KOTH Chapter 1 Author's Notes

Batomys 2731 and I do not own own TYPE-MOON or Fate or any properties thereof. Trust me, if we did, we'd have a lot more localizations than we currently have.

...

Fate is a rather fickle thing. All it takes is one minor change to alter the entire course of history. The claims that one might make that you cannot alter a river, no matter how many pebbles you toss into the roiling waters?

They could not be farther from the truth.

If anything, reality is more fickle and subject to change than anything else. Change the painting hanging in a room, and what might have been a pleasant night with a conversation piece could be reduced to a vicious argument that destroys a friendship.

Should that special someone opt to walk through the gardens instead of past a pair of men, and what would have been a quarrel over lovers instead remains a seemingly unbreakable bond.

Indeed, it's like that saying;

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.

For want of a shoe, the horse.

For want of a horse, the message.

For want of a message, the battle.

For want of a battle, the war.

Don't believe me? Do you think that such changes are inconsequential, in the end?

Heheh… well, what do you say we make a change? A small, minor change… and see how "inconsequential" that change is.

Let's say we give a minor travelling inconvenience to a certain woman…

The bitter chill of winter had already begun to set in.

She could see her breath in the cold evening air, steam fading into the ever-darkening grey of the sky above without so much as a trace. The wind ran through the dying trees like a mischievous child, its faint whispers accompanied only by the rustling leaves that danced low across the ground.

The first frosts had already come some weeks earlier, much earlier than what had been anticipated; the people of Britain had found their harvest being cut painfully short by the rapidly approaching winter, many of their remaining crops abruptly killed by the sudden snap of cold. It would be a hard year for the country, without a doubt.

It was almost a pity that the woman hadn't opted to take advantage of it.

But no.

Winter was not one of the tools by which she would claim her desires.

The road, usually either thick with dust or caked in mud, was like cold stone – hard and brittle, whatever moisture that might have been present turned to ice within the earth. She grit her teeth as the wagon tossed and jostled, a normally smooth, if boring ride turned into a truly irritating test of her patience. If it hadn't been for the fact that she had used up much of her stamina in a recent endeavour for materials, she'd be walking right now.

Huddling in her cloak, she did her best to ignore the cold and the constant bouncing of the wagon. If there was one thing that was beneficial about all this, it was that she was all but alone; not many people were willing to travel in this weather.

She only barely registered the slow creak of the wood before it was followed by an abrupt snap. She threw her arms out just in time to grab hold of the side of the wagon as it tipped, the seat beneath her rising; she felt pain jar up through her hips, hissing in pain.

"Ah, shite!" the voice came from the front of the wagon, the man directing it leaping down from his seat to the side.

The woman felt her eyes narrow as she stood, and descended, not making so much a sound as she moved. Not even the wood creaked under her footsteps, nor did she shift any dirt in her path.

This was an interruption she was not appreciating.

When she drew up beside the coach, it became clear what the issue was; one of the wagon's wheels had collapsed under its own weight, the old wood broken into splinters.

"I knew I should have replaced that bloody wheel!" he cursed, then looked at the woman, "… I'm sorry, miss, but-"

"This isn't something you can fix," her tone was colder than the air around them.

He lowered his head, "I'm afraid so. We're going to have to turn back – get some of the boys to come out here with horses to retrieve it later."

"What about your horse?"

"Pardon?"

"Your horse. We can continue the journey on it."

He shook his head, "No, miss. That horse hasn't carried anyone for fifteen years. A draught horse, that one is – good for burden, but not fit for riding. Besides, I've no saddle."

"We can make do," she spoke, "This wouldn't be the first time I've ridden bareback."

"I'm sorry, miss," he insisted, "But that isn't an option. We'll just have to turn back and continue in the morning," he dug into his pocket, and took out several coins, counting through them, "I'll even give you your coppers back – give you a ride back out as soon as me wagon's fixed."

Turn back?... no. That was out of the question. She needed to be back in her workshop by tonight. Tired as she was, walking wasn't an option, especially not with the cold sapping even more of her strength. Night was already falling, and she was in no mood to deal with any wild beasts; they were less likely to attack a large wagon than a single small person (she'd already driven off all the bandits within miles of her home some time ago).

She glanced at the man beside her, who was holding out the coins she had given him earlier as payment for the ride. It wouldn't take much to force him into compliance; minor hypnotism, or perhaps the threat of her dagger in his belly.

She glanced at the draught horse, then gave a low curse; the thing was large, far too big to comfortably ride even if they had a saddle. Riding, even as a passenger, took energy – energy she simply didn't have at the moment.

But she could not, would not wait another day to return to her workshop. She couldn't. She had to make it back tonight.

Finally, she looked at the wheel of the wagon, broken, rendering the entire contraption lopsided. Gritting her teeth, she knew she only had one option if she wanted to be home before the night was through.

Raising her hand, she reached deep, deep into the wellspring at her core; a wave of overwhelming heat flowed out and into her limbs, rendering the cold a moot point, at least for the moment. Then shadows began to dance along her fingertips, shadows where there should have been none… and they began to grow, thickening, darkening, and finally rising, giving way from insubstantial shade to a physical blackness, tendrils dancing in her hand like a flame.

She paid no heed to the bewildered coach, merely stepping forwards and tipping her hand and letting the shadows fall to the broken wheel. They immediately set to work, picking up every last splinter of wood and slowly forcing everything back into place; the wagon slowly rose with each piece set in place, until finally, it stood once more, solid as a rock.

The woman glanced back at the coach, "Now we can continue."

"…you… you're a… a…"

"What I am makes no difference."

"You-you're a Witch!"

"What of it?"

The coach had begun to back away, clearly terrified by the woman before him. He seemed about ready to sprint, but abruptly, shadows rose up from the ground and gripped him by the ankles. He tripped, fell, and was dragged back to the woman's feet with all the effort of a child dragging around a toy duck on a string, unable to pull away out of a mix of fear, bewilderment, and simply being bound in place.

The woman leaned down, gripped his shirt by the collar, and glared into his eyes, a minor hypnotism spell immediately kicking in; slowly, the man began to calm, his eyes growing hazy as the memories of the last few minutes were eaten away by the spell. Before long, he seemed to be in a dreamlike state, awake, but senses clearly dulled.

Finally, she released him, and he fell back to the ground, the shadows gone. He groaned, "What… what happened?"

"We hit a rock, and you fell to the ground. I've been trying to wake you up for some time now."

"Did I?" he frowned, but ultimately pulled himself to his feet, "Sounds like I owe you an apology. I don't mean to hold you up at all, miss."

"You can apologize by getting me as close to the old fortress as you can."

"Ahright," he made his way back to the wagon as the woman climbed back to her seat, "Why do you want to go there, anyways? Place hasn't been lived in since the King's siege of it all those years ago."

"That's none of your concern."

"… I guess it ain't."

The rest of the journey proved uneventful for the woman…

It was so sudden - a flare of light where there was once only black sliding over black with the subtlety of a serpent - he barely had time to react as his wards were triggered so abruptly. To the unknown eye, it would appear that Ser Merlin had accidentally burnt himself or been struck aside the head by an unseen object. With a grimace, he tried to recover and was now struggling to regain his bearings.

The constant search for Morgana's whereabouts had been a task imposed on him by the King, one that he had carried on dutifully and without complaint. Weeks had turned into months without success in finding the elusive Witch, so thorough she was in erasing her trail. Even for his abilities, Morgana had proven herself a troublesome foe to catch.

So why was she so suddenly giving her location away, using enough power that even a novice could notice her whereabouts?

A moment longer he needed to recover in full, then another to cast a much more subtle scrying spell over the location the Witch had cast her magic. Given the recklessness of the Witch's spells, he suspected she would have been in conflict, either with beasts from the forest or perhaps one of the patrols still enduring in their duty in spite of the cold weather.

He was surprised to discover neither suspicion was the case. She had simply repaired a broken wheel on a carriage, then erased the memories from the driver to continue on her way away from the cities... but to where, he couldn't determine yet.

A discovery like this was interesting to be sure, and one that he had been waiting for quite some time... but was it worth alerting the King now? Or would it be better to wait, discover where exactly the Witch was headed? Morgana wasn't the kind to use her magic without justifiable cause. Repairing a wooden carriage was hardly cause for such a display of power.

Both options had their respective merits, as well as their drawbacks. What a conundrum...

There was also the matter of time to consider, both present and future. A simple rift in the timeline could easily tear apart a carefully crated story. If he rushed ahead unwisely, then years of preparation and watching over the land would be wasted because he too had been careless with magic.

It would not be the first time he had chosen to conceal his findings from his King. Nor would it be the last, assuming the timeline followed the path he had foreseen.

Another ward triggered, this time - thankfully - without nearly blinding him in the process. His attention was again drawn to watching over Morgana, who evidently decided her driver was still moving too slow in taking her further north... Just what was provoking her into such foolishness? Whatever she had in mind, she wanted to reach her destination with all possible speed, and was willing to take great and greater risks to counter the poor conditions of a rapidly approaching winter.

Perhaps it was for the best to report this development to the King after all. Morgana was not exactly being subtle with her magic at the moment. Without apparent reason from what he could tell. There had to be a objective they hadn't thought of, else Morgana would not have been so easily snuffed out.

Besides, the search had been trying King Arthur's patience, especially after several months without success. It would not do if another came to the King and reported something he had already learned about earlier.

He left his scrying spell active as he departed for the main hall. If Morgana reached her destination, he would be the one to report it. Perhaps a closer investigation with the help of his fellow Knights might shed light on why the realm's most dangerous Witch was suddenly acting like a fool.

The room was dead silent.

