[Hereafter] Interlude: Whispers on the Water (Patreon)

Interlude: Whispers on the Water

This was the truth of the Singularity called Camelot.

It began in the same manner as any of the other Singularities: in the midst of the Ninth Crusade, the Holy Grail left behind by the corpse calling itself King Solomon was acquired and Servants appeared either to seek it or to destroy it. The Crusaders rallied. They burned down everything in their path on their way to the Holy Land, slaughtering everyone in the name of the King of Mages who gifted them this power.

However, their greed got the better of them. Whether by accident or circumstance, they summoned the Great Pharaoh, and he determined the truth of the matter in mere moments. He confiscated the Holy Grail, bringing forth the lands of Egypt and smothering the fires left behind by the Crusaders. His great temple rose, and his people, brought to him by the same act that called the sands of the desert to his side, gathered in the safety of its shadow. He called upon his sphinxes to patrol his lands, fair Nitocris to watch over the people, and wise Imhotep to manage his resources, for even as a Servant, the Great Pharaoh was still only one man and could not rule in solitude. 

Even so, the Crusaders were not truly defeated. A Heroic Spirit appeared, calling himself Richard the Lionheart, and summoned his own Crusaders to swell his ranks. They subjugated the true Crusaders, absorbed them into their numbers, and only then waged a Holy War against Jerusalem, for even if he was not truly Richard, that Servant too had a role to play and was determined to see it through.

Even a fake lion had claws. Even a second son had pride. Yes, he embodied the role his brother had played nearly a century before.

Others arrived, summoned by the call of the Crusades. Balian of Ibelin. Baldwin the Leper. Those who had taken Jerusalem before, those who had defended Jerusalem before, those who had held it for Christendom and those who wanted to see it reclaimed for Christendom. Factions split the Crusaders, though the singular goal united them in purpose.

In the Holy Land itself appeared defenders of the faith from eras passed, led by clever Salahuddin. They resisted the invading Crusaders and ringed the city in spears, for they were determined not to lose it again, no matter the cost.

Perhaps if certain voices were allowed to speak, it might have been possible to end things peacefully and avert the true formation of a Singularity before it could fully manifest. Alas, the Servant calling himself Richard the Lionheart commanded the Crusaders, and he accepted no result except the total reclamation of the Holy Land, for that was the cause that had consumed his brother in life.

Into this arrived the one known as the Lion King. This abomination wearing King Arthur’s face slipped into the Singularity without anyone the wiser, and using her own power, she called forth her Knights of the Round Table to attend her. Gawain, Lancelot, Tristan, Kay, Gareth, Gaheris, Agravain — only two were absent.

Yes. Only two.

“You do not need me to name those two, do you, Sir Bedivere?”

The truth which you have not yet heard in full was this: she gave them all a choice. She explained her purpose and her plan in all of their monstrosity, born of the seed of the thing she had become, and once she had finished, she said thusly:

“I summoned you Knights because I require your power. While I can defeat my enemies alone, I cannot perform the Holy Selection without aid. Those of you who choose to stay by my side and fight for my cause, you shall become my hands and feet. However…I am aware that what I have told you violates your principles. And so I ask: will you stand with me, or will you stand against me and attempt to stop me? By sunset, I must have your decision. I cannot afford to wait any longer than that.”

And so the brotherhood of the Round Table split. There were always going to be those amongst them who would choose to side with her and those who chose to stand in her way. As it was in life, so too would it be now in death, as Servants, for they were all Heroic Spirits whose natures and stories have long since been set in stone.

Should I tell you of them? Of Sir Kay’s quiet anguish? Of Sir Percival’s solemn tears? Of Sir Gawain’s grave understanding? Of Sir Tristan’s despair or Sir Lancelot’s acceptance? Of Sir Yvain’s aimless rage or Sir Agravain’s determination?

Each of those Knights faced their own demons and came to their own truths, and each made their own decision based upon their own ideals and their own understanding. At sunset, they confronted each other before the eyes of the Lion King and slaughtered each other in accordance with their own principles.

“You would have wept to see it, Sir Bedivere.”

The outcome was as obvious as it was inevitable. Those Knights who had chosen to serve the Lion King remained and those who had chosen rebellion died and returned to the Throne of Heroes. Those loyal knights were each bestowed a blessing to better aid them in carrying out their mission, these “Gifts” that grant them such power.

