REX RESURGAM !

          “ UNDERESTIMATE ME NOT ,  ASSASSIN ; I KNOW THE INNER WORKINGS OF THIS CONTRAPTION . “  gloves put away in favour of much more mobile hands , Arturia grabs the phone and a good , hard stare is given ; it must be told to SUBMIT before use . it must understand its place , and soon enough , instructions are given : swipe left to unlock . a quick swipe to the left of the screen with her thumb , and then a triumphant grin over at the woman .

ARTURIA PENDRAGON.

❝ well, aren’t you … ❞ the gifted words, about to fall from his lips, falter. for what could he compare her to ? a spired crown, regal and austere, may just be a reminder of the victory she has squandered, with a battalion as brittle as him. but neither is she so fragile as tender gems of sapphire and rubies, mere knick-knacks in comparison to her true opulence. ❝ … very — handsome. ❞ he utters, tame as a lamb, wobbling on birth-damp hooves. he gives a crinkling, ruche-ruffled smile, lips thinly together, glancing downwards. ❝ your blazer has been pressed, and i can braid your hair. ❞ tying a french rope or fish-tail of wheat-pale threads, firmly fastened with bobby pins, in mere moments; curling fingers to palms, to not brush the ivory curve of her ears, or the nape of her throat.

❝ i’ve eaten. ❞ he lies: in the kitchen, there sits in a dark, warm pan, a stack of plump pan-cakes, fruit buried within the layers of dough, fragrant with sugar, but he hasn’t an appetite. he couldn’t eat much more than a few nibbles, with the fluttering of his stomach. ❝ and my homework is finished. ❞ simple school-work of pencilled problems, leaving merely a smear of ugly graphite against the creamy underside of one wrist. such daily dalliances would be trifling to other servants: prideful lancer, or mad berserker, but not to caster — he almost adores it. to concern and fuss over such petty tasks: scrubbing dishes, shopping for supper, hanging clothes upon the cotton line, is another day of summer simplicity.

what will they do — when the war begins in earnest, and the first blood is spilt ? their present strategy is the best: to simply wait for the others to die. the command spells almost sparkle: ruby engravings ‘pon flesh. if she uses them, he would try not to begrudge her for it. although, there would hardly be a task he would not carry out for her. or so he had sworn, but ——— no. mana would not run dry, not as long as he draws from her well of magic, as if pure water fetched from dark stones.

clotted-cream-pale and strawberry-scone-pink, kurt wrests his gaze elsewhere: he has been watching arturia for several moments too much. ❝ master ? ❞ there is no reason for the addressment, simply sampling the term: sugary upon his tongue, as if lumps of fine sugar, a lovely flavor. he drops to his knees, beginning to thread her loose locks into a low tail. ❝ after classes … ❞ he shortly finishes, patting the bouquet of golden hair. ❝ i want to be of service to you. ❞ he swallows, mouth parting, chin trembling: but he must say it.  ❝ i want to help you. as your servant, or as a caster, or as ——— a - anything. ❞

       “ YOU HAVE NOT, “ she speaks quietly, referring to the partaking of sustenance that her Servant has clearly failed to do! for her vessel is indeed a most veritable fountain of mana, able to provide endlessly like the overflowing waters of blessing, and who else better would know her own Servant  —  her own knight!   —  than Arturia herself? lips purse momentarily before gracing him with another smile of her own, finding no fault. “ to shift the topic of discussion would be unwise with me, Kurt  —  if anything, I would suggest that compliments meant to divert my attentions would be best made when we break our fast for the morning. “

       for the King knows how to jest; it is not like she has steeled her face forever, and yet, she can count how many times she has smiled on both her hands. like in all wars, however, none can jest for so long, none can smile and make merry in the light of spilled blood, for there will be blades and there will be death on the fields  —  the sights and smells of it reaching their very beings until the weak would go mad with SORROW. 

       she is ROYAL-BORN  —  no body of a feeble woman, she would not accept, for her body matters not! so long as she has legs and arms, she would hold a sword and run to fight, but at the sudden beckonings of her Servant to pay heed unto him, she turns away from her thoughts, regarding his words with almost a bit of wonderment before she replies.

ARTURIA PENDRAGON.

she cannot expect victory, not with him. from the trio of command spells, as if delicate patterns of scarlet lace, glimmering upon the back of her hand, she is a master worthiest of a strong servant. not the meager boy-caster, once flesh reduced to ghostliness, burdensome in battle. ❝ master — ❞ fingers knock upon the doors of her private quarters, expecting to find her, perhaps, in the navy school blouse, a breakfast napkin tucked in her pocket. he takes careful measure to match her clothing, in his own nautical embroidery: to not be too noticeable in another era, attending classes together, under the guise of a transfer student. ❝ are you getting ready for school ? ❞ 

he glances outwards: to the tart apples, drooping upon slender branches, shedding their blossoms, beginning to soften and yield palatable fruit, just beyond the window-pane. although they are in a war, the peace-times are what he cherishes. — that, and her. her admirable iron will; the butter-yellow glimpse of unbrushed hair in the morning, before braiding; moments of softness and friendship. ❝ — are we going together ? ❞ he broaches, a splayed palm gingerly pressing the door open. arturia is gold-dabbled and lovely, staid and stern — deserving of the glittering grail of wonderful wishes. kurt is inadequate for the fighting — if only he were a saber class, or just another bystander, ordinary and botherless.