Though not an uncommon occurrence, this day, the silence bore a heavy chill – a tension not unlike the cold of the night beyond the windows, the first snows of winter gently powdering the stone.

A total of twelve figures sat at the table – an ornately carved, perfect circle depicting images of battle and glory, a true masterpiece that could only be produced by the finest of craftsmen.

But that was hardly what they were paying heed to.

None of them made so much as a sound as they waited, the unease enough to drive a man mad. All they could do was glance at their King, and then to one another in concern, wondering exactly what could have caused him to call a meeting at this hour.

Finally, the door swung open, and a young man clad in white slipped in, humming a gentle tune as he carefully swung it shut with his foot, white hair cascading down his shoulders. Glancing about the room, he smiled, taking a step towards the table, "I take it that everyone is here?

"Everyone," the King intoned, her voice as cold as ever.

"Good, good," he glanced about. Gawain and Lancelot were as sharp as ever, like a lion and a panther sizing him up, ready to strike – and really, why shouldn't they be, this early in the morning? He didn't typically like being woken up early either. And there sat Tristan, eyes closed… for all his magic and clairvoyance, he could never tell when that man was awake and attentive or just asleep.

'Back on track, Merlin,' he coached himself, shaking free of his wandering thoughts, 'Arturia brought you here for a reason.'

Ser Kay leaned forwards in his seat, the dark bags under his eyes matching his dark hair and sullen expression perfectly as he glared at the Court Mage, "Ser Merlin. If this has something to do with you, it had better be good."

"Can't I get a moment to enjoy the suspense? It isn't often all of us are in the same room at the same time these days," Merlin teased, lips splitting into a grin.

At this, he felt the chill in the room grow and focus, all the Knights' expressions seeming to sharpen into the stares of particularly irritable wolves. Seems they weren't in the mood for his particular brand of humour…

"Merlin," the King's voice ran out, erasing all the irritation from the room… as well as any sense of mirth the Mage might have had, "You told me you had something of great importance to report."

He felt his expression turn into a pout, then he sighed, spinning his staff slightly, "As you wish. I was hoping to ease you all into this; it's not exactly a weather report," he gestured to the window for emphasis… then glanced outside, "Oh, hey, it's snowing!"

"Merlin," though the King's tone had not changed even in the slightest, there was a slight hint of warning in it – a clear demand to get on with it.

He sighed again, returning his attention to the King, "I've finally managed to find Morgana."

He wasn't surprised when he was met with yet more silence – and once again, he couldn't blame them. He didn't pretend to understand any of them personally, but he did understand that Morgana was a heavy subject for everyone at the Round Table, for one reason or another. Merlin could see Gawain's blue eyes being cast down towards the floor, obscured by his short blond locks his armoured hands clenching into fists with audible clicks… the man was likely thinking about the Green Knight – one of Morgana's sickest attempts at damaging the Knights of the Round to date, twisting a man into a monster.

"… how did you manage this, after months of repeated failures, Ser Merlin?"

Ah, that would be Ser Palamedes. Merlin turned to look at the darker skinned Knight, his smile returning, "She made a rather foolish mistake earlier tonight. She used magic without preparing a proper ward to keep me from seeing it."

The Knights all seemed to have questions they wanted to ask, but one by one, they turned their gazes to the King. For a long moment, Arturia remained silent, her fingers interlocked and expression blank. Finally, she stated, "I suppose the most important questions now are where she was and why she would use her magic so recklessly."

Recognizing the statement for what it was, Merlin had to swallow the urge to offer a witty retort. All of the Knights had issues with their senses of humour, but Arturia was like a brick wall, and had been ever since her early days as a King; and right now, she was in even less of a mood for jokes than usual. Which was really saying something when you consider how humourless she was normally-

'Again, Merlin. Get it together!'

He shrugged, his internal dialogue hidden from everyone present, "Earlier tonight, I saw her travelling along a road by wagon. The wagon had been damaged to the point where it was unable to continue – one of its wheels had basically been reduced to splinters."

"… and what does that have to do with Morgana using her magic without wards?" it was Ser Percival that spoke this time, "Was she attacked?"

"See, that's the strange part," Merlin felt his expression grow more serious at this, "She used her magic to repair the wagon and made the coach forget everything he saw – all so she could continue her journey without delay."

"… that seems like an extremely foolish move," Ser Lancelot rubbed at his chin, dark eyes narrowed, "Using magic when she likely knows she's being watched?"

"It could be a trap," Ser Kay pointed out, "An attempt to draw one or more of us out. It wouldn't be the first time."

"I doubt it," Ser Gareth seemed especially thoughtful, his youthful, exceptionally feminine face perfectly matching his youthful, exceptionally feminine voice, his eyes of blue and sandy blonde hair matching his older brother's almost perfectly, braids aside.

"And why is that, Ser Gareth?" This time it was Ser Gaheris.

"Because Morgana is a lot of things. Straightforward has never been one of them," Gareth frowned, "Even when the bait was obvious, she's never been so brazen as to use herself for something like this. This seems more like a mistake."

"A very foolish mistake, at that," Ser Tristan finally stated – so he was awake! His long red hair shifted as he raised his head, expression as unchanging as Arturia's herself.

"I still don't like it. I think it would be better to err on the side of caution," Kay again. He's certainly grown from the reckless little child Merlin once knew him to be – the difference was like night and day.

"Merlin. Your conclusion?" Arturia spoke once more, silencing the others.

The Mage frowned a bit more deeply at this – even he wasn't entirely sure what was going on. If everything was in accordance with his clairvoyance, then this should be about the time when Morgana's… project was undergoing its last bit of fine-tuning before the final gears of his prophecy began to turn. But if so…

"… to be honest, Arthur," he began, using the petite woman's given name rather than her true name – not everyone knew her true nature, after all, "I would say that this is an act of impatience. Something has Morgana on edge, enough to push her to move along on her journey rather than keeping to caution as she usually would."

Merlin knew that would have the attention of every Knight present.

"Impatience…" the dark, sullen tone came from the figure clad in dark armour, his hair slicked back and his skin pale – Ser Agravain.

"Well, it will prove her undoing," Gawain finally declared, eyes like steel, "We have an approximate location of where she is. If Merlin would be so kind as to direct us to where he found her, I can physically track her and do the rest. We can finally be rid of this Witch once and for all."

"With all due respect, Ser Gawain, it would be foolish to act so rashly," it was Lancelot that spoke this time, his dark eyes fixing Gawain with a stern stare, "We cannot forget that Morgana is a powerful Witch. Mistake or not, rushing in will only result in disaster. No doubt she has prepared defences for just such a miscalculation."

"There is also something else to consider," Ser Gaheris' voice was quiet, his expression grave, in contrast to his brothers' – Gawain's fuming anger and Gareth's silent pondering, "What would cause Morgana to abandon her sense of caution to begin with? As Ser Gareth has said, she is not one to be so straightforward. There may be more to this than we realize."

"A greater threat at hand, great enough to frighten the Witch?" Palamedes asked.

"Perhaps."

"Or," Gawain interrupted, "Perhaps another one of her plans. Something bigger, more dangerous than what she's done before – something she wants to ready and test as soon as possible," he was truly itching to hunt her down.

"So on one hand," Ser Bedivere started, "There's a possibility we now have something worse than Morgana on our hands. On the other, there's a possibility that she's planning something big enough for her to abandon her normal habits. Either way, this isn't something we can ignore."

"In other words, we must act quickly," the King intoned. Again, her voice failed to inflect any particular tone, but it still carried an authority like no other. It was a voice one obeyed on principle – not out of any sense of loyalty or affection (though among those present, those certainly existed), but simply because her presence was just that commanding. Her gaze never once left Merlin, "Do you have any idea where she might be going?"

"There are only a few locations around where I saw her that I can think of," Merlin stated, "But given the road she was taking… I'd say the most likely candidate would be the abandoned fortress along the northern road."

"Wasn't that place a frequent hideout for bandits?" Gareth asked.

"It was. We cleared it out several times, but Morgana heavily opposed restoration efforts back when she was a member of King Urien's Royal Court, and I don't need to remind you how strong her influence among the Courts was back then. Eventually, the castle was abandoned altogether, and it became a haven for criminals to hide in. Reports concerning bandit activity came to an abrupt halt about six years ago, but we had more pressing issues at the time, so we never bothered to look into it," Bedivere took a breath, eyes narrowing, "If Merlin is right, then it seems we've finally found out why the bandits disappeared… and why Morgana may have opposed restoring the castle as vehemently as she did."

Merlin fixed his gaze on the King, "Your Majesty?"

Arturia closed her eyes, not so much as letting her breaths make any sound for a long few moments. Finally, she opened her eyes, "Ser Gawain. Ser Tristan. Ser Lancelot," she glanced at each of them as she spoke their names, "I am leaving this task in your hands. I want you to go to the fortress Merlin speaks of and investigate it – in disguise.

"You are not to wear your coats of arms. Your swords are to be carried in non-descript sheathes. And you yourselves will answer to different names along your journey should you happen across anyone else. If Morgana catches wind that three of the Round Table are approaching, she may flee, and this will all have been for nothing."

"Your Majesty," all three stood and bowed at the same time, their actions borderline simultaneous.

"Furthermore," she looked up to her Court Mage, "You are to protect them on their journey, Ser Merlin. You are the only one here with any form of magical prowess, and the only person in Britain who can hope to match Morgana. Wards, disguises – anything you believe may be helpful in this endeavour."

Merlin smiled, giving a somewhat lopsided bow, "As you wish, my King."

She nodded, and then stood, "You will leave as soon as the four of you are rested and prepared. This meeting is dismissed."

