Chapter 57

Sometimes even the most outspoken of individuals could be rendered into silence at a moment's notice, it just so happened that this was one of those occasions.

Staring out at the gathered nobility across from him, Shirou took particular note of the people that had been antagonizing Arturia and made sure to level his gaze on them. They flinched almost by instinct, most trying to stand their ground but feeling inadequate in their own dispositions.

There was a flare to him at this moment that was different from his standard. In fact, he was still wearing the same leathers and leggings that he'd worn in the past, but as it was a formal gathering, Bedivere had picked out the most suitable attire for him to wear. The mantle he wore, and the symbol of the Ashton Crest etched beneath it was a daunting combination to the older nobility.

The Ashton Crest, was a symbol that could not be faked. The authentic crest exuded an aura that was beyond human understanding that no forgery could ever replicate, no matter how detailed. Moreover, its sheer presence felt as if hundreds of boulders were weighing down on the backs of the masses, such that they had no choice but to incline their heads.

It was an overbearing feeling that no mortal human ignorant to the world of magic could ever hope to cope with.

The mysterious air that had once surrounded the late Duke Ashton suddenly appeared once more in what could only have had been the supposedly dead heir of Lord Ashton.

Presently, the older nobility could distinctly feel the familiar overbearing aura in the air, and it struck them mute as images of a single charismatic leader once again returned to their minds.

Duke Ashton was a figure that had once acted as the defacto leader of the High Nobles of Britain, creating an intelligence network that had spanned throughout the country in search of rampant beasts and monsters. He fought them alone, using only his most trusted familiars to slay beasts while raising up his own faction amongst the nobility to quell the monsters of man.

Duke Ashton's reputation within the nobility was not without merit, just that the man tended to stay away from worldly affairs and only acted when necessary. This prevented his image from being well known to the commoners, but it solidified his standing amongst the nobles. In particular, he had been ruthless to any who dared stir trouble in the area near Bristol where the Duke's young family resided.

The Duke was both capable, and level headed, constantly maintaining the political balance between his faction of nobles under his service to prevent infighting that could ruin his intelligence network. It was a level of skill and management that had only been so effective due to the admiration that the nobles under Duke Ashton's service had for the man.

Duke Ashton's Faction and intelligence network was dubbed by the other unrelated nobility as the Bastards Association or Second Borns out of spite and jealousy.

To instil loyalty in his faction, Duke Ashton had only ever recruited and brought up bastard children or sons and daughters of nobles not due for successions of their houses. Of course, it could not be said, but the second borns and bastards Duke Ashton had brought up almost always surpassed the social standings of their original family names. This was due mainly to the merit they accumulated from following Duke Ashton into battle.

Constantly military service and mobilization meant that Duke Ashton's faction was the strongest in battle in the circle of High Nobility. Naturally, he was the first Duke that the late King Uther had sought for help against the Saxons before tragedy had befallen.

The news of Duke Ashton's assassination as well as his entire family was a mortal blow to the faction that the late Duke had raised from the ground up. Without Duke Ashton, the entire organization was basically a headless mammoth. The other high nobles had swooped in like vultures to fight for a piece of the meat which fractured the whole political landscape and left nothing for Uther to truly rely on before his passing.

The later news of an heir of Lord Ashton had therefore been shocking amongst the older nobility. More so for the original members of the Bastard's Association who wished to swear loyalty to the descendant of their greatest benefactor.

Duke Barwheld, Ferdinand, and Frederick from the first battle of the river Gleinn were examples of members of the Bastard's Association. It was they who had first spread the information of a surviving heir of Duke Ashton and caused a political stir.

The other members were beyond elated and had been making their preparations for years to greet the young lord.

Tales of the feats he'd accomplished spread around by both commoners and soldiers alike in a time of war against the Saxons solidified the notion that an heir of Duke Ashton existed. Beast Slayer, Army Killer, Master Forger, Agriculture Master, many titles were spreading and growing exaggerated through time. Different from Duke Ashton who did not openly interact often with the masses, Shirou had followed Arturia in her younger years to any and every kind of conflict he could help her with. In left an impression on all the people he, Arturia, and the rest had once saved. Where Arturia was, Shirou was there. In this way, it did not take long for Arturia to be revealed as the successor of Uther.

