Memories of a King - the story of Arturia Pendragon

[kay4today]

First: As far as I know (granted, my knowledge is rather limited), you've got the history and legend stuff right. Also, reading about the history didn't bore me, which is always a big plus in my book!

I also liked that you explained the circumstances around it first instead of jumping to Arturia's birth from the start. It was easier for me to get into the story that way. Interesting take on Caliburn as well.

I find Uther both oddly endearing and dumb.

Awww, child Morgana~

Well, Uther was kind of a jerk in Chapter 3, though it's understandable that he was upset. Aaaaand then he really turned into a jerk. :C

I like Merlin's characterization. I'll be sad to see him have less screentime in the future, though I'm looking forward to Arturia.

Minor nitpick: You use words like "can" and "will" in places where you should use "could" and "would" instead, on occasion.

I really like it so far. Looking forward to the next update.

[Seika]

The requested feedback arrives. Few days late, but I blame it all on people not me. And goblins. Bloody goblins. They hide in the walls of my room.


Mostly competent on the most basic technical level (spelling and grammar), but could still use a little extra proofing for certain things. I'm catching a good few tense oddities, an article missing here and there. Not major errors, but very much worth getting rid of.

Since it comes up three times in quick succession: 'a right man' would probably be better replaced by 'a righteous man' (morally good) or 'the right man' (suitable for purpose). 'A right man' isn't really English idiom.

Overall, the piece seems intelligently conceived, with attention to letting things develop from certain chosen points and grounding the reader in backstory. I like that.

Generally, the tone could sometimes use evening out. There's nothing wrong with a mostly-serious work in a formal register while Merlin injects comedy when he feels like it, but the transitions should be smooth and not too frequent. Flipping back and forth in rapid succession weakens both sides and makes it harder to the reader to work out their approach to the writing.

Grammar problems I can generally roll with, but I do frown when spelling errors come up that would be found by just doing an automated check with your web browser or word processing software. No 'allegience' please. Oh, and 'messanger' a few paragraphs later. And then 'occasionaly'. This section looks like it was a bit roughly done.

Be a little more cautious in how your modifiers and the words you're applying them to interact. An intensifier added to an already strong word can seem redundant (extremely furious) or a qualifier on a strong word can seem paradoxical. I guess these actually stem from the same thing. It's a powerful emotion, so you won't feel it weakly in a normal circumstance. And because you won't feel it weakly, to say that it's felt strongly is pointless because there's no other option. That's all very general, but I think adding strictly tonal modifiers to very emotive language is something you should at least be thinking hard about before you try it.

Your dialogue so far isn't extraordinary, but it's doing its purpose. It doesn't sound too forced and your characters have their unique voices. That's good – it's the sort of platform you need to really launch yourself toward excellence.

If you're going for pre-Saxon names, I have mixed feelings about 'Cornwall'. It potentially has roots far enough back but, in practice, you'd probably be looking at Dumnonia. More so because such a modern name sticks out even if it could have legitimate weight – not verity but verisimilitude. Alternatively, we could go with Kernow which isn't attested particularly early either, but has the same roots, is different to the modern English, and feels a bit more local as the Cornish name rather than the broader English title.

Looks like you tripped up on 'news' here, and it's worth a quick detour to fix. 'The news' is plural in its composition (grammatically and in its actual sense as multiple pieces of information), but it's actually turned into a collective noun that is referred to as a single entity. Even American English, which is usually stricter on this sort of thing, makes 'the news' singular. Therefore 'this news shocked Uther' and 'it also delighted him'.

Sane character development – it's good. I can see how Uther turned out like this over the last couple of chapters, I see ground being prepared for all sorts of things with regard to Artoria and Morgan. It all works.


Rounding up: I really want to pick on your tense problems. As long as you aren't quoting the direct thought “I will do X”, then you need to stick to your chosen time, and there was a significant number of errors on this count. “Merlin would do X”. Make use of all the past tenses available to you and you ought to be able to convey everything.

I particularly noticed a lack of pluperfect: “before he did this, Merlin had done this”, and what I believe is the conditional perfect in technical terms: “before this happened*, Merlin would have done this”. Between your current point in the past and a later anticipated point in time.
*strictly speaking, in the case that your anticipated event is counter-factual, this could be 'were to happen'. In practice, it will be “before this happened” no matter the likelihood of the event. No-one will say 'were to happen'. Except maybe me.

Next down the list is sorting out the tone. Apart from unevenness, it's a tiny bit too stiff right now, even for something imitating an older style of writing. Relax your language a little and this becomes that much easier to read and get into. A few less adjectives and adverbs sprinkled around would go a long way.


On the positive side, I'll reiterate that I really appreciate the whole approach you've had to the idea, taking it from a logical starting point and not rushing towards your goal but detailing what happened along the way. That covers both your plot and character development and these are, oddly enough, pretty critical to the piece as a whole. This 'fic is fundamentally good, but it needs a proper tidying and polishing.

[Lycodrake]

The requested feedback arrives. Few days late, but I blame it all on people not me. And goblins. Bloody goblins. They hide in the walls of my room.

Have you tried giving them Leprechaun gold?

[Polly]

Mostly competent on the most basic technical level (spelling and grammar), but could still use a little extra proofing for certain things. I'm catching a good few tense oddities, an article missing here and there. Not major errors, but very much worth getting rid of.

Yeah, I figured the tenses would be botched here and there. I need to re-read my textbooks from high-school.

Since it comes up three times in quick succession: 'a right man' would probably be better replaced by 'a righteous man' (morally good) or 'the right man' (suitable for purpose). 'A right man' isn't really English idiom.

Will be fixed.

Generally, the tone could sometimes use evening out. There's nothing wrong with a mostly-serious work in a formal register while Merlin injects comedy when he feels like it, but the transitions should be smooth and not too frequent. Flipping back and forth in rapid succession weakens both sides and makes it harder to the reader to work out their approach to the writing.

Hmm... this is probably the hardest part for me to handle. I find that creating natural, balanced dialogue is generally the most difficult part of the writing process. I'll pay more attention to it from now on.

Grammar problems I can generally roll with, but I do frown when spelling errors come up that would be found by just doing an automated check with your web browser or word processing software. No 'allegience' please. Oh, and 'messanger' a few paragraphs later. And then 'occasionaly'. This section looks like it was a bit roughly done.

Yeah, that particular chapter received much less attention than the others when it comes to editing. I was way behind my own schedule with it and decided to publish it as soon as possible and edit any mistakes later if people pointed them out. Lesson learned: there can never be too much proofreading.
Though, in my defence, these mistakes are more often due to the pace of the writing than plain ignorance.

Be a little more cautious in how your modifiers and the words you're applying them to interact. An intensifier added to an already strong word can seem redundant (extremely furious) or a qualifier on a strong word can seem paradoxical. I guess these actually stem from the same thing. It's a powerful emotion, so you won't feel it weakly in a normal circumstance. And because you won't feel it weakly, to say that it's felt strongly is pointless because there's no other option. That's all very general, but I think adding strictly tonal modifiers to very emotive language is something you should at least be thinking hard about before you try it.
Your dialogue so far isn't extraordinary, but it's doing its purpose. It doesn't sound too forced and your characters have their unique voices. That's good – it's the sort of platform you need to really launch yourself toward excellence.

Well, at least I'm not a complete failure.

If you're going for pre-Saxon names, I have mixed feelings about 'Cornwall'. It potentially has roots far enough back but, in practice, you'd probably be looking at Dumnonia. More so because such a modern name sticks out even if it could have legitimate weight – not verity but verisimilitude. Alternatively, we could go with Kernow which isn't attested particularly early either, but has the same roots, is different to the modern English, and feels a bit more local as the Cornish name rather than the broader English title.

This is where I have doubts myself. I want this to be as historically accurate as possible, but this puts me in a rather strange position considering the legend I'm adapting ( seeing as it was written in post-Saxon times ). I know I should use Dumnonia instead of Cornwall, but the latter name is so engrained in the Arthurian legend, I find myself reluctant to drop it. Just like London wasn't London until much later. I shouldn't have used the term "Scotland" either. And then there's the issue of personal names ( it should be Ectorius instead of Ector, Artorius instead of Arthur etc. ).
Basically, I'm forced to balance between trying to make it as historically accurate as I can on one hand, and on the other hand I have to keep a number of things and names from the legend that give the readers a sense of familiarity. Which, I fear, will result in something like a big bowl of quasi-historical, wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff. Which is to say, I'll be about as historically accurate as every other person who wrote their own take on the legend over the course of the last 1200 years or so.

Looks like you tripped up on 'news' here, and it's worth a quick detour to fix. 'The news' is plural in its composition (grammatically and in its actual sense as multiple pieces of information), but it's actually turned into a collective noun that is referred to as a single entity. Even American English, which is usually stricter on this sort of thing, makes 'the news' singular. Therefore 'this news shocked Uther' and 'it also delighted him'.

A retarded mistake on my part, seeing as I'm aware of this but overlooked it in the heath of writing.

Sane character development – it's good. I can see how Uther turned out like this over the last couple of chapters, I see ground being prepared for all sorts of things with regard to Artoria and Morgan. It all works.

Yay! Seika likes my story!

Rounding up: I really want to pick on your tense problems. As long as you aren't quoting the direct thought “I will do X”, then you need to stick to your chosen time, and there was a significant number of errors on this count. “Merlin would do X”. Make use of all the past tenses available to you and you ought to be able to convey everything.

I particularly noticed a lack of pluperfect: “before he did this, Merlin had done this”, and what I believe is the conditional perfect in technical terms: “before this happened*, Merlin would have done this”. Between your current point in the past and a later anticipated point in time.
*strictly speaking, in the case that your anticipated event is counter-factual, this could be 'were to happen'. In practice, it will be “before this happened” no matter the likelihood of the event. No-one will say 'were to happen'. Except maybe me.

Gotcha. I promise to pay more attention to it and, again, use my old textbooks. It would be very helpful if you could PM me the examples of such mistakes ( quoting the original sentence and then rewriting the sentence in the correct form ), so I can avoid such mistakes more easily.

On the positive side, I'll reiterate that I really appreciate the whole approach you've had to the idea, taking it from a logical starting point and not rushing towards your goal but detailing what happened along the way. That covers both your plot and character development and these are, oddly enough, pretty critical to the piece as a whole. This 'fic is fundamentally good, but it needs a proper tidying and polishing.

Thanks for both the praise and criticism alike. Honestly, it's a relief to find out that style and grammar are the biggest problems, since they are easier to take care of than plot and character development. It's good to know I'm not that bad.

Well, I hope I won't disappoint and promise to do my best to fix my mistakes.

[Polly]

Chapter 4 – Two Princesses

July, 490 CE

Sir Ector's farm was a relic from ancient times. Situated a few miles to the north of the busy market town of Corin, this old villa rustica stood as a reminder of the wealth and might of the now defunct Roman Empire. The lonely farm located on the top of the hill overlooking the valley of the river Churn managed to retain its vitality even though the forces of the Empire had long since abandoned the island.

A winding path that led to the farm branched from the main road which followed the meandering stream along its right bank, crossing the river over a small stone bridge. The riverbanks were lined with numerous old willow-trees, but the rest of the valley was mostly flat grassland, save for an odd oak tree protruding from the tall grass and the bushes here and there. The valley, along with some of the hills to the north of the farm, served as a pasture for the sheep Sir Ector kept. Small groups of animals could be seen grazing in these areas at any time of the day.
A few dozen yards from the left, eastern bank of the river Churn a low dry-stone-wall marked the beginning of the cultivated land. Fields sowed with wheat and barley extended from the bottom of the hill up to its very top, and also southwards to the next hill overlooking the valley. The golden grain that stretched to the south for half a mile was cut in two by the path leading to the farm buildings.
On the eastern side of the hill lay the expansive apple orchards, the greatest gem of Ector's estate; their sweet and bountiful fruits regularly found their way to the dining tables of the high lords, including those of the royal court of Uther Pendragon. Maybe the apples owed their superb quality to the soil, maybe the climate or the crops, or perhaps the secret lay in love and great care that were given to the trees by the workers and servants of Sir Ector's estate. Whatever their secret was, the apples grown in the fertile valley of Churn were among the household's primary sources of income, and the said income was substantial enough to allow Ector to keep three horses and two ponies in his stables; a rarity for a retired knight turned farmer to say the least.