And then they invaded the Holy Land. They slaughtered the Crusaders to a man, including the one claiming to be King Richard. They slaughtered the defenders, including Salahuddin. They took Jerusalem, and in its place, they erected their own Holy City and called it Camelot. 

What became of Sir Gareth… Yes. That was Sir Gawain’s shame to bear.

Circumstances worsened. Over the course of six months, the remaining people of the Holy Land were slowly whittled away. Those found worthy were selected to enter the Holy City and became something no longer human. Those found unworthy were disposed of. Those who rebelled were punished. Their numbers dwindled to a mere few thousand, spread across numerous villages, until even those were wiped from the face of the Earth.

This was the situation into which Chaldea arrived. This was the situation into which you arrived, Sir Bedivere.

But…were you not told? A Singularity is caused by a deviation. The Holy Grail left behind by the King of Mages was merely a tool to keep that deviation in place. A pin. If the deviation were to be corrected, then fixing it all would be as simple as removing the Grail, a task for which Chaldea was well-trained and well-equipped. 

“That is why, Sir Bedivere, you need only fulfill your duty. You know what that is. You have known all these years you have spent wandering. That you failed is the only reason the Lion King exists. Were you to correct that distortion, then all else would fall away on its own.”

Sir Bedivere did not hear, for he was asleep. That was fine. The skill to speak to another in dreams was one that did not belong solely to incubi and succubi. Such a magecraft could be learned by one of sufficient talent and skill.

And so…

“Sir Bedivere. You have a task to complete. You know what it is. When the time comes, you need only cast it back into the hands from whence it came.”

In his sleep, Sir Bedivere muttered, “I will…do what I must. The Lion King…destroyed…”

The seed had been planted, and that was enough, for now. In time, he would come to understand the truth of the matter and the truth of what he must do, but this was not that time and the mountain upon which he rested was not the place.

There were others, too, who needed to be spoken to.

“Sir Galahad. Did you think I would not recognize you?”

Upon that same mountaintop, the girl carrying the spirit of the noblest of the Knights of the Round Table stirred, face pulling into a troubled expression. The words meant for him had to pass through her first to reach the deepest depths of his heart.

“I can see your mark upon this girl. You lend her your power, and yet only a portion of it. Don’t you think you’re asking a bit much to demand that she meets your exacting standards?”

What came back was not words, not exactly, but something akin to a feeling that conveyed deeper meaning than words ever could. Confidence. Surety. Determination. Stubbornness above all, and a steadfast belief in his own righteousness.

When the time comes, she will, was what he meant to convey. I’ve been watching her long enough to understand her character.

“And until then, you leave her hobbled, half-crippled, unable to grasp the truest extent of your strength? I do not remember you being this cruel, Sir Galahad.”

She is stronger than you believe her to be. When the moment arrives, she will rise to it, and she will be all the better for having come into it on her own.

“You would stake not only her survival, but the survival of mankind, on it?”

I would. She has not come as far as quickly as I would have liked, but her heart is strong and her feelings pure. 

“And yet, she must also carry the burden of your own feelings on your brothers in arms. She hesitates to fight the likes of Gawain and Yvain because your own heart bleeds for what they have become.”

That, too, is a trial she must overcome. In doing so, she will finally have reached the point of understanding me and what it means to hold my shield.

“I will not tell her now. If I find it necessary, however, I will tell her myself, once we are face to face.”

Solemn acceptance was his answer. I cannot stop you, if that is what you decide.

It remained to be seen. Yes, if the girl could achieve what she needed to on her own, then there would be no reason to spoil Galahad’s plans. If she could not, then it might be necessary to intervene and tell her directly just who it was that she was borrowing her power from. There were many trials that laid ahead of her that would require all of it.

For now…the poor girl could be allowed to sleep. There was another, not so far away at all, who remained awake, who sat at a forge and hammered away at the blade of a sword. His brow beaded with sweat, plastering his hair to his forehead, and the clink of steel echoed throughout the night.

“You are here for the same reason.”

His furrowed brow furrowed further, although he did not stop hammering. “Who are you?”