      FROM HOMILIES, HER VESSEL BRINGS AN ABSENT THOUGHT TO MIND — knock, and it shall be answered. she notes how early everything seems to be, from the moment she felt flesh, bone and blood to the waking hours of the morning, attending an institution for another’s sake. in this day and age, they promote learning; an equal right for all to make their own way into the wider world, and it was then that Arturia realizes as to how much the world has changed, as well as how much it stayed the same, all at the same time. her Servant comes in, smartly-dressed and ever polite, a good and faithful KNIGHT in his own way, though he sees and knows it not.

       “ IT SMELLS GOOD FROM HERE, MORDRED. “

       and was not that the very first praise that she had delivered to her son in her entire life, training notwithstanding? it is Mordred’s culinary skills that draws her into the kitchen, her kind invitation prompting the King to sit down to be served. and yet, there is the nagging feeling of wishing to contribute to the cooking, something that she can do to also satisfy Mordred’s palate as much as Mordred tried to satisfy hers.

       but she had been blind, deaf and mute for so long; the sudden longings to display fatherly affection tangle and jumble up within her heart of hearts, thus she settles to take things one at a time simply for her own sake. she takes a fork, places more strips of bacon on her son’s plate and smiles; a growing knight needs her sustenance.

       “ go on, eat more; I am pondering as to what to make for us as we speak. “

    There was no reaction to the threat that Saber had placed on the Magus. She simply kept her gaze trained on Saber, and spoke with a tone that was all too familiar. Saber thought back on all the times she’d heard the great King Arthur address his knights and his people, the speeches he’d give, the orders he’d issue out for the Table. Arthur Pendragon, a King who was wiser than anyone Saber had ever known. So many years she’d spent, watching with awe and reverence in her eyes as the King spoke. It hadn’t mattered what he said to his court; she hung on his every word as if he was blessing her, as if his very existence was as magical as the Holy Grail itself that the kingdom sought.

   Saber idolized her father. Now, she was flashed back to those moments, the Magus’s words disarming her. Unconsciously, her arms lowered, Clarent moving away from her neck. Her lips were parted, her jaw dropped in bewilderment. She blinked, once, twice, absorbing the lecture with the naivete of the child she once was. Part of her, though slim and nearly nonexistent, was insulted by the tone, proud and loud. I’m a Servant and the heir to Arthur Pendragon, the small part said, I do what I want!

     However, she made no protests.

       Clarent disappeared.

    She stepped back and dropped her hands to her sides, pursing her lips. Seconds ticked by, and she was still speechless. Eventually, she opened her mouth to speak up once more, ❝ So be it, ❞ she conceded, finally acquiescing. She looked to the ground briefly before raising her eyes once more, squaring her shoulders. With her chest out and her chin held high, she stood proud as a knight, a Knight that served beside His Majesty, for the first time in almost two thousand years.

       ❝ I am Mordred, son and true heir to Arthur Pendragon! ❞ she proclaimed, ❝ I, a Servant of the Saber class, hereby accept you, Auron Marshall, as my Master! Our fates are now one, and so shall the Contract be forged! I will serve you; my sword is yours to command! ❞

       IT IS DIFFERENT, BUT THE ESSENCE OF THE OATH REMAINS SIMILAR.  it is of the knight her son pledging allegiance to her once again, with all the pride of a rightful, anointed servant to her master. for the fate of the once and future King had hers tied to the numerous others who had served under her, and as a chance, an opportunity to remedy the past long gone, if repetition is what is intended, then she can find no words nor oppositions against it.

       “ then these are my bearings, “ Arturia speaks; there are things that will be made especially clear, as she displays the set of command seals on the back of her right hand to Mordred, clearly still feeling the stings of remnant power as a result from a carved seal. “ of these three, I shall use none; we will discuss tactics in an orderly manner, and should there be any transgressions or disagreements between us, we shall seek to settle them well. in battle, you will follow your better judgement, or you will choose to follow my suggestions. we will shield each other from our foes and we will aid our allies; this is what we will do. “

       for knights live by the rules; they live by honour and they live by servitude, whether it is the highest of Kings to the lowest peon. there is a code that must be followed, there is a sense of morality with appropriate conduct. with her hand, she places it on Mordred’s shoulder in blessing, and yet, though she wished to grant her a smile of consolation, it would not be. Clarent’s bearer was more accustomed to hardened instructions.

   Saber raised a brow upon hearing the declaration, and the emphasis provided in the name. As she suspected, this was not her father, but a Magus who was someone else entirely. The resemblance was uncanny though… The cheekbones, the authoritative look in her eyes… they were even the same height. Saber had difficulties believing this was not her father.

