilities as a Wizard were fully recognized in Camelot. The King had entrusted him with a duty. Even Merlin wouldn't slack in the face of a direct request. He would be here in an instant, but the threat of Merlin's imminent arrival did nothing to dissuade Morgan from pressing forward.

"By all means, call the great Wizard here." Morgan's gaze shifted left and right, but she didn't show any fear.

S-She had to be bluffing?

"Confident, are we?" A voice sounded from everywhere, yet nowhere as flower petals swirled into the room, beautiful if anything else. The petals gathered into a twisting pile before dispersing to reveal Merlin's form. "Hubris is the root of arrogance for one so young."

Morgan's disposition shifted from carefree to guarded. "Merlin," she spat the name out in contempt, flaring her magic energy outward to intimidate.

Mordred felt as if she was suffocating. She couldn't breath, her eyes growing bloodshot.

Merlin tapped his black staff on the ground and dispelled whatever magic Morgan had cast. However, a pair of bundled blankets were held in Morgan's grip.

Mordred's breath hitched in her throat. T-The twins!

Morgan was smiling, but none could beat the smirk on Merlin's face. Morgan looked down at the bundled blankets in her hands and noticed that they were both empty. Her smile twisted into a grimace.

"Stay away from my Godchildren," Merlin said flatly, a trace of anger in his tone that stunned Mordred. She'd never thought the carefree perv could get mad. In comparison, when he'd arrived to help her, he didn't so much as change his flippant expression.

Right. Of course, the twins were what he was here for. Not her, but them.

Somehow Mordred suddenly felt frustrated and bowed her head. Her bangs shadowed the indiscernible expression on her face.

Artus and Annabel were floating above Merlin's right hand, perfectly awake and bawling their eyes out. However, Merlin ignored them and suddenly released a burst of his magical energy that caused vegetation to sprout throughout the room.

Mordred glanced up at Merlin, only to swallow audibly.

H-He looked genuinely unamused, but why?

Apparently, Morgan didn't know the answer either. She was frowning now and staring warily at Merlin. A laid-back Merlin was a safe Merlin, but a pissed off Merlin meant he wouldn't be holding back.

The answer to Merlin's anger became clear a second later.

"You have no to right to torment my student. That's my job, right Mordred?" He ruffled Mordred's hair much to her surprise. He was angry on her behalf? And here she was always treating him like shit on the road.

Rather then growl at him or shove him away, Mordred pursed her lips and nodded her head in agreement to Merlin's words.

Face cracking into a light hearted grin at Mordred's actions, Merlin gave only a single warning to Morgan. "My student has improved my mood. I will give you one more chance as a daughter of Uther, leave and never return."

Morgan wet her lips, the tension causing even her to falter. "If I refuse?"

"Then be ready to face the might of the Wizard of Flowers."

Merlin tapped his staff once again, his magical energy soaring to levels unheard of in the era. The sheer amount dwarfing Morgan's own and causing the room to crackle with power, the air visibly distorting.

No longer was he just Merlin the Wizard of Flowers.

"I am Merlin, Wizard of Camelot."

Fate-In Time Side Story: Chaldea Alternative Records: Chapter 8

A heart-wrenching scream echoed out as a blast of baleful energy annihilated an entire segment of a nearby woods: Trees were splintered, the ground scorched and unearthed, roots were twisted and maligned. A thud echoed, a body hunching over in the wreckage out of sheer grief before another blast of baleful energy swept through a different part of the forest and rendered it into ruins.

Saber Alter was crouched over her knees and weeping in the middle of it all. Excalibur Morgan was tossed callously by her side, and she was hammering the ground in frustration, uncaring about her appearance.

In the predicament the Arturias had found themselves in, some were winners and others were losers that had lost the person they had grown to cherish above all.

"HE WAS THE ONLY ONE! THE ONLY ONE I-I…" Saber Alter trailed off as a voice caused her to freeze.

"You failed." Lancer Alter said in barely above a whisper.

Saber Alter glanced up sharply, venom in her gaze, but one look at Lancer Alter made her flinch. Lancer Alter was calm on the surface, but underlying her composed features was the hate of one who's husband was murdered in front of her. She was clenching her hands into fists so tight that blood was dripping from her palms.

Both the Alters had tried to overpower Morgan, but they had severely underestimated her. They took the scene that they witnessed from their younger self's memory for granted. To begin with, their worlds had already diverged from the original, and neither of the two had seen it prudent to mask their capabilities in light of maintaining their rivalry with their Shirous. Their Morgans had always been watching them and were prepared from the beginning. The Morgans blind sided them by preparing a stronger magic to incapacitate them.