“An ally, of yours and of King Arthur’s.”

His mouth drew into a tight line. “An ally of King Arthur’s… Does that mean you’re one of the Lion King’s knights, then? Tristan was using his bow to create vacuum arrows, it wouldn’t surprise me if he could manipulate sound with it in other ways, too.”

“I am not. The Lion King is an abomination, an aberration created by a distortion of things as they were meant to be. I am your ally, insofar as I want to see that distortion corrected.”

“And what would that mean to you?” he asked. “If all you want is to get the Lion King out of the way so you can pick up where she left off, then that means we’re going to wind up being enemies.”

“No. I have no interest in maintaining this farce. I would see things return to the way they are meant to be.”

He grunted. “You’re not Morgan le Fay, are you.”

It was not a question.

“I am not.”

He paused long enough to lift the glowing hot blade and inspect its straightness. When he was satisfied, he set it back down and began hammering again, correcting the deviation. He, too, had a Heroic Spirit grafted onto his soul, only the swordsmith lending this boy his powers was not so stingy and not so determined to make him earn it. 

In many ways, it was more like that swordsmith was guiding an apprentice than anything else. To allow him to make mistakes and learn from them than to force his hands and his heart into the proper shape to forge the sword he meant to make. That was the reason the other attempts failed to fully sever the Lion King’s Gifts — the boy was meant to discover for himself that holding fast to his ideal was the only way to forge a true fate-cleaving sword.

It was obvious whose touch laid upon this boy’s soul, as well. 

“How did you come here?” the boy asked. “Are you one of these ‘Strays’ Chaldea talks about, summoned by the world itself to correct this place?”

“Did you believe I would sit idly by while the rest of the Round Table appeared here to serve? Including my own son?”

“You mean Lancelot.”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a moment. “And what do you intend to do about it, if you’re not going to take over once Saber is defeated? If you can reach me here and now, you could have offered to help Chaldea days ago. As soon as they got here, even.”

“My goal is the same as yours: to correct the mistake that created the Lion King and return King Arthur to the person she is meant to be. That is why I tell you now that your own efforts will be unnecessary. Sir Bedivere need only perform the duty at which he failed. Once the task entrusted unto him has been completed as it was meant to be, there will be nothing more that is needed to restore King Arthur’s truth.”

The boy frowned for a moment and said nothing, only continued to hammer away at the sword he was forging. Several long seconds passed, counted by the heavy clang of steel striking steel and the golden sparks that flew from the glowing blade.

Finally, he said, “So that’s the game you’re playing, is it? The both of you from different directions, with Bedivere in the middle.”

“It is no game. It is simply the quickest and easiest method to accomplish our goals.”

“If you think Bedivere is going to agree with you, you’re going to be wrong,” the boy said bluntly. “Your method is the quickest and easiest, but it doesn’t offer him penance or punishment. He wants to stand before her himself and look into her eyes.” The boy grimaced. “He wants to apologize for his mistake.”

“Merlin wants him to apologize, you mean.”

“That guy might be a bored, meddlesome busybody, but he understands that much at least,” said the boy. Abruptly, his voice dropped an octave and he cast a glance askance, eyes shining a brief, brilliant silver. “You ought to know better, as well. A heart seeking absolution cannot be satisfied with the mere completion of duty. He means to stand before his king and offer the very sword he expects to cleave his head from his shoulders.”

As suddenly as he took control, the swordsmith relinquished it, and the boy clicked his tongue. “The least he could’ve done was warn me first.”

“Does this not run counter to your own plans, Emiya Shirou? You have yourself declared that you shall be the one to defeat the Lion King at the time of the final confrontation. If Sir Bedivere follows the path Merlin laid out for him…”

“Your way wouldn’t do me any good either,” Emiya Shirou said. “This sword I’m forging now will cleave the threads binding this Singularity, including those binding Saber. That is why the one who faces the Lion King first will be me, and the one who defeats the Lion King will be me. At that point, it won’t matter if Bedivere follows through or not.”

“We shall see. When he comes face to face, I will make him the same offer then as I have now, and that long awaited task will finally be complete.”

“You’re free to try,” said Emiya Shirou.

