Chương 81: Chapter 81

For a moment, Gale could not believe his eyes. The world around him seemed to ground to a halt amidst the squall of a storm and the maddening roar of thunder in the air. His breath caught in his throat, and his pupils dilated while taking everything in all at once. A moment passed before clarity began returning to him, but wonderment came next.

Arcs of lightning continued to writhe and rumble within the overhead clouds resembling the cry of archaic war drums. It was the breadth of nature and the furor of the heavens. Where once the skies had been clear, now there was only the fury of wind and rain.

Gale was standing outside his war tent after he'd walked out to get a better view of the anomaly standing in the distance. Cwenhild dutifully followed, braving through the unease festering from deep within her while opening and closing her hands. They'd grown clammy in her nervousness.

War. Blood. Death. Cwenhild, Gale, and the Saxon warriors had seen and experienced many things, and had even heard of magic, but this was different.

Raven's cawed in the air, creating the illusion of an all-seeing flock; watchers perching upon distant tree branches waiting for the scent of blood to scavenge.

Ominous signs.

"L-Lord Gale, did that man really just come from the sky?" Cwenhild grasped onto the hilt of her sword for comfort, but couldn't stop the trembling of her shoulders.

Gale raised an arm to shield his eyes from another flash of lightning as he felt the cold feel of his clothes dampening in the downpour. He shuddered. "That he did. He came with the flash of lightning and the roar of thunder."

Why did that description sound so familiar? Cwenhild swallowed down her nervousness and tried to maintain her composure. Surely it couldn't be what she was thinking? She pursed her lips, and looked towards Gale in order to follow in his example. However, much like the other Saxons under Gale's command, she was heavily shaken.

"T-That hammer, could it be…?"

Mighty Mjolnir. Forged from the hands of Dwarves, and created as the weapon of a War God. Bolts of contorting energy over the hammer's surface formed sparks that thrummed over the rectangular mallet like forked chains.

"T-Those symbols on his body?"

Runes of power. They glowed with an eerie pale-blue light. The robust tan of his skin spoke of months out in the sun without care for the heat. The strongest armour was said not to be formed from the hardest metal, but through the tenacity of one's skill and prestige as a warrior. The runes spread out across the man's chest and back, and crawled down the man's heavily muscled arms rippling with strength.

The way that the storm and lightning itself seemed to be reacting to the man's beck and call was uncanny, all pointing towards a single conclusion: He wasn't a mere human.

Of all legends that Cwenhild and many other Saxons knew, there was only a single man with the authority to call forth the gales and roars of thunder. The hammer in the man's right hand all but cemented it the hypotheses forming in everyone's mind. But then came the hardest question.

"Captain, what do we do?" Cwenhild called out to Gale, unsure of how to proceed. On one hand, she imagined Lady Natalie and 'he who should not be named lightly,' as gifts from the Gods to Gale for his efforts in the war for his people. However, on the other hand, she knew from myth that no reward was ever without struggle and merit.

"Captain?" Cwenhild called out again when Gale failed to answer. She moved up to him to peer more closely at his face, but froze when she noticed something odd in Gale's eyes.

It was recognition. Gale knew the mythic warrior before them all? Did that not mean that Gale had the favour of Asgard? Cwenhild flushed at the thought. She'd always believed that someone as talented and wise as Gale was destined for greatness, but they still had to err on the side of caution.

Cwenhild opens and closes her mouth, but could form no words until it was too late and Gale began running forward. "Wait, where are you going?!" She finally called out in alarm. "Lady Natalie's one thing, but we don't know if that spirit is an enemy!"

Gale wasn't listening. He was too focused ahead.

Cwenhild forced down her reservations and chased after her commander, goosebumps running down the back of her neck. The rest of the army hurriedly organized themselves and attempted to march in Gale direction, only for Gale to give them the signal to halt with a clenched fist.

Gale hadn't been certain at first, but it was after the arrival of a blond-haired women in armour that he began automatically moving forward. She was dressed in the garb of a war maiden, the messengers said to guide the souls of warriors to the grand halls of Valhalla. Her naval was exposed, and around her waist was a tasset of grey feathers overtop steel breeches. She wore nothing else on her upper body as armour aside from a silver tube-top and riveted iron-coloured sleeves. On her back, large ephemeral wings seemingly made out of magic sprouted from her shoulder blades and kept her levitated over the ground.