With that, each Knight stood, and filed out one by one, returning to their respective quarters. Merlin waited until the last one had left, leaving him alone with Arturia.

"Well… it seems things are about to get interesting."

"Dangerous," Arturia intoned, walking around the massive table to face him.

"Potato, potahto."

"No, Merlin. There is a very distinct difference."

He smiled, "I remember when you would have said that to me."

She glanced at him, expression still cold, "I was a child, then. Now, I am older. Wiser."

"And apparently have lost your ability to smile," he smirked, "I know I told you your story would end in tragedy, but would it kill you to lighten up once in a while?"

Arturia didn't give him an answer this time, instead turning on her heel and starting for the door.

He was about to call after her when he felt something in his head twinge.

It didn't hurt, really. It was more like… a shift. A change in focus, like when the mind moves from one task to the next. He gave a slight grunt as he pressed a hand to his temple; what had just happened?

"Merlin?"

He glanced up again to see Arturia at the open door. Her expression remained cold as ever, but there was something beneath the monotone voice that he had not heard in a very long time; concern, "Are you alright?"

He smiled, "I'm fine, Arturia. Just… slight concerns with my magic, is all."

"Will you be able to perform your duties?"

"I can do that much. Don't start losing faith in me now," he teased.

"… very well," she stated, and pulled into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Merlin paused, then sighed, making the slow return to his own quarters. When he arrived, he shrugged out of his robes and sat on his cot, frowning. Something wasn't right…

Closing his eyes, he activated his clairvoyance; the ability to see all of Humanity. The past, the present… the future…

The future.

He grit his teeth, trying to make sense of the muddled mess that was being presented to him. This… this didn't make any sense. None of it did. The war that would see Camelot's end, the war that would grind the Kingdom and its inhabitants into mere memory…

It was gone.

His eyes snapped open, a sudden shiver of dread running up his spine.

"Oh… horse shit," he whispered, finally realizing what he'd done without ever intending to do so.

He'd changed the future.

He'd changed fate.

Morgana felt her teeth slate against each other in concentration as her mixture came to a boil, the acrid stench of rotting flesh wafting in and out of her nostrils. One of her many books was open beside her, though at the moment she paid it little heed; her utmost focus was on her current task, the fleshy vat before her continuing to boil, all but disintegrating everything that fell into its depths.

When the appropriate time had passed, she took a pair of tongs, and reached into the boiling acid, heedless of the sweltering heat that surrounded her arms, and slowly extracted her prize.

She couldn't help but smile at the result – the gleaming object held firmly in her grasp, coated in a thin layer of bile, but nonetheless maintaining a beautifully polished surface.

A Dragon's pearl. One of the very items used to infuse her dear sister with the strength of a Phantasmal Beast of the highest order, and normally very difficult to obtain; after all, in order to get your hands on the genuine article, you would have to slay a Dragon.

Morgana had essentially bypassed that step entirely with this creation; using the stomach of the Dragon Merlin had used to begin with, she had slaved over long hours to examine the process by which these nigh-priceless lacrima were created. Hundreds of thousands of ingredients used over years of experimentation had been lost… but it seemed that she was growing very close, if she hadn't already succeeded.

Before she could move to set it down, however, the small sphere abruptly cracked.

She could never have moved fast enough to stop it. The cracks spread, one turning into two, then four, then eight; within seconds, there were dozens of cracks all running in different directions, and the pearl didn't so much shatter as it did simply disintegrate, the pieces falling away into magically infused dust.

Joy and satisfaction turned to raw frustration, but however much she wanted to, Morgana did not rage or curse. She forced it down, only allowing it to manifest through a single click of her tongue, "Another failure…"

She let out a long, slow breath through her nostrils, sinking into a chair and rubbing at her temple. Her creation already had Dragon blood, that much Morgana was sure of; it had already proven her predictions correct by inheriting dear Arturia's Magic Core.

But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was the Dragon blood's actual interaction between the magics used in the art of creation, as well as Morgana's own blood.

Normally, humans and Dragons proved to be incompatible with one another. Coexistence had proved time and time again to be borderline impossible on nearly every level, from the sociological differences, to the psychology, from the biology, to the sheer difference in strength. Interaction between the two almost always ended in conflict, and by extension the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of people.

And yet, it wasn't impossible for proof of some twisted marriage of human and Dragon to emerge; that fool from the Burgundian Courts in the east some few decades ago somehow managed to attain nigh invincible battle prowess by bathing in the blood of a Dragon he slew, his skin like Dragon scales – nigh impossible to even scratch.

In dear Arturia's case, Merlin had somehow gone even further, infusing her with Dragon's blood and giving her all the magical strength of the world's strongest Phantasmal Beasts. Indeed, on the battlefield in days long gone, the woman had often been compared to a Dragon in human form, impossible to so much as touch and striking down any and all who would oppose her, single-handedly breaking the spirits of twelve separate Kings through twelve consecutive wars, conquering Britain in one fell swoop.

The promised King indeed…

Morgana shook her head, forcing herself to return to the task at hand. She had assumed that because of the lineage, her creation would have inherited all of Arturia's same traits. Of course, she hadn't been wrong, but Morgana had nonetheless made a miscalculation that she was doing everything in her power to fix.

Put simply, the Dragon blood wasn't properly mixing with Morgana's fairy blood, or the increased magical potential of a homunculus.

Homunculi of any type, even the lowest of the low, still had incredible magical potential through their magic circuits; one of high quality made for combat could be expected to properly face an army and still come out victorious and no worse for wear, provided they were properly trained and equipped. Combining that with Morgana's blood, fairy blood, would create something truly powerful – after all, it was fairies that made Excalibur and its sister swords, Caliburn, Arondight and Excalibur Galatine, and fairies were also capable of magic far beyond what could ever be expected of humans. Even those that didn't learn magic still had plenty of magical energy to make up for it.

Dragon blood should have created something borderline unstoppable when combined with these aspects.

Instead, it was clashing – only slightly, for now, but as time went on, it would slowly grow worse. The combination of magics was simply too much for a mortal body of any type to handle.

In the end, Morgana supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised; humans were fragile, after all. Surprising, certainly. Tenacious, most definitely. But fragile nonetheless – a result of their mortal coil.

That meant she needed to find a way for this body to withstand the incredible energies dwelling within it.

So far, the problem seemed to be rooted in the Dragon blood itself, the magic core's constant magic production interfering with the extraneous (but still exceptionally high quality) magic circuits, slowly overflowing them with prana. It was similar to the result one could expect from trying to compensate for cracks in a massive dam by directing the water into small creeks or streams – the resulting flood would cause catastrophic damage no matter how slow it was.

She stood, and glanced back into the vat. Morgana had been trying to make a Dragon's pearl in hopes of finding a way to regulate the prana overflow – using the pearl to create a runoff point, of sorts. In the meantime, Morgana had also slowed her creation's aging down in hopes of buying the both of them a little bit more time to create a working system; the accelerated aging she had initially intended to implement would, at this stage, only worsen the problem. However, she'd been struggling to find any kind of success in actually making a pearl, and she'd just used her last ingredients in the attempt.

She'd have to leave to gather more.

Sighing, Morgana stepped away from the vat and over to where her creation lay, peacefully asleep. She looked so much like her father when Arturia was an infant; the resemblance was uncanny.

Then again, that was something Morgana had been hoping for when she began this venture.

Smiling, she leaned down, and gently whispered into the small homunculus' ear.

"You're going to be King someday."

With that, she silently pulled away, and swept from the room to find her cloak. Within the hour, a dark shape was fighting against the wind across the grey sky, like a black meteor through the ever falling white.

Whereas the first snowfall had only just started descending on the land the night before, it appeared now that winter was fully arrived when the four chosen Knights had set out to find Morgana's destination. Twice, they had been forced to take a detour, the main roads too heavily covered with snow and ice to be a safe route for their horses, combined with a close confinement through snow covered trees that was wearing even Merlin's patience thin.

The next day had the opposite problem, with the sun shining so brightly on the fresh snow that they'd resorted to tying strips of layered cheesecloth across their eyes to ward off snowblindness. Their horses broke the path effortlessly, as if just as determined to end this journey as quickly yet safely as possible, until they finally chanced upon roads that were at least marginally cleared by wagon traffic.

Despite the less than desirable start, the journey itself had been remarkable in its lack of combat; save a pack of hungry mountain wolves who they had quickly convinced to seek easier prey, they had encountered nothing to fight. The absence of bandits, in particular, was a welcome respite after facing them daily for so long less than a month ago.

Even so, they knew all too well the reason for the missing bandits now. The image of that dangerous Witch - mercy was not something she gave to those in her way - was etched into their minds. That knowledge lay heavy on them all, giving a grim purpose to their steps, and the first sight of the bluffs of the abandoned fortress was an ominous one.

"… well, there it is," Merlin huffed, wrapping his cloak tighter around his body.

"Not the most hospitable location. This place has clearly been forgotten since the Twelve Wars of Britain," Tristan intoned, "I don't think a single tree has been cut here in two decades or more. Even what's left of the road is overrun with plants and roots."

"What better place to be left alone, but a forgotten corner of the world?" Lancelot asked, eyes narrowed.

"It doesn't matter. We've found it," Gawain's tone was grim, "Now we can get to work."

"Hang on, Gawain," Merlin glanced at him, "We can't afford to rush this. Even a fourth rate Mage knows to ward their workshop against intruders, and Morgana is hardly fourth rate."

"So take things slowly, is it?" Gawain's glare was like the edge of a knife, "Give her time to prepare against us?"

Merlin sighed; it seemed he would have to be more direct, "Gawain, with all due respect… if you had to invade Camelot by yourself, and I were the one defending it, would you say you had the advantage as the assailant?"