The villa, which currently served almost exclusively as the living quarters of the farm, was not originally protected by any sort of wall or stockade, but as the times grew more volatile and a threat of bandits or barbarian raids increased, an eight-feet tall defensive stone wall with a single point of entry was erected around the villa, creating a safe, enclosed perimeter around the building. The stables, the barns, the storage rooms, a hen house and tool-sheds were all located in the spacious outer yard of the farm.

The villa itself was divided into four wings which together enclosed a second, inner courtyard. A small porch protruded from the middle of the white facade of the southern wing. Behind the porch the main entrance opened into the small inner courtyard. The southern wing was a simple two-story building in which the household servants and the few paid workers who lived on the farm rather than commuting from the nearby Corin had their living quarters. The smaller, single-story western and eastern wings contained the kitchens, more storage rooms, and bathing and dining quarters for the servants.
The northern wing, a large two-story building that still retained some of its decorations and was almost as big as the other three wings combined, served as the living quarters of Sir Ector and his family. The guest room, the dining hall, a small library ( which was in fact a converted former temple ) and the bathrooms were situated on the ground floor, while the bedrooms of the family members were located on the first floor.
There was an additional enclosed yard which was adjacent to the northern and eastern wing of the villa. The smallest of the three yards, this one was the most recent addition to the farm; built by Ector's father, the cloister served as the training ground where the male members of the family practiced various forms of weapons training as part of their grooming for knighthood and military service. It was enclosed by a nine-feet tall colonnade, and the space between the wooden columns facing the yard and the stone wall on the outer side served for storing weapons and resting. It provided shade, which made it more comfortable for the onlookers who watched the trainings and the fighters could find a refuge from the heat during a break.

It was noon, the scorching sun was high in the skies, and all the workers and servants were returning to the farm for a breather and lunch after working in the fields since early morning. A couple of shepherd boys were guiding their small flock from the northern hills towards the farm. Around the time they joined the rest of the servants in the outer courtyard and herded the sheep into the stall, a lone rider appeared on the top of the hill to the north of the farm.

The rider looked like a normal, if slightly effeminate boy of seven, but the truth of the matter was that he was actually a girl – her name was Arturia Pendragon and she was an heir to the throne of Britain, although she wasn't yet aware of that. Her golden hair was slightly longer than shoulder-length and tied into a short ponytail while leaving two large locks hanging on the either side of her face. She wore a short-sleeved, dark green, woolen tunic of hip-length and a plain, long-sleeved, white, linen shirt underneath it. Loose gray woolen trousers were stuffed somewhat sloppily into a pair of short leather boots. Her horse was a large, dark brown, mountain pony, four and a half feet tall with a black mane and a white spot on its forehead. She held the bridles tightly in her hands, gazing over the rolling hills covered in lush green grass. In the distance, the strong western wind was shaking the golden fields of wheat and barley and the clouds were flowing fast over the vast blue skies above the lone farm on the hill.

After a minute or two of standing there idly and staring absentmindedly into the distance, she suddenly snapped and gave a quick command to her horse with a sharp twitch of the reins and a yell, forcing it into gallop.
The sensation of strong wind blowing in her face and fluttering her hair made her heart race with excitement. She enjoyed the feeling of riding fast through the empty fields or down the hills. She mounted her first horse ( another pony, only smaller than the one she was currently riding ) when she was only four, and while real horses were still too large for her to handle, she had mastered the art of riding quickly and easily – at the age of seven she was already a better rider than her brother was at twelve. It was a natural gift, one that brought her great joys in the free hours between her household and farm duties when she would just ride aimlessly across the fields, through the forests and along the rivers and creeks. Alone with her horse and her thoughts, she relished the simple experience of feeling the strong wind on her face.


(...)

"Sorry I'm late!" Arturia apologised as she hurriedly entered the dining room where her father and her brother had already started their meal without her. She took off her tunic and hung it over the back of her chair, then seated herself quickly.
The table was crammed with food; today's menu comprised of white bread, several kinds of fruits, a porridge, some beans and roasted chicken. Two jugs – one filled with water and the other with ale – were also on the table, along with a mug for each member of the family. Kay, Arturia's step-brother, seemed unconcerned with her late arrival and just continued consuming his meal, but her father was not so easy going.

"Have you washed your hands?"

"Yes, father."

"Good. However, try not to make this into a habit of yours. I would prefer if you would return on time so that we may say grace together."

"Yes, father. I'll try not to be late again."

Ector just gave a nod and returned to his meal.

Famished from her long and exhausting riding session, Arturia quickly filled her plate with every kind of food there was on the table and started devouring it in large quantities and with great speed, trying to ignore the somewhat bland taste of the the porridge and meat. She still couldn't determine whether it was just her or if the servants really didn't bother too much with properly cooking the food.
'It must be me.' she thought, since her father and brother didn't seem to mind the taste.
Her vigour caught Kay's attention.

"Is it that good?" he said, snickering.

'Well, not that good, but I'm starving!' she wanted to reply, but with her mouth full, all she could manage was incomprehensible noise: "Nght th't gwd, bawt I'm strghwin'!"

"Don't speak with your mouth full!" Ector reprimanded her.

"Sorry." she said after swallowing a mouthful.

'Come to think of it, ' she thought, 'it might be better that I didn't say it clearly'.

Saying that the food is not that great might have come across as her being ungrateful or spoiled, which was not her intention; she just couldn't help being honest about the taste.
She turned her attention back to her food and continued to consume it at the same relentless pace. After finishing her meat she got thirsty and reached for the ale-jug, mistaking it for water.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Ector asked in a raised voice.

"I was just..."

"You're too young for that. Water is good enough for you." he said, taking the ale away from her and filling her mug with water.

"Oh? Little Artie wants to be a big boy?" Kay teased her with a wide grin on his face.

"No, it wasn't on purpose!" she replied, slightly irritated.

"Sure, sure. Honestly, Artie, to start drinking at such a young age... it's not really fitting for a lady."

Arturia blushed a little at this remark, but her temper overcame the shyness in a second. She wasn't ashamed of her gender, but she didn't think of herself as a lady and would always get angry when Kay teased her.

"Do not call me a lady!"

"As my lady commands." he said with a straight face.

"That's it! You big jerk...!"

Agitated by her brother's teasing, Arturia retaliated; she took a spoonful of porridge from the bowl and used her spoon to launch it towards Kay's face. He reacted quickly enough to dodge the projectile, but Arturia used the opportunity to grab an apple and throw it at Kay's head using all her strength, scoring a direct hit.

"Ouch! You little... That hurt!" he exclaimed, leaning over the table and grabbing her left hand, then reaching for his own porridge with his free hand, intending to repay her in kind for the blow she managed to land on him. Arturia tried to escape his grip, but since he was seven years older than her and much stronger, it was to no avail. Before Kay could execute his revenge, though, Ector stepped in to end the fight.

"Knock it off, both of you!"

His loud and strict voice, accompanied by a stern look on his face, immediately yielded results. Kay let go of his sister and both children quickly returned to their seats and continued eating in silence. Once he was assured that their little fight was settled and done, he gave a small sigh of relief and then turned to Arturia.

"Listen, out there you might dress like a boy and you may act like a boy, but when you're in here you will at least learn how to act properly at the table. That means no talking with your mouth full, no eating like an animal, and no food fights!" he said, glancing at Kay for a second. "I may have raised you as a boy, but you are still a girl and besides; there's no excuse for you to behave like a savage. Having some basic manners won't make you any less 'manly' if that's what you fear."

"Hear that, Artie? Father says you should act more ladylike at home." Kay said, unable to resist teasing his little sister.

Arturia bit her tongue, determined not to give in to her brother's taunting. She didn't want her father to scold her again. However, Ector didn't seem to have any intention of scolding her. He turned his attention to his juvenile son.

"Do you think being a man somehow excuses you to act as an animal at the table? Proper etiquette and manners aren't reserved for the ladies. If you want to be a knight someday you must learn how to behave yourself in public." he said in a strict tone.
"From now on, there's a new regime in this house." he declared, leaning back in his chair and looking at both of his children. "Both of you will learn how to behave yourselves, and not only at the table. And if you really can't hold your tempers in check and stop fighting, then you will have do it when and where I'm not nearby to see or hear it! Understood?"

The two responded by nodding.

"Good. Now, Kay – after lunch you'll help Leon and Theo with fixing the old ploughs. They're not in the best shape and we will be needing them soon. Your horse needs a trim, too."

"I can take care of his horse." Arturia offered.

"Yeah, why can't she do that?" Kay protested.

"No. You'll be doing something else today." Ector said, turning to his daughter. "I know it's a bit late, but I've prepared a birthday gift for you."
"A gift?"

"That's right. It's waiting for you in the training yard." he replied with a smile.

"Training yard...?"

Arturia sat with a puzzled look on her face for a moment, and then her eyes and her mouth widened in surprise and joy – she had a fairly good idea what her gift might be. She leaped from the chair, wrapped her arms around her father's neck and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, father!" she said, putting all her emotions into her hug, nearly choking Ector in her enthusiasm. She was gleaming with excitement.

"Now, off you go. boy." he responded, patting her on the back and smiling at her.

She let go of him and left the dining room in a dash, almost turning her chair over in the process.

"You can't help yourself, can you father?" Kay chuckled. "First reading and writing, then riding, and now swordsmanship?"

Ector said nothing, still under the impression of his daughter's reactions. He just sat there in silence, a small smile not leaving his face. Kay sighed.

"You really think you can make her a real knight? Why do all that? Why do you care so much?"

Ector lowered his head for a moment, absorbed in his thoughts. Finally, after a short silence, he answered in a calm voice:
"She is my daughter. I just wish for her to grow, like any parent would."


(...)

When Arturia entered the training ground, she noticed there was a stranger standing in the middle of the yard, facing away from her. There was a long bundle on the ground beside him.

"Excuse me...?" she asked shyly.

The man turned around and stared at her.

"Yer late, boy." he said in a hoarse voice.

"Who are you?" she asked, bewildered, and took a good look at the man.

He must have been in his mid-forties, about the same age as her father, and was about six feet tall. The man wore a knee-long, double breasted, leather tunic with elbow-length sleeves. She could only guess its original colour – while it probably used to be black, by now it was extremely worn out and the colour of the fabric was gray, black, dark green and brown, depending on the area. Parts above the knees and elbows were dirty with dried mud that hadn't been washed off for god knows how long. Underneath the leather tunic he wore a simple, long-sleeved, black, woolen shirt with a little bit of decorations around the neck, and on his hands a pair of black, leather gloves. Two belts were fastened around his waist and he carried a small dagger on his right-hand side. His trousers were in the same sorry state as the tunic, dirty and worn-out, but his black, leather boots seemed to be in an unusually good condition compared to the rest of his attire.
'They must be new.' she thought.

His forehead and the bags under his eyes were slightly wrinkled, and his cheeks rough and rugged. He was unshaven, with short but thick facial hair covering his upper lip, chin and a good portion of his cheeks and neck. His hair was of shoulder-length, thin and dark-brown, and it looked like it could use a wash. Two small, gray eyes were looking at her from under a pair of thin, almost nonexistent eyebrows – she felt his fixed gaze piercing her like a sword.

"Who am I?" he replied, raising his eyebrows but keeping a serious face. He took a step towards her. "I am yer new teacher, boy. My name is Brastias."

He looked rather intimidating, but she held her ground and looked him in the eye without flinching.

"Nice to meet you. My name's Arthur."

"No, no, no." Brastias replied, shaking his head. "You are 'boy'. Names are for men, and yer can't call yerself a man until yer know how to wield a sword. That is what I'm here for. However, 'till then, yer a boy. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." she replied obediently.

"I am no sir." he retorted. "Brastias'll do."

"Yes, sir Brastius."

He sighed.

"Seems we'll have to work on yer talking skills too, boy."

"Sorry si... mister Brastias."

"Better. Let's begin then, boy. Have yer ever wielded a sword before?" he said, lifting the bundle that lay beside him from the ground.

"I... held my brother's sword once or twice. He didn't let me use it, though."