Many High Nobles suddenly assumed that Uther and Duke Ashton had come to an agreement to keep their children together in hiding until they grew up to able to fend for themselves against their enemies.

A legend of two.

Hope for the future of the country was beginning to emerge once more.

Although Uther had vast loyalty as the King, primarily from his loyalists, a significant number still held Duke Ashton in a similar regard and admiration. The fact that both of their children were friends and allies was heartening and a God-send for the country. Yet, it was ironic that this matter was where the High Nobles had become split between swearing fealty to Arturia, the successor of Uther, or remaining neutral.

Rumours had spread after Shirou/s sudden disappearance saying that the last Ashton was dead, Arturia's negligence the cause. Many Nobles who wished to support Arturia and Shirou refused to believe the story and tried to remain positive. However, the situation was only made worse with how guilty Arturia's actions had made her look when she had flown into a sorrow-induced rage when called out in public over the matter.

The enthusiasm of the Nobles whose loyalty leaned more towards Duke Ashton had extinguished then and there.

Thinking about it now, it could only have had been a carefully laid out plot to reduce Arturia's power base and standing.

Thinking about it deeper, the only one who sought to gain from such a situation where the fate of the country was at stake could only be one.

Morgan.

Only she had been present to witness Shirou's supposed 'death.'

And only she would have had used a method in which Arturia had little mental defence against to pour salt at a festering wound.

It was enough. He was back. He was here.

Shirou's admission had stunned the entire crowd, particularly those of the older nobility in attendance.

The man he'd just punched in the face lay groaning on the opposite side of the room. He'd held back his punch, but the sheer physical power he'd gained after bathing in Fafnir's blood may have had caused him to go a little overboard. He had knocked the man unconscious, and if not for him hastily pulling his arm back moment before contact, he may had caved the poor man's face in rather than just sent him flying.

Like a guardian protector, he stood in front of Arturia, and seemed to be daring anyone to try and insult the woman he loved again.

For her part, Arturia was doing nothing to reprimand Shirou's actions, putting on a poker face while inwardly growing warm and flustered. It wasn't a bad sort of feeling. Instead, it was a feeling that she'd not felt in a really, really, long time. Her lips quivered.

She wanted to hug him, and ask if he'd remembered anything, but due to the location, she had no choice but to restrain the impulse. However, that didn't mean that someone as experienced as Merlin could not read the minute changes occurring over Arturia's face.

Merlin was the one watching the interaction the most keenly, an ink-stained quill in his free hand as he noted down his observations in the form of notes. His eyes were particularly blood shot as he reviewed detail after detail of what he'd written before nodding to himself.

As for the gathering, Merlin didn't care anymore. Shirou could handle it after he'd already made such a mess. Besides, rather than doing work, Merlin had always preferred to watch a good show, and this was clearly the beginning of one.

"Lies!" A frantic voice echoed across the room when it looked as if the Nobles were cowed by Shirou's presence.

The voice originated from the second floor where the Duke's son surveyed the gallery below with a pale complexion. He swallowed upon looking at the state of his representative; eyes frantic, almost pleading as he looked towards the older nobility for support. "Lord Ashton is dead!" he insisted.

None moved to help him.

It wasn't because they didn't want to, but because they were simply unable to.

The older Nobility could feel it. The flame-like aura that exuded from Shirou's form was entirely reminiscent to Duke Ashton's own. Moreover, Efret was a familiar sight to the upper nobility as the Duke's hunting companion.

Even without the authenticity of the Ashton Crest, Efret's presence alone was enough verification.

Its eyes were narrowed as it seemed to recognize certain faces in the crowd, and dared them to object to Shirou's identity. They would not last amidst a sea of fire that Efret could produce. Efret was giving them a warning that silenced Duke Ashton's original political enemies, now grey-haired with wrinkled faces. Unfortunately, none of the younger nobles outside of Duke Ashton's time were able to understand.

"Exactly!" They called. "How can you expect us to believe that you're actually Lord Ashton on word of mouth and appearance alone?"

Efret unfurled its wings, causing the older nobility to flinch while the younger nobility continued to be ignorant to the danger that was fast approaching them.

Sensing what was about to happen, Shirou placed a hand on Efret's back, Efret turning its head to stare at him silently. Finally, with a huff, Efret tucked its wings back and no longer took actions to move.