This seemed to do the trick. Gawain, startled, opened his mouth to speak… then slowly closed it, having been forced to concede Merlin's point.

Seeing his chance, Merlin continued, "Morgana is almost as powerful of a Mage as me; in some ways, her magical abilities even surpass that of my own. She's not someone that we can afford to take lightly under any possible circumstance."

"… I understand," Gawain finally relented, though his voice betrayed his frustration.

"And we understand you, old friend," Tristan glanced at the Knight, "Morgana has hurt all of us in some way, shape or form. It's only natural to desire justice against her, given the chance. But the fact remains that we must be cautious; we cannot allow rage to blind us to the fact that she is a very dangerous opponent."

Merlin had stopped listening at that point; his eyes were shut, and he had his hand on his crooked staff. After a long moment, he opened his eyes again, "No wards yet… but there is residual magic in the air a ways into the forest. Defences of some kind, in all likelihood."

"We won't make any progress sitting here," Lancelot spoke again, "Let us proceed. Slowly."

In silent agreement, all four began to slowly lead their horses into the woods.

The already dark sky seemed to grow even darker under the shade of the trees; the harsh winds slowed to a gentle breeze, only a light powder of snow falling to the ground from between the many great branches above… but this only served to further enrich the feeling that the four were being watched.

The trees were large – far too large, even if Tristan was correct, and none had been touched in decades. All four of them had been present for a least some of Arturia's conquest of Britain, and there were no forests like this in those days; the trees were winding an thick, the roots alone enough to force the four to take detours around barricades formed from a sudden rise of dirt and snow upon what at first seemed to be a great log. The trees reached dozens of feet high, with so many branches that hardly any snow managed to make it past their grasping reach, and once they had breached the first hundred yards, the Knights would be hard pressed to pick out one that wasn't as big around as a chariot's wheel, if not bigger.

No birds called out. No animals made noise. Even rodents failed to scamper across the snow.

The four felt well and truly alone.

"It's like we've wandered into another world entirely," Gawain breathed.

"An empty world, at that," Tristan said, lip curling downward slightly.

"Stay close," Merlin called back from the lead, "The magic has gotten stronger here. This isn't an ordinary forest anymore."

"Anymore?"

"Morgana's using one of the oldest tricks in the book with this place; anyone who doesn't have a guide gets to wander the forest, forever lost," Merlin spoke, "Even with normal forests, this is a very real danger to the unacquainted. A magical forest like this… you three would never come out alive if you came alone," he glanced back, and couldn't help but smirk, "Well, Lancelot might… if he's willing to give Morgana one hell of a night."

Lancelot was not amused, his eyes narrowing, "I am well aware of the Witch's attraction to me, Ser Merlin. I do not need a reminder."

"Oh, lighten up. It was a joke."

"Then you have exceptionally poor taste in jokes. Then again, this likely surprises no one."

Merlin let out a soft sigh, shaking his head, "Everyone's a critic…"

"No one would have to criticize you if you would shut up and simply move us along," Gawain's tone was particularly scathing today.

"Alright, alright, fine," Merlin's tone finally grew irritable, and then the Mage fell silent. They continued down the path that he determined, weaving around trees, over frozen streams and icy hills, and before long, neither Gawain, nor Lancelot, nor Tristan could make heads or tails of where they'd been. Glancing back, even their horse's hoofprints seemed to fade into nothing, leaving no indication that they'd even been present.

However, abruptly, they came to a halt.

"What is it, Mage?"

"… we're not alone," Merlin's voice was unusually quiet as he reached for his staff.

Immediately, the other three were on guard; Gawain had dismounted from his horse, drawing Excalibur Galatine, the brilliant blue blade gleaming in the little light that was there; Lancelot, scanning the area as best as he could, had his hand on Arondight's hilt. Tristan had unslung his bow and carefully undone his bindings to the saddle, lest he need to leap free of his horse.

They didn't need to see their target to know that something was coming.

They could already hear it.

The sound was like distant thunder.

Faint at first, but slowly growing.

When it emerged from between the trees, its footsteps were like the impact of stones thrown from a catapult; it was only vaguely humanoid, a mass of stone and earth, with dust falling from its form every time it moved. It was broad – in every possible sense, with impossibly thick limbs attached to a torso that was more like a mountain than anything belonging to a living creature, like someone decided to affix oversized limbs to a boulder, and what passed for a head had squashed, squared features, roughly hewn into the stone as though it were an afterthought. But as it moved, more dirt fell from its form, and the better defined its features became.

"A golem," Merlin commented, as though it were an everyday occurance, "And a big one…"

The stone giant pushed into the clearing, the sheer force behind its slow advance enough to shatter one of the trees that stood in its way, pushing the mighty wooden pillar down as easily as if it were a toy. It made no noise, but began to advance upon the four.

"Don't leave the clearing!" the Mage called, turning his horse and making a dash for the edge; he'd need all the distance he could get with this opponent.

The other three acted in perfect sequence; Tristan brought his horse to a gallop and then leaped for the lower branches of one of the trees, pulling himself into a higher position before readying his bow; thankfully, his horse was well trained enough to not immediately flee, instead pulling back to stand beside Merlin, who seemed to have entered some kind of trance.

Lancelot and Gawain, on the other hand, were quick to enter an assault; the former on horseback and the latter on his feet, the two charged the mighty golem, heedless of its massive strength.

Its attempt to strike them was ponderous, and seemed to require the same amount of effort one might take to swat a fly; however, Gawain simply ducked under the attack, his gleaming, holy blade coming up in an arc and biting into the stone.

A normal sword would have simply bounced off the rocks, perhaps even come away with a dulled, dented, or even chipped blade from the clash.

But Excalibur Galatine was no normal sword.

A sister blade of the mighty Excalibur, forged with a shard of the sun itself, Excalibur Galatine's blade screamed through the air and bit into the stone, leaving a slash mark in the golem's side at the waist.

At the same time, Lancelot had leaned to the side to evade an attempt to grab his arm, and retaliated by bringing Arondight down on the golem's shoulder.

Much like Excalibur Galatine, Arondight was a sibling blade to Excalibur, forged by fairies for the purpose of assisting heroes in their time of need. Gleaming silver steel rang as a fist-sized chunk of stone was sent flying, and Lancelot too leapt from his horse as Gawain jumped up upon a large boulder. Side by side, they hurled themselves up and onto the golem's shoulders, and drove their swords down into the stone.

But even as their blades bit deep, they felt a sudden wave of relief wash over them as the effects of the golem's attacks became fully apparent.

It was slow, there was no question of that; provided they had the common sense to move, it was doubtful that the construct could even hit a normal soldier, for how long it took for the statue to complete a single swing.

But its mighty fists both smashed into the ground; the frozen earth cracked, buckling beneath the force of each blow as easily as one might break a thin board of kindling over their knee. Stone and frozen dirt were driven up from the ground in massive splinters, rough and jagged, and the golem slowly pulled its fists from the earth.

As it attempted to reach for the Knights that had scaled its back, Tristan frowned, gently fingering the bowstring of Failnaught. Clearly, this was not something that was intended to take on a small force of elites. This was something that would have been better suited to battling a large band or small army, or even used for siege purposes; Tristan doubted that even castle walls would stand up to blows of that force for very long.

Morgana had been preparing for an attack from an army…

Pushing such thoughts aside, he let his fingers gently strum the many gleaming strings of his bow. Failnaught was a weapon that, at first glance, did not seem like a weapon at all; indeed, to the casual observer, it appeared to be more like a strangely shaped harp, its graceful silver arms affixed with large anchors that stretched a dozen cords of silver between them, all of varying thickness. Even if the strings were strong enough to fire arrows without breaking, the draw weight that would result from all of them being strong enough to do so would have rendered it impossible to use – something beyond the ability of a normal archer to properly utilize.

However, it was never Tristan's intention to fire an arrow.

The soft thrums of his bowstrings were soothing, gently ringing out across the clearing in stark contrast to the effects they had.

There was no visible projectile – after all, what being could possibly see sound?

Nonetheless, the gentle notes immediately turned into screams as spears of pure sound slammed into the statue's chest, high pitched shrieks more akin to a hawk's cries than anything else. A barrage of three, each one dislodging more dust and leaving marks in the stone – no small feat, especially for an archer.

But the statue seemed no worse for wear; Lancelot and Gawain still struggled to maintain a hold on their swords as the golem clumsily reached for them, stumbling about and making it difficult for them to hold on. It briefly lost its balance, and crashed into a tree, sending another one of the great wooden giants toppling to the ground.

"Tch… no effect," Tristan grit his teeth, "Ser Merlin! Whatever you're planning, you'd best do it now!"

Merlin did not respond, still lost in his trance. He murmured under his breath, words of power that were finally beginning to take form. His eyes snapped open, and a word Tristan would not even try to pronounce rang out across the clearing.

Chains of black iron materialized like streaks of dark lightning, thick around as a man's arm and tipped with wickedly hooked claws that dug into the stone giant's body; one it could have broken easily, but one quickly became a dozen, and that original dozen was quickly lost among the ones that followed.

Within seconds the golem was immobilized, the chains around its limbs stretching it out to shape something akin to an X; its struggles only succeeded in rattling the chains, which continued to pull it tighter and tighter, and the Knights thought for a moment that Merlin intended to pull the construct's arms off.

"Lancelot, Gawain!" Merlin shouted, "Arondight, Excalibur Galatine! Minor blasts!"

Without so much as a word of complaint, Lancelot and Gawain redoubled their grips on their swords; within seconds, both weapons had taken on a brilliant glow, Arondight, a bright blue that bordered on white, Excalibur Galatine, a bright orange to match the summer sun.