"No experience whatsoever, then. I reckoned so. Well then, we'll start from the beginning. Come." Brastias said, inviting her with his hand to come into the centre of the yard. She hesitated a little before stepping out of the shade of the colonnade.

"The first thing yer must learn is how to stand properly. No sword, no armour, nothing. Just gettin' yer feet in the right place. Start by standing naturally. Back straight, legs a bit wider than shoulder length, knees not locked."

She followed the instructions and took a stance.

"Like this?"

"Boy, I said 'a bit wider'. I could drive a two-horse cart filled with hay between yer legs. Standing like that will make it difficult and awkward for yer to take the actual stance. Don't spread yer legs so much, lad, yer not a woman."

Arturia had to bite her tongue to stop herself from chuckling at his remark. Then she adjusted her stance, bringing her legs a little closer.

"That's better. Now – slide yer left foot back away and a little out, so that yer facing me sideways. Front foot facing forward towards the enemy, back foot more to the back. Let it be at an angle, to give yer better footing. Yeah, that' good. Bend yer knees more, bring yer centre closer to the ground. Makes it harder for the opponent to knock yer out of the balance." he said as she moved in accordance with his instructions. He circled around her, helping her adjust her feet and pushing her in the chest and in her back a couple of times to test her balance. He stopped in front of her once he was satisfied with her stance.

"Next - shift yer weight up onto yer toes a bit, keepin' the knees bent. That lets yer move more quickly, but at the cost of a little balance. If yer need more stability, like if yer have locked guards with someone and are just pushin' at 'em, then yer can lower yerself back onto flat feet again. Wouldn't recommend it, though."

"Why not?" she asked, leaning forward onto her toes and falling back to her heels repeatedly.

"Because the enemy will use the opportunity to try to push yer back and come at yer with his weapon. Better to break away and prepare yerself to come back for another attack."

As he was talking, he approached her, grabbed her by the sleeve with his thumb and the index finger and pulled her towards himself with ease, knocking her out of the balance. She stumbled forward but managed to stay on her feet.

"Do yer know how I did it, boy?" he asked.

"I... didn't stand properly?"

"Mhm. How is yer back supposed to be at all times?"

"Straight and upright?"

"Correct. And what were yer doing?"

She couldn't answer. She was so fixed on keeping her feet and knees in proper position that she didn't pay much attention to the position of her upper body.

"Let me help yer, boy: you were leaning forward, and yer body was out of balance. If yer leanin' forward or backward, the enemy can easily pull or push yer out of yer stance, like I did just now. Don't make the job easier for yer opponent, boy. Yer must be straight and firm; solid as a rock and at the same time ready to leap forward, backward or sideways to either land or dodge a blow. Remember – firm and flexible at the same time. Got it?"

She nodded in confirmation.

"Good. Now you'll practice switching the stance to the opposite side. Slide the left foot up so it's back level with the right, and back in line with the opponent, then really throw that right foot back into the position. First movement is a bit slower and more precise, but by the second yer totally committed and need it fast. Knees should still be bent, weight still on yer toes. Then yer switch back just the same way. Try it."
She obeyed, following the instructions. He had her repeat it around a dozen times until she got it all right and then had her do it at a faster pace, speeding it up until she reached maximum speed.

"Good, good. Keep in mind yer must not totally leave the ground with both yer legs at any point, because that's an invitation to get shoved over and stabbed on the ground when yer can't do anything."

She continued practicing switching positions until she got completely exhausted and out of breath; large drops of sweat were rolling down her face.

"That's enough, boy. I think yer got the hang of it. Quite a fast learner, aren't yer?"

'Thanks. I guess.' Arturia thought.
She couldn't say anything because she was still catching her breath, leaning forward with her hands pressed against her kness and panting.

"Once yer've caught yer breath, we'll start practicing with the sword."

The prospect of finally getting to train with a weapon seemed to have given Arturia a huge energy boost. She quickly straightened herself, ready to continue the training.

"Ready, sir!"

Brastias looked her in the eyes and raised his eyebrows.

"...I mean, ready, Brastias."

"Right... Here's yer sword, lad."

He unwrapped the bundle he held in his hand, took two wooden swords from the cloth and tossed her one. She reacted quickly and cought it by the blade with her right hand.

"If that were a real sword boy, yer would have lost a couple of fingers there, yer know? Next time, try to seize it by the hilt."

"Why aren't we using real swords?"

"Got limbs to spare, boy? I haven't, and I don't wanna cut any off an eager novice when they miss a block. Even a simple scratch can be nasty, and with wooden swords we can easily avoid all that mess. Besides, there's nothing wrong with a wooden sword." he said, raised his weapon to the level of his chin and held it horizontally.

Using only his middle and index finger, he balanced it perfectly by holding the blade just a few inches away from the guard.

"A wooden sword weights almost the same as an actual sword, and it's as heavy as it needs to be to maker yer strong."

"That might take a while..."

"There's plenty of time for yer to grow some muscle, lad, and in the meantime yer should focus on perfecting yer technique. If yer skill is good enough then yer can easily overcome much stronger opponents. However, make sure to always put enough strength in yer strikes; even quilted cotton and wool can slide away a strike if yer put too little force behind it or attack at the wrong angle." he continued his lesson, swinging the sword left and right in demonstration.

"Now - the grip. Normally yer hold the sword with a single hand, and use the other one for holding a shield, a dagger or for wrestling."

"Wrestling?"

"Yeah, to grab the enemy's hand, push 'em away or just outright punch 'em in the face. Not to mention yer can try to turn aside or catch the blade if you've got gloves on yer hands. Fightin' is not just about the sword, boy. Yer'll start by holding the sword with both yer hands, though. Gives you greater strength, and if yer learn to swing it with both hands yer won't have any problems doing it with just one once yer've improved enough.

Put yer stronger hand up-top on the hilt, weaker down below."

She obeyed. Brastias inspected her grip, grabbed her sword by the blade and pulled it sideways a few times to test it, then nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. A small tip for yer, boy: yer can curl the index finger of yer top hand around the guard and put the thumb on the center point where hilt, guard and the blade cross, if it feels more comfortable or gives yer easier control, which it should considering yer not very strong. This then gives yer a cutting edge, which faces forward if you stand just with the blade held up before you. Useful thing for a weaker fighter in a battle."

“When are we going to start practicing for real?” she asked impatiently.

Brastias raised his eyebrows again. His new student seemed promising, and was definitely eager, but what she lacked was patience. Fortunately, there was an easy way to solve that problem.

"An impatient one, are yer, boy? Think all these things aren't as important as the hacking and slashing part?"

"I think I'm ready." Arturia replied confidently.

"Oh, really? Then let's see what yer can do, lad. If yer manage to land a blow on me today, maybe I'll start calling yer by yer name. How 'bout it, boy?" he taunted her, grinning.

"Deal."

"Hmph!" he snickered and turned his back to her, walking away.

The provocation worked - she thrust forward, her sword aimed at his back.

"Ha!"

Brastias turned sideways and easily dodged her attack. She stumbled forward for a few more steps before she regained her balance and assumed the stance once again. Brastias faced her with his sword at the ready. She raised her sword above her head and swung it at her teacher's head. He parried the blow with ease and moved out of her line of attack, letting her stumble forward once again.

"That all yer got, boy?" Brastias said as she was crouching on the floor, thinking what to do next.
Determined not to let his latest remark go unpunished, she sprang to her feet, ready to execute her next attack. This time she swung the sword horizontally, aiming at his waist, but he parried it from below. She took a step back and then tried to attack from above once again. Anticipating this, Brastias moved into offensive – just as she raised her sword above her head, he stepped forward and made a horizontal slash. The tip of his blade passed just an inch away from her stomach; if it were a real fight and a real slash, he would have spilled her guts out.

"Yer dead, boy." he said coldly.

Realizing her mistake, she took another step back and lowered her sword in front of her. Another attack, this time aiming diagonally at his neck from the right. He used the advantage of his superior speed, height and longer arms to quickly bring down his sword on her unprotected left hip.

"Dead again."

Irritated by her repeated failure, she charged again, swinging the sword diagonally from her left and aiming at his neck once again. The speed of her attack forced Brastias to block her attack instead of parrying.
'There's a chance!' she thought and pushed against his sword, turning it to the side. Once their blades broke contact she thrust forward, trying to stab him in the stomach. Brastias reacted quickly, switching his stance and using his free left hand to grab her by the wrist of her right arm, while raising his sword above his head and pointing it at her neck.

"Very dead."

She kept trying for fifteen more minutes before she exhausted all her energy and admitted defeat.

"Fine. You win." she panted.

She was down on her knees, trying to catch her breath once again. Brastias stood in front of her, leaning on his sword.

"I hope yer've learned yer lesson today, boy."

"Y-yes." Arturia retorted, gritting her teeth.

"Good. From tomorrow on we will proceed as I planned. There's a lot of training awaiting yer before yer can cross blades with yer teacher for real and actually stand a chance. Yer talented, boy, there's no denyin' that, but no one's born as a master swordsman. That takes years of practice and hard work."

"Yes." she replied, looking downcast.

"Don't be hard on yerself lad." Brastias said in a gentler voice. "Yer ego may be hurt a little now, but that's the only way for yer to learn. Every man starts from zero like you; what matters is how far you get."

He stepped forward and reached out to her with his right hand. Arturia looked up and took his hand after a momentary hesitation. He pulled her back on her feet.

"You did well today, boy."

(...)

- - - Updated - - -

August, Glastenning Abbey

The only sound that could be heard in the dining hall of the abbey was the clattering of cutlery and occasional suppressed munching. Every meal passed in silence, as talking was absolutely forbidden during mealtime and the novices were prohibited from talking to each other or the nuns ( with the exception of the superiors in charge of them ) from lunch until late in the afternoon – that period was reserved for studying, silent prayer and contemplation.

At the head of the table sat the mother superior, Abbess Cecilia, a 60 year-old woman of short stature and great spirit. Her small, round face was covered in wrinkles, but it could not be called ugly. Her deep blue eyes radiated kindness and she was almost constantly smiling. She was liked and respected among all the members of the convent for her piety, gentleness and willingness to help those in need.
On the opposite side of the table sat Sister Agnes, the Mistress of Novices. She was a tall and thin woman of thirty-two, with prominent cheekbones and large, dark eyes. Personality-wise, she was very much the opposite of mother superior; strict, harsh and cold, she intimidated many a novice. The girls sitting closest to her seemed tense and anxious, trying as best as they could not to make a single superfluous sound or motion during the meal.
On the mother superior's half of the table sat the avowed nuns, and on the other half were the novice girls. In total, almost one hundred souls ate together in silence.

Morgan, now a seventeen year-old and a senior novice, stared at her porridge with a look of extreme displeasure, as if she was being forced to eat a cat. It's been seven years since she was sent to the convent, yet she still didn't manage to grow accustomed to the food here. It's not that it was exceptionally bad or anything – compared to the meals of the majority of the common people, the food at the convent was well-cooked and relatively diverse – but after living at courts for ten years and eating only the finest products, prepared by the best cooks available, it was of markedly inferior quality.
She also wasn't willing to try using her magecraft to make it taste better because getting caught pouring strange fluids into the soup by Sister Agnes would lead to all kinds of trouble. Also, she wasn't confident enough in her skills to put her taste buds on the line. Closing her eyes, she forced a spoonful of porridge down her throat, trying to minimize the contact with her tongue. The attempt was only half successful, but she swallowed it and kept going, knowing that it will be many more hours until the next meal. The girl sitting across the table noticed her agony and smiled at her compassionately. Morgan did not return a smile.

Before she could finish it, a bell signaled the end of the meal. All the novice girls quickly rose from their seats and headed for the exit doors, for they had to be back in their dormitories within minutes. The nuns took their time, as they weren't under the strict supervision of Sister Agnes. Morgan didn't rush either; while the rest of the girls were springing to their feet and nearly tripping chairs in the process, she took the opportunity to shove a few extra spoonfuls in her mouth, washed it down with a glass of water, and then slowly and gracefully rose from the table. By the time she was done all but a handful of girls had already left the room, and these remaining few were pushing their way through the narrow exit. Morgan's eccentric behaviour caught the eye of Sister Agnes.

