fics I read

The room was silent as the jeweled insignia glowed a scarlet red.

In another world, a golden sword pulled forth from a stone served as the proof of his kingship, a weapon that allowed him to prove his worth for Excalibur, in this world the only proof of his candidacy was the small insignia resting on his palm.

It was, in Arthur's opinion, infinitely less interesting.

Nevertheless, the attention of the room was directed solely on Arthur's outstretched hand.

"So, you're the fifth." Marcos eventually spoke, his gaze moving to look Arthur in the eyes, "I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies, I was unaware," he finished, offering a mild bow.

The sight made his blood boil, wasn't treating everyone with respect one of the core tenants of knighthood? For someone who carried the title King of Knights, the idea made him disgusted.

He wasn't naïve, the man was only apologizing out of protocol, had Arthur not revealed his candidacy the man likely would have still been hurling insults at him. But starting a fight wouldn't do him any good, the most he could do was attempt to rectify the situation.

"I don't think I'm the one who deserves an apology." Arthur spoke, withdrawing his hand and returning the insignia to rest underneath his breastplate, "Reinhard deserves one more so than I."

"The Sword Saint?" Marcos scoffed as his gaze swept over his dented armor and soiled hair, "He deserves a larger punishment if anything, using such a thing against a Royal Candidate."

"My life should mean no more to you than anyone else's." Arthur responded, almost growling the words out, "I agree that Reinhard shouldn't have used such an attack, it was needless and utterly irresponsible, but I alone shoulder the blame."

Marco's eyes widened, clearly not expecting Arthur's response. Even Julius, who had remained stone-faced since the reveal of his candidacy, visibly perked up upon hearing Arthur's words.

Yet, Reinhard's response was the most pronounced, sitting as if the world sat on his shoulders, eyes devoid of any type of light, and his face flushed with acceptance.

"I made the choice Arthur, so I will accept my punishment with grace."

"I goaded you into treating a practice match more akin to a true fight, throwing away your request to use wooden swords, so I shoulder the blame more than you." Upon seeing that Reinhard wasn't going to relent, he turned the ire of his glare towards Marco's instead. "Correct, Captain?"

For a moment, the composed yet angry expression the man had worn since barging into the room seemed to slip, being replaced by a nervous look that didn't look like it belonged on a man of his stature. It remained for only an instant before his previous expression returned, disappearing so quickly that Arthur didn't notice, only a lingering gaze of sky-blue eyes spoke to its appearance.

"So long as he understands the gravity of his actions," Marcos growled, before stomping out of the room.

Nobody in the room spoke following his departure, Reinhard's gaze was affixed to the table, his cerulean eyes dull and listless. He wasn't fairing much better, the weight of his situation finally settling on his shoulders in earnest, just the night prior he was adamantly objecting to even consider participating in the selection, but now he was standing in a room mere minutes after all but declaring his intent to compete to the captain of the royal guard.

To say that today hadn't gone as intended was a complete understatement, did he even know what he intended?

He goaded someone that wanted to be around him into a fully-fledged fight, one that devolved into Reinhard using an attack that would have given most heroic spirits a run for their money.

What was he doing?

Was he truly doing all of this in a vain attempt to figure out 'who' he was?

All those years that he spent as Camelot's king, were they really irreconcilable to who he really was?

Above all else, he dedicated his life to service, helping people, and striving towards a better, even if uncertain future.

While destiny might have propelled him to become the King of Camelot, his desire to help as many people as possible drove him to keep such a title. In his eyes it was merely the means to create a utopia, if such a path had required him to become an aimless wanderer, he had little doubt it would still have been the path he chose to walk.

The realization was one that shattered his self-image, King Arthur and Arthur Pendragon were not two separate people, nor was one merely a persona donned by the other at opportunistic times, they were one and the same.

The time he spent heading Camelot's round table wasn't an act, it had been a cumulation of his earnest wish, a catalyst to send his kingdom, his people, into prosperity, but in his pursuit to save others he was willingly damning himself in the process.