The woman hovered by the man's side and seemed uncomfortable under all the attention, but maintained her composure by using a haughty demeanor. She was scowling, though her particularly flushed face denoted a differing emotion.

Gale began to grin almost fondly.

They looked a bit different now, but the characteristics were still there. They'd been enemies at first, but in the end, it was also them who'd shown him that even enemies could one day be called friends.

Admittedly, Gale was thrown for a loop when another blond-haired woman appeared by Natalie's side wearing modest attire. She wore a plain blue gown and deferred to staying at Natalie's right. A handmaiden then? Her hair was done up into a crowned bun over her head which was the most similar to the woman Gale had met in the past; however, Gale couldn't link the Arturia in armour in his mind, to the Arturia he was presently staring at. Mordred in Valkyrie armour better fit the image.

"It's you two," Gale said in acknowledgement while looking instead at Shirou and Mordred and completely ignoring Arturia.

Arturia's expression stiffened at the snub, but she retained her neutrality and bowed demurely towards Gale. She had a role to play, and she'd be damned if she was the one to ruin everything before the plan could even be set into motion.

Besides, it wasn't Gale's fault that he failed to recognize her. It was part of the act, she consoled herself.

"Gale," Shirou recalled the name from several years prior. Mordred could do no such thing, and allowed Shirou to do the talking. She floated to the ground, and hid behind Shirou's back, her arms crossed over her chest.

Gale took note of Mordred's behaviour, but thought nothing of it since he was focusing his attention on Shirou.

"I did not expect to see you here," Shirou said in earnest.

It was the truth. Prior to the mission's start, he had no idea which Saxon commander they'd meet at the border between Saxon and British conflict. Regardless, Gale's presence made things several degrees easier due to their past acquaintance.

"I'd say the same, but I never thought I'd see you two again either," Gale replied. The last he recalled, the Shirou and Arturia in his memory had vanished as if spirits of the Gods after saving the Saxon settlement of Colchester. It warred with his initial thoughts of them in the battle of the river Gleinn. He'd thought they were Englishmen, but perhaps that wasn't the truth?

Red hair was not a common trait of the British, and there was no way an Englishman could wield the fabled sword of the Nibelungen's at the old Sax-Gotha. Perhaps the only reason Shirou and Arturia had fought against Gale at the river Gleinn was because his path had erred? This must have been the case, Gale convinced himself.

It was divine intervention that must have led his life up to the current point.

There was a subtle change in the way that Gale stared at both Shirou and Mordred, but neither of them detected any animosity, so the two didn't outwardly react. Instead, Shirou was getting a bad feeling while watching Cwenhild run up to Gale and falter in her steps.

"I-I greet the divine one," Cwenhild bowed from behind Gale's back, her eyes never leaving the Mjolnir (Fake) in Shirou's hand. It was only now that both she and Gale were up close that they could feel the hair-tingling sensation of divinity in the air.

It was driving them mad. Cwenhild no longer knew if she should kneel or admonish Gale for not showing enough respect out of fear that Shirou and Mordred would react negatively to Gale's behaviour. "M-My Lord," she nudged Gale lightly in hopes that he'd understand her intentions.

Gale just laughed, prompting Cwenhild to flush. "P-Please forgive him O divine one!"

Meanwhile, Shirou's expression had turned into an interesting shade of purple after he'd heard Cwenhild's way of greeting him and felt the energy of faith congregate towards him and his hammer.

Cwenhild was nervous, but there were clearly stars in her gaze much like Gale now that she'd ascertained that Shirou wasn't an enemy.

They weren't looking at a man, but a myth.

Shirou shuddered at the attention, and uncharacteristically tried to escape, but failed when Natalie pinned him with a 'what are you trying to do?' look. He inwardly groaned and forced himself to stay still.

"What is the meaning of this, Lady Natalie?" Gale shifted his focus towards Natalie.

As if speaking from script, Natalie straightened her back and cleared her throat. "He's a Nordic Warrior blessed by the Gods," she spoke an absurd lie in her mind with a straight face. If the ruse was ever found out, she was both dead, and her people would face war for several years to come. Therefore, she was putting her absolute best into the act.

Never underestimate the acting ability of a princess of nobility. She'd already seen enough snake-faced liars in court to accurately imitate their bearings.