The tips of both blades then exploded in bright light, dislodging both the Knights and their swords from the golem's back. They gracefully flipped and landed safely in the snow below, and looked up to admire their handiwork; the golem crashed to the ground, its chest and shoulders completely destroyed and its arms severed from its body completely. Merlin released his spell, letting the massive limbs crash to the ground below… but clicked his tongue when the golem still refused to cease its function.

Even after being on the receiving end of such a powerful combination (albeit a greatly limited form of what Arondight and Excalibur Galatine were truly capable of), the giant refused to stay down; it pressed its head to the floor to gather its feet beneath itself once more, and gradually began to rise.

When it finally stood once more, Tristan saw his target; the blast had dislodged the entire chest-piece away from the construct's body, exposing the glow of the magical inner workings that kept the golem going. A glow akin to deep magenta, dozens of symbols etched onto a stone disk…

Gathering all the strings of Failnaught in his fingers, he pulled back to his cheek as hard as he could; he could feel the magical power in the bow readying itself, compressing into a shaft of echoing, contained energy as his arms and shoulders screamed, begging for him to release…

But he held fast.

Only once he was sure of his target, did he release the strings.

This was not the harmonious sound of the harp from before.

This was every note at once, simultaneously echoing in his ears.

What he fired wasn't a mere arrow or even a spear; it was a bolt from a ballista that could fell a Dragon.

The magical stone disk didn't stand a chance.

Indeed, it shattered upon contact, the arrow boring its way all the way through the golem before smashing into the ice behind it.

The statue stood, silent, as though disbelieving of what happened; the hole Tristan had put through its torso was easily the size of a log, and the force behind the blow had left the inner walls almost entirely smooth. If Tristan had known where to aim to begin with, then it was possible he could have ended the battle with that strike alone.

After a long moment, the statue pitched forwards, and smashed heavily into the ground, never to move again.

Silence reigned through the forest as the Knights finally began to relax.

"Well… at least we know a little bit more about what we're dealing with," Gawain huffed, tapping the golem in the head before sheathing his blade.

"Morgana was expecting a larger force," Lancelot spoke, eyes narrowed, "She doesn't believe a small group such as ourselves could navigate this forest well enough to make it to the castle."

"And normally, she'd be right. This place would confound even high level magi," Merlin led the horses over, having resumed his normally happy mood, "She wasn't expecting me to come along."

"Because you were her lover, once?" Gawain challenged.

Merlin shrugged, "Lover, teacher. Or perhaps she never thought I would help Arturia quite like this… which, I must admit, is a fair assessment. I know you don't approve, but I happen to be rather fond of Morgana."

"Then why stand against her?" Tristan pressed.

Again, Merlin simply gave a noncommittal shrug – an infuriatingly neutral gesture that said nothing of his intentions.

Gawain gave a disgusted snort, "You should pick where your loyalties lie, Mage."

"I have," Merlin said simply, "If I hadn't, none of us would be here right now."

"… questioning him won't get us anywhere," Tristan concluded, turning to his fellows, "The fact is, he is here to guide us and assist us against Morgana's magic. He's played his fair share of tricks over the years, but I think it's fair to say that we know whose side he's on – for the moment, at least."

"'For the moment?'" Merlin pouted, "I'm the Court Mage! Don't I get a little bit more trust that that?"

All three Knights turned to stare at him, the expressions of utter deadpan on Lancelot's and Gawain's faces matching Tristan's perfectly.

"… oh, fine," Merlin muttered, looking away, "Just get on your horses. I doubt that will be Morgana's only line of Defence, so we'll be trying to take alternative routes to conflict from now on if at all possible."

It was a long while before they finally reached the castle.

Morgana's forest had forced them to take a convoluted path of detours that wound through the forest seemingly without end. Around trees, through monstrously deep banks of snow, and across a frozen river, it seemed that there was no end to the forest. Gawain even repeatedly considered accusing Merlin of leading them in circles.

Not helping was that the golem they had destroyed was clearly not Morgana's only attempt at making such constructs. It wasn't uncommon for the telltale thunder to reach their ears once more – a clear sign of more of those ponderous stone giants on the approach. Merlin had to repeatedly change routes whenever these quiet booms began, the party as a whole unwilling to spend any more time on this mission than necessary; further conflict should be avoided if at all possible in favour of completing their goal.

Eventually, however, they reached their destination, even as the snow began to fall with greater fervor, turning a relatively clear night into a blizzard.

Had Merlin not been able to confirm the presence of magic here, he'd have said this fortress, though impressively large in comparison to most structures, was still very much empty; the outer stone wall was broken in several places, struck down by either ballistae or trebuchets. The gate was in pieces, only barely standing, with several gaps more than large enough for even Lancelot or Gawain to squeeze through with relatively little trouble.

Several of the structures past that were in no better shape, with large, gaping holes in the walls exposing the rooms within.

There were no banners. There were no fires. There weren't even the slightest hints of life to be found milling about. Furthermore, everything was coated in a thick layer of snow, further giving credence to the idea that this place had been left to the mercy of the elements.

"She certainly hasn't bothered to clean up at all," Merlin remarked as he dismounted from his horse, tying the reigns to a broken piece of stone.

"Were it not for those golems, I would say we wasted our time coming here," Tristan scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Why would she leave this place in such ill repair after putting so much effort into trying to defend it from an army?"

"Perhaps she has simply not had the time. Or the man-power," Lancelot intoned, following Merlin's lead, "Repairs to a castle of this scale is not something a man can do on his own. Those golems are strong, but they hardly seem fit for assisting with construction or restoration."

Gawain said nothing, merely staring up at the structure and biting at his lip before descending from his horse. He tied the reigns to keep the steed from wandering off, then turned to the others, "Shall we proceed, Mage?"

After a moment of considering calling a vote to leave the Knight of the Sun behind, Merlin spun his staff before planting it firmly in the ground. He began to murmur under his breath, magical energies flowing through him once more.

The Knights quickly felt the energy emanating from Merlin begin to spread, and then surround them like a thick cloak or fog. It wasn't visible, but it didn't need to be seen to be perceived; Lancelot cleared his throat, as though something had been caught, his expression twisting in a grimace. If Tristan was unnerved by the display of magic, he did not allow it to show, though beneath his cloak he did feel his fists clench involuntarily. And Gawain did not realize his hand was straying until he felt his fingers wrap around the hilt of his sword, yanking his hand back with a start.

Merlin finally opened his eyes, and the prana flow ceased. He glanced at the Knights, "These wards I've cast should conceal us from most of Morgana's Defences, which I'm assuming are magical in nature, as well as reveal anything that would normally be concealed with illusions. That said, it does not mean we are concealed from everything, or that there won't be anything hidden through simple mundane means; this won't protect us from mundane traps and the like. Be on your guard."

With that, he turned, and started forwards; the Knights followed, and soon found themselves in a ruined courtyard.

The resemblance to Camelot was not lost upon any of them; it was not a perfect copy by any means, but it certainly seemed to emulate King Arthur's seat of power. It was, at once, both exaggerated and ruined, the towers spiraling higher than any tree; the ornately carved wooden doors were wrought with rusted iron fittings, standing far taller than what was necessary. A chapel held a massive, vaulted ceiling through a hole in its roof, with several large chandeliers hanging from its rafters. Even the square seemed to reflect once incredible grandeur, as though even the peasantry that lived here once upon a time lived in luxury. The castle itself was nothing short of gargantuan, a structure that towered over the forest.

But it only seemed to add to the sense of foreboding. Masterfully carved stonework lay scattered across the cobblestone street; the remains of a siege were all that was left. Great stones thrown by trebuchets and massive bolts left by ballistae remained firmly lodged where they had struck, and the stone was still blackened from intense fires. Even more disconcerting was the distinct lack of any sort of perishables or commerce. Looking in the windows, nothing was left behind in the shops; perhaps, one could chock this up to bandits taking everything of value, but the distinct lack of anything aside from the remains of battle only seemed to enrich the chill wrought by the abandoned structures.

"… I don't recall any of the fortresses I have been in being nearly this grand," Gawain murmured.

"Nor do I," Lancelot agreed, "Merlin, you said this place was a fortress from one of the King's twelve wars?"

"It was," Merlin said, "But there are many things magic can do, to people and to places. Seems Morgana wasn't satisfied with it as it was."

The four advanced across a great stone bridge to the castle proper; Gawain was quick to shove his body against the great doors, only to grunt in unsurprised frustration when they did not open.

"Locked," he muttered.

Merlin gave him a wry smile, "Did you really expect Morgana to leave her front door unlocked for you?"

"No," Gawain snorted, "I'd simply prefer to make sure before wasting my time looking for an alternative entrance."

"It's hardly a waste if it is a necessary step," Tristan glanced about, trying to recall this place from the many sieges he'd seen over the years. But no matter how he wracked his brain for the answer, he could not place it; if this was somewhere Tristan had been, once, then Morgana had warped it beyond recognition.

He stepped onto the railing of the bridge and stared out across the snow, frowning. The castle didn't really have a moat; that would imply that the gap between the town and the castle had been man-made. No, it would be more accurate to say that the castle had been built upon its own isle in the middle of a frozen river, which now seemed to stretch much farther than it reasonably should have, going from the frozen strait that they crossed not two hours prior. From what Tristan could tell, the outer wall stretched to encompass land on both sides of the river, each with massive portcullis that stretched into the depths of the frozen water below.

The island itself was not particularly large, probably a few thousand feet across at most, but it was more than enough for a castle to be built. The stone foundations disappeared into the earth below, the island's shores coated in small stones rather than sand, given what was visible beneath the blanket of white that enveloped everything.

