Chapter 72: Chapter 72
The pride of House Barthomeloi rested upon Emily's shoulders and she would not sully its name. It didn't matter to her if she had to harden her resolve or step over the ambitions of others. She would succeed.
The clacking of her heels over a smoothened floor was the only noise that echoed within the long hallway that she was walking through within the Mage Association. Large windows lined both sides of the halls and allowed iridescent beams of moonlight to guide the way forward. There were no lavish decoration or luxuries which belonged within the homes of the most influential nobles of the land. Instead, what furnished the halls were elaborate sets of magical formula and ancient listed achievements by the progenitors of the most prominent lines of Magi.
Soon, her name would be placed among the many influential individuals of the Association as the heir of the Blue Bloods. That was her goal not only to prove herself capable, but to obtain ownership of the family. Her word would be law, and none would dare oppose her.
The thought caused a part of her to wince, the emotionless façade that she'd practiced for years slipping visibly before she regained control of herself.
Iron and blood. The rule of the family.
A leader must be ruthless when necessary and prudent when an opportunity arrived. Most of all, an heir of a house of prestigious family of magi must contribute to the progression of the family's mysteries.
There was no room for softness.
Fellow magi weren't all friends, many were wolves. Which was why she could not be allowed to appear as a lamb or a sheep.
She was alone while walking down the hall so no one had noticed the slip in her expression. She'd left her aunt Latricia behind because from this point on was her battle. Pursing her lips, she sucked in a breath before straightening her back and resuming the disposition of a dispassionate magus.
For those that had known her before, her current appearance was leagues away from what it had used to be. She didn't like to look down on others or scoff at another's troubles, but she'd been forced to change in her many years training under House Barthomeloi as a magus.
The innocent girl of her youth, her true personality, was left buried away within her, only to resurface while in the company of those that she trusted. After all, trust within the family of feuding heirs, and most magi in general, would only lead to a path of ruin. She'd learned that fact early on.
Part of the reason in which she was trying so hard to become the head of the family was because she couldn't stand the indifference and arrogance within House Barthomeloi. Even now, many of her aunts, uncles, and cousins despised her mother as a traitor who'd eloped with a boorish low born man.
Her hands balled into fists, the whites of her knuckles showing.
'Papa isn't some useless peasant, and mama isn't a traitorous whore whose only redeeming quality was maintaining the family line.'
Her jaw clenched noticeably under the moonlight, traces of anger flashing deep within her amber coloured eyes.
Memories of a poor yet happy childhood came to the forefront of her mind. Her father, large, boisterous, and kind, merrily holding her within his arms and making faces to entertain her while her mother watched on with a fond smile. It had just been the three of them. Her father was hardworking and in turn her mother had always been there to greet her father whenever he returned home.
Smiles. Care. Love. Warmth. Those were the feelings and emotions that she'd grown accustomed to in a family. No, perhaps it was more apt to say that they were the emotions and feelings that she wanted in a family.
House Barthomeloi was different.
Subterfuge, power struggles, hatred, animosity, greed, and ambition in the pursuit of knowledge, those were the concepts of House Barthomeloi and many other households of magi like it. It was cold and unfeeling. All that mattered was results and capability. All else was deemed as irrelevant trash in comparison to the pursuit of the Akashic Root of all.
The very first time that she had been introduced to House Barthomeloi by her aunt Latricia, she'd heard how everyone spoke of her and her parents. Worse was how she was almost instantly deemed a failure at first impression just because of her lack of knowledge regarding magecraft. That impression quickly changed when the potency of her Blue Blood and the sheer number of her magic circuits was discovered. Sneers and disinterest soon shifted into unfeeling smiles and veiled acts of kindness.
It was sickening. More so when her aunt had warned her not to speak of the whereabouts of her mother and father. Most likely, her competition would try to use them as leverage to control her movements and interfere in her selection as heiress. The advice chilled her to the bone when she'd recalled a few of her other relatives asking her about the very same subject.