Shirou spoke out in the next instant, a hand over his chest. Against any who sought conflict with Arturia, he would reciprocate the notion in full.

"What proof do you have to claim that I'm lying? Better yet, what makes you think that I'm already dead?" His tone was clipped.

"She said so," The words left the mouth of the Duke's son in his frustration.

Shirou's brows instantly rose while Arturia's face darkened after careful contemplation.

"Who's 'she?'" Shirou's tone was icy.

As if realizing that he'd said something wrong, the Duke's son put on an ugly expression for the slip up and switched the topic.

The man was clearly panicked, his fluster to evade the issue, not helping him in the slightest. "I-It doesn't matter." He pointed a finger. "Just as you say that I have no evidence, where is yours?"

Evidence?

Why would he need evidence to impersonate himself?

Very well, if this was how it was going to go then forget formalities. Just as they had tried to humiliate Arturia, it was his turn to return the gesture.

The change in his disposition was abrupt, a chill travelling down the opposing noble's backs.

The Lord Ashton that everyone knew of from the rumours was a man of supernatural feats and abilities. He was a Beast Slayer, a man of miracles and legends, a Wizard.

If Efret did not seem to be enough to convince the younger nobles, then surely this next approach would quell all doubts.

From his side, he produced a single hammer held with one hand. It was the very one that Emily had given back to him after he had left it aside to come to Arturia's aid in her past encirclement.

Presently, it was making its reappearance, causing Tristan to suck in a breath when he saw it and recalled just how abnormal the hammer was.

To everyone else, they stared at the hammer in befuddlement right until Shirou had absently lobbed it towards the Noble's feet and it cratered the ground. Cracks spread out like miniature spider webs forming over the earth.

"Lift it," was all that was said.

It was his forging hammer. The very one that was akin to a forming Noble Phantasm.

It was made heavy, dense metals pounded together into a brick-shaped mallet forged in a fiery tempered flame.

Only someone of his physical capabilities could possibly lift it easily, and even then, it would still be difficult without reinforcement. It was what gave the Saxons the false impression of the Mjolnir, the Divine Construct of Thor, the God of Lightning.

Already, crackles of writhing sparks travelled up and down the hilt of the hammer, the scent of ozone suffusing the air. It was the scent of early rain. Of storms and hail bringers.

The impression of the Mjolnir had already solidified in the hearts of the Saxons who'd witnessed it. All it would take was a little more faith and belief for the legend of the hammer to crystalize and become whole, much like the early prototypes of Noble Phantasms found within the Gate of Babylon. It was through myth and belief that simple objects and weapons became legends.

Arcs of lightning charred the floor around the hammer, and to every Noble's horror, they were growing stronger.

Merlin raised a brow as he assessed the weapon before him. He had not seen it before, but there was no way he would not realize what was forming before his eyes. He was intrigued. He'd have to ask about the story behind the hammer later.

None of the Nobles had the courage to step forward towards the hammer.

The rumours Shirou had made about himself through his actions portrayed him as someone that was unfathomable by mortal means. The fact that he had produced such a hammer, gave more credibility to his claim of being Lord Ashton than any explanation that he could speak from his mouth.

"Well, what's wrong?" Shirou spoke absently. "Did you not need to verify for yourself whether or not I'm lying? So why not pick up the hammer to inspect it?"

"…" The Duke's son was rendered mute. He had actually tried to reach out for the hammer before, but faltered when he sensed the danger the lightning posed to him. "You're cheating. You would give me something that you yourself can't pick up!"

The lightning was dangerous. It could potentially kill anyone that wasn't careful.

Shirou raised a brow in response while walking forward towards the hammer he had lobbed to the ground.

The tendrils of blue lightning directly struck him, but rather than doing harm, they clung onto him and scattered over his body, producing zapping noises that contrasted with the flames Efret produced to protect itself.

In a single motion, Shirou picked up the hammer with a single hand, looking at everyone else in the silence. "I, am the Lord Ashton that you all speak of."

None doubted him at this point, and even the Duke's son held his tongue back.

The atmosphere became oppressive over the Nobles that opposed Arturia while the others that were unrelated had expressions of admiration. It was particularly those that were still part of the association that Duke Ashton had raised from the ground up.

The political powers in attendance suddenly had to reconsider their stand points given the revelation of an heir of Duke Ashton's return. Many representatives even went as far as to immediately attempt to contact their Lords and Ladies.