He frowned. Given the design of the castle, there wouldn't be many ways by which the occupants could escape in the event of a siege. Camelot, having a very similar design, at the very least had a small boat at the ready should the need arise to get the nobility out of the castle quickly and efficiently. This meant the castle had a hidden escape passage that led out the base of the castle to the ocean.

If this one had anything similar…

"Perhaps we should try the base of the castle," Tristan stated, finally turning back to the others, "Every castle and fortress has some means of escape should the need arise. If an army is going to march across the bridge…"

Lancelot was quick to catch his meaning, "Then they would likely escape by boat. Meaning they would likely have an exit located with relative ease of access to the castle's shoreline."

Merlin scratched at his chin, "It's definitely plausible… shall we go see?"

"I prefer a more direct approach… but that may not be for the best, today," Gawain said, looking down over the railing himself. He then glanced at the others, "Let's find a way down there."

With that unanimous agreement, Tristan reached out to the stone and ran his fingers along the surface; when he finally found purchase, he gripped the stone, and swung out into open air, his armour clanking heavily as his boots hit the wall. He looked at his companions before beginning to descend, carefully seeking out handholds as he began the long descent to the beach below.

Each of them followed Tristan's lead, using the handholds he set for purchase… though it was harder for each of them in different ways. Lancelot and Gawain were both significantly bigger than the red headed archer; even with their swords moved to their backs instead of at their waists, they struggled with the smaller handholds under their own weight. And Merlin was forced to carry his staff in his teeth, having nearly slipped and met a very premature end trying to climb with one hand.

Finally, they reached the bottom, hands aching and practically coated in snow, their armour and cloaks barely visible. With the sky quickly growing darker, they began their search for an entrance.

Gawain rounded to the west side, drawing his sword; even in these shadows, Excalibur Galatine's glow was more than enough to cast a light through the darkness, though he still had to squint to see through the snow. It seemed to fall faster the further ahead he trudged, and it was already up past his ankles, making it difficult to push forwards.

Gawain grit his teeth, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself as he scanned the area as best he could, the castle towering over him. He pulled himself beneath its shadow hoping to get the snow out of his eyes if only for a moment.

Then he saw it.

A gaping crack in the stone; a seemingly small, innocuous cavern.

He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from calling to the others. He pushed through the snow bank to the crevice, easing himself in as carefully as he could, Excalibur Galatine held before him like a torch, its blue light casting the darkness aside.

It wasn't a particularly wide gap; Gawain could slip in easily enough, but he suspected that if the others were to follow, they would have to do so in single file. Though he was fairly certain this was the entrance they were looking for, he needed to make sure.

Five feet. Then ten. Then fifteen.

And then the natural stone walls gave way to brickwork and cobblestone.

Gawain couldn't help the smile that crossed his lips. Finally, some luck!

He turned and returned to the storm beyond the reach of the cavern, shouting into the dark at the top of his lungs, "Tristan! Lancelot! Mage!"

For a long minute, there was no response. Then, finally, his companions emerged from the shadows.

"Well, I see you've found our entrance," Merlin remarked, peering past Gawain.

"You're sure this leads into the castle?" Tristan asked.

"I checked. The walls give way to masonry twenty feet in."

"Good," Lancelot stated, "Then let us make haste."

Gawain had been correct in his assessment – the four of them had been forced to march through the crevice in single file. Once again, the Knight of the Sun took the lead, with the Knight of the Lake directly behind. Merlin walked silently behind Lancelot, and Tristan took the rear, his hands twitching, ready to strum his bow at the slightest sign of a threat.

As promised, the cavern gave way to stonework, and the hall gradually widened so that Lancelot and Gawain could walk side by side. At Merlin's insistence, Excalibur Galatine had been sheathed, as he did not know if his magic could hide the light of the holy blade.

Eventually, the four found themselves at a dead end, though the wall seemed to have a distinct difference from the rest. Familiar with the concept of false walls and sealed chambers, Lancelot and Gawain immediately had their swords drawn; after a brief moment of debating the best way to strike, both warriors slammed the pommels of their blades in between the bricks at the center.

Immediately, the brickwork fell away behind the force of the blow, the seal either worn, shoddy, or both. It did not take long for both Knights to remove enough of the bricks for them to enter the room beyond; the hallway opened up into a large chamber with tables lining the center and the sides, the wood rotted beyond recognition, and the wood stoves having all gone dark, ashes in the bottom of each.

"… it appears we have reached the kitchens. Or at least, what's left of them," Gawain muttered with clear disgust. As a fine chef of great caliber (or so he believed himself to be), this was a complete disgrace to all things culinary.

Tristan glanced at each of the three doors, each one appearing more than a little flimsy even if they had been locked, "So where do we go from here?"

"Well," Merlin stated, "The most logical thing to do would be to try and find the strongest source of magic within the castle. With that in mind, splitting up would be a terrible idea – none of you can sense magic and might wander into a trap."

"So more following Ser Merlin, then," Lancelot crossed his arms.

"Hey, it works. Unless you have a better idea, I recommend you refrain from knocking it."

The inside of the castle was a winding maze of rooms and corridors. The rooms that didn't appear to have a dedicated purpose were all barren, and there were several areas in the castle where the wall and ceiling had been smashed in, allowing snow to fall freely through the gaps.

The only consistencies in their path was Merlin's occasionally scribbling on the walls and floors with his staff to mark their path, as well as a consistent ascent, leading them up through vast halls, tight stairwells and across walls and parapets to the upper echelons of the structure.

"We're getting close," Merlin glanced about as they strode across another wall, "So far, most of Morgana's Defences have consisted of traps, all of which we've managed to bypass… very little in terms of a more active Defence."

"It's empty… eerily so," Tristan stared out into the forest, jaw set, "You would think there would be something here… guardians, of some sort."

"Merlin has been keeping us concealed, and illusion is his specialty," Lancelot said, "It's possible his skill in this regard yet outmatches Morgana's."

Seemingly pleased to have his ego stroked, Merlin abruptly stopped, staring up at the massive door that stood before them, easily upwards of twelve feet tall, wrought from iron and engraved with several magical beasts of various natures. The central tower in the castle was truly a massive structure, with everything built seemingly with the specific purpose of spiraling around it in a sprawling complex far below.

Merlin smirked, then swept his hand across the surface of the door; as he suspected, the door had been sealed shut with magic, dozens of deep purple runes appearing in the air before the door – powerful wards indeed…

His smile widened as he spun his staff between his fingers, and slammed the tip into the stone; the dozens of gaps in the weaving wood began to glow as Merlin began his counterspell.

The circle began simply enough; a simple white line that began at the top and stretched to about five feet across as it seamlessly completed itself. But then, symbols began to appear, runes of glowing white within a diagram of ever growing complexity. Before long, it formed something akin to a chart to map out the stars, with an intricacy only matched by the seal upon the door in that instant.

Both magics began to glow brighter, and brighter, shining with the intensity of the rising sun for a brief instant and making all three Knights shield their eyes.

And then they both shattered, the door slowly swinging open.

"Is this it?" Gawain asked.

"No. But it is just above us. We don't have very far to go."

"Then let's get inside."

The interior of the tower was every bit as massive as its exterior; the rafters rose high above them, with a spiraling staircase lining the wall starting at the far side of the room. Evidently, when Merlin said "just above us," what he meant was "at least sixty feet above us," as the walls and stairs tower stretched high into the darkness, with no ceiling in sight.

The way the stone seemed to branch from the walls in the form of four large pillars and align in the center like a cross seemed to suggest that this place had once been some kind of bell tower; several chains lay on the floor, with no indication of what they might have once been used for beyond the room's design. The floor, oddly, was mostly comprised of thick, rusted metal grating, with only an outside ring of stone forming a completely solid floor – likely for the sake of transferring and amplifying the sound of the missing bell as it travelled down the tower.

It was only when they were halfway across the room that they heard it.

It wasn't quite a clicking sound; it was heavier than that. More like hooves on stone, echoing all around them with no clear source… and growing louder.

It was Tristan that found the source first, finally looking down into the dark pit. His golden eyes shot open, and he leaped back, shouting as loudly as he could, "SCATTER!"

No sooner did each Knight and the Mage immediately throw themselves in opposite directions, than something truly massive smashed into the grate from below. The metal bent outwards, several large chunks sent flying like earth from a newly formed geyser. The stench of rotten flesh quickly filled the room, as though they had just walked into a massacre of a battlefield, and a low growl began to echo through the tower.

Gawain could only gape at what he saw, a mix of horror and revulsion washing over him, his eyes as wide open as his mouth. Lancelot murmured a small prayer beneath his breath as he pulled himself to his feet, and Tristan, for once, found that he could not close his eyes out of some sick fascination.

It was huge – its head was easily twice the size of a horse's if not bigger, and its massive shoulders were wider across than most carriages. It scrabbled for traction with its hind legs briefly before finally beginning to pull itself up through the hole, leaving deep gouges in the metal beneath them, the Knights all shocked that the grating could actually support its weight.

Monstrous did not properly describe it; monsters were comprehensible. Monsters could be understood. The proper word to describe the creature was 'abomination.'

Its mouth was large – far too large for any creature any of the three Knights were aware of, five feet from the tip of its snout to the edge of its lips, with its lower jaw being over a foot longer still. Its nose was bulbous and black, glistening as sickly green mucus poured out of its nostrils, the creature heaving its heavy breaths with every movement; the overall shape of its head was some strange mix of canid, ovid and lizard, with a top that bordered on flat, but a clearly defined brow that stretched from the front of its "face" to the sides.

However, it was the teeth that got the attention of the Knights first.