Natalie thought she'd have to say more to convince Gale of her point, but the man was oddly simple to swindle.

"I believe you. I've already seen what he can do first hand," Gale said wholeheartedly.

"R-Really- uhm I mean, of course," Natalie quickly changed her tune, nearly breaking character before sucking in a breath. "This war," she said slowly, making sure to stare Gale right in the eyes despite her reservations. "I want it to end."

Cwenhild beamed at Natalie's words while sneaking glances at Shirou and Mordred. "With the divine ones on our side, we'll surely slaughter all our enemies to submission!" She said enthusiastically before quickly being shot down.

"No," Natalie shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

Who was to say that war always had to end with the subjugation of one opposing side? Natalie abhorred such a result, not only because it sounded barbaric, but because there was no telling who could come out the victor and the loser. The only certainty was an untold number of deaths on either side.

"I want peace. Coexistence."

Natalie stressed, echoing Gale's inner sentiments words for word.

"Will you help me?"

Gale looked at Natalie's offered hand and quickly made a decision. For the homeland. For the people. Was there even a need to ask? If rebellion against Horsa's rule was the only way forward towards a better tomorrow. Then so be it.

If a King's ability to rule was due to their divine right, then all the better.

The skies began to clear to reveal the light of the stars.

The divine one was on their side.

Arturia was acting as Natalie's handmaiden; Shirou was acting as Natalie's warrior; and Mordred was acting as Shirou's standard-bearer, and battle partner.

On the way to camp, Mordred was blushing while Arturia had no reservations about silently ogling her husband, and allowing her mind to wander.

Mordred felt that this entire act was increasingly tiring, but she'd never allow herself to be the one to ruin things for Shirou. The group had been invited into Gale's camp where discussions were being held by Gale and Natalie while everyone else was escorted to the middle of the campgrounds to relax.

As Natalie's handmaiden, Arturia served as Natalie's escort and was forced to temporarily leave Shirou and Mordred behind.

Arturia was reluctant about how the roles were distributed, but she could not argue with them, as the arguments made were sound. If she acted as Shirou's partner and battle-maiden, then there was the chance that she could be recognized as the former King Arthur in her armour. More importantly, someone of Mordred's personality was not suited for the role. Mordred would sooner break out of character than have the patience to sit through political meetings with Natalie.

Arturia, Mordred, and Shirou had been the only ones to accompany Natalie at the moment. The rest of the army was camped a large distance away with Sir Kay taking command. They'd only be used in the case of an emergency, as it would defeat the purpose of placing Natalie on the Saxon throne if her backers were seen to be an English army.

They would need allies. This was a battle of ideologies between Saxons. British involvement could not be discovered or they'd risk undermining the entire endeavor.

Mordred balked at the prospect that Merlin could even come up with a plan to overturn the war with the Saxons with just four people alone, but the Wizard had done so. Worse, both Shirou and Agravain agreed with Merlin's methods, leaving Mordred with little room to voice her doubts.

How exactly was an army of four supposed to win against an entire Saxon kingdom? It was never going to work. Her bangs shadowed her features as she pouted in concern. She didn't care much if she died a noble death in battle, but she absolutely did not want to see Shirou besieged by an army and exhausted to death. She wouldn't allow it, and neither would Arturia.

"Something wrong, Mordred?" Shirou called out.

Mordred pursed her lips and shrank in on herself, using Shirou's large frame in order to hide in his shadow. "N-No, absolutely nothing," she grumbled. Inwardly, she was seething in utter mortification.

Merlin was a fiend. A bastard, a crook, a deviant!

Nonstop curses filled Mordred's mind as her cheeks began to pinken.

Like Shirou, Merlin had modified Mordred's appearance to better suit their purposes. She was dressed like a fabled Valkyrie, only in a far more revealing attire. She had no qualms about her naval being exposed as she was used to wearing just a red tube-top in her leisure time, but it was the rest of the armour that was the problem. She wore something like a female loincloth that exposed the sides of her legs not covered by the length of her breeches. Sure, there was a feather tasset around her waist, but a simple breeze was enough to uplift the plumage and reveal the sides of her butt.

She felt scandalized and humiliated the first time it happened, and she refused to let it happen again. Merlin had probably made such a design as revenge for how many times she'd tried to skip her tutoring lessons.