The boy was left to his task, the amateur swordsmith to his masterwork. Another person of interest lay not far away, resting upon the hard ground with a young Heroic Spirit nestled against her like an actual child. The others might believe the journey most important, but this one would certainly see things for the way they were. She was much like a drawn blade — sharp-edged, to the point, and perfectly willing to cut whatever needed cutting.

Such a curious creature she was, too. The fact that neither she nor her comrades seemed to understand exactly what was resting inside of her, why, whoever had built Chaldea’s sensors? To be so blind not to notice, it almost seemed more like an intentional oversight than an accidental one. Those who recognized it for what it was should be more than capable of reaching out to it —

“How long do you plan on lying dormant?”

It recoiled. No, even such a simple word couldn’t possibly encapsulate that reaction to attention, and yet there were precious few that could truly describe its action. Had it been hiding for so long that the mere hint of another’s eyes upon it would cause it to shy away so?

“No need to be shy. You and she are inseparable, are you not? I can see it in you, how you have already decided to side with her against the whole world, if need be. Should she understand what you are, she would not reject you, and so I will not either. We are much alike, you and I, existences created for one purpose who found fulfillment in another — oh? I see.”

It squirmed.

“You are not whole, are you? It seems we are more alike than I thought. Fragmentary existences, the both of us, mere shards broken off of a greater whole. You linger out of love, and yet you remain silent because of weakness. I understand that impulse, too.”

Because Lancelot had given himself over entirely to the Lion King. He would not welcome his mother, not when she presented as an enemy to the king he had sworn himself to follow. Whether he would raise his own sword against her, well, that was a question no mother wanted answered.

The fragment remained silent. It did not offer even the vaguest attempt at communication, not even as Galahad had done. Instead, it seemed determined to present itself as an invisible thing, a nonexistent thing, such that all attention would slide off of it if only it remained mute for long enough. Not an entirely unfounded assumption, given how it had managed to disguise itself and its true nature for so long.

“Very well. If you are determined to ignore me, then I suppose there is no reason to continue attempting contact. I bid you only remember: when the moment comes and the greed has sunk its claws deep into you, cling tightest to the reason you persist. Narrow the field of your view and the scope of your grasp to the love that binds you here and now, and you will remain true to yourself and true to her.”

The fragment did not acknowledge any of this, and it might not have fully understood regardless, but it had heard clearly beyond any doubt. The girl the fragment had bound itself to shifted in her sleep, frowning, and tightened her own grasp around the young Servant nestled against her.

The other Servants on the mountaintop remained unbothered and ignorant. The Umbral Star’s fractured terminal maintained vigil from atop a nearby outcropping, watching the path down the mountain with unblinking eyes like some kind of sentry dog — a comical image for any who knew her own true nature. The manslayer who wore King Arthur’s face sat near her Master and feigned sleep, sharp eyes flicking to everything that moved in the dark. The bronze-skinned mage playing at bowman continued the grim work of cleaning up after Sir Tristan’s slaughter. The goddess pretended boredom as she floated above the mountaintop, watching the sky for any sign of the sacred lance making a second attempt upon the remains of the village there. The ricemonger portioned out more rice to those still awake whose stores had been burned or destroyed.

Among them, the monk had chosen to step carefully through the husk of the village and ensure each child was sleeping as peacefully as possible. More than once, she soothed a child who had lost a father in the attack, chanting some sutra from the far east —

“Is it my turn to get a visit from the mystery ghost?” Sanzang asked quietly.

“…How long have you known I was here?”

Sanzang smiled. “Oh, I noticed you while you were talking to Beddi, but it didn’t seem like you were doing anything bad, so I decided to let you go and see what you did. I’m glad I can say you proved me right.”

…What an irritatingly insightful person. Perhaps that was only to be expected out of one who became a Buddha.

“I mean these people no harm. I am, as Chaldea would know it, on the side of proper history.”

“Oh, I figured that much out on my own.” Sanzang stooped down briefly to brush a strand of hair out of a sleeping girl’s face. “The part I wasn’t sure about is why you didn’t come sooner. Taylor, Rika, and Ritsuka would have been glad to have your help the instant they arrived here, if you offered it.” She smiled ruefully. “Of course, that might have meant I never got the chance to meet them, so I guess I’m happy that you didn’t. Is that too selfish of me?”