"I see our princess is not in a rush like the rest. Too special to be like everyone else, are you, dear?" she said in a quiet but venomous voice. "And it's hardly the first time."

"I doubt it will be the last, Sister." Morgan replied coldly and headed for the exit at an increased pace.
She was in no mood for arguing with Agnes, and their short exchange of words had already earned them a few frowns from the sisters who were still finishing their meals. Talking with others at this hour was not approved of, even if it was with the Mistress of Novices and therefore technically allowed. It wouldn't surprise her if Agnes initiated that "conversation" on purpose, counting on her to start arguing and eventually earn a scorn or punishment for her behaviour.

'I swear – taunting me like that seems to have become a hobby of hers!' Morgan thought as she strolled down the arcade of the convent's great cloister.

Attached to the southern side of the church, the cloister separated the living quarters, situated in the smaller eastern wing of the abbey, from the larger western wing which contained the dining hall, offices, workshops, kitchens, classrooms and a library. To the south of the buildings lay large enclosed parklands which served as a place for relaxation and contemplation for all the members of the convent between their chores and duties.
East of the dormitories were the hen house and vast gardens, planted with all kinds of herbs, vegetables and fruits; cabbage, lettuce, onions, beans, pears, apples, cherries and grapes. The abbey was largely self-sufficient in that regard, and the surplus of food ( mainly grapes and cherries, which were considered a luxury not suited for everyday meals of humble nuns ) was traded for meat, fish and flour.

It was a part of the daily routine to work in the garden, usually from very early in the morning until noon. Hard physical work was not to Morgan's taste to say the least, but after seven years of swinging the hoe and chopping weeds in the hot sun she at least got used to it, even if she still disliked it. The work itself was simple and it allowed her to preoccupy her thoughts with something else while her hands did all the physical work automatically. As she grew better and better in magecraft, she started experimenting with the plants to make the arduous work more interesting. It also allowed her to somehow put her knowledge and skills to test in the absence of a teacher.

'Oh, why aren't you here, Merlin?' she agonized as she locked the door of her cell. She took off her heavy leather shoes, tossed them carelessly in the direction of the wardrobe, and then threw herself onto the bed face-down.

'Hmph!' she groaned into the pillow. It was thin and she would always fold it up when going to sleep to make it more comfortable. Huge, soft pillows and cushions she slept on in Tintagel and castle Pendragon were a thing of the past. Same for the blankets.

After a few minutes she rolled on to her back and stared at the ceiling with a blank expression. She used to share a dorm with two other girls, but once she turned sixteen she was given her own private cell ( though, that might have also been because of her identity; she was the king's adopted daughter and Merlin was on good terms with Mother Cecilia. Not all senior novices were given private cells ).
The ceiling was relatively high and it gave an impression that the room was bigger than it actually was. The cell was eight feet long and nine feet wide, and its walls were still clean and white, an oddity among the cells of the novices. This was probably due to the fact that it faced southwards and thus received more warmth than the ones facing the north or east. Bright and warm light of the August sun was coming through the small window on the southern wall. The doors were located on the northern side of the room, directly opposite the window.
A small wardrobe containing extra linen and clothes, as well as her grimoires and the alchemy set was located to the right of the entrance. To the left was her big, creaky bed above which hung a small wooden cross.
A simple night table lay next to the bed, right under the window; the only things on it were a small candle and a Bible, though the latter was just for show; she never read the Bible or prayed, for there was no god she would want or need to pray to.

After staring blankly at the ceiling for almost half an hour Morgan got out of bed, took one of her books on Alchemy out of the wardrobe, and went back to bed to study. She lazily turned the pages for a while, then gave out a long sigh – she was bored. Over the course of the last seven years she already mastered the basics of alchemy and more.
She created an artificial candle that lasted ten times longer and could shine almost three times brighter than a normal candle; all it took was a infusing a substance with a minimal amount of prana at the beginning and she could stay up late and study long after everyone else had fallen to sleep. It was a trifle, of course, but a useful trifle. The grapes that grew on her section of the garden were twice as bountiful and it took them only two-thirds of the usual growth period. Lately she started to experiment with substances that gave them extra flavour, too. Some of the girls were suspicious of this, but most of them praised and admired her as a talented and dedicated gardener.

To ease her boredom, she decided to amuse herself with another of her little tricks; she took out a small knife she was hiding behind her bed and made a small but deep cut on her left thumb with it. Clasping her hands together, she poured prana into the drops that were now smeared over her fingers, mumbled a short spell and then opened her hands. A butterfly made of blood rose from the palms of her hands and proceeded to circle around the room. She steered it left and right with her mind for some time, made it fly through the open window and then return back to the room before someone notices there's a butterfly made of blood flying around the abbey. It landed in the open palm of her left hand, where she squashed it back into liquid. Such a trick would probably be seen as great magic by the younger girls if she ever showed it to them, but to her it was a trifle not worth mentioning.

She wiped her hand with a handkerchief, put her book under the bed and continued to stare at the ceiling, absorbed in her thoughts. An unknown amount of time passed before she was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of someone knocking at the door.
Morgan sluggishly dragged herself out of the bed and opened the door.

In the hall stood a short, pale and skinny girl of fifteen with auburn hair and dark brown eyes. She was so thin that her black and white dress looked like it was several sizes too big for her; she had such tiny shoulders that she had to roll back the sleeves to two-thirds of their original length, and the normally tight dress flapped around her waist and ankles.
She was anemic, which made her unfit for any kind of hard or prolonged physical labour, and even a short run down the hallway could make her lose her breath. The girl looked nervously around the hall and behind Morgan, trying to avoid eye-contact at all costs. She held her hands behind her back, her fingers laced together, and constantly shifted her weight from one leg to the other. It was difficult to imagine that this frail and timid girl was the only person in the whole convent that Morgan called a friend.

"What do you want, Elaine?" she demanded resolutely.

The tone of her voice seemed to increase the girl's unease. She somehow managed to gather enough strength to reply:

"I-I was wondering... c-could you, maybe..." she stuttered, unable to finish her sentence.

"Come on, what is it? Speak, for Christ's sake!"

Morgan's careless uttering of the Lord's name shocked Elaine, who started to quickly look around the hall to check if there was anyone there who might have heard this transgression. Fortunately, it the halls were desolate. After calming down a little, Elaine continued, this time with a little more confidence:

"I have to go work in the garden now. My shift starts in a few minutes. B-but... you know I'm not very good at gardening – my section looks horrible compared to those of the other girls in my group, let alone yours. And Sisters Agnes and Irene already scolded me several times for it. Sister Agnes said if I don't catch up and bring my crops into proper shape by the next week, I'll be in p-punishment for the next month. So... maybe... if you could help me with it...?"

"How..." Morgan started to ask, but stopped right after the first word. Her brain quickly made the connection.

Elaine was the only one apart from the mother superior who knew of her... activities. She stumbled into Morgan's room one evening to say goodnight, only to find her engaged in what could only be called "an unholy ritual". She was performing a Formalcraft ceremony, a rare occurrence since she joined the convent due to lack of time, space and privacy needed to carry out such rituals, and forgot to lock her door beforehand.
Elaine was left frightened and speechless at the sight of Morgan standing in the middle of a magic circle with a rat in her left hand a knife in the other, whispering strange incantations under her breath. Believing Morgan to be some kind of a devil-worshiper, she wanted to tell mother superior about this but she couldn't muster up enough courage to do it, fearing that Morgan would get back at her if she told anyone.
It came as a great shock to her when Morgan approached her the next day and explained everything to her. Elaine was both relieved at this and fascinated by her fellow novice's talent, which she regarded as extraordinary despite Morgan's insistence that she's only an unskilled amateur. This occurred roughly a year ago and the two girls were friends ever since that day, even if Morgan still seemed cold and Elaine was as nervous in her presence as she was when talking to Sister Agnes.

"Sure. I'll see what I can do." Morgan said and invited Elaine inside.

After making sure no one's in the hallway, she closed the door and turned the key. Now that she was certain that no one could catch them in the act, she opened her wardrobe and started browsing through the vials and bottles she kept wrapped inside some rags at the bottom of the cupboard. Finally, she took out a small bottle filled with colourless and odourless liquid and handed it to Elaine.

"Hide it in your pockets and make sure no one sees it. Three drops per gallon of water you use to water the plants should be enough to bring them in shape within a week."

Elaine took the bottle with trembling hands.

"T-thank you so much Morgan."

"Sure." she replied, her voice emotionless. "Remember – only three drops per gallon."

Elaine nodded with a smile and headed for the door. In her enthusiasm she forgot it was locked, and being as clumsy as she was, she struggled with the handle for a few seconds, confused.

"Here." said Morgan and unlocked the door. Elaine blushed and lowered her head in embarrassment.

"T-thanks."

"Off you go now, and please; make sure no one sees what you're doing.

"No problem!" Elaine replied and rushed down the hallway.

Morgan gave a small sigh and returned to her room.


(...)

Three days later, Morgan regretted helping her friend.

Elaine must have accidentally spilled the entire contents of the bottle into the well from which they drew water for the garden. Thus, it wasn't only Elaine who watered her crops using the water 'enhanced' with Morgan's magecraft. Due to the dry summer the amount of water in the well was very low, so the concentration of the magic liquid in the water was even higher, well above the recommended three drops per gallon.
However, contrary to what one might have expected, the extremely high amount of the liquid did not cause the garden to overgrow – instead, it killed all the crops and caused the soil to dry out. Half the garden was turned into a barren wasteland in the space of three days.

Elaine tried to cover up her mishap by refilling the bottle with water before returning it to Morgan, but as soon as the effects of the liquid started to show, Morgan saw through her friend's deceit. She knew that Elaine was a timid and easily frightened girl, but she was nevertheless angry at Elaine for lying to her; had she trusted her enough to confess her blunder, Morgan could have easily prevented the catastrophe by countering it with a different potion. Elaine's clumsiness, lack of trust in her, and the ensuing debacle made Morgan angry and agitated.

Naturally, an inquiry was made into the causes of the sudden and inexplicable disease that befell the crops. Every girl and nun was questioned by Sisters Agnes and Irene, who were ( among other things ) in charge of the garden. The potion did not leave any visible traces on the plants or the soil, so the field investigation failed to procure any evidence, and since Elaine at least made sure she wasn't spotted when her accident happened, they were safe so long as neither of them confessed anything. Morgan wasn't going to say a word about the incident, and she was confident that her friend will keep her mouth shut, too. Everything would go well and things would go back to normal within a month, as soon as the garden has recovered.

However, things did not go well for Morgan – she had greatly overestimated her friend's sturdiness and the ability to withstand Sister Agnes' questioning. The perceptive nun saw right through the frail girl the moment she entered her office. She trembled like a leaf and even though she tried to deny it for a short while, the truth was showing in her eyes as plain as day. It only took a couple of sleek and sly sentences and a promise that she'll be pardoned for her crime if she confesses for Elaine to break down. She burst into tears and confessed everything through endless sobs. Even Agnes thought she was pitiful.

And so, Elaine received virtually no punishment - she only had to spend an extra hour a day helping other girls fix the garden, but since everyone's working hours were slightly extended to clear the damage as soon as possible, it was hardly a "punishment".

Morgan was not so lucky; at the moment she was sitting in mother superior's office, accompanied by Sister Agnes. The old nun seemed very troubled, for this turn of events had put her in a very uncomfortable position. Merlin had informed her of Morgan's... talent... and mother Cecilia had an agreement with her according to which Morgan was free to study magecraft at her own pace so long as she didn't forsake her obligations and duties as a novice in the convent, and didn't cause any incidents. Wrecking half the garden and destroying the crops definitely qualified as an incident.

All her books and equipment were found by Agnes and brought to mother superior along with Morgan. They were now lying on the desk as a final piece of evidence against her. Mother superior and Sister Agnes were discussing what to do with her for some time. To Morgan's surprise, Agnes was far less harsh than she expected her to be; this was supposed to be her opportunity to punish Morgan for the years of her insolence and defiance towards the Mistress of the Novices, yet the nun's demands for punishment were clearly half-hearted, especially considering her usual strict and unforgiving personality.
Morgan couldn't tell if the mother superior had noticed this... anomaly... or not, but the old woman seemed glad that she didn't have to argue fiercely over the matter or put up a fight against one of her fellow nuns. She was a kind woman and the prospect of having to send a bright student like Morgan away didn't sit well with her. The whole event had put her under a lot of strain, and Agnes' moderate position on the matter made things much easier for her.