'This wasn't a family. Families don't act this way.'
She had felt numb at the time and refused to divulge any information. However, the pestering never stopped, nor did the insults to her and her parents. How long had she endured such treatment for? The servants were fine, but her own aunts, uncles, and elders remained distant towards her and often looked at her with derision.
Her pace slowed down to a crawl before she stopped entirely to look out at the cloudless night sky through a window. The days of her childhood were perhaps the best days of her life despite how simple life had been living as a farmer's girl.
Now she had access to fine food, clothes, and status, yet she couldn't help but find herself gravitating back to what she'd lost in the process.
"Papa, mama," she muttered under her breath, a hand placed over her chest. Then she thought of Shirou, one of the main reasons that she'd decided to walk down her current path.
She grunted softly, a wry smile weakly curving her lips upwards. Even if he had suffered amnesia, he was still the same. It didn't matter to her anymore if she could be with him or not, hell, a certain part of her was still entertaining the idea of convincing Arturia about the concept of 'sharing,' but it was unlikely. That was probably far worse than trying to take food away from her. Much worse. God knows how possessive Arturia must presently be after thinking for many years that she'd lost Shirou due to her own inability.
Regardless, even if it wasn't love but admiration that she felt for Shirou, it still didn't change what she wanted to do in her own power.
Slowly, gradually, she raised her hands and readjusted her brown hair from a regal topknot into a loose pony tail. It didn't matter if it lacked class or elegance befitting of House Barthomeloi. It would be her one act of rebellion in all of her years enduring.
Be free and unrestrained like the wind.
The Emily Barthomeloi of her childhood wasn't dead. Perhaps instead, it was better to say that she had matured. Warm and expressive to allies, but frigid and unfeeling towards enemies in a pure Barthomeloi aristocratic fashion.
Her hair began to bob as she resumed her walk towards the meeting area of the preliminary Lord's Gathering. Her eyes narrowed impeccably, her chin tilting upward in a show of superiority. None would dare look down upon her.
She would be the heiress and she would succeed the family. No longer would she allow the image of her parents to be smeared before her or behind her back. She'd banish all who did so from the family and any disputes would be settled through her strength alone. If push came to shove, she knew that Shirou would always have her back, and that was an even bigger obstacle for anyone in her family or rival families to face.
The wrath of a Magician was not to be taken lightly.
In turn, she would have full ownership of House Barthomeloi in order to aid Shirou if he ever needed the help. In her own way, she'd do her part to save her country from the Saxon invasion.
The time had come.
She'd reached the end of the long hallway and pushed open the doors leading the room reserved for the Blue Bloods of the Mage's Association.
All eyes within the room turned to her in an instant, regarding her with a layer of scrutiny and a thinly veiled animosity. However, a majority of the faces within had traces of uneasiness. The prospect or rumour that she had the support of a True Magician in her goal to officialise her place as heiress had placed a wrench in everyone's preconceptions of her odds of victory.
The gazes of her family lingered on her form, shifting up and down before many inwardly scoffed and plastered friendly greetings towards her. However, the tension was only rising within the room which was already divided into four groups. One group for each participating heir and their supporters.
Under the scrutiny of her fellow family members, she moved to the empty corner adjacent to the entrance. She sat on a prepared chair and crossed her legs in front of her, the skin of her thighs somewhat showing between her short dress and patterned black stockings.
The temperature seemed to drop as she released a fraction of her wind magic while subtly releasing a crippling pressure. Her gaze was cold, her bearings rigid and unbending, daring anyone to voice discontent as her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Alone she sat, yet alone she oppressed all.
This magecraft was the fruit of her labour. One still in development but researched enough to be useful. The pressure continued unabated. She was using this magecraft for the first time since its creation and no one knew how to react against it.
Arturia may have had been strong and would likely be known as the Queen of Knights, but it didn't matter to many in the moonlit world. Instead, that was where Emily came into the picture.