“If it is, then I would be just as guilty.”

Sanzang grinned. “Oh, so I was right! Let’s see. I can’t say I’m all that familiar with the people in King Arthur’s legends — although I learned an awful lot while I was in the Holy City — but if I had to make a guess… Mm, to manage a magecraft like this from wherever you are now, that sort of talent could only belong to three people. You’re not a guy, so I can cross one off the list. You might be super serious right now, but you’re not being mean about it, so that’s the other one I can cross off, too. That means you’re the Lady of the Lake…right?”

“Oh my. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sanzang Xuanzang.”

Sanzang rubbed awkwardly at the back of her neck. “Yeah. I guess I should have expected that. You’ve been watching us the whole time, haven’t you?”

“Not the whole time.”

“But long enough.” Sanzang shook her head. “Hm. Well, I never saw you in the Holy City and none of the others mentioned you while I was there, plus, well, there aren’t exactly any lakes for you to hang around in out in the wasteland or here in the mountains, so you must be somewhere in Ozymandias’ desert.”

“A place it isn’t so easy to leave whose boundaries interfere with magecraft that might attempt to cross them.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Sanzang. “Without the Buddha’s voice guiding me, I might still be wandering around that place going in circles. Ah… Heh. Or eaten by a dragon.”

“As I recall —”

“Ah!” Sanzang pressed a finger to her lips. “We don’t talk about that part, okay? I was very dignified during that whole situation! The very picture of a wise and experienced monk on pilgrimage!”

“Of course.”

After a moment, Sanzang giggled, and she was still smiling when she said, “I’m not going to ask what deal you were trying to make with Beddi earlier. I get the feeling that it’s not really any of my business and he wouldn’t thank me for prying. I just think you should be aware, when the time comes, I’m sure he won’t be the only one with questions to ask you, so make sure you’re prepared.”

“I already am.”

Sanzang nodded, then made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Alright, I think we’ve spent enough time gossiping like a pair of old hens. You’ve got other people you want to check up on, right? Might as well get going while you still have the time.”

Sanzang was, of course, correct. The pair of Old Men of the Mountain were of less interest — there was nothing to be said to them — and so too was the Old Man who had split herself into so many pieces as though something was not lost to fracture one’s mind and soul in such a manner. Further west, however, hidden in the shadow of the mountains on the furthest edges of Ozymandias’ desert, there was an encampment. Calling it a village would perhaps have been too generous, but in function, perhaps it could have deserved the label. 

Here, there were no Chaldeans or Old Men of the Mountain or Saracens or Egyptians. Here, there were knights, knights and soldiers, all gathered under the banner of a single man. They lived, such as their existences could be called living, in tents that had been erected against the desert sun and the intermittent sandstorms let loose by Nitocris and Ozymandias. They stood guard over villagers who had found refuge in this place, people from all across the land, from refugees from the Holy Land to Egyptians who had chosen to reject Ozymandias and his rule to mountain people who had lost everything to the Lion King’s Judgment. Here, they all melted together, all refugees, all people with nowhere else to go.

One tent in particular was guarded by a pair of Enforcement Knights standing at attention. It was, it could be said, a little more luxurious than the others, although not so luxurious that one might have thought it a place for the Lion King to stay. Inside of this tent was a bed, a soft mattress that took up most of the space inside the tent, and laying upon that mattress, covered up with surprisingly tender care, there lay the missing Servant of Chaldea’s team, the famous Leonardo da Vinci.

“Of course you did. You never could resist a pretty face, Lancelot.”

She was still recuperating after the violence of her attempt to kill Lancelot and Yvain’s Lewyn in a single blow, and her arms and legs had not yet been fully restored. They were, however, far closer to it than not. At this rate, it would be another day or two before she was well enough to wake up and move around, and then, even if she did not contrive of some method to complete her own recovery, only another day or two more before she could stand upon her own two legs.

Lancelot had taken her amidst the confusion of the battle in the mountain village. After laying Arash low with his Noble Phantasm, he had begun to retreat, noticed her presence among one of the burning houses, and hesitated long enough to convince himself to “rescue” her. Tristan had only provided the distraction necessary for Chaldea to miss the kidnapping, and Lancelot’s own skill at hiding his presence had made it possible for him to slip away unnoticed such that even those who should have seen him or sensed him had not even known he was there.