"…"

The silence between the two stretched for what seemed like an eternity before their attention shifted to their counterparts.

Saber Alter blinked away her tears and soon stared blankly. It was simple to tell who had saved their Shirous and who didn't. Their faces said it all, and Saber Alter's gaze was focused on Lancer Arturia who looked reserved, yet not despairing.

"YOU." The word was laced with such emotion that it sounded spiteful. Saber Alter marched directly to Lancer Arturia and without warning, grabbed her by the scruff of her armour.

Rather than resist, Lancer Arturia took note of how weak Saber Alter's grip was.

"HOW! HOW DID YOU SAVE HIM!"

Lancer Arturia looked away. She clearly wasn't proud of what she'd done, but looking at the state the Alters were in, she began to realize that her decision wasn't one she regretted. Slowly, carefully, Lancer Arturia freed herself from Saber Alter's grip. "I gave up my right to the throne," she said simply, prompting the Alters to stare at her in muted shock.

Saber Alter trembled. It suddenly made sense to her. Why had she been so prideful to stubbornly hold onto her position as King if she cherished her Shirou so much more? No, it wasn't that she didn't know, it was that she'd never been able to say 'I love you,' back to her Shirou. Now she'd never get the chance.

Saber Alter staggered before crumpling down to her knees.

"This is pathetic. You're all letting your emotions get the better of you. Did you all forget? A King needs no emotion." Saber Arturia suddenly spoke up. Her eyes were hollow, and her expression was utterly blank. It was clear she was just trying to convince herself of her own words. No one stated the obvious 'then why are you crying?' statement to her.

No matter how much Saber Arturia tried to deny her feelings behind a mask of indifference, the tears trickling down her cheeks wouldn't lie. Unlike the other Arturias, Saber Arturia had resolved herself to rule with Shirou by her side since Caliburn was first drawn. The two of them together worked miracles Saber Arturia could never have hoped to achieve on her own, and now he was taken away from her. How could she not be affected? S-She'd failed her Shirou when he needed her the most.

A somber atmosphere surrounded the four older Arturias, but only one was different.

Lily bolted up, sobbing from where she'd laid to sleep. She was crying yet smiling so wide that it was clear that she was sobbing not in anguish, but relief.

"I-I did it. I did it!" She wiped away the tears in her eyes and shouted in joy, ignorant of how sharp her words were to the other Arturias who'd failed.

They were on her in seconds, not saying a word but all but promising violence if she didn't speak. Lily swallowed nervously, but the sheer relief of success mitigated any fear she could feel. After all, no fear was greater than losing someone she cherished dearly.

"I-I knew that Morgan was probably spying on Shirou for an opportunity to act, so I confided with Efret for help out of sheer desperation. I told Efret that Morgan was waiting in ambush to kill Shirou. I didn't know what I was expecting, but I was honestly just venting out in my helplessness." Lily explained lightly while flushing red in embarrassment. "My sobbing was making it hard to think." (You should have seen the face Shirou made when he saw me.)

Anyways, Lilly continued. "Efret and Shirou, the two can communicate with each other. Everything I said, Efret relayed to Shirou who hugged me tight and promised to help me deal with Morgan before dealing with the Dragon. We did so, and Morgan was forced to retreat."

Everyone looked appalled that such a method existed yet they hadn't used it. Fighting Morgan on their own was one thing, but fighting Morgan with a natural born genius like Shirou was another.

"How about you guys? What happened with you?"

And suddenly, Lily felt like she'd just asked the wrong question. Lancer Arturia looked thoughtful, but the same couldn't be said for the others.

It was going to be a long five years.

What a long chapter...hope you enjoyed.

Thanks for reading! And thanks to my newest patrons: Gianfriddo and Iavano S.

Next update: Sword Order

P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious

Fiction Press: Survivor's Log: Reflections

Book link: Fatedlegacydark. ca

Summary of book:

Death. Grief. Ruin. Nothing was left unchanged after an unexplained tragedy led to the loss of millions across the world in key locations. Cities were reduced to wastelands of steel and concrete, and many were forced into migration. When events leading to the prior tragedy occur once more, Kevin Black was going to have to learn that sometimes mysteries were better left unsolved. Trapped with his friends in the world of a ruined city filled with monsters, the journey out would be far more perilous than the journey in.