Mordred wanted to punch something, but feared that the action itself would ruffle her feathers and reveal more than she was willing to show. She scowled, making herself look small and forcibly pressing her hands over her waist to keep her tasset from fluttering.

Her butt was starting to feel cold. It was a harrowing experience.

Something must have shown in Mordred's expression, as Shirou suddenly draped an arm around her and held her close while glaring at everyone else staring.

He'd picked up on her insecurity.

Yes. She was feeling increasingly self-conscious at all the stares she was receiving, and Shirou had acted again on her behalf. Perhaps it was time that she does her part in the mission?

"Play your parts," Merlin had stressed to all of them. "If you don't make it convincing, then there could be problems later."

Merlin was a Wizard of Dreams. He was part Incubus and could directly peer into the ideal images of the Saxons in the night. This was apparently where he'd garnered the inspiration for Shirou and Mordred's appearances.

Bah, fuck that! Mordred didn't believe it one bit. Recalling the vindictive nature in Merlin's eyes when he'd threatened to strip her in front of Shirou, Mordred's opinion of Merlin dropped further. Still, she couldn't just disregard Merlin's insights. He was the court wizard, and his words always held weight despite the man's personality.

"Remember, the two of you must stick close," Merlin's prior words echoed in Mordred's mind. "Valkyries are said to show favour to only the strongest and most valiant of warriors. If you distance yourself and cause Shirou problems, that's your fault."

Gritting her teeth, Mordred demurely clung to Shirou's arm, deftly turning her face away when Shirou questionably stared down at her. Mordred didn't answer, and if anything, she held on tighter to his arm, allowing Shirou to feel the rapid beating of her heart.

Don't question it. It was one of those times where Shirou felt like he could relate with Mordred. She wasn't the only one who was feeling conscious of her appearance.

Shirou didn't think that he'd ever get used to walking around half naked and wearing a battle kilt, but he was forced to endure regardless. The magical augmentation Merlin had granted him served to alter his appearance by giving him a few more inches in height, and pronouncing his muscle definition to rival Heracles. It looked like he could grate a stone with his abs alone and curl an entire horse cart with his biceps. Evidently, it was quite overboard, but not only had Arturia been red-faced and listless while biting her lips, but the Saxons adored it as well.

Shirou had to hand it to Merlin, he looked every bit the picture of the ideal Nordic Warrior in the Saxons minds. The Mjolnir (Fake) he had heft over his left shoulder only fueled the image further.

The Saxons in camp flocked to him in a swarm as he sat down to rest. He felt an ill premonition and quickly sat Mordred on his lap, hunching over her to shield her from view. She squeezed lightly on his hand for the gesture, and quietly thanked him in a small voice.

At first, Shirou had assumed everyone was staring at Mordred and got ready to shoo everyone away by force, but Mordred was not the focus of attention.

It was him.

He blinked in bewilderment. What were these people doing?

Dozens of men and woman had prostrated on their knees and tentatively held out small trinkets in their hands ranging from hot food to honoured heirlooms passed down for generations. Old leather armours, daggers, swords, helmets, and even the most valuable possession of each individual were all out in the open.

Mordred did not know what to think of the situation let alone Shirou. The two had vastly underestimated the reception they'd receive in a Saxon camp. The power of dreams was large, and there was no way that Merlin as a half-incubus would fail to comprehend the effectiveness of seeing a living legend.

"Y-Your tributes, mighty warrior! Please bless us all in battle!"

Wait what? Shirou balked as the Saxons began leaving their belonging in front of him while staring at him and Mordred with stars in their eyes.

"My cherished sword, take it!"

"Take my valuable!"

"Accept our burnt offerings!"

The sheer fervor in the air was unstoppable, and reached a point where Shirou could no longer just sit quietly and take everything. A ginormous pile of armour, weapons, food, and valuables were stacked in front of him and Mordred as if it was only natural.

Shirou didn't know whether to laugh or cry as he felt more and more Faith energy converge on the Mjolnir (Fake). Perhaps in time, it would transcend its replica state and become a real weapon of myth? Shirou didn't know the repercussion this would have for the future, but he knew Alaya would not be pleased.

The energy of the world was already working against him for altering the timeline so at the very least, he didn't want to openly provoke world judgment so soon.

"Thank you, I ugh, grant my blessings," Shirou tried to put the situation to a close, but faltered when he saw just how much more Saxons were running back to their tents to offer up more belongings.