"I think taking away her books and putting an end to her heathen practices should be enough. Of course, she will also have her meals reduced for the next month or two and will have to spend much more time in the workshops and helping in the garden and in the kitchens. She's a smart girl – removing the source of this mess plus a couple of months of stricter discipline should teach her a lesson. She will let go of her unholy studies and become a proper servant of God. Isn't that right, child?" she said in a calm and measured voice.

The mere tone of her voice disturbed Morgan much more than had she requested an official Church inquiry into the case due to involvement of "witchcraft".

"Of course, Sister." Morgan replied bitterly.

"It's all good then. I think it's best not to make great fuss over a few dead carrots and cabbages. Don't you agree, honourable Mother?"

"Yes, yes..." said the old woman. She seemed almost as surprised as Morgan at this favourable turn of events. But while Morgan was suspicious, mother Cecilia was honestly relieved. "It shall be as you said. You take care of the details of her punishment."

"As you please. I'll dispose of these ungodly scriptures as soon as I've escorted this young lady to her cell. Come along, child." Agnes said, taking Morgan's books under her arm and heading out of the room.

Morgan followed her obediently, still bewildered by the nun's inexplicable behaviour.

"Good night, honourable mother." Agnes said before closing the doors behind them.

'Well, at least I'm lucky to still be here.' Morgan said to herself as she followed the nun down the dark hallways of the convent, their path illuminated by a single candle that Agnes carried in her left hand. It was very late and everyone was already in their cells, some of them fast asleep, some gossiping about Morgan and what kind of punishment awaited her.

Morgan couldn't help but feel relieved and anxious at the same time. She thought she'd be kicked out into the night for sure, but it seemed that fortune had smiled at her.

'No, that can't be it!' she shook her head, giving in to the skeptic inside her. 'Agnes is not noble or good-hearted. This must be some sort of scheme of hers; she plays the role of a saviour now, but I bet she'll just use this "favour" to blackmail and torture me in the future.I can already see it - I'll have to obey her every whim because if I don't, she'll just remind me of her "benefaction" and threaten to use my secret against me if I try to fight back.'

It didn't take them long to reach her cell. Agnes handed Morgan the candlestick so that she can unlock the door; she still tightly held Morgan's grimoires under her right hand.

'Well, I guess I could always write to Merlin and ask him for more books.' she thought as she handed the candlestick back to Agnes and entered the dark room. The window was wide open and her wardrobe appeared to have been ransacked.

"Tell me, how much did you learn from these books?" Agnes suddenly asked.

The unexpected question took Morgan by surprise and she answered automatically and honestly: "Everything there is."

"I see..." the nun mumbled.

Morgan turned away from her, trying to find the bed in the pitch-blackness of the room, but she misjudged her distance and hit the hard wood with her shin.

"Argh! Son of a...!" she gasped, but managed to stop herself to avoid more scolding from Agnes.

"Problems, dear? Can't see in the dark?" the nun asked from the hallway.

"No, I'm fine!" Morgan replied bitterly. She had banged into the bed with great force and her leg hurt like hell now. Agnes wasn't fooled by her lie.

"Here, take this. I'll manage." she said and placed the candle on the night-table by her bed. Just then, a gust of wind came through the open window and extinguished the flame.

"Well... thanks, I guess." Morgan said with a bitter smile. Today was just that kind of a day.

"You're welcome." Agnes replied and clasped the tip of the candle and the fuse with her left hand. When she let go, the candle was alight once again; a small flame quivered by the open window and cast a faint light across the room.

"Good night." she said and turned away.

"Who the hell are you?" Morgan whispered, her eyes fixed on the flame.

"A magus." Agnes said with a conspiratorial grin and quickly left the room.

Morgan continued staring at the door for some time after the nun left. To say that she was bewildered would be an understatement.


(..)

October, Sir Ector's farm

"Good morning." Arturia and Kay greeted their father in unison as he entered the dining room.
Their synchronised and harmonious response took the two by surprise; they exchanged a brief glance filled with what could only be described as "brotherly love". That is to say, they both frowned, clenched their teeth and pouted before breaking eye contact and switching their attention back to their meals. Ector couldn't help but chuckle a little.
The two were very much like a fox and a hound, teasing and fighting each other whenever they had the opportunity, but they had the decency to try to avoid doing the actual fighting when he was around, as he instructed. And in spite of all the fighting, there was never any malice or evil intent in it, whether they exchanged words or blows; they were by all means a loving brother and sister, even if they weren't related by blood. But to give an impression of a harmonious pair of siblings, even for an instant – that was something they could simply not allow. They had a reputation to maintain, after all.

As he watched his adopted daughter eat her breakfast, a decision was suddenly formed in Ector's mind.
Well, it wouldn't be entirely true to say that it was sudden – the thought that currently preoccupied his mind had already bothered him for quite some time. In fact, it bothered him ever since Merlin placed the unwanted child in his care over seven years ago. Arturia didn't know that Kay and Ector weren't her real brother and father. Kay was aware that she wasn't his biological sister, but he didn't know of her true identity; Ector just told him that she was the daughter of someone he knew and who placed her in his care for protection ( none of which was actually a lie ), and part of that protection was hiding her gender in public. Most of the servants didn't know either, and those few who did know were silenced by Ector.

The problem that bothered him was how and when to tell the girl the truth. He couldn't just delay it forever, as the wizard had promised to return for the girl once she comes of age ( whatever that meant ), and while Ector had no intention of giving the girl to Merlin, he knew that he won't be able to stop the man from revealing the truth to her once he comes. And he didn't want Arturia to find it out that way. If his daughter has to learn of the truth someday, he will be the one to tell her. And this moment was as good as any to do that.

"Arturia, there's something I need to tell you." he said slowly and hesitantly.

"Yes, what is it, father?"

Ector closed his eyes, took a deep breath and started talking.

It wasn't a very long speech; he more or less conveyed to her what Merlin had told him on that faithful night seven and a half years ago. He told her that she was the daughter of Uther and Igraine and that she was placed under his care for protection. He didn't tell her of the identity of the man who brought her to him, nor of the supposed prophecy according to which she was guaranteed to one day take the throne.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence after he had finished talking. Arturia was looking down at her plate, lost in her thoughts as she processed this new and shocking revelation.

"I understand." she finally said after a few minutes, breaking the awkward silence.

"And... so...how do you feel about this? Would you like to have some time for yourself now?" Ector asked hesitantly. "You're free from your duties on the farm for today if you want to spend some time alone."

She raised her head and stared blankly at the opposite wall. After a few moments of contemplation, she turned to her father and replied in a calm voice:

"No need for that. It would be a lie to say that this changes nothing, but my feelings for you will remain the same. You are still my father, no matter what. And you are still my brother." she said, turning to Kay. It was a short and concise answer, but in her mind, there really wasn't any need for more words. She said all she had to say on the subject, at least for now.

Ector was surprised at his daughter's reaction. There was something almost regal in the mature way she responded to this situation, and he was more than delighted to hear that her feelings for them did not depend on whether they were connected by blood. He couldn't help but feel proud of his adopted daughter.

While Arturia seemed to have taken this revelation rather well, Kay apparently didn't share his step-sister's composure and calmness. He sat there with a dull, blank stare and with his mouth wide open

"Wait...so... you're the king's daughter?"

"So it would seem." she replied shortly, taking a bite of cheese. Cheese was one of the few things here that tasted really good.

"B-but... that means... y-you're a highborn! A lady! No...wait!" Kay stuttered in confusion. Ector had to hold back a chuckle at the sight of his puzzled and baffled son.

'Maybe I should have told Kay beforehand.' he thought.

"I told you: do not call me a lady! I may be a girl but I am no lady."

"You're right. I'm sorry" Kay replied, apparently coming back to his senses. He wouldn't be her brother if he passed an opportunity to tease Arturia about her gender. "What was I thinking – if you're the king's daughter that means you're a princess!"

"You're free to call me your sister, Kay, but call me a princess again and I'll snap your neck!"

"My, my - that kind of language is really unbecoming for a princess, Artie." Kay replied, barely suppressing his laughter.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

__________________________________________________ _____________________________________

Author's Notes:
- Finally, after another long break, here's a new chapter. Our main heroine has finally stepped on the stage.
Comment, review, criticize as you see fit. All constructive feedback is welcome.
- I want to thank Seika for assisting me with the "swordsmanship-lesson" part. Her help was very valuable and I hope I will someday be able to return a favour.

[Lycodrake]

Awesome update for sure, Polly; I definitely liked the section on Morgan's frustrations, progress in magic/magecraft, and troubles at the Abby.
I'm vividly reminded of Song of Ice and Fire's Arya on the swordsmanship lesson section - which most certainly is a good thing...I think. Maybe? It certainly isn't intended as an insult or slight against that at all. ^^;
Kay's teasing of Arty was rather neat, too. XD

[Polly]

Well, I admit that the sword-fight scene was inspired by Arya's first training by Sirio, but it's been some time since I last watched Game of Thrones, and I didn't intend it to be so obvious. Fail on my part, then.

Still, I'm glad you liked it.

[Pata Hikari]

Poor Arturia, she's doomed to never know good food her life.

[Lycodrake]

Well, I admit that the sword-fight scene was inspired by Arya's first training by Sirio, but it's been some time since I last watched Game of Thrones, and I didn't intend it to be so obvious. Fail on my part, then.

Still, I'm glad you liked it.

No, no, don't take it as a failure! ^^;

[Break]

Poor Arturia, she's doomed to never know good food her life.

thus is the fate of all Brits

[Polly]

Turns out the real reason Saber made a contract with Alaya was because she wanted to get to eat some properly made, tasty food, and the whole "finding a more appropriate king" thing was just a cover story.

[Polly]

Chapter 5– Apprentice

October, 490 CE
Glastenning Abbey

There was a blinding flash, followed by a deafening thunder, and within seconds the rainfall that had been gathering in the cloudy grey skies for days suddenly came down in the form of a monstrous cloudburst.

As the rain started to pour down, the girls working in the garden abandoned their work, quickly gathered their tools, and made a dash for the sheds adjacent to the eastern wing of the abbey. However fast they might have been, though, the torrential rain was faster, and all the girls bar the few who worked close to the sheds were soaked by the time they reached the shelter. While most of the girls tried their best to squeeze the water out of their robes and dry them, Morgan just took one look at her drenched black dress before deciding not to bother, then gave out a long sigh of frustration.

“Does it... not... bother you?” someone asked her, panting heavily.

Morgan turned to the right to see who the girl addressing her was. Just as she had thought, it was Elaine. The frail girl was leaning forward, her hands pressed firmly against her knees and holding the weight of her shaking body. The short sprint was much more exhausting for her than for the other girls and Elaine was gasping violently, desperately trying to catch her breath.

“Does what bother me?”

“Your...clothes... are all wet. Does it... not... bother you?”

“It does.” Morgan replied shortly and coldly.

“Then... why don’t you...” Elaine asked, slightly surprised at her friend’s answer.

“I don’t care that much.”

“But... you could... catch... a cold.” Elaine wasn’t letting go of the subject.

“Man, you sure are talkative today, Elaine.” Morgan replied, visibly agitated, while putting her pickaxe and hoe into the tool-shed.

“I just...” Elaine started, but was cut off by Morgan, who promptly left the cover of the sheds and returned to the abbey via the back entrance of the eastern wing. She was in no mood to talk to Elaine and just wanted to get away from her as fast as she could.

It didn’t come as a complete surprise to her when Elaine admitted that it was hers and Morgan’s fault that the garden was wrecked ( she was half-expecting it to happen, knowing that her friend was timid and weak-willed ), but Elaine’s “betrayal” still hurt her a lot. She would have kept her mouth shut and protected her friend no matter what, and the fact that the only person in the whole convent she considered a friend couldn’t do the same for her both saddened her and left her feeling betrayed. Having her books and equipment taken from her and her studies thus put to an end was just rubbing the salt into the wound.