While he never failed to save others, he never even attempted to save himself.

He had made a multitude of mistakes in his time as King, mistakes that led to his kingdom's collapse, even if he could fix everything else in the end he wouldn't make the same mistakes again, even if they cost him his life.

Filled with a familiar resolve, Arthur's gaze swept the room, passing over Reinhard's blazing hair, before meeting a pair of golden orbs.

Julius's eyes were locked upon his own, truly looking at Arthur for the first time since they had met, he almost seemed to be searching for something, as the moment lingered on and their interlocked gaze failed to waver, Arthur couldn't help but let slip a slight grin at the world he found himself in, even seemingly mundane events such as these would have been completely unthinkable for him to experience in Camelot.

Whatever it was the violet-haired knight was looking for, he must have found it, as his gaze moved to Reinhard, a concerned look appearing for but a moment before he stood, his gaze flickering back to Arthur.

"I must admit I didn't expect to meet the fifth candidate today," Julius announced, finally causing Reinhard's gaze to leave the table. "But I am glad that I did, Lord Pendragon, correct? I must apologize, I was unaware of who you were." He spoke, punctuating his words with a low bow.

"No apologies are necessary, if anything it seems like I owe a few apologies for what led to this situation in the first place, to Reinhard and the maids" Arthur spoke, gesturing both to Reinhard.

"My Lord…" Reinhard attempted to speak before being cut off.

"It's Arthur, if we're going to be in this together then we should at least stand on equal terms."

Offering his hand to the prostrated Sword Saint, Arthur laid his terms for the world to see.

Silently, Julius observed the spectacle, waiting with bated breath for Reinhard's response, keenly aware that the redhead's response would shape his life for the foreseeable future, and perhaps that of the world.

Reinhard's sorrowful gaze met the determined light radiating from Arthur's emerald eyes. For a moment the world seemed to stop as the pair silently regarded the other.

The contest ended moments later when Reinhard let out a sigh as he rose out of his seat, before making his way around the table to grab Arthur's outstretched hand.

"Very well, Arthur."

Although Reinhard's face was still filled with sorrow, for a moment, he could have sworn he was a hint of something more.

The cave had a certain musty taint to it, strong enough to be a nuisance yet weak enough not to warrant any particular action, nevertheless, it could only be expected when housing a small army inside what amounted to a tunnel in the ground.

He had overheard a few of the less diligent among them voice complaints about it, questioning why they should have to endure such a hardship. Needless to say, if their faith had been tested by such a thing they wouldn't be needed for the upcoming ordeal.

It angered him, how could they possibly put that above her love? Their diligence was tested by such meager strife. Such wretched, pitiful existence, how could he betray her love in such a fashion by recruiting those who were so utterly ungrateful to her love.

He could feel the proof of his love, his authority rippling below the surface, begging to be unleashed, but before he could indulge himself, he was interrupted by someone bowed as he approached.

"Archbishop," the figure spoke reverently, snapping his maddened gaze to face it, his black eyes immediately settling onto one of his many loyal, diligent, fingers. "I've done as requested; the girl won't be able to attempt an escape again."

All of a sudden it was as if a switch had flicked, and an entirely new person now stood in his place.

He couldn't stop the laugh that burst forth upon her words, this was diligence, the proof of their devotion, their love.

The girl stayed in a low bow even as the archbishop before her continued to drown in hysterics, "Wonderful! Wonderful! You truly are blessed with love."

He started to walk again, mumbling inaudible nonsense to himself, leaving the still prostrated finger without so much as a second glance.

He pulled at his hair, ripping strands out as he proceeded to his destination, how could he have doubted those around him due to a few bad apples, he wasn't fit to judge those that possessed her love.

He chuckled again as he walked past a few others that froze upon hearing his murmuring, only able to make out a single phrase of his ramblings.

"How slothful."

Meticulously he walked through his manor, his footfalls creating not even a whisper of a sound as he stomped across the wooden floor towards the fixation of his ire.