Bend. Break. Submit. It was a power that one could never seemingly hope to surpass. It was suffocating in its subtle intensity.
It was the aura of the Almighty attribute. The aura alone made one feel insignificant before the user as if any form of resistance would be futile. Indeed, this was the point. For it was created in order to combat against even creatures of the world known as Dead Apostles, better known as ghouls.
The only real requirement was the absurd number of magic circuits it required to utilize. If one day in the future, another was born with the same or an even higher number of magic circuits than Emily, than it could be theorized that even Dead Apostle Ancestors, like vampires, would fall prey to House Barthomeloi.
"How brutish," a voice cut through the stifling silence.
Emily's gaze shifted towards the speaker to her half brothers in their respective corners staring at her impassively.
"Is such a display fitting for one who should be an heir?"
"Agreed. There is no class to be seen nor adored."
The half brothers, Oliver and Florence crossed their arms and grimaced while looking at her. However, from the minute trembling of their fingers, they weren't unaffected by her aura. They were bluffing.
Meanwhile, her half-sister Luna smiled invitingly despite being the sibling that hated her the most.
It was always the kind looking ones who had the most sinister of intentions. Emily wouldn't be surprised if Luna would happily stab her in the back if given a chance.
She scoffed and ignored the prodding of her half-siblings. Most likely they were trying to get her to let slip any information about the magecraft that she was using. Moreover, they were probably unnerved that a Magician was actively supporting her. As such, it seems that they'd formed a three-way alliance in her absence.
Her expression shifted into a stern glare. So be it. She'd take them on at once.
The air grew more tense.
"Lady Emily Barthomeloi is now present," the speaker in the room appeared nervous, beads of sweat forming over her brow while looking between Emily and her rival half-siblings. "Let us begin the selection of House Barthomeloi's representative in the Lord's Gathering."
The speaker adjusted her laced dress before moving towards the center of the room where a small table was set without any objects on top.
"As decided by the current Lord, there will only be a single representative for the Lord's Gathering. Whoever shows the most promise in this room shall be deemed the representative." The speaker's voice wavered less and less the more that she spoke. More accurately, it was because she backed away from the table where all the attention was gathering.
Emily already knew the rules of the current proceedings. The center of the room was to be used to serve as a podium to display the strength of each faction under an heir. Magecraft would be displayed as well as connections, achievements, and future research.
House Barthomeloi was already guaranteed a spot as a Lord. The pretext of the representative for the Lord's Gathering was only to select an heir for House Barthomeloi. In which case, this was a battle of standing between and influence between siblings.
In Emily's eyes however, this entire meeting was a farce that she didn't wish to waste her time on.
The aura of her Almighty attribute lessened as she dismissed her magecraft. The others in the room suddenly began to breath easier and looked at her as if she'd finally seen reason. Yet, that assumption was far from the truth.
'Skeptics. All of them.'
Her brows knit into a furrow as she directly stood up, all eyes turning to face her.
It didn't matter what she showed today that was of her own power. That wasn't the crux of the current issue. She'd thought that she'd obtained firm support for her faction from Shirou, but she'd never realized just how big of an influence Shirou would have.
This wasn't a competition any longer. If what the rumours running through the family were true, then there was no doubt about who the heir would be.
Her relatives nervously stared at her as she moved to the table at the center, even her rival siblings adopting an air of anxiety. She was acting different from how she normally acted. In response to how her relatives scorned her, she'd generally lashed out with overwhelming presence. However, there was no power or authority in her current disposition. Nothing at all.
It looked as if she'd given up, but the silence and lack of reaction only served as an ill omen for those that opposed her within the family.
Reaching the table at the center, she glared while staring each family member in the face.
They wanted proof that a Magician supported her in her faction? Then fine. They'd get that proof.
Legends live and die, and what's left behind was a legacy of deeds and miracles.