Being forced to part with her only joy made Morgan angry, and her friendship with Elaine was the first victim of her frustration. Despite Elaine’s best efforts to help her with her punishment and in spite of countless apologies for failing to keep her mouth shut, Morgan found herself unable to forgive her friend. Their relationship cooled as Morgan kept avoiding any conversations that Elaine tried to start and sabotaged all of her attempts at reconciliation by either staying silent or immediately changing the subject when she couldn’t escape the conversation.

She went past the dormitories and across the cloister, heading for the western wing where she had to report to Sister Agnes as soon as she was done with the work in the garden. There, she’ll waste at least two hours copying old books and parchments that no one ever read or used. It was a part of her ongoing punishment for the incident she caused two months ago. Or rather; for the incident Elaine caused two months ago.


Absorbed in her thoughts and paying no heed to her surroundings, Morgan walked down the hallways and climbed the winding steps guided only by instinct and memory, and nearly collided with the closed doors of the library when she finally got there. She snapped out of her trance and entered the room. It took only a few seconds for Agnes to throw her out.

“You’re wet.” the nun said flatly. “Look what a mess you’ve made.”

Morgan looked at her still soaked dress and noticed that the water was dripping from her clothing all over the floor. A small puddle had already formed around the spot where she stood.

“I’m sorry, I...” she started to apologise.

“No ‘sorry’. Get back to your room and get a change of clothes. I’ll have someone clean this up in the meantime.”

“Yes, Sister”. Morgan replied obediently. She was too tired to argue, and besides, she knew Agnes was right – she should have changed into dry before going there. She turned away and slowly headed back for the dormitories, walking with her head down and her eyes fixed on the cobbles covering the floors.

While she was walking down the colonnade of the cloister she bumped into Elaine.

“S-sorry!” the girl exclaimed, even though it was Morgan who was mostly responsible for the collision.

“Oh, it’s you again...” she replied coldly.

“Yeah, I was on my way to the workshop and...”

“Is there something you need from me, Elaine?” Morgan retorted impatiently. She was in bad mood and had no time for her friend.

Elaine lowered her head and continued in a quiet and feeble voice:
”Why are you acting like this?”

Her question left Morgan a little stunned.

“What do you mean, ‘acting like this’?” she asked.

She already knew the answer, of course, but while she understood why Elaine had asked her that, the fact that she mustered up enough determination and courage to ask a question like that, no matter how small and insignificant it might seem to an outsider, had caught Morgan by surprise.

“You know what I mean.” Elaine said, still keeping her head down and lacing her fingers together behind her back. “You’ve been like this for almost two months now, ever since... that happened.”

“That’s because...” Morgan started to reply, but managed to stop herself in the middle of the sentence.

‘That’s because you betrayed me.’ was what she thought and what she wanted to say before she decided that it would be better to bite her tongue and leave it unsaid.

“Because what? Is it because of that? I knew it. You’re still angry about that?!”

If she were to be honest about it, Morgan would have to say ‘yes’. However, since she was in no mood for a fight, she decided to lie.

“Of course not. I’m just tired and in bad mood. It has nothing to do with you.” she said calmly.

“That’s a lie.” Elaine replied, almost whispering. “It’s not just today. You can’t tell me you’ve been tired for the last two months.”

Once again, Morgan was stunned by her friend’s words. It took her a few seconds to come up with a reply.

“Have I really?” she said, feigning surprise. “I’m sorry, I haven’t even noticed. I’ve been a bit... absentminded lately. It was certainly not my intention to hurt your feelings.”

Lies rolled of her tongue so easily and naturally, and with so much conviction and empathy in her voice that even Morgan herself was left a little surprised. She certainly had a talent for acting.

“B-but you...” Elaine stuttered, now confused and disarmed by the apparent sincerity and compassion of her friend’s words. Morgan even smiled a little to make her performance more convincing and to make sure her lies have an even stronger impact.

“The truth is, I’m actually only mad at Agnes, and if I wronged you somehow, it was only because I was unintentionally taking out my frustration on you, even though she’s the only person responsible. And it wasn’t right for me to do so. Please, don’t think that I hold a grudge against you.”

Finding out that she was wrong about her friend’s feelings towards her and that she had wrongly accused her had left Elaine thoroughly embarassed. She returned to her usual nervous self and it took her some time to finally reply.

“I-I’m sorry I’ve doubted you. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. If anything, I should be the one asking forgiveness.”

“No, you... it’s all my fault! If I wasn’t so clumsy and weak, none of that would have happened! And you would still be able to study your magic. I’m the one to be blamed!”

Elaine’s suddden burst of energy left Morgan stunned for the third time that day. Even she had to admit that there was something endearing about her friend’s sincere regret.
However, no matter how much Elaine apologised and pleaded, no amount of apologies could undo what had been done. And Morgan simply could not get past that.

Now that she had successfully manipulated Elaine and regained her trust, it was time to end this conversation and return to her business.

“Don’t worry about it. Really – it’s not your fault.”

“But it is!”

“Look, if you keep saying that I’ll get mad.” Morgan said jokingly. “Now, I have to hurry and get a change of clothes and then run off to the library. Agnes will be angry if I’m late. You don’t want her to give me even more punishment, do you?”

“O-of course not. Sorry for making you waste your time here with me.“ Elaine replied, her face red with embarassment.

“It’s nothing. Well, I’ll see you later. Bye!” Morgan said and left for her room at a hurried pace.

As soon as she was out of the cloister, the smile disappeared from her face. It was replaced with her usual, mostly expressionless look, but her eyes revealed great agitiation.

‘What an annoyance!’ she sniffed while climbing the stairs. ‘Though, I didn’t think it would be that easy.’

She changed her clothes as quickly as she could and promptly returned to the library where Agnes was awaiting her. Someone had already wiped the floor and there were no traces of the puddle she made when she first came here.

“You took you sweet time. Now that you’re finally ready, let’s get to work – today you’ll be gathering and compiling this year’s accounts and making two copies of them. Understood?”

“What do we need two copies for?” Morgan asked tiredly.

“One for ourselves and one for the bishop, of course. They like to keep track of the accounts of all the parishes under their jurisdiction.” Agnes replied while stacking some books on her desk. “And why should you care what they’re for, anyway? Your job is to make the copies. It’s my concern what to do with them later. Get to work.”

Morgan sighed and turned to the cupboard full of stacks of parchment containing the records of the abbey’s trade records and accounts. Sorting them out and making two copies of the collective records was bound to take hours. But it couldn’t be helped, so she just gave another small sigh and started to diligently take out the files from the cupboard one by one and sort them out on her desk.


(...)

It was already night-time when Morgan finally finished her work and the library was mostly in darkness; only a dozen or so candles were still alight, providing barely enough light necessary for people to work there. The small, flickering flames cast long and menacing shadows across the room.

Morgan laid her quill in the inkwell, leaned back and lolled in her chair, then gave out a long sigh of relief. After relaxing for a few seconds, she took a look around the library. It was completely deserted, with the exception of her and Sister Agnes. The nun was absorbed in her work, writing down the contents of some dusty old books that smelled of moisture and which Morgan had never seen before.
Seeing as her work was done, Morgan rose from her chair and headed for the exit door of the library. Just as she had walked past Agnes’ desk, the nun suddenly broke the silence.

“Wait.”

Morgan immediately stopped and turned around.

“Yes?”

”Sit down.” Agnes replied, not taking her eyes off her work.

Morgan obeyed and pulled herself a chair. She sat in front of Agnes’ desk while the nun continued to carefully copy the contents of the books. A few minutes passed in silence, and Morgan started to feel rather uncomfortable.

The relationship between the two became quite strange after the incident two months ago. They both kept the amount of communication between them at a minimum, and Morgan did her best to avoid the Mistress of Novices as much as she could. While Agnes didn’t change her attitude towards her, at least not much, Morgan’s formerly brash attitude was now all but gone. Ever since she found out that Agnes is a magus, she had been extremely suspicious of the nun. Since Agnes never brought it up again, Morgan was left completely perplexed, constantly guessing what her motivations and intentions are. Agnes certainly wouldn’t have revealed her secret to Morgan if she didn’t have any plans, but what those plans were was something Morgan couldn’t imagine.

Those same thoughts assailed her mind while she was sitting in front of Agnes, nervously twirling a lock of her long dark hair and staring impatiently at the nun.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Morgan, Agnes put down her quill and adressed her in a cold, business-like manner:

“Why do you think you’re here, Morgan?”

“...Because I have to work here as a part of my punishment.” Morgan replied, slightly confused.

“No, I meant: why do you think you’re here right now, with me?”

“I don’t know.” she said after a short pause.

“Come on, you must have some clue. The way you were staring at me... I’m sure you already have an idea about why I’m keeping you here.”

“No, not really.” Morgan retorted. It was a lie, but she preferred hearing the truth from Agnes at once instead of guessing her thoughts for her amusement.

“...It’s a little disappointing to hear that. I thought a prodigy like you would have definitely figured it out by now. Or at the very least, made a good guess.” Agnes replied, sounding slightly disappointed.

“What do you mean, a ‘prodigy like me’?” Morgan asked, even though she already suspected what Agnes meant and could feel where this was going.

“My, if you can’t even figure that one out, then maybe I was wrong about you altogether.”

Morgan gritted her teeth at the nun’s remark but said nothing.

“You told me two months ago that you had already learned everything from those books of yours. Is that true or was it just baseless bragging?” Agnes continued after a short pause.

Still suspicious of her, Morgan reluctantly answered:
”It’s true.”

“And how long have you been studying magecraft?”

“For about eight years. Since I was nine years old.”

“And you’ve already mastered everything that’s in those books?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive.” Agnes replied, nodding. “It would take twelve to fifteen years for the average apprentice to do that. You certainly have a talent, girl.”

“What do you want?!” Morgan suddenly asked impatiently. “Stop playing around and tell me what you want from me.”

Agnes raised her brows and stared at Morgan for a few seconds before replying:
”Well, aren’t you impatient. Alright, I’ll get straight to the point – I want you to become my apprentice.”

”...Excuse me?”

“You heard right. I want you to continue your studies with me as your teacher. It would be a shame to waste such talent, and you could use some guidance in your studies.”

“Are you serious?” Morgan asked, still not sure if what she was hearing was for real.

”Yes, I am.”

“But...why? Why would you do something like that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I am a magus; isn’t it only natural for me to want to have an apprentice? Granted - Alchemy, which seems to be your primary field of study, is not my speciality, but I still know enough to be able to teach you.”

Morgan still didn’t seem convinced.

“Also, I might be able to train you in another discipline of magecraft, to diversify your knowledge.”

”And which discipline would that be?” Morgan asked.

In response, Agnes produced a thick, old book from the bottom of one of numerous piles of books on her desk and placed it in front of Morgan. It had a blank, black, leather cover which was already corroded by moist on the edges, and some of the pages had clearly fallen out at some point and were just carelessly tucked into the book after that. All in all, the book looked old and messy.

“Necromancy.” Agnes explained upon seeing Morgan’s puzzled look.

“Necromancy?! Are you serious?!” she replied after a few moments of shock.

“Of course I’m serious. Is there a problem?”

“We are in a convent.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. Do you think the others would differentiate between this and Alchemy? Or any other discipline of magecraft for that matter?”

“True, but I don’t think that Necromancy of all things is the best thing for me to study here. I have no intention of summoning any demons.”

“There’s more to Necromancy than just summoning Demons, you know? And there won’t be any need for you to actually summon anything during your studies. From what I’ve gathered you were also performing Formalcraft rituals. If you’ve mastered that, then merely knowing the theory of summoning in Necromancy should be enough for you to be able to perform the actual summonings if the need arises.”

“Fine. But you still haven’t answered my question; what do you want from me?”

“Why do you think I want anything? Is it not enough for me to want to teach you?” Agnes replied, acting as if she were hurt by Morgan’s words.

“Maybe that’s true, but I’d still like to know if there’s something else.” Morgan said slowly.

She didn’t trust Agnes, and was sure that she wasn’t going to let her continue her studies out of goodness of her heart. Whatever she was; a nun, a magus, or a necromancer, she was still Agnes.
To this, the nun gave a small chuckle.

“Huh. Seems I can’t fool you. Good to see that you’re not just book-smart. Yes, there is something I want from you. I’d like you to help me with something pertaining to my research.”