At first, it appeared as though the beast were gasping for breath, almost panting, but it quickly became clear that it simply could not close its jaws. The teeth at the front were mostly sharpened fangs along the top, wolf-like teeth that were accompanied by large, sharp spires of bone that jutted out from the gums at random intervals around or even between them, as though there had not been enough room for all of them to emerge as the creature grew. But the bottom was nothing short of a nightmare; they appeared to be that of a goat's, but again the wolf and unknown teeth attempted to emerge from the flesh, creating the horrifying visage of fangs and molars being forced to grow around one another in a chaotic mess that caused pain just by being looked upon. Further back, the mess only continued, with teeth jutting both out of and into the mouth, molars and fangs forced to coexist where they truly should not have. Every time the creature's mouth drew too far shut, the teeth would gouge into its own flesh, forcing the jaws back open with blood dripping from fresh wounds, inflicted by its own horrifying excuse for a maw, its long tongue trailing the air and dripping with spittle and red.

Past the terrible mouth was a series of eyes – six in total, three on each side, mismatched in colour and design. The front pair were dark, bearing the circular pupils of dogs and wolves, set in the skull with an eerily human appearance; the ones beyond that were closer to green in colour, with the slit pupils one might expect from a cat or a snake, large and unblinking. And the ones mounted on the sides of the beast's head were a deep gold, with the horizontal pupils of a goat; all six sets of eyes wandered the room with a mad fervor, as though looking for something it desperately needed.

Finally, it pulled itself onto solid ground, widening the gap in the floor and causing the metal to groan; as it rose to its full height, it became clear it was far larger than the golems from before. Its long ears twitched as it steadied itself, each of its four legs longer than Lancelot was tall and easily thick around as a man's torso. Its overall build was closer to a hound's than anything else, though each limb ended in a mix of cloven hoof, wide foot and dog-like paw; large, flat, blackened bone jutted out from each of the creature's toes, some more wickedly hooked whilst others seemed more blunt, the foot overall disproportionately wide even for its size. Its skin was patchwork, with white fur more predominate at the head and shoulders, fading to a dark, almost bluish grey at the sides and limbs, and leathery scales dominating its long, heavy, lashing tail, though patches of scales and poked out like spots on a dog's fur, though to a decidedly less than aesthetically pleasing effect. Nearing thirty feet in length and standing over nine feet tall, it was truly a nightmare to behold.

It only took a moment to breathe before its jaws opened wide, almost to a full one hundred and fifty degree angle, spittle continuing to drip to the floor. Rather than a roar, however, the sound it made was more akin to a scream of horrified agony – as though the creature knew what it was, and wanted nothing more than to end its tortured existence.

"A chimera," Merlin swallowed, "That's… that's troubling."

"A what?" Gawain asked, appalled, "That looks nothing like the Chimera from Roman mythology, Mage!"

Any further exchange was cut off by the creature springing into action with shocking speed and incredible violence, its jaws thrown wide open and snapping down where Gawain once stood. He had Excalibur Galatine drawn, and swung it into the chimera's snout; the blade cut into the flesh, but unlike with the golem, the beast's bones proved too sturdy for the sword to cut through. It gave a low groan, then pushed forwards, knocking Gawain off his feet and onto his back.

It was only by Lady Luck's grace that he was not halfway swallowed; he managed to slam his sword into the bottom jaw of the chimera to keep it at bay as it tried to bite down on his head and torso, buying him just enough time to pull himself out from between those teeth.

Nonetheless, he couldn't stop himself from choking as he dragged himself out from under the chimera again. Its breath was truly noxious, in every sense of the word – just what did Morgana feed this thing?

The monster did not seem to notice him, however; its mismatched eyes were fixed upon the other Knights, equal parts rage and pain in its distorted features as it suddenly launched itself from its perch straight at them.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the voice of reason was shrieking at Lancelot that this was not a good place to be, but the mad chaos of combat had already begun its dance of death. There was no time for retreat or reposition. Morgana's abomination would offer no mercy to any of them. Only death should its jaws catch any not fast enough to avoid them. He raised Arondight high, ready to fight the beast head on.

"For the King! For Camelot!" he roared, a battle cry soon echoed by his fellow Knights, as they too prepared to enter the fray.

He ran forward to meet it, taking it by surprise and forcing it to correct the path of its attack. He ducked under the slash of its claws and swung upward, feeling his sword bite, hearing the screech change to a bellow of pain and rage. It landed heavily, seeming almost clumsy on the ground after the deadly grace of its initial pounce, but it whipped around with surprising speed, the jaws parting, taking in a deep breath, and then...

A thunderous, ear-splitting roar.

Lancelot brought his hands up purely out of instinct, wincing as the agonized howling filled the air once more, a ungodly cacophony seeking to immobilize them. It felt almost like his skin beginning to redden and blister, could almost see his gauntlets start to warp in the mangled melody, and then the noise softened suddenly, magic swirling around him, healing the damage dealt, deflecting the monster's unnatural attack, Merlin's voice rising strong and steady.

Dimly, he was aware of the others, but he could not even spare them a glance before he charged forward again, spinning around the wicked head as it darted out for a bite, slamming Arondight once more into the massive skull and opening a gash in the thick hide over one shoulder with the strength of his swing.

A mighty buffet of the creature's tail sent Gawain and Tristan tumbling backward, but Lancelot hunched his shoulders and drove forward, lashing out with Arondight again and again, staying close, using the beast's own bulk as a shield against its teeth and claws while the others attempted to do the same against its flank. With a bellow of fury, it launched itself into the air, twisting and diving back to earth a short distance away.

Before any of the Knights could make attempt at closing the gap again, they saw the jaw drop open, and braced in anticipation of another gout of its unnatural roar. Instead, the creature shot its head out, hooking its fangs around Arondight in an attack as unexpected as it was sudden, then whipped its neck sideways in a rapid, violent motion. Agony flared white-hot down Lancelot's left arm, and then he was flying through the air in an arc that ended with bruising force at the foot of a marble pillar. The edifice shook with the impact, crumbled stone raining down from above to pummel the dazed Knight.

He opened his eyes, saw the creature wheeling to face him again. He shook his head, trying to clear it, tried to rise, but his blade was pinned to the ground, buried beneath a pile of rubble, and his left arm refused to obey his commands. The sounds of magic exploding and the clash of steel, Gawain and Tristan attacking from opposite flanks, trying unsuccessfully to divert its deadly intent from him, then scattering as it strafed the ground with another swipe of its claws, digging up the stone with its fury.

"Keep it distracted! Don't let it focus on a target!" he shouted, heedless of the bolt of pain from his trapped arm. The creature reared back to strike again, then pulled up short, flinging its head skyward and roaring in pain as it clawed at the pair of arrows that had pierced one of its left eyes. It wheeled, seeking the source of its pain, and only then did Lancelot release Arondight from his grip, still trying to pry himself free from the rubble. Within seconds, he was free, his left arm hanging limp and useless at his side as he scrambled to his feet, the fingers of his right hand closing again over his sword's hilt. The creature was facing away from him now, thrashing its head wildly as the others attacked from all sides.

Lancelot felt a grin on his face as Gawain leaped in, weaving like a mongoose fighting a snake and driving his sword into the top of one massive foot. The creature bellowed, its movements hampered as it tried to limp away on just three legs.

"Tristan, take the left leg!"

He ran forward, a single stroke of his sword slicing cleanly through the tendon at the back of the right hind leg. The archer's method was messier, but no less effective: several powerful shots launched one after another around the tendons, the targeted limb shaking and tearing from each impact until the deed was done. Hamstrung, the creature sagged back onto its now useless hindquarters, its front half still slashing at its enemies in a futile effort to attack, roaring in agony.

Gawain's war shout filled the world as he made another running leap and buried Excalibur Galantine in the creature's side in a massive overhand thrust, the weight of his body dragging the blade down through flesh and bone as he fell back to the ground. The roar became a keening wail, blood sizzling in the next bellow that burst from its mouth. A clawed forepaw slammed into the earth next to Merlin, who stepped back calmly, hands incandescent with power that he shaped with will and word, creating a crackling globe of pure energy that an almost negligent flick of his wrist sent flying into the maw of the beast.

The great head tipped skyward, and each Knight struck at once, driving the blades of their swords deep into the exposed chest, then rushing away as the creature reared back once more. Its massive body slammed down heavily into the grate, and it again struggled to rise.

Lancelot brought his sword to bear, holding it before him as it began to glow. Unlike with the golem, this shine bore the true brilliance of the stars above reflected in the surface of the lake; the true shine of the holy blade Arondight.

As though sensing its end, the chimera redoubled its effort to rise, focusing its efforts entirely on Lancelot – though whether it be out of some sick desire for self preservation or an active wish for its misery to end, none could be sure.

"May this blade offer you peace," Lancelot spoke, stepping forwards, the glow of his blade focusing at the tip; the chimera launched itself at him right as he began his swing.

"Unfading Light of the Lake! Arondight!"

The light filled the room in a blinding blaze of golden glory; Lancelot's swing was straight and true, the energy within the blade released instantly upon contact with the chimera's body. The light of destruction washed over the creature, like a raging river over a stone, and Lancelot felt the creature's shoulder simply disappear under the edge of his sword.

When the light faded, it was clear the strike had been a mortal blow; the chimera lay on its remaining side, struggling for breath. One might have said it had been cut in half, if there were a second half to even examine; the only parts of the creature that remained intact were its twitching tail and hideous head.

It was a macabre sight, to see something so thoroughly twisted still struggling for life, despite its clearly tortured existence.