She motioned to the attendant at the opposite side of the room for a specific cart to be rolled towards her. The contents of the cart itself were veiled by a white cloth.
A layer of pure magical energy suffused the cart.
Oliver, Florence, and Luna subconsciously swallowed, but nothing that they did could prepare them or anyone else in the room for what was to come.
Emily pulled off the cloth over the cart and carefully placed weapon after weapon into a small pile over the table. The silence was deafening. Only the clanking of metal over metal resounded as the pile grew higher and higher. Each piled weapon caused Oliver and the rest to pale further and further.
In the times that legends lived and died, what was left behind was not only their legacies, but the weapons that they made their stories from.
Crystalized Legends. The pride of a Hero symbolizing their greatest achievements.
Noble Phantasms.
Moreover, the most damning sight of all, was that each weapon that was stacked into a pile, were identical. There were no faults to be seen within any of them either through way of forging or fluctuations in magical energy.
Noble Phantasms were scarce objects of power. There could only ever be one of each kind. The meaning of the existence of several perfect replicas need not be said.
The First Magic. A Magic of Creation.
Emily watched as her family members in the room stood up one at a time in bafflement, yet this wasn't even the greatest trump card that Shirou had given her. No. It was something else born from the recent war.
Under the attention of all, she dropped the Mjolnir (Fake) on top of the entire pile, it's weight and properties blinding all. Tendrils of lightning sparked up and down its shaft, ancient Nordic runes glowing over the metal surface of the mallet. Different from all the Noble Phantasms beneath it, Mjolnir (Fake) was not just a simple Noble Phantasm.
It was a weapon created through faith and belief, just as Gods are prayed to and worshipped by the masses.
"D-Divine Construct."
The aunts and uncles present in the room who had once shown open scorn and hostility towards Emily suddenly collapsed in despair.
It was true.
T-The rumour had been true.
"Are we done?" Emily asked flatly in the silence.
No one answered.
Night had fallen, the stars and the moon above the only source of light shining down over the world. Stars that guide the way. Stars that see tomorrow. Shirou couldn't recall how many times that he'd seen the same night sky in his days as a wandering hero.
He'd never given his name. He'd never asked for recompense. It had been his path. His only path both to stay true to himself, and to honour the memory of the proud women who'd changed his life. Therefore, he'd seen the same night sky over and over again no matter where he had been in the world.
For the stars were his compass of the heart. Somewhere out there in a place that he hadn't been able to see or touch, Arturia had been waiting for him.
Now, now he was here reunited with her again in a past no longer the same as his own.
He inhaled softly.
Tired as he was, he still found himself awake while Arturia and Mordred breathed softly near him. Mordred was someone dear that he had to protect, but Arturia was someone who meant the world to him. Everything that had changed in the current timeline, everything had been done for Arturia's happiness.
At one point, he had believed that her joy would stem from the saving of the Kingdom and its people. Therefore, he had made steps and plans to make her stronger and rally others to her cause using his own influence. So long as she was happy, then he didn't care what happened to him, and yet, she'd recently floored him in her actions.
When he had 'died,' she had become devastated. There was no life in her eyes, no vigour or motivation in her movements. She fought like she wanted to die even though the country was fairing well against the Saxon invasion. The new crop system, better arms and armours, all the preparations that he had laboriously toiled and worked away for had revealed their benefits.
Even without him, her starting point was far better than her other self of an alternative timeline. She could have had maintained a steady mind, led with wisdom and skill in order to defeat the Saxons with little casualty. After all, she'd already had everything that she had needed. People, skills, and even equipment, she practically outclassed whatever the Saxons could bring. Yet in the five years that he'd been thought to be 'dead' she'd made little progress if any. Worse, she'd made enemies of her fellow nobles.
She wasn't happy.
She was suffering in anguish.
Why did it come to this? This was the first question that he had asked himself upon regaining his memories. Everything that he did for her sake was rendered moot if she herself was miserable.