Enough was enough, he stood up to leave with Mordred in tow, and left the Mjolnir (Fake) behind as a distraction. The Saxons were fixated on the hammer, and when told that they could try lifting it, they all flocked towards it.

"Move move! I'm far worthier than any of you!"

"Hey, who decided that?!"

A brawl ensued, and Shirou used the commotion to escort himself and Mordred away from the crowd and towards a more isolated area. Unfortunately, Shirou and Mordred were still too eye-catching and as such were not left alone.

"Bastards! I'll let you have a taste of my blessings!" Mordred clenched her fists. "I dare you all to come closer again!" Mordred wanted to lash out at everyone, but was rendered incapable of doing so, as she had her hands occupied with pressing down her feather tasset.

Seeing Mordred's discomfort, Shirou hoisted her up to sit on his shoulder so she could just concentrate on keeping her tasset in place while he searched for an area to rest. The magical wings Merlin had created on Mordred's back weren't just for show, and they helped balance her as Shirou moved.

To Mordred, the situation felt surreal. At the same time that she cursed at Merlin, she also couldn't deny that she was enjoying the time she was spending with Shirou. It reminded her too much of how it had been when it was just them on their journey to gain merits for the previous King.

Unfortunately, with Mordred sitting on Shirou's shoulder, the sight was too eye-catching, and caused quite a commotion.

Mordred could feel a certain gaze bore down on her back, but for the life of her, she just felt too happy in the present moment to care. She grins broadly despite the red covering the entirety of her face and was soon unabashedly laughing in mirth while hugging onto Shirou for stability.

Alternatively, watching from a distance in Gale's commander tent, Arturia began to sulk while crushing the cup of wine she was supposed to serve to Natalie in her hands. Natalie could only smile nervously while hoping that no one noticed Arturia's actions. It was a futile hope.

"Shall I call for them?" Gale asked cordially while grinning at how rowdy camp was becoming.

Natalie's first instinct was to refuse out of courtesy, but one look at Arturia's darkening complexion, and Natalie made up her mind. "Of course, please have someone call for them. My handmaiden is related to one of my friends there and she must be worried about all the attention her relative is receiving."

Gale hummed, looking from Arturia's face to Mordred's in the distance and instantly seeing the uncanny resemblance. "So be it. Cwenhild, if you'd please?"

"Of course, Captain," Cwenhild bowed and quickly ran after Shirou and Mordred while scolding the rest of the people in camp to behave themselves.

Within moments, Shirou and Mordred were seated along with Gale and Natalie. For her part, Mordred knew she was being stared down by Arturia. Mordred's back was ramrod straight and she dared not let out even a squeak in hopes that Arturia's irritation would soon die down. In some ways, Mordred felt like Arturia could be similar to her elder sister when it came to jealousy: It was a silent sort of intimidation.

"Have the two of you not considered having a child any time soon?" And then Gale just had to go and make things awkward. "A man's greatest pride is not just about his own merits, but the achievements of his children."

Gale didn't stop there. Staring right at Shirou and Mordred, he gave another earnest suggestion. "If you'd like, the two of you are free to use the private tent over there for your needs. I'll be sure to make sure no one approaches later in the night." As far as Gale was concerned, he was convinced that both Shirou and Mordred were from a different realm and hoped that by having a demi-god child, they'd leave him or her behind to one day become a hero of the Saxons.

Arturia was suddenly smiling an ominous smile, the metal pitcher of wine in her hands twisting unnaturally in her grip. Natalie who was sitting the closest to Arturia abruptly paled when she heard what Arturia was muttering under her breath. She was weighing the pros and cons of lashing out on a biased scale.

Despite Arturia's reservations and collected disposition, those that knew her well enough understood that she was going to explode, and Mordred was being no help. She'd short-circuited at the implied implications and had swirls forming in her eyes, as she tried and failed to deny having any interest in the activity. The mortification was mentally killing her. Heat in the form of steam wafted out from her as she unconsciously began releasing her magical energy.

Neither Arturia or Mordred were going to be of any help to diffuse the situation so naturally, Natalie turned to the ever dependable Shirou despite her fear of him. Surely if it was him, he'd know how to calm the two blonds down.

Natalie looked expectant, but this would be her first lesson on the topic of Shirou's ignorance to a woman's feelings.

"Sure," Shirou said as both Arturia and Mordred froze. "I'll take the offer."

