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Most people knew Arthur as the legendary King of Britain, the figure at the center of a myth so old it had become part of the furniture of Western civilization. What they didn't necessarily know were the details — Excalibur, Caliburn, the Round Table, the specific sequence of betrayals and choices that had brought Britain to Camlann. The story had been sitting in the background of culture for a long time, waiting for someone to tell it properly.
Holy Grail War had just told it properly.
The chat's unified verdict: Arthur was impeccably pure by any standard that mattered. One queen. A marriage troubled not by his failings but by accumulated external pressures — a potion, a son he hadn't consented to, a grief that drove Guinevere somewhere he couldn't follow. Even then, he'd wanted to let it go. The knights hadn't.
And the girl had been carrying all of it, the whole time, in a body that had stopped aging when she was fifteen, looking like a child while bearing the weight of an empire's end.
The chat had strong feelings about this.
[Protective]: I am declaring right now that anyone who was part of bringing Artoria to Camlann Hill is getting called out
[Lancelot_Defender]: he saved Guinevere's life, he didn't have a choice—
[Lancelot_Prosecution]: he created the situation where her life needed saving
[Moving_On]: can we talk about the magician for a second
[Magician_Prosecution]: THE MAGICIAN SET EVERYTHING IN MOTION AND THEN LEFT
[Magician_Defense]: he asked her if she wanted to do it. she said yes.
[Counter]: she was a child
[Writing_Fanfic]: I need a story where someone helps Artoria revive Britain. I would be Guinevere's guard if it meant being in that world. I would do it.
[Reading_Between_Lines]: you're not subtle
[Not_Trying_To_Be]: I'm not
Maverick had been quiet through most of this. The story had done something to him he hadn't fully expected — not surprise exactly, because he'd known in broad strokes what the Arthurian legend contained. But knowing a thing and experiencing it rendered this way were different. The soundtrack had caught the exact emotional register every time the narrative shifted, and the final image of Artoria alone on Camlann Hill had lodged itself somewhere it wasn't going to dislodge quickly.
He was still sitting with it when Artoria's voice came in beside him.
"Master? What's wrong? You've been distant."
"Nothing." He paused. "I was thinking about your story. If you'd been a boy — if any of this had happened to someone who at least had that going for them — it might almost be acceptable. But you were a girl. And that young."
Artoria's expression moved through several things in sequence. Slight annoyance. Something softer underneath it. Then the composed patience of someone who had heard variations of this concern before and had an answer ready.
"Master, you can't say it like that. The sincerity of heart that one carries for their country doesn't change based on whether you're a boy or a girl. It's the same either way." She tilted her head slightly. "And don't let the appearance deceive you. I'm over thirty. My body simply stopped developing when I pulled out the Holy Sword — I've been fifteen on the outside ever since. If circumstances allow, you might even see what I actually look like grown up."
[Chat]: SHE'S OVER THIRTY
[Processing]: she's literally been a thirty-year-old king in a fifteen-year-old's body this whole time
[Feeling_Things]: that makes the Camlann scene hit differently actually
[Maverick_Fan]: Maverick's concern for her was so genuine I can't
Maverick felt the knot in his chest ease slightly. He was aware, with the part of his brain that was always running slightly separate from the experience, that this was a game. He knew that. He'd known it the whole time.
The knowing was doing less work than usual.
He'd never played anything that made him almost forget.
He filed this thought away — Holy Grail War, Forest Studio, no prior releases, somehow built something capable of this — and turned his attention back to the moment.
"Speaking of which — Saber." He caught himself on the codename this time. "Do you have full class adaptability?"
Artoria considered the question seriously, the way she appeared to consider most things.
"Theoretically, yes. I have no significant history with bows and arrows, but as a Knight, I've mastered the corresponding martial arts — an Archer version of me would manage. The one to be most wary of is probably my Lancer class, because rather than the Holy Sword, that version would likely carry Rhongomyniad. An exceptionally powerful Holy Lance."
"What about Assassin?"
"No meaningful precedent. But if summoned in that class, I could adapt. Berserker likewise — I have no history of losing my sanity, but the Madness Enhancement can be applied regardless. As for Rider, my mount is simply a white horse. Not a Phantasmal Beast. That variant would be relatively weaker." A pause. "And Caster — I did learn several spells from Merlin. But if I'm being honest with you, Master, I would most likely just hit someone over the head with the staff."
Maverick absorbed this.
[Chat]: SHE WOULD HIT PEOPLE WITH THE STAFF
[Accurate]: that is extremely in character
[Rider_Fans]: a white horse is still a horse, we take what we can get
[Lancer_Fear]: Lancer Artoria with Rhongomyniad sounds terrifying please never let that happen
"So," Maverick said carefully. "There are seven different versions of you. Potentially. One for each class."
"It's possible. Though I'd find it difficult to believe the entire war could be—"
She stopped.
She looked at Maverick.
He was looking at a point slightly to the left of her, with the expression of a man doing math he didn't like the answer to.
"Master."
"Mm."
"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
"...Let's just get out of the airport first."
They left through the main exit. The night air outside was colder than inside, carrying the specific quality of a city Maverick hadn't been to — Fuyuki, red dot on the map, where the war was actually happening. He raised his hand to flag a taxi.
Across the pickup lane, another figure was doing the same thing.
Emiya Kiritsugu. Identical face, identical coat. A different player, same character, arriving from a slightly further landing point — the battle at the tarmac had displaced their original zone.
Both of them saw each other at the same moment. Both hands moved toward weapons at the same moment.
Then both Artorias stepped forward at the same moment, from opposite directions, and both players stopped.
Maverick looked at the other Artoria.
His eyes went slightly wide.
"Master, how is it? Did you get a taxi?"
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