He loved her. Dearly. That was why he failed to see what she had truly wanted the most in order to be happy.
Him.
'I love you. Please Marry me.'
It wasn't until she had said it right to his face that the realization came. This Arturia was different from the one that he knew. He'd changed her. Rather than just care for the kingdom and its people, she loved him too much.
Five years ago, Morgan had already succeeded in 'breaking' her, and it was mostly his fault for not seeing his importance in her eyes.
When did it start? When did she begin to see him with the same level of affection that he had for her? Was it in their childhood? Their adolescence? Their young adolescence? Did it really matter?
Clearly it did.
Tired as he was, his mind was in a state of turmoil because he realized that there was worth in his life. What was the use in throwing his life away for Arturia's sake if it would only lead her into misery? Therefore, his life had value. He now had to weigh his options before making any rash decisions.
This meant to say, that his priorities were in the midst of shifting from securing the Kingdom's safety at all costs, to fully devoting himself to the woman that he loved.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked in Arturia's direction. He wasn't entirely sure if she had been sleeping, but she seemed to notice that he was looking at her and blinked her eyes open in response.
"You aren't going to that Lord's Meeting with Emily?" She asked almost accusingly, but it was probably just his imagination. However, she'd definitely been awake before he turned to look at her. There were hardly any inflections in her voice or grogginess in her expression.
Mordred was the only one really sleeping.
He leaned in a bit towards her and placed his face next to hers. He watched as her pupils dilated in the moonlight, her breaths inexplicably growing heavier.
"It's not my battle to begin with. I'm only here to help as a representative of Emily's connections." He explained calmly. "Moreover, House Barthomeloi is strong even without me. They will earn a Lord's seat."
She stared at him as if looking for any signs of deceit but clearly finding none. Her lips curved into a subtle pout. A few strands of her hair fell over her forehead and down to her ear.
"What makes you so sure?" She asked in doubt.
For some reason or another he felt that he'd raise a death flag if he answered truthfully and said that he trusted Emily. Of course, Arturia probably trusted Emily too, but the circumstances felt oddly wrong to mention that fact.
"Emily is a capable woman. I'm just speeding up the process," he said to play safe.
Arturia hummed before turning her body on its side in order to face him directly. "You seem to have a lot of faith in her," she pressed while staring hard at him.
Seriously? Why was she being so fixated on this?
"I do have a lot of faith in her," he didn't lie to Arturia. Hearing his answer, she looked moments away from rebuking him, yet she fell into a stammer as he finished his sentence. "However, I'd rather spend my time with you, now and forever. To me, you're obviously more important."
He nuzzled his face against her, his chin settling against the nape of her neck while practically feeling the heat building up to Arturia's head.
He'd made his decision. Devotion was his answer. More than just the Kingdom, he was going to put her first as he should have had done all those years ago. At the same time, that didn't mean that he was going to abandon the plans that he'd set in motion to stabilize the Kingdom.
Being able to stay by his side was Arturia's happiness, therefore, he'd do exactly that and bring her along for whatever he did. Moreover, he'd have to take better care of himself so that Arturia could trust letting him out of her sight in times of danger. He sighed inwardly. He already knew who was going to be wearing the pants in this relationship, but that was his sacrifice to make. No matter how tough or strong a person could be, there was always going to be someone who could turn him or her into putty.
Arturia mouth opened then closed after his words, she unable to formulate a coherent response.
He continued regardless.
"The marriage," he whispered into her ear. "I'll settle everything I need to do in order to plan the wedding at Camelot."
Arturia's face burned with a shade of red deeper than a tomato, moisture welling in her eyes as she sniffled to contain her emotions. Her heart was doing funny things within her chest, and due to their close proximity, he could hear it's rapid thumping. From the redness on the tips of Arturia's ears, she could probably hear her own heart thumping too and was mortified if her defeated expression was anything to go by.