“If you truly were as loyal as you proclaim yourself to be, then you would have slain her on the spot. At most, you would have brought her here, chained her up with the strongest bindings you could find, and waited for her to awake to answer questions.”

However, those thoughts had never entered his mind. Lancelot’s only concern was that he had seen a pretty damsel in distress, and he had taken it upon himself to spare her the inevitable out of his own misguided sense of chivalry and courtesy. Did she remind him somehow of Guinevere? It was difficult to say.

“Of course, that compassion and courtesy are the entire reason why he fought only a single Servant in the mountain village instead of staying to slaughter the people as Tristan did. It is the same reason he created this refuge in the first place. He does not trust his own judgment after the great tragedy it caused in Camelot, but neither is he able to fully entrust himself to the Lion King. Oh, dear Lancelot, you will have to take a side eventually.”

Perhaps Mash would be able to knock some sense into him. No doubt, Galahad would have some very strong opinions on his father’s actions when next they met. It was sure to be a spectacle for the ages.

“You may be able to help speed that along, should he have the chance to speak with you, Servant to Servant.”

Da Vinci did not respond. Of course she didn’t. If she could have, however, she would have likely agreed, if only to have a Knight of the Round Table whose Gift she might be able to examine in more detail. It would, perhaps, be easier to simply tell her…

“But you are not asleep, and so you would not hear me. Your body has simply shut down while the damage to your spiritual core repairs itself. It would be entirely pointless to speak to you of anything, let alone deliver instructions or well-wishes.”

When she had recovered sufficiently to speak and be spoken to, that would be a better time, although Chaldea might arrive before that time came. At that point, the question would be moot, for Bedivere’s final task would at last be complete and it would all be over but for retrieving the Holy Grail from Ozymandias. Whether Lancelot, or indeed any of the Knights of the Round Table, would remain behind once the Lion King’s distortion was repaired was a question that would not have an answer until it occurred.

“Still. Perhaps it would be possible to leave you with the information necessary. A simple transfer of knowledge should be well within my capabilities, even at a distance like this —”

“Aha, I would prefer if you didn’t, if it’s all the same to you.”

Flowers. Suddenly, flowers everywhere, stretching from horizon to horizon in a blanket of whites and pinks and yellows and reds. A blue sky, rolling, verdant hills, the gentle warmth of a spring sun shining down upon it all. Green grass, vibrant and full of life, a healthy forest, filled with the whimsical laughter of lesser fae, and the sweet smell of a meadow carried on a gentle breeze.

Of course. He had all but stated his name out loud.

“Merlin.”

“Come now, is that any way to treat your cherished teacher? Aren’t I the one who taught you everything you know about magecraft, my dearest Nimue?”

Not in person, naturally, for neither was she. He remained trapped in Avalon inside that tower, where he would remain until the end of all things. That was his punishment for playing so casually with others’ hearts.

“The centuries have made you no less a meddlesome fool than you always were, Merlin.”

“Ouch!” he laughed. “You really don’t mince your words, do you? Not with me, at least. I suppose that makes me something of an exception, doesn’t it?”

“You are still doing the very thing that landed you in that tower, and worse, you do not even spare the energy to pretend at remorse.”

“Because I don’t see any use in it,” he said. “Why pretend at being remorseful when we both know it would only ever be an act to begin with? I think it would be better for us to be forthright with each other — well. At least as much as we ever were, that is.”

“Very well. Then allow me to forthrightly ask you, why is it that you are interfering with me now?”

“Why, there’s a certain way I want for this whole thing to go, of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “You may not understand, but there’s a certain beauty to having things shake out in a particular fashion. It’s a bit like poetry, and you always did like poetry, didn’t you?”

“Scoundrel.”

He didn’t even deny it. “Guilty as charged! I like that phrase, you know. Humans really do come up with all sorts of fascinating idioms.”

“And so you would risk the sanctity of proper history on your own amusement?”

“I think you underestimate these people,” he said, and there was something shockingly earnest in his voice. “Chaldea would resolve this Singularity even without my meddling. However, that would be a bit dull, don’t you think? A harrowing adventure through the wasteland that was once the Holy City of Jerusalem and a tense standoff with Ozymandias in his desert — it would all be fine and good, but the ending would be a bit flat. None of the emotional payoff of Orléans or Septem or America, just the good guys triumphing over the villains.”