“Help you in what way?” Morgan said, narrowing her eyes. Her distrust at Agnes seemed to have been justified.

“Oh, I think you’ll find that it will be even more... profitable... for you than it will be for me.” Agnes replied, smiling.

“What do you mean?”

“Judging by the fact that you’re still practicing Formalcraft, and that you’ve spent six out of eight years of your studies here, in the convent, it’s not hard to deduce that you don’t have a Magic Crest. And the fact that you were sent here in the first place means you almost certainly don’t come from a family of magi and that there is no Crest for you to inherit at all.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Morgan admitted through clenched teeth. She didn’t like being reminded of the fact that she’ll forever be the lowest among the magi.

“Well, luckily for you, my research concerns the Magic Crests, and hopefully we can find one suitable for you and transplant it.”

Morgan narrowed her eyes again and stared at Agnes with even greater distrust.

“I thought that Crests cannot be exchanged between people who are not related by blood? So what use will I have from some stranger’s Crest?”

“Who told you that?”

“My old teacher.”

“Let’s prove him wrong, then.”

“Are you telling me that he lied?”

”Well, he’s not completely wrong. It is very unlikely that a transplantation of the Magic Crest between those not related by blood will work, but it’s definitely not impossible. Especially if the donor and the receiver are compatible; sharing elemental affinities and Attributes, using similar forms of magecraft, things like that.”

“Are you seriously telling me that you can give me a Crest?” Morgan inquired skeptically. She didn’t really believe Agnes, but the prospect of acquiring such extra power... if there was even a slightest chance of it working, she couldn’t say no.

“If I can find one that’s compatible with you, then there’s definitely a chance. What say you?”

Morgan was not sure what to say. This was all way too sudden.
“I’ll think about it.” she finally said.

“Good. Take your time. It’s always better not to rush with big decisions.” Agnes replied with a wide smile. Something in her expression told Morgan that she already knew what her answer will be.

“I’ll be going now, then.”

“Alright. But at least take this.” Agnes said and handed her the black grimoire. “See if you’re interested in it. It might help you make up your mind.”

Morgan accepted the gift, but was still cautious of Agnes.

“...Thanks.” she said and left the library in a dash, forgetting to close the doors behind her in her hurry.

Agnes kept staring at the open doors until the echoes of Morgan’s steps as she descended the staircase died down. She then picked up her quill again, soaked it in ink and returned to her work. A faint grin appeared on her face as she continued to transcribe the contents of the books on her desk.


(...)

In the end, it only took one sleepless night for Morgan to make up her mind. The wish to continue her studies and a chance at obtaining a Magic Crest outweighed her skepticism and suspicion towards the Mistress of Novices. Agnes immediately returned her books and equipment to Morgan, and added a few of her own books on Alchemy as well as some more material needed to study Necromancy. Morgan promptly resumed her studies, guided and supervised by Agnes.

Three weeks later, time came for the second part of their deal to be put into motion. Morgan didn’t know what explanation Agnes offered to Mother Superior for taking Morgan away with her for five days, but since it obviously worked and Sister Cecilia didn’t ask any more questions, she decided not to rack her brain by thinking about it.

The preparations for their journey were completed within a day, and the two left Glastenning at dawn, each riding a horse provided by the abbey. After going north for a mile or two, they suddenly changed direction and headed west. It was a two-day ride to their destination, and the journey mostly passed in silence. Agnes didn’t seem to be particularly talkative, and Morgan had enough things on her mind to keep herself occupied for the duration of their travel.

It was a normal occurrence for Agnes to be absent from the convent for five to seven days about once in a month. Supposedly she was running errands for the abbey, and nobody asked any questions about it. Even if someone had told Morgan that there was more to her trips than doing some church-related work, she never would have thought that the true reason for Agnes’ trips was research of magecraft, let alone that it concerned something as unthinkable as transplantation of Magic Crests.
She was still doubtful of Agnes’ assurances that a transplantation is possible; she trusted Merlin infinitely more than she trusted Agnes, and the promise sounded too good to be true. Nevertheless, if there was a chance, no matter how small it might be, then Morgan had to take it. And she had to admit that there was something strangely exciting about seeing a real magus’ workshop and witnessing their research. She was filled with childish impatience and enthusiasm, something she hadn’t felt in years.

After two days and two nights, which seemed to have flown by in an instant to Morgan, they finally reached their destination. It was a small, ruinous church located by the sea, and abandoned for quite some time by the looks of it. The building’s northern wall was an extension of the cliff on top of which it was situated. The steep rocks which rose almost vertically from the sea were almost one hundred feet high, and the cliffs stretched along the coast for as far as the eye could see.
Morgan hadn’t noticed how close to the sea they were until they finally left the woods and found themselves on the edge of a large field stretching between the forest and the cliffs. The church was almost half a mile away, barely visible against the backdrop of grey skies and equally grey sea. There was a faint smell of salt in the wind and the air was filled with the cries of seagulls flying above the cliffs in search for food.

“This is it?” Morgan asked.

“This is it. Let’s go.” Agnes replied and forced her horse into gallop.

Morgan followed suit and they found themselves in front of the dilapidated building in no time. They dismounted, tied their horses to a nearby dead tree and took their belongings and equipment from the saddlebags. Morgan headed for the main, southern entrance, but was stopped by Agnes just as she was about to open the wrecked but thick oaken doors, which were mostly covered in ivy and lichen.

“Don’t touch it!”

“Why not?” Morgan asked, backing away.

Instead of answering, Agnes walked to the doors, put her hand on the wood and closed her eyes. Suddenly, Morgan could sense a Bounded Field being dispelled.

“I don’t want my new apprentice to get hurt before we’ve even started anything. And besides, that’s not the entrance.” Agnes replied with a small smirk and walked away towards the western side of the building. Morgan followed her.

There was another door in the northwestern corner of the church. This one was much smaller than the main entrance and it lead into the sacristy. The room was very small and dark, with no windows, and Agnes had to light a torch to find her way around it. She handed it to Morgan and proceeded to pat around the floor for a few seconds, looking for something.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, apparently having found what she was looking for. “Step back.”

Morgan stepped out of the tiny room, and Agnes used the free space to remove a large stone slab by pulling a round brass handle attached to it, and opened a hatch in the floor.

“Come on.” she said and disappeared into the cript below.

Morgan stood at the entrance for a short while before finally casting aside her suspicions and joining Agnes. Just as she had descended into the darkness, the Bouned Field was raised once again.

It was pitch-black inside the cript, and even Morgan’s torch was barely of any use.

“We could use some light here, don’t you think?” Agnes said and snapped her fingers.

Over a dozen torches were suddenly set alight all across the cript. The room seemed to be even larger than the church above it, with two small side-chambers located on the opposite side of the cript. The ceiling was low, barely seven feet above the ground, and it was supported by six thick pillars. Scattered between the pillars and crammed along the walls were numerous tables and simple wooden beds, sixteen of them in total. All of them were occupied.

“Who...are these people?” Morgan whispered in shock.

“They are the donors, of course. How exactly did you expect to get a Crest if not this way?”

“I...” Morgan started, but stopped herself before she could continue. She suspected that it would be something like this from the beginning, but actually seeing it shocked her deeply.

“I thought there won’t be any people involved. I thought you only had Crests, already extracted and stored. Something like that.”
She tried her best not to think about how Agnes tricked and imprisoned these people.

“Yes, well...” she replied, seemingly irritated a little at Morgan’s remark. “I have managed to successfully extract the whole Crest from a host, but I still haven’t found a way to preserve it outside of the body for more than a few days. I’m still working on that.”

She turned away from Morgan and began to stroll among the tables. She would check a piece of paper that was attached to each table or bed, mumbling something to herself. Finally, she stopped in front of one of the tables on the far side of the room and exclaimed:

“I think this is the one. Come here!”

Morgan obeyed and quickly joined her. Agnes took the paper that was nailed to the side of the table and started reading:

” ‘Affinity: water’, just like you. ‘Specialised in: Alchemy’; again, it suits you. And her Attribute is ‘growth’ – judging by what I’ve seen regarding your magic, this shouldn’t be far from whatever your own attribute is, presuming you even have one. What do you think?”

Morgan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she stared at the woman who was lying on the table in front of her. She had long, curly, raven hair, her complexion was extremely pale and she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old. If it weren’t for the occasional rising and falling of her chest which indicated that she was breathing, Morgan would have mistaken her for a doll.

“How powerful is this Crest?” she finally asked, turning to Agnes.

“Let’s see... it’s five generations old.” she replied, checking her notes.

“...Is that good?”

“Yeah, it’s fairly good. Not as good as the Crests of ancient families leading the Association, but certainly better than no Crest at all.”

Showing no reaction regarding Agnes’ answer, Morgan turned to the sleeping woman again. After yet another short period of silence, she asked:
“What will happen to her once you’ve transplanted the Crest? If you manage to transplant it?”

“Well, I’ll have no further use for her, so I’ll let her go. After I wipe out her memory, of course.”

Morgan nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“Alright then, let’s do it.”


(...)

An hour later Morgan was lying on a table, waiting for the procedure to start. She was naked and covered only by a dirty linen sheet. Just two feet away from here was another table, occupied by the woman whose Crest she was about to receive. Next to these two tables was a third one; it was only one third the size of the first two and it was crammed with numerous bottles and vials containing potions and medicines needed for the operation.
Many of them were prepared by Morgan herself; Agnes had asked for her assistance due to her great skills in Alchemy and her superb knowledge of the herbs. It was also a test of her abilities and a chance for Morgan to apply her knowledge and put it to practical purposes. They had prepared all the necessary ingredients beforehand so that they could prepare the potions as soon as they have reached the workshop.

Apart from the bottles, there was one other thing lying on the small table, and Morgan was currently staring at it with trepidation. It was a rectangular wooden tray containing instruments needed to carry out the transplantation: knives, scissors, pliers, sewing needles, gauzes... Everything was ready for the procedure to start. All that was missing was Agnes, who was in one of the back rooms, changing. Minutes seemed like hours to Morgan as she waited for the nun to come, and she was starting to get cold. Just when she had decided to get up and fetch her, Agnes came out of her changing room.

“Well, it was about time...” Morgan started and turned her head towards her.

She was rendered speechless by the transformation that happened during the last ten minutes. Agnes’ usual black and white robes were gone; instead, she was now wearing fabric trousers, a short-sleeved linen shirt, and over that a long leather apron. Her dark brown hair, which she normally wore loose, was now drawn back into a bun, and she wore white, silk gloves on her hands.

“You seem surprised.” she said, chuckling, after seeing her student’s stunned expression.

“Well, you look... different.” Morgan admitted after regaining her senses.

The person in front of her was no longer the strict but pious Mistress of Novices who she knew so well. The woman in front of her was a magus – it was only now that this realization finally sank in completely. Even though she had witnessed Agnes perform magecraft, and even though she had spent three weeks learning Alchemy and Necromancy from her, she never felt the same connection with Agnes as she did with her old teacher, Merlin.
For some reason, Agnes was always Mistress of Novices first and foremost, and the whole thing about her being a magus in disguise always seemed a bit unreal, as if she were only pretending or something. The clothes of a nun that she wore were a definite visual barrier – ‘How could anyone wearing those robes be a magus?’ Morgan had thought, seemingly forgetting that she was pretty much in the exact same position. But right now, all illusions perpetuated by Agnes’s role in the convent and her clothes had finally been dispelled, and Morgan truly accepted the woman standing in front of her as her new teacher.

“Are you ready?” Agnes asked, taking two bottles from the wooden tray.

Morgan swallowed some saliva and nodded.

“Alright then. Drink this.”

She handed Morgan a bottle containing a colourless, syrupy fluid. Morgan took the bottle and drained its contents in one go. The potion she just drank, one she made all by herself, would put her to sleep within less than a minute, so that she doesn’t feel any pain during the transplantation. She then drank the contents of the second bottle - this potion was a complex cocktail of Agnes’ making, and its function was to help prevent the body from rejecting the implanted Crest.

“Good. Now, relax. There’s nothing to worry about - I will only be transplanting a tiny piece of the Crest, maybe one percent of it. That way, even if there is a rejection, it won’t damage your body.”