His evening had been going fine, pleasant even, not a singular hiccup in his ideal life until one of his beloved wives, number 184, had served him tea.

The problem?

While 184 fulfilled the task without fault, it wasn't her duty, instead, it was supposed to be 211, one of his newest wives.

He'd left 184 without a word, her figure already sunk into a bow before he could even rise off his chair.

He considered himself to be a perfectly patient individual, the utter epitome of the word 'tolerant' but even he couldn't let such a blatant violation of his rights, of his authority, go unquestioned.

His wives respected his space, conscious of his anger, allowing him to walk through the hallways unimpeded. No doubt aware of the anger he possessed.

She thought that she was better than him, didn't she?

That he was someone that existed solely for her whims?

That just because he was her husband that she could disregard him whenever she wished?

As the door to her room came into view, his anger seemed to reach new levels seeing her closed door, was she still sleeping? Did she think that such an infringement of his rights would be allowed?

Just before he could blow the door off of its hinges, a faint burning sensation on his upper chest stopped him in his tracks.

How dare she contact him now; didn't she know he was dealing with a blatant violation of his rights! He wanted nothing more than to ignore it and teach this insufferable wrench what happens when you tremble on others' rights, but he knew better than to assume that his refusal would go unanswered.

Gracefully, he slipped a small book out of an interior breast pocket inside his white overcoat, its black cover appearing to taunt him as held it in his hand.

It only seemed to grow warmer the longer that it remained unopened, the magic by which it operated being the only thing that dared to pierce his authority.

Opening the book, its once empty pages now contained a dancing black script, its low whispers directing him down a new future, disregarding the instructions of the previous page.

With a defining snap, he slammed the book closed, his golden eyes alight with anger, and his face twisted into a scowl.

His previous destination forgotten he turned on his heels, leisurely strolling through the manor with none of the haste that the gospel called for.

Only a few days had passed since both his ill-fated duel with Arthur, and the resulting fallout that it caused, but already the Astrea manor was alight with activity.

Evidently, Marcos didn't wait to inform the council of the discovery of the final candidate, as the start of the Royal Selection had been scheduled only a few short days away.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Arthur was the least prepared, but as both Reinhard and the staff of the manor attempted to cram in all the important information, he needed to learn they had discovered a rather… concerning lack of knowledge.

Surprisingly it wasn't regarding what they expected, he was well versed in the mannerisms expected of nobility, instead, he seemed to lack a basic understanding of the world itself.

Reinhard knew Arthur wasn't familiar with Lugunica, that much was easy to see based on their initial interaction alone, but the fact that he was unaware of basic parts of history like the great calamity and the witch of envy was baffling, to say the least.

Even children were aware of her existence, being fed boogeyman stories of the witch and the monsters that she created, which is why he was left speechless when he asked for clarification on what he was talking about.

Looking back at how easily he was able to ignore Lady Emilia's appearance suddenly became much clearer, to Arthur she was simply a woman with a rather remarkable hair color, he only hoped that his view of Emilia wouldn't change now, he didn't believe Arthur was the type of person to be dismissive of someone for something they couldn't control, but it was a fear he couldn't shake.

Yet as the start of the Royal Selection got steadily closer, that fear was slowly weeded out by apprehension of how they'd fare, as Arthur hadn't yet come up with an answer to his most important question.

"What exactly are you running on?" Reinhard questioned; his gaze solely dictated on the man who sat across the desk from him.

It wasn't the first time Reinhard had posed such a question and each time that he had, he had received the same response.

"To help people," Arthur huffed, his gaze never leaving the paper he was reading, "My answer hasn't changed from a few minutes ago, Reinhard."

They were currently engaged in their latest lessons, Reading and Writing, while he was able to speak the language without fault, he had been completely incapable of reading even the simplest books in the manor.

It wasn't necessarily uncommon, the vast majority of people were capable of only basic reading and writing, few were completely illiterate, and even fewer that possessed the kind of equipment that Arthur sported.