He didn't let her wallow in her embarrassment. He shifted around slightly and got her to place her ear over his chest to hear his own heart beating rapidly.
The two of them were the same, causing a sereneness to envelop the two. She was smiling dumbly, the light creases of her smile reaching her eyes.
"How far ahead have you already planned in regards to the wedding?" He asked Arturia after a moment of silence to allow Arturia to gather herself and her thoughts. She had an arm wrapped around him and she was looking up with her chin resting over his chest.
"I-I already asked Sir Ector to prepare a dowry," she admitted shyly under his gaze.
A dowry huh? A gift from the bride's parents the groom.
"Honestly, I don't need anything other than you. I promise that we'll be together from now on."
She looked at him as if trying to ascertain if he was serious. He looked right back without a change in his expression, watching the gradual way that Arturia's lips first began to quiver before the rest of her expression began to break. Mist seemed to be forming in her eyes while her cheeks were scrunching up in a failed attempt to keep her composure in check.
She promptly buried her face into his chest so that he wouldn't be able to see her expression, though he could feel a slight dampness over his shirt.
The two spoke nothing for a moment, content to just be in each other's company.
"I missed you. I missed you so much," Arturia admitted, unable to hold back the thoughts and feelings that she'd repressed for years. "There were so many things that I'd wanted to say, and so many places and sights that I'd wanted to explore with you. I-I thought that you were gone. It hurt." She took his free hand and placed it over her bosom above her heart. "Right here. It hurt so much that it was unbearable."
Wordlessly, he wrapped his arm around her. There were no words for him to say. It was his fault for not taking into account the value of his own existence in Arturia's eyes.
Never again. He'd never let her suffer through such pain again.
"It was Morgan's fault," hatred suddenly laced Arturia's tone as she continued, her fingers gripping tightly onto his shirt and wrinkling it.
He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but Arturia's words prompted him to recall what he'd learned regarding Morgan visiting the Mage's Association. It probably wasn't the best time to bring it up, yet he'd rather that he and Arturia be ready for anything.
"Hey Arturia," his voice prompted her to perk up at him.
She glanced up, finally revealing the puffiness of her eyes. It made him feel all the more guilty for what he was about to say, but he still did so anyway.
"Have you considered what you would do if Morgan tries to interfere with the marriage?"
She froze in what he could only describe as illogical fear. She was stronger now and different from her past self, yet within his embrace he could feel her body shivering. Maybe it was trauma?
"It won't happen," she pursed her lips, her hands tightly grabbing onto the hem of her night gown. "Merlin and the others will be around and there's no way that she'll be able to sneak into Camelot unnoticed."
"A fair point." He conceded. Riling Arturia up was not his intention. He just wanted to make sure that she was prepared and at least thinking about any dangers rather than grow complacent in her joy. "Besides, even if she does get in, I won't let her ruin anything."
Arturia didn't look convinced. In fact, it was like she was saying 'that's what I'm worried about,' as if he'd do something stupid. It put a damper on his mood but it was his own damn fault that Arturia had developed such an impression of him.
"She won't be able to interfere. She won't." It sounded more like Arturia was trying to convince herself more than him.
"I know that she won't so relax. Even if she tries everyone will be there to stop her like you said." He did his best to soothe her. "I didn't bring up the topic to upset you or cast doubts. I just don't want us to be caught by surprise." Like last time, was left unsaid.
However, Arturia understood his meaning better than anyone. "She won't." she repeated again softer. "I won't let her." The hug that she had around him tightened as if she was reassuring herself that he was actually by her side and not just a figment of her imagination. The trauma inflicted really did seem to have had run deep.
Morgan you-
He quelled his anger. It was no use to get angry now when he couldn't do anything about it. He'd never be able to find Morgan and put a stop to her even if he wanted to. She was far too elusive to the point that someone like Merlin had trouble tracking her when she wanted to escape.
"I love you," he said sincerely in an attempt to calm her down.