   She circled the Magus, not unlike a predator lurking around its prey, eyes observing the woman from head to toe. Saber felt nothing from their bond thus far, but she was unwilling to bond with this stranger as a Servant; naturally she wouldn’t be able to garner information as to who this Auron Marshall was, yet. Her suspicions were exponentially high.

   In the darkness, her weapon, the infamous cursed sword used to murder her father, was raised, the red sparks illuminating their surroundings and casting light on her still contorted face. Her eyes, as green of gems as that of her father’s, held a dark and bestial glare to them.

      ❝ I know not of who you are, ❞ she began, her voice a growl, ❝ or what sorcery you cast to assume the face of my father, but I will not hesitate to cut you down. I have not accepted your Contract just yet… Auron Marshall. Answer me this: why do you seek the Grail? What is your wish? ❞

   Mordred hadn’t known of any other children her father had. Likewise, she hadn’t bore children in her lifetime. The prized bloodline would’ve ended at them… shouldn’t it? It was nearly two thousand years later. The both of them were long dead. Moreover… what Magecraft could this person have used to alter their appearance to that of the King’s? The Glorious Arthur Pendragon bared his face to very few; in life, hardly anyone should’ve known what he looked like, and it had to be impossible for any artwork to exist of his true appearance.

   Who was she?

       “ DO NOT HASTEN, MORDRED, LEST YOU BRING UPON UNWANTED ATTENTIONS. “

       do not hasten, Arturia said, and when was the last time she had ever given this piece of advice to the one before her? it is unmistakably the blessed sword Clarent that has been drawn at her with all intentions to strike her down should she speak out of turn, however, to speak of truth now would simply not do. she had last seen both sword and wielder on that fateful day in Camlann, and once again, she was met with the blade of the sword that she had placed into the treasury of Camelot with her fullest of hopes and her numerous wishes.

       “ whether or not you have accepted it, “ she speaks, as impassively as when she had addressed her knights of old in the days of war and calamity, “ your choice does not hold precedence over the workings of the war. for whatever is my wish shall be held to myself and myself alone, but if you dare to draw the blessed sword once more, then you may release yourself of this fate henceforth. “

       and of sorcery; who was more adept in it among them? Mordred, surely, Auron, seconded, but it was truly a shock to Arturia herself to have found a girl of her stature and her features to cooperate with in the first place! a willing vessel who gave her little troubles, a means to be able to become a Master in her own right instead of having to enter disputes with numerous unsuitable Masters......in this right, Mordred can only be too similar to her in being accordingly selective.

       WORDS FAIL HER,  they oft do. they want nothing to do with her mouth at opportune moments, they leave her staring at the past her son! in the face. should it have been fate, it was certainly cruel  —  oh, so cruel!  —  for when she asked for a second chance to do it all over again, it grants her a portion of her wish most early, at haste!

       she sees her splitting image  —  the eyes and hair that Mordred inherited from her, the build that was honed from numerous battles, the contorted expression of near anger being painted across and all over her countenance to the point where it could not be mistaking it; this is her son, whom she had slain by her own hands at Camlann. there was indeed the initial declaration of pride over the thing that Arturia had dismissed callously back in days long past; the true heir to Arthur Pendragon has returned, back to her liege’s and father’s side.

       traitor, they called Mordred, but Arturia herself had not. to hear of the resemblance that Auron bore her as mockery gives her an opportunity out; a way to assuage the situation so as to never repeat the same mistakes again, now that she was given the chance.

       IT IS THE HONEST TRUTH THAT THE KING IS UTTERLY STUNNED; parrying swords and instructing the heir apparent that is her son  ⁠—  her one and only, and no one else’s, for she had strove for the chance to be bother father and mother to him!  ⁠— was a necessity to build up the combative skills that the other lacks. there is no greater teacher than experience if one is left to the world’s clutches, yet at the same time, remove a guiding figure and one would be sure to lose their way. emerald hues blink momentarily at the unseemly wobbling figure of the crown prince, as a gauntlet-clad hand would reach out to hold him for support in fear of him falling.

       “ my son, I believe you should retire early...... “ the King mumbles; possibly, the hit must have been too hard for him to express his jubilation over being simply trained! had not the entirety of Camelot seen the mirth of the young prince already, but to be gay after being hit on the head proper? “ I.....am overjoyed that you would find our training most gay, but your head....! “

       “ RIN—! “

       because is this truly the daughter of the previous Archer’s Master? to have her food suddenly stolen from her like that, a winking eye with the disappearance of a most emerald gem serving as the only mischievous response almost floored both her and the consciousness of her most courageous vessel, in which there was a united, unanimous decision to wrestle her cream bread back, and gain victory while she is at it!

       she lunges forward with much speed and agility; it is a fragile yet wondrous piece of bread, wrapped in the most promotionable wrapper that could ever grace the shelves of any store, and with every grace of a typical English university student, she flounders. and yet, the cream bread must be hers, it must be hers.....!

       “ relinquish the cream bread at once, Rin! “ Arturia exclaims. “ mine own property is not yours to take! purchase your own if you so desire one! “