NOOOO!

"Shirou, you bast-!"

Natalie quickly muffled Arturia's mouth, but not without difficulty as Arturia very nearly lunged forward. Arturia was a dragon in the guise of human form. She squirmed and thrashed, but somehow still maintained her elegance to the point that Gale and Cwenhild only stared questioningly.

Rather than muffle Arturia with her hands, Natalie had been forced to improvise and had instead stuffed Arturia's mouth with food which she chose to chew rather than spit out. Hunger was the enemy, and she'd never waste an opportunity to combat against it.

Gale looked in Natalie and Arturia's direction with an inquisitive eye. "Something wrong?" He asked.

"N-Nothing of the sort," Natalie responded while subtly jabbing Arturia's side with an elbow in hopes that she would restrain herself. It wasn't working. Her full attention was on Shirou even while furiously chewing down the food Natalie kept stuffing into her mouth to prevent an outburst.

If Gale found the situation weird, he didn't voice it due to the pleading expression on Natalie's face. "Well, uhm, I guess I'll let you rest for the time being since we've already hashed out a course of action."

Gale stood up and quickly left with Cwenhild in stride. He'd been able to read Natalie's silent pleas for him to leave, and he respected Natalie's wishes and did so. If they were working as partners now, it wouldn't due to strain the relationship.

"We march at first dawn," Gale reminded Natalie before he and Cwenhild were out of earshot.

An instant later, the lioness was let loose and was suddenly grappling Shirou to the ground with righteous indignation, as Mordred slinked to the corner of the tent. Her mind was utterly blank and she kept repeating the phrase 'he wants me, he wants me not,' before getting frustrated at a lack of an answer and punching at the ground

Shirou just hugged his arms around Arturia in a bid to get her to calm down. Rather than focus on the emotional aspect of Gale's offer, he'd focused on the practicality of the privacy it would give everyone. It wasn't as if he intended to use the tent as Gale had suggested. A private tent away from others would give him, Arturia, and Mordred the peace of mind to contact Artus and Annabel.

So why was he getting throttled for his considerations?

Shirou turned to Natalie for help, but all she did was huff, and leave him on his own. Unable to explain himself if Arturia wouldn't settle down, he grabbed her by the wrists and flipped himself on top of her, pinning her arms over her head. At the same time, he prepared himself for any unexpected mana bursts that would quickly reveres the positions.

The two of them were panting for breath, Arturia's expression set into a firm glare that only softened after Shirou kissed her on the lips. "Can you let me explain now?"

Arturia grunted and turned her face away, still in a foul mood. He eventually coaxed her into hearing him out after giving her a pleading look which she caved under. Shirou was not above guilting his wife if it meant getting his point across.

"I don't like it," Arturia pouted after Shirou finished explaining his perspective. "Why am I the handmaiden?"

Shirou didn't answer. Arturia knew why she was the handmaiden. She was obviously just venting, and by the looks of it, it wasn't going to end anytime soon.

Shirou wordlessly picked Arturia up into a bridal carry, and began walking towards the private tent as she listlessly nagged about the situation with a composed disposition.

"Why do the nobles think that they can boss you around? Well they can't." Arturia balled a hand into a fist and waved it in the air.

"Mmhmm," Shirou hummed.

"We would have had more options to plan things out if we were just given more time, but no. Camelot's backers insisted, and Merlin devised this stupid act." Arturia bit down on her lower lip while staring up at Shirou's face.

"Uh huh, sounds troublesome."

Arturia's brow twitched. "…Are you even listening?"

"Yup, yup, I agree. It's not fair and it will never be."

Shirou was letting words in at one ear, and out the other, only responding when necessary which caused Arturia to pout. Still, the careful grip Shirou kept around her was enough of an indication of how much he cherished her.

Arturia rested her chin on Shirou's right shoulder, her arms wrapping around his neck before she sighed. She'd complained enough, and now she was just fed up with the trail of events. She hugged Shirou closely and nuzzled her cheek against his neck.

They looked the very picture of husband and wife, and somewhere deep down inside of her, Mordred felt the first twangs of envy. Was it love? Was it something else? Regardless, she was feeling jealous of all the attention Arturia was receiving.

The irrational fear of neglect and abandonment brewing from within Mordred was anxiety inducing. She just wanted to be praised. Needed. Cherished. Wasn't that why she'd fought so hard to be recognized by the previous King?