It was working.
"I love you," he repeated again. The strain over her features were gradually softening and easing up.
"Once we get married, we'll have our children just like you wanted," he started rambling. Arturia's attention impeccably shifted over to stare at him. "We'll start a family. One without sisters hating sisters, and father's shirking their duties."
With the arm that he had around Arturia, he began to lightly draw circles on her back until she finally closed her eyes and began to relax. "I-I'd like that," she mumbled back weakly.
"I love you. So, stop worrying." He continued. "I won't leave your side until you grow sick of me."
"Promise?" Her voice was muffled from where she was pressing her face to his chest.
"Promise. So, hurry and get some rest." He drew wider circles over her back to soothe her.
He didn't like the notion that he had to wait for Morgan to strike before he could counter her, but that was all that he and Arturia could really do at this point. The Saxons could come first in the meantime after the Lord's Gathering.
He didn't stop drawing circles over Arturia's back until the sound of her breaths evened and he was certain that she was asleep. By that point, half of an hour had passed, yet he didn't mind so long as Arturia could obtain a peace of mind.
Rest well.
Soon, his own eyes closed.
Minutes later into the night, another pair of eyes abruptly opened.
They were finally asleep.
Mordred didn't know how long she had waited which wasn't saying much because she'd probably slept through the entirety of Shirou and Arturia's conversation. However, she'd only really been woken up by a searing pain on her back. It didn't hurt enough to elicit a scream, but it was enough for her to be unable to ignore unless she consciously forced herself.
She knew what the feeling meant by instinct which further caused her to shiver.
Her gaze travelled toward the window where she could see a crow staring towards her from the distant trees. It was perched on a branch, its raven coloured feathers ruffling in the chilling breeze outside.
Mother.
The name did not come with any positive annotations, but was instead echoed in her mind with apprehension and anxiety.
The crow tilted its head and flew elsewhere away from the wooden cabin's sight.
Her mother was calling.
Shirou's arm was still around her, making it difficult to slip out, but did she even want to?
Frankly, a childish part of herself, a more vulnerable part of herself did not wish to leave the warmth currently enveloping her. It promised safety, compassion, care, and all of the things unconditional that she'd never had in her childhood. Yet, it was precisely because of those things that she couldn't bear to see Shirou come to any harm or trouble on her behalf.
Tentatively, she slid herself out from the arm that she had embraced around her before making her way towards the cabin's door and exiting without even putting on her shoes.
Almost as soon as she stepped outside, the cold wind caused her body to shiver and her skin to pale. Her teeth began to chatter but she forced them to stop by clenching her mouth. She was strong. She could handle this.
The flapping of wings alerted her to where the crow had repositioned itself at the shadow of a tall tree at the far side of the wooden cabin. She approached cautiously, unkempt hair somewhat obscuring her features.
The crow stared back at her impassively as she arrived in front of it and crossed her arms.
"Mother," she said as her expression soured, but hidden behind her false bravado was an irrational terror that had her body feeling numb.
"Mordred." A woman's clear voice sounded from the crow's mouth. "Dear child. Have I not given you enough time to think it over? You should know the consequences of defying me."
She felt her mouth dry even as a response came to her mind. Delayed as it was, she felt proud that she'd still been able to speak up in the end. "I, I told you that I refuse to help you," she fumbled with her words.
The temperature seemed to drop at her answer, the crow's beady eyes boring down on her with such intensity that she felt exposed. "You are making a mistake."
It was her mother's threatening tone, one that promised a grudging retribution for defiance. Past traumatic memories within her tore away any façade of confidence that she could muster. She felt her will to resist waning. She didn't want to go back. Not to that kind of life again. Her complexion paled, her expression on the verge of breaking. Rather than have her arms crossed to show her determination, it now looked more like she was hugging herself as a source of comfort.
Inadvertently, the irrational terror welling up from within her caused her to lose strength in her legs. She fell onto her knees, her shins smacking against a metal washing basin for clothes and producing a sharp banging noise that echoed outward.