Morgan nodded again. Agnes had already explained her that the transplantation of the Crest won’t be done in one go – instead, it will be carried out in small steps, one tiny bit at the time, so as to lower the chances of rejection of the Crest to the minimum, and give her body enough time to get accustomed to what was essentially a foreign organ. It will take years for the process to be completed, and while the prospect of having to wait for so long to get a Magic Crest bothered her a little, Morgan was willing to have patience for the sake of a greater goal, no matter how many years it would take.

It wasn’t long before she started to experience the effects of the potion – her vision was becoming blurred and her body numb, and she was feeling sleepy. Through a blur, she saw Agnes take a knife from the tray, which made her panic a little. With her last remaining strength she grabbed Agnes’ arm and said:

”You’ve done this before, right? You’ve already transplanted Crests, haven’t you?”

“Not successfully, I’m afraid.” she replied flatly.

“Why- you...!” Morgan managed to hiss through her teeth before losing consciousness.


(...)

5^th of September, 493 CE
Sir Ector’s estate

Arturia tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword as she prepared for her next attack.
Brastias stood five feet away from her, holding his sword nonchalantly with only his right hand and pointing it at the ground. He appeared to be completely open and vulnerable to a frontal attack, but three years of training with him had taught Arturia to know better than to charge at Brastias as soon as he has shown an opening.

She raised her hands to the left side of her head, the point of her sword aiming horizontally at her teacher’s chest. She made one small cautious step towards him to reduce the distance and get into a position from which she could successfully execute an attack. She stared at Brasitas intently, ready to react to any move he might make, but he just kept standing in the same spot without even batting an eye. Compared to her alert and almost nervous stance, it appeared as if he was mocking her with that laid back attitude of his.

Since it was obvious that he wasn’t going to be the one making the first move, Arturia sprang into attack; she stepped forward with her trailing left leg and rotated her leading right leg so as to secure her footing. At the same time, she rotated her arms and made a semi-circular slash with her sword, aiming at Brastias’ right temple. His reaction was instantaneous: he immediately switched his stance and put his left foot forward and slid the right foot backwards so as to move away from her incoming sword a little, while simultaneously grabbing the bottom of the hilt with his left hand.
Using the power of his arms and hips, he raised his sword to his side in a split second, blocking Arturia’s strike. He was now in a position to attack, and he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Sliding his blade along hers he lunged forward, stepping towards her with his right leg, and crossed guards with his young student.

“Nice try, boy.” he hissed, teasing her, and then used his superior strength to push her back, breaking contact with her.

Even though his push was powerful, Arturia managed to keep her balance while falling back. She made an additional step back to increase her distance and lowered her sword to her left hip, pointing it forward towards Brastias, awaiting his next move. She didn’t have to wait for long as he seized the initiative and came at her with full force. Brastias raised his sword in front of his left shoulder with both hands, pointing it upwards towards the sky. He crossed the distance between them in two quick steps and swung his sword from behind his back and over his head, aiming at Arturia’s forehead.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to block a strike that powerful, she instead switched her stance to move out of his line of attack, and at the same time raised the hilt in front of her chest and turned the point of her sword sideways and to the back a little to parry his blow. She let his blade slide down her sword and made a small step forward in order to get closer to him. Once they were leg to leg she let go of the hilt with her left hand and used her free arm to try to punch him in the face with her fist. Brastias reacted quickly and jumped backwards to evade her blow.

“A sneak attack, huh? Not bad, but ya’ll have to do better than that, boy.” he said, sniggering.

She raised her hands to her head and pointed the sword at his chest again.

“I intend to.” she said and charged at him at full speed.

He had raised his sword in front of his torso, ready for her attack. Once she had reduced the distance to only four feet, Arturia thrust her sword with all the strength she had in her arms, aiming at Brastias’ head. He easily parried the strike to his left and stepped back. Arturia quickly turned around and backed away a little. She moved her sword to the right side of her body, pointing it horizontally at his chest over her raised left arm just above the elbow. Brastias continued to hold his sword in front of him with only one hand.

The two circled around each other in silence for some time, filling the air with tension, before Brastias finally broke the silence:

”You plan to attack today or not, lassie?” he said, taunting her.

The provocation worked. Arturia quickly moved her sword into a more offensive position, raising it above her left shoulder. She charged at Brastias with a roar and made a strong diagonal slash, aiming at his neck. He grasped his sword with his other hand, switched his stance and blocked her attack effortlessly. He leaned forward a little until he crossed guards with her and said in a mocking voice:

“Recklessness will get yer killed, boy.”

Before she could reply or back away, in one fell swoop he stepped forward with his trailing right foot, placed it between her legs, and with a sudden and fierce stroke to the left he knocked her off her feet. When she was already starting to fall he kicked her in the chest with the elbow of his left arm to finish her, sending her flying into the ground with full force. The collision knocked the air out of her lungs and she lay helplessly on the ground, gasping for air. To her credit, though, she was still tightly grasping her sword, even if she didn’t have any strength left to swing it.

Brastias couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pity for her as he watched her holding back tears of pain and desperately trying to get some air.
‘Perhaps I overdid it.’ he mused to himself and then knelt beside her.

“Here, boy.” he said and raised her body into sitting position so that she may breathe more easily. Then he took a small leather flask from a pocket on the inside of his coat and gave it to her. “Drink.”

Arturia nodded weakly, accepted the flask and took a large gulp from it, but as soon as the liquid came in contact with her tongue, she felt an urge to spit it all out. She managed to restrain herself, though, and forced herself to swallow the drink.

“That’s not water!” she protested with an expression of agitation and slight nausea on her face. It made Brastias chuckle a bit.

“Aye, it’s wine. Much better for gettin’ a man going again than water, lad.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” she replied and returned the flask to him.

Brastias kept looking at her for a while as she slowly regained her breath. Then he spoke again, in a gentler voice:

”Yer alright, boy?”

Arturia nodded.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I got a little carried away there. But at least ya’ve learned yer lesson. Yer body will remember it long after yer mind has forgotten. Never let yer emotions or temper get the better of yer and cloud yer judgement in combat, boy. Understand?”

She nodded again, looking down. “I understand.”

”I hope yer do, because if yer make a mistake like that during a real battle, ya’ll lose yer head, lad. Keep calm, turn off yer emotions – it’s one of the main rules of combat. There’s no place for anger or passion or a quick temper durin’ a swordfight. Think only about your sword and yer enemy’s sword; there’s nothing else yer should worry about while you fight. And don’t rush into offensive without thinking things through first, got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Well, that’s enough for today.” Brastias said, rising to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starvin’, lad. How ‘bout we go and try to find something to eat? It’s lunch-time anyway.”

He offered her his right hand, which she quickly accepted, and helped her to get up. She wiped some dirt and dust off her shirt and trousers and gave him a weak smile.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”


(...)

The lunch was served half an hour later. Arturia, Brastias, Ector and Kay all dined together in the dining room. All of them were quite famished and exhausted after their activities, be it training or working in the fields, and couldn’t wait to dig in. Food disappeared from the plates only moments after being put there, only to be replaced by seconds, which in turn were devoured just as quickly as the first round. In cases of Brastias and Kay, the cycle was repeated three times.

One serving was enough for Arturia, and she spent most of the lunch munching an apple. The sweet fruit tasted much better than the rest of the food.

After he was finished with his meal, Ector poured Brastias some wine and asked him:

”So, how is Arthur doing? He seemed exhausted after you returned from the training.”

Brastias nodded in gratitude, took a sip from his mug and replied:

”The lad’s doing very well. He’s got talent and is improving fast. Still needs to learn to control his temper, and his legwork needs more practice, but he’s infinitely better than I was at his age.” he said, then took another sip of wine. “In a couple of years he’ll be able to take on half the king’s guard all by himself.” he added, jokingly.

“Good. Well done, son.” Ector said, nodding at Arturia.

Since her mouth was full, she said nothing and just responed with a nod of her own.

Ector leaned back in his chair and turned to Brastias again.

“As you might know, a large fair will be held in Ebrauc ( *York ) two weeks from now, and will last for at least three days. We will be going there too. All of the northern lords will send men to the market to get supplies for the winter, and they are usually willing to pay much better prices than the ones down south. And I intend to use the opportunity to buy new equipment for the horses and the oxen, as the old one is already worn-out. So I was wondering if you would come with us?”

“Sure.” Brastias replied and emptied his mug. “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway, especially if yer not around.”

“What if the king calls for his warriors while we’re gone?” Kay asked.

“I’m sure king Uther will manage without me, boy.” Brastias said. “He’s got plenty of other soldiers at hand if a need arises. And he’s probably not counting on me anyways, since I’m here with ya all the time.”

“Good. Glad to hear that.” Ector said and poured some more wine for himself and Brastias. “We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow, so be ready.”

”Aren’t I always ready, friend?”

“Of course you are.” Ector replied with a faint smile.

The two made a toast and emptied their cups in a single gulp.

“Alright then, the lunch is over. We’ve got work to do. Kay, you’re going to the training ground with me. Arthur, you go feed the chickens and then help the servants with cleaning the stables. When you’re done with that, I’ll find some other work for you.”

“Yes, father.” Arturia replied obediently and left the room.

She grabbed one of the remaining apples from the table along the way and put it in her pocket. There was a whole afternoon of farm-duties awaiting her, and she would definitely need a snack. Still feeling shattered by the rough treatment that Brastias gave her during the training, she headed out of the house and towards the henhouses.

No matter how tired she might have been, she had duties to carry out.

__________________________________________________ _____________________________________________

Author's Notes:
- Finally, an update! I'm really sorry it took so long; I intended to upload this chapter over a week ago, and the next chapter would follow within a few days, but being a genius that I am, I accidentally deleted both chapters ( which were still a single document at the time ) while proofreading them, and, well... there was much rejoicing. Hope the chapter makes the wait worth it. Hopefully I'll be able to upload the next chapter within a week.
- Regarding the whole transplanting-Magic-Crests thing; yes, I know I'm stretching it a bit since it's supposed to be virtually impossible for people not related by blood to exchange them ( supposedly, even family members can sometimes be incompatible ), and I was reluctant to include it at first, but certain Mahoyo-related spoilers made me feel a bit more easy about it. Also, I don't think this would be the worst example of toying with the Nasuverse mechanics in fanfiction.

[Lycodrake]

Quite the enjoyable update, Polly.
It's interesting to see the emotions the two struggle with constantly, and how they're maturing and how they remain somewhat naive; though I can't quite tell what Morgan's true thoughts were about Elaine.
Agnes' specialty was quite the surprise and I liked the sparring between Arturia and Brastias; the interaction between Ector and Brastias afterwards was good, too.
The cliffhanger on Morgan's side was fitting, though a bit annoying. XP

[Polly]

I'm glad you liked it. And I'm glad that the delicious cliffhanger of despair worked.

[Laith]

Oh yeah, I haven't said anything about this.

This is good, you are good

[Polly]

*chuckles* That's one of the best reviews/responses I've seen in a while.

Thanks, I'm glad to hear you liked it.

[Knight of Khaos]

Well, seeing as my own writing skills are...lacking...to say the least I can't offer anything like a critical review. What I can say is that I very much enjoy reading this. Keep up the good work!

[Daiki]

You know, I was going to simply go through the prologue and I ended up devouring the whole thing in a go.
As I'm now late for my revisions, thanks to you, I'll keep it short but keep in mind that I don't even think it does enough justice to your work;

It was a great and enjoyable read. I could take a moment to talk about how the whole rendition of the setting is breathtaking. How greatly I appreciated the depth of the characters involved. Your vision of Arthur has a truly nice feeling and I'm ending up craving for more. It's also a plus that I can say you put a good amount of efforts in this and that you liked writing it. There's no doubt you like the arthurians legends and it shows.

I think the best compliment I can show when i read something of such quality can be summed up in two simple words;

Thank you.

Now, to subscribe to this and wait for the next update.

[Polly]

I think the best compliment I can show when i read something of such quality can be summed up in two simple words;

Thank you.

*blushes like a little girl*

Y-you're welcome. I'm glad you liked it.
Now I'll go and hurry up with writing the next chapter ( it's about 40% done ).

[Daiki]

Take your time and let us enjoy more of that refined writing vintage of yours.