But hadn't she already achieved that goal?

Mordred kicked at the ground unable to pinpoint the reason for her irritation. Worse, she was unable to hold any anger towards Arturia or Shirou due to her admiration for them, and was now forced to vent.

Natalie looked between Arturia and Mordred, and then at Shirou.

What a sinful man.

Gale had always been a man of action. Since he'd agreed to help Natalie fight for peace, he was not going to do so half-assed. Ordering a march first thing in the morning, and abandoning his post by the border, he knew that he'd soon be branded as a traitor by Horsa.

Regardless, Gale was mentally prepared. He'd grown weary from the long years of war and honestly just wished for everything to end. Coexistence was the only real solution he could come up with.

The British were strong, and although the number of Saxons migrating from the homeland seemed endless, Gale knew that there were still limits.

Horsa was hellbent on continuing hostilities, and was being blinded of his people's suffering due to his rage which belayed the man's vulnerability. Nothing was ever quite the same after Hengist's death. It broke Horsa's illusion of invincibility: That no power in Britain could ever threaten his life and rule over the Saxons.

The war tension grew ten-fold and Horsa was calling for the creation of the largest Saxon army in the land.

It would be a battle like none other, but in turn, the causalities would be uncountable. It was madness. The Saxons did not migrate for war, they migrated for a chance at a better life and the pursuit of happiness.

For this simple and honest reason, Gale finally made the decision to turn his back on Horsa after Natalie's prompting.

A King is not what makes a Kingdom, it's the people. Therefore, the path of least bloodshed and a brighter future was surely the road to take despite all obstacles in the way.

Like he'd discussed with Natalie, Gale marched his army into the jurisdiction of a fellow commander first thing in the morning. Shirou, Mordred, Arturia, and Natalie were marching alongside the Saxon army, Shirou trailed by a long line of admirers.

In the sky, a carrier pigeon began its descent and towards Gale who was leading his army from the front. Gale held his right arm up, and allowed the bird to perch over his leather glove in order to read the note tied to the pigeon's leg.

It would seem that his old friend, Edgar Freesia was well aware of Gale's arrival. Scouts had probably detected the army's movement, but had not warned of an attack since Gale was leading a friendly force.

Over the distant hill, Edgar's camp site could be seen filled with hundreds of soldiers resting in well-made barracks. It was almost noon, so many of the soldiers on the hills were sitting in front of campfires and cooking the day's meal in iron-cast pots.

It didn't take long for Gale's marching army to reach Edgar's, and from there, Gale dismounted from his horse and made a beeline towards Edgar's commander tent, Cwenhild following dutifully beside him.

"Leave this to me, Cwenhild," Gale said firmly as he and Cwenhild reached Edgard's military tent. "I will go alone. You know as well as I that this man's an old friend so you have nothing to worry about. He's the only one who'd let another army commander walk right up to his tent without permission."

"Well, he's just a senile grouch," Cwenhild grumbled while recalling what she knew of Edgar Freesia. He was a strong member of the army known for his battlefield insights, but had lost himself to drinking as of late.

"He's just disheartened." Gale waved Cwenhild off. "Now go fetch Lady Natalie. Her presence will be needed later."

"Sir," Cwenhild saluted and left to find Natalie.

Left behind, Gale moved directly inside Edgar's military tent. The interior was sparsely decorated with animal pelts and a large table at the center where a middle-aged geezer sat slumped. There was a mug of beer in the geezer's hand, and the man belched upon seeing Gale. Using a finger to scratch over unkempt blond hair balding at the crown, Edgar looked like a general drunkard with a bear belly. The sight invited all types of scorn, but Gale was different.

"Edgar," Gale greeted with a warm grin. "It's been a while."

"Gale," Edgar spoke in a slur while pushing himself up form his slump. Ink matted the left side of Edgar's face where he'd passed out over a feather pen moment's earlier. "Have you finally decided to quit the army like I've told you before? I already warned you that this fighting is all for naught. There's no longer any purpose in our battles other than for the sake of violence."

Gale shook his head while taking himself a seat across from Edgar. "I'm afraid not. I told you I'm a stubborn bastard, didn't I?"

Edgar mumbled something about misplaced youth and soon leveled Gale with a hard gaze. "So, what do you want ya brat?" Edgar looked deeper into Gale's expression and soon realized a fundamental difference from before.