It could have had been a coincidence, but Mordred was certain that she saw the crow's gaze shift towards the wooden cabin in trepidation. Seconds passed into minutes as silence descended. The crow spoke not a word. Hell, it didn't even dare to move, it almost reminded Mordred of how she'd been acting in fear earlier herself.
"You're scared of him, aren't you?" Mordred was uncertain about her observation, but it was clear to which 'him' that she was referring to.
The crow's eyes narrowed sharply, not answering the question, yet the silence was enough of an answer.
"Y-You are." Mordred found her footing while staring at the crow, a finger shakily pointed forward. "You are scared of him." She repeated more to herself than to her mother.
The realization gave her power. Gave her hope.
"Leave and never come back." Tentative resolve came over her features. "I-I am yours no longer."
"Insolent child." The crow bristled as pure unadultered magical power pressed down on her shoulders.
She staggered, lips pursing together, but this time she maintained a level mind. Bearing through the pressure, she noticed that the scope of the magical pressure's area of effect was only around her and nowhere else.
Her mother of all people was being cautious. That alone was telling enough.
"Stop. Stop now or I'll scream!" It was an irrational choice of words against a magus especially against her own mother who knew a plethora of silencing spells. However, Mordred too possessed an abundant amount of magical energy within her that she could ignite all at once in the form of a Mana Burst. Her mother clearly knew this and wearily retracted her magical energy.
Mordred backed away slowly while glancing in the direction of the house where Shirou was. He said he'd protect her. He was her shield. In truth, he was more family to her than even her mother and Sir Ector. "C-Come again and I swear I'll tell him you keep coming!"
It was the final straw. Mordred's voice was getting louder and louder and the quiet of the evening only made it sound more deafening.
The crow seemed to grunt in frustration before spreading its wings and hovering into the air.
"So, in the end, even my own child still chooses 'her' faction over mine." For a moment, her mother's tone almost sounded incomparably bitter. "What more will she possess that I never had. Why? Why was it always her?"
Mordred could not bring herself to understand someone as twisted as her mother so she hardly paid her mother's bitterness any notice. What she focused on instead were her mother's parting words.
"I had had much hope in you. You will regret this decision."
The derision in her mother's tone caused her to feel utterly uneasy, but before she could say anything more, the crow flew off. Hopefully, never to come again.
Standing out alone, suddenly she felt weak, her vigour leaving her as the adrenaline flowing within her blood subsided.
Almost subconsciously, she found herself gravitating back to the wooden cabin in search for a warmth that she could take shelter within.
Quietly, she walked up to the bed and crawled her way back into the bedsheets only to freeze up a second later.
"Are you alright, Mordred?" A concerned voice caught her off guard. "Something that you want to say to me?"
Geh, this guy was still awake?
She blinked at him like a deer caught in the headlights before her features softened. Rather than ask her what she had been doing so late in the evening, he'd first asked her whether or not she was okay.
Really, this fiend.
"No. No it's nothing," she said softly while actively finding his free arm in order to wrap around herself. "I can handle it."
She knew that Shirou could infer what she meant in her words. He'd been pestering her about sharing her problems for days now.
"And when you can't?"
He didn't press her to elaborate but directly chose to ask what she would do if she were to fail. She looked up to him; her eyes shifting up then back down. Her lips pursed while her brows knitted together. "Can I depend on you?"
Her voice was so quiet that Shirou wouldn't have had heard her question if he hadn't been focusing on her.
"Idiot." He pressed his chin to her forehead. "Don't you already know that answer for yourself?"
Yes. Yes, she did, and that was why she didn't want to lose her current happiness. She discovered that all that she presently wanted to do was stay by his side.
She closed her eyes and soon fell asleep. For once she felt safe, protected.
Was this what it felt like to be loved?
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Parcasious
Parcasious P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious
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