Putting away the hammer, Shirou made his way back to Arturia's side without another word, not even giving the Duke's son a glance. He brushed passed Arturia, giving her a reassuring smile when their gazes met before he moved behind her and knelt down on a knee. Tristan and the others promptly followed suit.

His intentions were clear.

Arturia's decisions were his decisions. She had always had his full support in anything that she did.

This fact never changed.

And it was something that he wanted both the Nobles and Arturia to understand.

For her part, Arturia shuddered while doing her best to stop herself from sobbing. It didn't matter how many years had passed, or how far away they had been from each other. The fact that Shirou was with her now and aiding her in her endeavors once again left her so happy that it was hard to hold back the moisture accumulating over her eyes.

Merlin put down his writing quill and finally turned his attention back on the gathering. Despite how violent things had become, in the end, he may as well consider the gathering as a success based on the way the neutral factions were heatedly discussing with each other.

He stared at Shirou without a hint of pity, his clairvoyance making him aware of the circumstances that would soon befall him for his actions.

It simply wouldn't be long before an innumerable number of invitations from the Nobles would be directed his way, one of which was bound to become complicated.

Merlin hummed, and kept the information to himself.

Only time would tell what was to come, and he would be waiting.

LINE BREAK

Elsewhere, in the distant and grassy plains near the borders of Gwent, a troop of over three-hundred-strong marched across the area. Several commanders were out on horseback while the rest consisted of infantry troops wearing thick chain-mail and leathers.

"Have they still not been found?" A gruff voice spoke out from a man riding upon an armoured horse.

Two axes were strapped over the man's back and his stature towered over the average Knight, standing at over two meters. The man was Hengist who had mobilized his personal troops after sending word to his brother about his deployment. More men were still on the way after the recent intelligence report that King Arthur and the Mjolnir were heading on a convoy towards the town of Gwent. By now, it was certain that they had already arrived.

"Reporting sir," a scarred man spoke up in reply, bowing slightly at the waist. "Your daughter and the escaped Sir Kay have yet to be found despite traces of them being here."

Hengist hummed in thought.

He wasn't the kind of man to get angry over small matters. His main priority at the moment was the Mjolnir that he'd heard was in the hands of King Arthur's army. He had to reobtain it, not only for his personal ambitions, but for the honour of Saxons everywhere.

His position as the first King of Kent would only further solidify if he became the legendary hammer's wielder.

It was much the same way that no one had doubted King Arthur's ascension due to the king possessing the Sword in the Stone.

Saxon tradition however was different. They respected power above all else, and the wielder of the Mjolnir could only be the mightiest of warriors.

None would be able to defy him at that point.

"No matter," he responded back to his subordinate. "They'll turn up sooner or later. Just continue focusing on gathering the men and war weapons. It doesn't matter how formidable the army in Gwent is. Make the preparations." Hengist waved a hand out. "We will begin sieging the moment are numbers reach an acceptable level."

The reason Hengist was so confident that Sir Kay and his daughter would eventually turn up was due solely for a single reason: Sir Kay was a Knight of King Arthur. If he was in the area, he would not be able to sit still and watch a siege occur on Gwent where King Arthur currently resided.

It was simply striking two birds with a single stone.

Still, Hengist had to remain careful lest the strategy be broken apart.

"Alwin," Hengist called out to his scarred subordinate.

"Yes?" Alwin glanced backwards as he mounted his horse.

"Is that army detached from King Arthur's main force still searching around?"

Alwin nodded his head while pulling on the reins of his horse to stabilize himself. "They are due east of here. We've been avoiding their detection for the past few days, but its clear that King Arthur's side must have heard of Sir Kay's escape. Are you asking me to lead a force to eliminate them?"

Hengist considered the proposal, but the risk of pre-emptively alerting King Arthur of the situation before an encirclement was created was too much to bear. "No," he said flatly. "Just harass them instead with a small unit of men while setting up an ambush farther away. Make them think that our numbers are smaller than what they seem, and if they dare give chase and move far enough from Gwent that they can no longer contact reinforcements, you should know what to do."

Hengist made a gesture of slitting his neck before reconsidering with a grunt. "Actually, if possible, take prisoners. King Arthur seems to be of the sentimental sort considering he had charged out deep into our territory just to rescue Sir Kay. We may be able to use this to draw the King out of Gwent's fortifications."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alwin nodded in understanding.