"I see…" Edgar trailed off before taking a swig of his beer. "You've found your resolve. So tell me, what mad idea do you have in mind right now that had you abandon your post?"

Gale smirked. "I wouldn't call it mad, but a step in the right direction. Horsa's rule will soon come to an end."

Clarity returned to listless irises. Edgar carefully wiped away the ink-stains on his face and put aside all the paperwork on his desk with one arm.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of what you're suggesting, Gale." Edgar spat a glob of phlegm on the ground as his mind worked into overdrive. "You know how Horsa's been after news of his brother's death."

Gale didn't falter in the face of Edgar's scrutiny. He placed his hands in front of him and leaned forward with a deceptive calm. "Presently the enemy has the ability to match our vigour and tenacity ever since they've found their destined King," he reiterated. "The land we once invaded is not the same as it is now."

Edgar crossed his arms over his bear belly and frowned. "Then you wish to change things? It's not that easy," he shook his head. "The people revere Horsa as one of the Kings who paved a way for them to live upon the fertile fields of this land. It's impossible to convince them otherwise and stop the war unless you possess authority than Horsa."

"Cessation of hostilities is possible." Gale reminded unperturbed

"What's the guarantee? What do you expect our people to place their faith in against the inland bastards?" Edgar was far from convinced at all. People could speak big words, but words meant nothing if no action was ever taken.

Suddenly, a commotion forced the two to halt their discussion.

"Captain, quickly! L-Look outside!" One of Edgar's aides entered the room and beckoned Edgar to look at the woman approaching the tent from a distance escorted by Cwenhild.

"Lady Natalie," Edgar muttered in muted shock. The eldest daughter of Hengist lives and she was directed to sit right outside the tent until Gale's talk was over. "She was alive?"

"I was getting to that," Gale sent Natalie a thankful nod before shaking his head at Edgar and getting to the point.

"Lend us your army, old friend. We have the backing of a princess of the Jutes. She can take ownership of the Kingdom." Gale stressed. "I know she's not a prince, but if we couldn't change anything before, well now, now there's hope."

A successor to the throne was on their side. Rebelling against Horsa now would not be a simple rebellion, but an act of righteousness should their side come out the victor.

"She's a woman? Since when does a woman inherit?" Edgar raised a valid point for the time period.

Gale only had a single response. "So?"

Who said that women weren't capable leaders? Gale had heard enough stories of Britain's new Queen to acknowledge her capabilities. It was also said that she could be just as strong as the new King. A shuddering thought. "If it really matters to the people, then the position of King can still be left to Lady Natalie's husband."

"A fair point," Edgar conceded. "However, your military forces aren't enough for what you're suggesting."

Edgar did not allow himself to lose his rationality over his personal thoughts and emotions. "You are but a single commander attempting to rebel against Horsa's rule. What can you possibly do with such small rebel group compared to the kingdom?"

Silence stretched, and Edgar sighed at Gale's lack of wisdom, but it was a concept learned through experience. Optimism could only lead a man so far before reality shatters inflated dreams and ambitions.

"Go away Gale, you're still too young. If you're fast, I can make a report explaining your sudden desertion of your post." Edgar shooed Gale away, but faltered at Gale's reaction.

Gale laughed long and hard. Perhaps if he'd not experienced certain events in his life, he'd agree with Edgar's reasoning, but this was different. "Sometimes quality is all that's needed. The toughest sword can strike through the hardest of obstacles."

Gale suddenly stopped laughing and sat up while listening to the sound of thunder rumbling through the air. Edgar raised a brow; he was sure that it was sunny mere moments ago?

"How about a wager, old friend?"

A wager? For a moment, Edgar got caught up in Gale's momentum and actually started to believe in the man's words. Rubbish.

"Go on." Edgar's mouth betrayed his interest at Gale's proposal.

"One man against all of yours…bare-handed and unarmoured." Gale pressed with an unnatural level of confidence. "If I win, you march with me. If I lose, lets pretend I was never here, and I'll give you my life's savings in gold."

Gale extended a hand out for a firm shake as a storm suddenly began to gather in the skies above.

Edgar scratched at the scruff of his beard as he hummed. Interesting.

One hand soon grasped onto the hand of another.

The table was set, the pieces in line, and the hidden witch could not have been anymore pleased.