Lancelot knelt down beside the creature, gazing solemnly into its eyes; beyond the pain, beyond the hunger, he could have sworn he saw a hint of contentment despite the ever dogged desire for self preservation. Finally, the chimera gave a single convulsive shudder, ululating a deathknell with what little breath remained, and fully collapsed, a torn and bloody mountain of flesh.

"Lancelot," Gawain quickly approached his fellow Knight. His eyes immediately went to his companion's limp limb, "Your arm…"

"Broken," Lancelot grunted in confirmation as he rose to his feet.

Gawain bit at his lip, then gestured over to the stairs, "Come. I'll set the bone in place."

As the two drew away, Tristan continued to stare at the remains of the slain beast. He cracked his jaw as he tried to process what he was looking at; even in death, it seemed to break every rule of nature, the bones and organs themselves only barely recognizable as anything from the world he knew.

Merlin pulled in beside him, lips curled downwards, "Something troubling you, Tristan?"

"… you said this was a chimera?"

"I did."

"… Gawain is right. This doesn't look anything like the Roman legend."

Merlin shook his head, "Not the Chimera, a chimera. The Chimera from legend was born from the monster Echidna – a natural magical monster. This," he poked the corpse with his staff, "is what you get when you use magic to forcibly fuse multiple animals into one creature."

It took all of Tristan's willpower to keep himself from giving in to the rising sickness within his stomach, "Morgana… made this?"

Merlin nodded, "Got it in one. In particular, three different animals – wolf, mountain goat… and saltwater crocodile, though how she managed to snag one of those is well beyond me. They're native to the lands to the south – even farther south than Palamedes' homeland."

Tristan shuddered as Merlin began to poke through the creature's insides. If this… thing was an indication of the lengths Morgana was willing to go…

"Mage," Gawain called, approaching with Lancelot at his side, "I've set the bones in Lancelot's arm. Would you be able to heal it before we continue?"

Merlin did not respond. He seemed more fixated on the creature's heart, reaching in and pulling what was left of the organ out of the chest cavity; his lips curled downwards as he inspected it, ignoring even the blood as it dripped onto his sleeve.

"Merlin," Tristan prompted, gripping the Court Mage's shoulder.

"… oh no…"

The quiet words immediately had the attention of all three Knights as Merlin's expression morphed from focus to realization.

"Merlin?"

"… it's more than just a guard dog," Merlin tossed the heart away, turning to the others, brow creased in a frown, "This chimera… it was a familiar."

"A familiar?" Gawain's eyes narrowed.

"Yes. Morgana made a link with it. She was capable of seeing what it saw, and directing its movements like a puppet on strings," Merlin glanced at the corpse again, "She did not appear to be in control for that battle, and for that much, we should be thankful. Applying actual finesse to that monster is not something I would be eager to see.

"But that is beside the point. The fact that it is a familiar and that it is now dead means that the link has been broken."

"And that means… what?"

"It means that Morgana knows her pet is dead. By extension, it means she knows we're here."

Silence overtook the room as the Mage's words slowly began to sink in.

"We need to move," Tristan decided, turning to Lancelot, "Merlin, how quickly can you heal his arm?"

"It won't be one hundred percent by any means," Merlin huffed, moving to inspect the Knight's newly set arm before a white glow overtook the limb, "But I can fuse the bone and dull most of the pain."

Tristan nodded, "As soon as you're done, we're going up, and grabbing what we can. We no longer have time for an in-depth search."

They all but sprinted up the steps with their weapons drawn once Merlin was finished, stealth having been utterly thrown to the wind as they climbed, exhaustion all but forgotten. At the top of the tower was a door similar to the one they had opened to get in, but this time, Merlin simply blasted the doors down, having no more time for a fancy demonstration; this was one lover's quarrel he desperately wanted to avoid.

Unlike the rest of the castle, the laboratory was fairly well cared for, perhaps even homely; torches lined the walls and crackled with flame, along with a hearth that held a roaring fire. Despite the fact that there were no such protrusions visible from the outside, multiple hallways seemed to branch off from the main room they just entered, which appeared to serve the purpose of a large study – thousands of books and scrolls of all types lined the circular walls, and lay open upon a large desk near the fire. It was almost a disarming visage, given the rest of the castle and what each of them knew of Morgana.

Regardless, they remained vigilant.

"Gawain, with Tristan," Lancelot intoned, "Merlin, with me."

"Don't touch anything," Merlin stated, a rare, serious expression forming over his face, "Everything in here is likely cursed. Do not touch anything, do not open anything, and do not read anything that is already open. I might not be able to fix whatever happens to you."

They broke off from each other without another word to inspect the different wings of Morgana's home. Artifacts and baubles of all sorts lined the walls of one wing; in another, various diagrams of anatomy and stone carving. They only conducted the briefest of checks around the workshop, having no time to inspect everything.

However, it was Lancelot that heard it as he turned to leave the room.

A faint wailing…

Curiosity piqued, yet clearly wary, he turned back to the rear of the room, searching for the source.

Merlin came to stand beside him, head tilted, "So you hear it too?"

"Just now," Lancelot answered.

Cracking a knuckle under his thumb, Merlin allowed his staff to glow once more, and lazily swept it across the room; at the far end, a bookshelf, and the wall behind it, faded from existence, and the wail became exponentially louder.

"Heh… Morgana never did take to illusions quite like I did," Merlin stated.

Lancelot only frowned. He drew his sword, and started towards the hall.

"You sure you want to go down there alone?" Merlin asked.

"Go and get Tristan and Gawain," Lancelot responded, "I will scout ahead."

With that, he ducked into the archway, the light beginning to dim.

The room he emerged in was more spacious than the ones before it; a massive stone worktable lay in the center, empty save for the dozens of runes that covered its surface, as well as the large chains that lay on the floor around it, bolted to the ground. More bookshelves and artifacts lined the walls, along with another fire. But this was not the calm, soothing fire of a hearth; this one was strong, but controlled, giving off a powerful heat that warmed the room to an almost uncomfortable degree. Suspended over the flames was a large sack of flesh, held in place by several chains attached to a wrought iron frame. A desk lined the far wall, and was absolutely piled with open books, some new, some old, and some truly ancient, and plants and herbs and even stones and meats of multiple types were displayed on several of the shelves, though for what purpose, Lancelot did not know.

But Lancelot was drawn to the curtains in the corner, which obscured something from view.

"Lancelot?"

The Knight of the Lake glanced back; Tristan, Gawain and Merlin had finally caught back up with him, their weapons also drawn.

"What is that?" Gawain asked, almost seeming to want to reach for his ears.

Lancelot merely brought a finger to his lips, then returned his attention to the curtain, drawing closer. After a moment of deliberation, he steeled himself, and yanked them open.

A long, agonizing pause swept over the Knights, Gawain and Tristan waiting for Lancelot to strike whatever it was on the other side of the curtain and end the wailing... but no strike was made.

Instead, both men saw something they thought they would never see in their lifetimes.

Ser Lancelot was... completely dumbstruck, to the point he nearly dropped Arondight in shock at whatever it was his eyes, now wide as dinner plates, saw within. His bulk obscured it from the other two, preventing them from making the same discovery as he. Only when he sheathed his blade did they risk approaching, still confused, wondering what could possibly reduce the greatest Knight in the realm to such a stupor.

Gawain briefly met eyes with Tristan, "Lancelot?"

No answer. The Knight seemed completely oblivious to his companions' presence as he entered the room. Was he under a spell perhaps? It did not appear so.

"Lancelot?" Gawain tried again, louder this time. "What is it? What's inside?"

Still the Knight ignored them. Or was too entranced with what lie within to respond. The possibility of a spell was becoming more likely with each moment he remained unresponsive. The other two did not dare enter the room, unsure whether it was safe to do so thanks to his peculiar behaviour.

Lancelot, however, was focused only on what he saw in front of him. Not as a Knight defending the land from an enemy threat, but as a man who was most experienced in this regard. An area where both Gawain and Tristan lacked any experience entirely. He was calm as he approached, and made no sudden movements as he carefully reached down to pick up...

Gawain moved further into the room, the silence unbearable. "Lancelot, what is going-"

They all heard it at the same time, stopping Gawain in his tracks: a high note of fearful crying. The kind one only heard from the mouth of...

Slowly, Lancelot turned to face his brothers, the source of the crying tucked gently into the crook of an arm. It's tiny hands were close to its face, while its eyes were screwed shut, crying out in dismay at having found itself surrounded by unfamiliar beings. Despite being so young, a full head of hair rested atop its head. A full head of golden hair.

Even Ser Tristen's eyes snapped open, wide and uncomprehending, mouth hanging open as he tried to come to terms with what it was he saw. Even Gawain could barely force the words out of his throat, so stupefied he was at the sight.

"A... a baby?!"

*rises from the ashes* I LIIIIIIVE!

... *coughs*

So... It's... it's, uh... it's been a while.

But you guys didn't honestly think I was dead, did you?

... did you?

*looks at the pile of unfinished stories - Darksiders: Last of the Third Kingdom, Fate Eternal Adventure, Of Valkyria, Darcsens, and the Holy Grail War..*

Uh... heheh... I'll uh... I'll get to those...

A-Anyways! Some of you may notice within the next few days that this story will also be posted by me at Jarl-of-the-North and by one Batomys2731 on DeviantART! That is because this story is a collaboration and we are both posting it where we can! The more the merrier, am I right!?

Unfortunately, because of the way works, we are unable to both post this story on both of our accounts (unless something's changed in the last two years. If so, could someone let either of us know?). So we're kind of stuck, to paraphrase Fate/Cero's Kotomine, "At this stone wall of bullshit."

Anyways...

Hope you all enjoyed the first installment of Knight of the Heart!