"Good," Hengist dismissed Alwin with his eyes, watching his subordinate ride off with a small group of others. "Now then," he turned towards the surviving Saxons he'd found on the road. "What do you know of the Mjolnir?" He questioned in all seriousness. "Is it not King Arthur who wields it?"

All the knowledge Hengist had on the Mjolnir was second-hand, making him slightly apprehensive to its actual abilities.

The Saxons that Hengist had found on the way to Gwent were the very same ones that had managed to flee and survive the battles that Shirou had taken part in with his hammer. They could more accurately warn him of any dangers.

They shook their heads to Hengist's question.

"It's not King Arthur who wields the sacred Hammer. It's another man with hair as red as our own? It's hard to believe that he's a local to be honest." The admission was met with a round of hesitant nods that verified everything. "Moreover, with every strike of the hammer, thunder claps roared in the air as if heralding the arrival of a war god. Once the hammer struck the ground, it was if the Earth itself was nothing before its might as it ruptured a violent path directly through our army. The eyes of Odin and his ravens seemed to come alive through the number of crows that suddenly appeared flying in the air watching on that day." The survivors spoke solemnly, none of them able to stop themselves from trembling. "The wielder is a mighty warrior; in fact many speculate that he was once one of our own due to his un-native appearance."

"A traitor to our people?" Hengist's eyes flashed with murderous intent. "Still, it only makes sense that the Mjolnir could only be wielded by one who has the blood of our ancestors in his veins."

The tone of Hengist's voice was certain, as if it could not be doubted in the least. However, he could not understand why a traitor would side with King Arthur.

Hengist questioned the survivors further before heatedly ordering them back into their ranks in the Saxon army when they provided nothing else of use but doubts in their victory.

Was the wielder of the Mjolnir really that powerful?

One man was able to instill such terror in hundreds of others?

The question was left unanswered, but if anything, Hengist's fighting spirit which had dulled after his numerous successful campaigns lit up into a violent blaze.

Only a warrior with such a disposition could possibly wield the fabled hammer of the Thunder God.

Hengist felt that he and his reputation did not lose out in the slightest. No mater where he went, many feared his and his brother's names such that he could terrify an army into surrendering with just his words and presence alone.

Against the wielder of the Mjolnir, Hengist felt a competitive edge for the first time in years.

Only the mightiest would wield the hammer. And if not him, then it would be his brother Horsa, not some no-name.

On the honour of the Saxon people, he would bring war to Gwent, and may the All Father watch over him.

He pulled on the reigns of his horse, ordered his men to retreat, and hide out of sight as the army led by Sir Ector appeared over the horizon chasing after the small unit Alwin was leading.

Preparation still needed to be made.

A finger absently tapped against the wood of the chair that Arturia was sitting on located within one of the guest rooms of the building used for the Noble's gathering.

She was frowning, a curl to her lips that she was subconsciously making that was more akin to a pout if anything else.

She was alone in the room, having dismissed Merlin and her other Knights to allow them to relax after the long trek to Gwent.

The gathering of Nobles came to an end several days ago with many neutral factions having been swayed by Shirou's return to aid Arturia in her endeavors. She should have been happy really, but perhaps 'frustrated' or 'impatient' were more apt terms.

They were taking her time with Shirou away from her.

Invitation after invitation came pooling in from the nobility day after day inviting Shirou to play guest to many prominent lines of aristocracy. Worse, Shirou was perfectly willing to do so as her representative, making it hard for her to replace him with someone else when he looked too enthusiastic.

The twinkle in her eyes seemed to dim.

What did she have to do to get him to notice that what she actually wanted was for him to stay by her side? A bit of personal time was all that she was asking for, but she'd long since realized that staying quiet and letting him initiate everything was getting her nowhere and fast.

Her lips pursed together before she stood up from her resting position and decided that she could stay put no longer. The more time she spent resting on her own, the more restless she became waiting for Shirou's return.

It was more suitable to distract herself with work that needed to be done, and yet her Knights were making it so that she actually had nothing that she needed to do.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my King, we can take stalk of the inventory on our own."

"Can I help with this then?"

"Don't worry about it my King, there's already a dedicated group of Knights feeding and caring for the horses. You need not lower yourself to do such menial tasks."