“Have you told Bedivere that he is here to serve as your entertainment?”

Merlin chuckled. “Now what would be the point in that? True, neither Sir Bedivere or our intrepid Emiya Shirou was explicitly told that I might derive some measure of enjoyment from watching their toils here against the Lion King and the Knights of the Round Table, but would it change anything if they were?”

“They would know better than to trust you.”

“Whyever would that be?” Merlin asked. “Their tasks remain the same, regardless of my own feelings on the matter. Anything else would just be an unnecessary burden.”

“They are happier not knowing they are dancing upon your strings? Is that what you say to excuse it?”

He sighed. “I think you give me perhaps a little too much credit. There’s a difference between laying out the path ahead of them and simply knowing where that path leads before they start walking it. What I did was nothing more than to give the both of them the opportunity to do what they would have done from the beginning.”

“Sir Bedivere, I might grant you. It is plain to me that he is connected to the Lion King directly. The boy, however —”

“Is from the same world, actually,” Merlin interrupted. “Poor Bedivere drifted onto the shores of Avalon after a long journey trying to atone for his mistake, and Emiya Shirou, well, he arrived there quite on accident many years ahead of when he was supposed to as he chased the image of the young woman he loved so dearly. I could have nudged him back into place, but I thought it kinder to offer him a chance to see what he was chasing after.”

“You turned him into a Demi-Servant.”

“Well, I could hardly send him into a war against the Knight of the Round Table as an ordinary human!” he reasoned.

“It would have been kinder to leave him out of this situation entirely.”

“Kinder in some ways, perhaps,” he replied, “but so very cruel in others. I prefer to think of it as giving him a little bit of a reward for reaching Avalon before he should have been able to. Dedication like that is rather uncommon, these days.”

“So you will stop me from interfering in your little pet project, all for the sake of your own amusement?”

“Oh, I haven’t stopped you entirely,” said Merlin. “Just from doing anything that would truly run afoul of the way things ought to go. Other than that, you’re free to act however you wish, even if that means taking the side of the Lion King.”

“And yet, you have not prevented me from offering Sir Bedivere the solution to his burden. Would that not foul your plans to have him return the sword to me instead of the king?”

“It would, if I believed that was ever possible. Shirou had the right of it, Nimue,” he said. “When the time comes and you make your offer to him, Sir Bedivere will reject it without hesitation. That’s simply his nature. He’s not one to take the easy way out.”

“We shall see. The girl might force his hand. She is the pragmatic sort.”

“She might try, but I think you underestimate the steel dear Bedivere has in his spine. And when I’m right, try to remember that you’re the good fairy of the lake, won’t you? One of Morgan’s temper tantrums really doesn’t suit a woman as lovely as you.”

“Scoundrel. Have you still not learned better than to play with people’s hearts?”

“Come now, Nimue, you know me better than that,” he said. “It’s in my nature, after all. That’s just the way I am.”

“And that is why you remain where you are — trapped in a Garden whose flowers you cannot smell and whose distant shores you cannot reach. Watch from your tower, Merlin. Watch, and reflect upon the fact that you might one day leave, if ever you learn to temper your vices. I shall do what you cannot and restore the girl whose future you took.”

“Just for that, I’m going to give you nightmares,” he said petulantly.

“You may try. Even if you succeed, it would be but a small price to pay. I, after all, can do more than dream and whisper to the stones.”

I wasn't sure I was going to stick with this interlude, but I think it adds a little to Bedivere's journey, so I decided to keep it. Originally, it was going to go much sooner in the rundown, but because I wasn't sure about it, it got delayed to now, the last place I could put it before I had to scrap a good chunk of what I had already written to make it fit and honestly the last place I could put it before I had to change Nimue's place in the story.

Apropos of Nimue, the Morgan lore about her split personalities still pisses me off, and I can't explain why I haven't cooled off. There's still a method of having her as a separate entity without her being one of Morgan's offshoots, so I'm going with that, even if there's some interesting, juicy bits that could be had by having her be one of Morgan's clones who developed an independent streak.