But she wanted to.

No matter where she went, none of her Knights and loyal followers wished for her to help at all, and it was her own fault. All of them had seen how exhausted she'd made herself when she had charged out into battle after battle in the time when she believed Shirou to be dead. It left the image that she never had the time to rest and was always valiantly fighting for her countrymen.

Now that there was a temporary respite from the war, none of Arturia's Knights and followers wished for her to busy herself any longer.

To rest was that wanted from her.

Arturia would not be able to distract herself with work that needed to be done, no matter how hard she tried. She would not willingly impose on others either, so there really was nothing that she could do.

Her wandering eventually led her to a temporary pig and chicken coop where the people of Gwent had donated the animals for the army to eat. Of course, they couldn't all be killed at once lest their meat rot before consumption, so it was therefore necessary to take care of them for a short duration.

Presently, none of her Knights or followers were tending to the livestock which meant that it was something that she could do without worry.

However, staring at the shit on the ground and at the pigs staring back at her imposingly, she shook her head and promptly left when she recalled childhood memories. Some things just weren't worth doing even if the option was available.

Her feet continued carrying her forward. She had no one to talk to at the moment as everyone was busy, even Merlin. The wizard had gone to look for Sir Ector after still not hearing from the man despite already arriving in Gwent. Kay's whereabouts were also still unknown.

The news concerned her, but if she'd learned anything from coping with loss over the years, it was that it was worse to constantly dwell on the matter. Especially when someone like Merlin and his clairvoyance had not yet verified anything.

Sir Ector and Kay would be fine. As the father and brother figure who had raised her since young, she had faith in them and the Knights that were with them unlike herself who had once failed to save the person she cared about the most.

The thought left a bitter feeling inside her, but it gradually simmered down as she realized that she wasn't the only one left with nothing to do at the moment.

Arturia ended up at the Knight's barracks where the Knights were following through with their daily tasks. For her part, Mordred was insistent on helping, but the drunkards of her unit of Knights who had been drinking straight for the passed couple of days without Sir Ector's supervision were flatly denying her the right.

"Go enjoy yourself," William Orwell's voice came out slurred while a finger was sloppily poking at Mordred's forehead. "We, your Knights will not let a lady handle this."

"Y-You, w-what are you talking about!" Mordred was momentarily dazed by the comment, but as if laughing at their own joke William and the other Knights wobbled on their feet and walked away, smiling dumbly.

Mordred was left standing awkwardly. She did not know if William and the other were being serious with their words at all, and was utterly at a loss for what to do. She'd never been treated as a woman by others so openly before, and it made her unable to argue while watching William and the others work. Still, she felt a warmth in her heart from their actions, drunkness induced or not.

Two could paly at that game.

Mordred found a flagon of ale, discreetly emptied its contents and filled it with water before going right up to William and the others and downing the entire thing. "I-I'm helping, and none of you bastards can stop me."

Mordred wasn't making a good show of acting drunk, but for their part, William and the others cheered when they saw Mordred who had not drunk at all in the past few nights suddenly drink down an entire flagon of ale.

Arturia watched events unfold and silently reassessed her thoughts on Mordred. How could someone who seemed so happy at being recognized by others be a tool that Morgan was using against her?

"Mordred's not a bad person."

The words that Shirou had told to her before echoed in her mind before she shook her head. She still wasn't fully convinced, if only a little bit swayed.

The topic of 'Shirou' had allowed Arturia to tolerate Mordred's presence long enough to see what kind of person Mordred was, and now seeing Mordred interact with her Knights, there was no way that Arturia's opinion of Mordred could remain so cold.

Her animosity towards Mordred slowly dropped, but it was still there.

At the very least, Mordred had given her a crude idea of what she could do to forcibly find herself some work, but getting drunk in public would ruin her image as a King. As such, she was still back where she had started.

She sighed, stared once more at Mordred and her Knights, before then decisively leaving.

Unable to find work at her army camp, Arturia could only wander into the town of Gwent to ease her restlessness at Shirou's absence.

Gwent was different from the other towns that she had been to before.

The Duke of Gwent commanded a strong army, making it difficult for the Saxons to readily invade, and as such, the marketplace was thriving with hawkers and merchants seeking to sell their wares. The populace of Gwent itself was lively, many out on the streets rather than seeking shelter in their homes.

Armed guards were patrolling, equipped with standard chain-mail armour-and a sword hung at their waist to keep the peace of the town.

Still, when compared to the decorated plate armour and the blue silk battle-dress that she was wearing, she stood out far more than the average guard. This wasn't exactly a bad thing as none impeded her way wherever she went, but it was counter productive as she was looking for something to do.

She couldn't help but release another breath. At least enough time had already passed. Shirou should be back by now.

She returned to her private tent, but was stunned to find that Shirou had still not returned despite the better part of the morning and afternoon already passing.

She was frowning again, unable to understand what could be keeping him distracted for so long when he probably knew that she was waiting for him.

As it would turn out, Mordred was the same. Arturia had spotted her glancing off in the distance more than once in the past half-hour where Shirou had initially left from. A scowl was on her face and she was constantly poking her head around the corner of the tent to see if he'd returned or not. The expectation in her eyes would dim each time, but she was helpless to do anything about it.

Time passed on regardless of the two's impatience, and yet still, Shirou did not arrive back.

Finally growing anxious, Arturia took note of where exactly Shirou had gone and decided that she would pay a visit from the list of Nobles that had invited Shirou over in the past few days. She wasn't sure which Noble he was currently playing guest to, but she'd visit all of them if she had to in order to find him.

Besides, why had he not just asked her to come with him from the very beginning?

Gathering her bearings, she made herself look presentable and made her way back to the heart of Gwent where most of the Nobles resided in their large manors away from commoners.

It was coincidental that when she had stepped into a small market-square bustling with people that she spotted someone familiar at the same time that the individual had spotted herself.

It was the old butler of house Gwent, seemingly out on an errand to purchase items or food for his Lord. It was the very same butler who had represented house Gwent in the gathering of Nobles held a couple of days before.

Upon sighting each other, the butler readily made his way towards her, adopting a more friendly attitude from one that he'd displayed prior.

Arturia did not expect it when the butler's opening words weren't a formal greeting but a confirmation of allegiance instead.

"We of house Gwent are willing to work alongside you," the butler spoke strongly.

She stopped in her tracks while staring blankly at the butler of house Gwent, unable to understand what she'd done to garner house Gwent's support. Inwardly, she was celebrating the success, but forcibly contained her joy.

House Gwent would be a strong backer in the war against the Saxons.

"I thank you then for your cooperation," she said sincerely.

The butler of house Gwent revealed a genial and polite smile after nodding his head once. He then began saying the words that slowly broke apart the neutrality of Arturia's face one twitch at a time.

"Good, the cooperation will be mutual. House Gwent will fully support you in full," the butler bowed lightly. "Still, my lord and liege would be far more comfortable if our relational ties were closer to each other. The young heir of Duke Ashton, Shirou Ashton, is under your service yes?"

Huh?

Arturia stared blankly, trying to process the meaning of the words that the butler was trying to say before dread gradually began clouding her mind. The butler continued anyway.

"He's not of direct descent to the Noble family of Pendragon, but the line of Duke Ashton is just as good. That being the case, the relation of Shirou Ashton serving as one of your Knights is certainly enough for formal ties."

Arturia shuffled on her feet, her lips slowly pursing together as her brow furrowed. "W-What are you trying to say here?" her voice was strained, laced with growing unease.

The butler did not pick up on the signals, rather, he was ignorant of them because he could not see the problem in his logic and the sentiments conveyed from the good intentions of the King of Gwent.

The butler's jubilant attitude was contrasted by Arturia's lack-of-there-of. In fact, she wanted to pretend that she'd heard nothing, but knew that running away would not solve anything.

"As you had refused the proposed marriage with Lady Guinevere, my Lord, Cywryd, the Duke of Gwent has taken it upon himself to propose a marriage date to wed Lord Ashton instead." The butler assumed a small smile, happy with how complicated matters could finally be resolved through such a simple means. "A joyous event, don't you agree? Young Lord Ashton's already being entertained at house Gwent at the moment and news of this matter should spread soon enough. Might I be so presumptuous as to ask for your blessings on this matter in advance for my Lord?"

Arturia didn't respond.

"Is something wrong?" was all that the butler could ask.

"You seem a bit pale?"

Arturia still did not respond.

She simply would not respond.