Reinhard had personally believed him to be a foreign knight, but that belief had shattered after seeing his utter lack of ability to read, not to mention that his armor failed to match the style of any of the four major nations.

With one final pass of his eyes, Arthur looked up at Reinhard before offering the paper to him.

"I take it you understood it?" Reinhard questioned, taking the paper and setting it on a pile of similar-looking paper, before offering Arthur another.

"Yeah, it was talking about something called an 'Appa' along with various recipes it could be used in."

"Correct, you've made quite the improvement from someone who couldn't read at all a few hours ago."

"I can hardly believe it myself; I never remember learning anything this fast, except swordplay I suppose. Arthur admitted, opting to ignore the new paper for now, "What exactly is an 'Appa' anyway?"

Once again Arthur posed a question anyone in the world would be able to answer, yet Reinhard didn't need to rely on any of his Divine Protections to know it wasn't meant to be a joke.

"It's a small red fruit, grown on trees, personally I find them rather tantalizing."

Arthur made a quiet noise before offering a response, "An Apple then,"

This was another mystery Arthur typically presented, referring to objects with a completely different name, regional dialects were one thing, but he was certain that Arthur was the only person he had ever heard use such strange words to refer to everyday items.

His eccentricities aside, his lord was everything he could have wished for, even if he hated when Reinhard called him that.

"You've been training with the sword for quite some time then?" Reinhard questioned, unwilling to throw away a perfectly good excuse to pick away at Arthur's mystery.

"From the day I learned to walk."

"Truly?" Reinhard couldn't help but question, despite his lineage even his training hadn't begun until he was five, the few memories he had before inheriting his legacy were prized possessions. "To force such a thing on a child seems… cruel."

Perhaps Arthur sensed something hidden in his voice, as his gaze moved towards Reid, which sat propped next to Reinhard's chair.

His hand hovered over the desk for a moment before a bright golden light engulfed his hand before an invisible wind cleared to reveal Arthur's own blade.

The Sword was nearly as much of an enigma to Reinhard as Reid was, Arthur had mentioned that its name was Excalibur, but he hadn't given any further details.

Based on his experience, it was safe to assume it was no ordinary weapon, few weapons wouldn't crack under the stress of the Dragon Sword, the only ones that came to mind were the 10 Swords of Power…

"I must admit," Arthur started, his wistful gaze moving from the golden blade to Reinhard, "There are times when I feel as if my whole life was defined by the sword, its presence seeped into the very foundation of my life."

Reinhard was enthralled by Arthur's words, not only was he learning more about the mysterious man, but the similarities to his childhood locked his attention.

He'd spent many of his childhood years cursing the sword he inherited, wanting nothing more than to cast it aside, but keenly aware it was a burden only he could carry, to finally have another who-

"But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Reinhard's mind froze, his eyes locking onto Arthur, the sense of kinship immediately fleeing his body.

With Arthur's expectant gaze drilling into him, he hurriedly croaked a response, unable to calm his running heart.

"You wouldn't?"

His tone wasn't steady, and the words were abnormally lethargic, every syllable lacking any of the aspects that he typically portrayed.

"No, it led me to become a Knight," Arthur responded, Reinhard's terrible acting skills successfully overcoming Arthur's even worse ability to read the room. "To put others before myself, and now it has led me here."

Perhaps if he had been in a better state of mind, he would have been overjoyed at the apparent fact that Arthur wanted to be here, and not as far away from someone like him as possible, but there was only one thing currently on his mind.

"It doesn't bother you that your life has been bound to this path, that it was already expected that you would become a knight no matter what you might have wanted? Even now your life is being decided for you, don't you wonder if you would have chosen a different path?

Such a question felt odd just leaving his mouth, sitting in front of him was his chosen candidate, someone he had only known for a few short days, yet for a moment he felt a kinship with the golden-haired man that dwarfed even the bond he held with Julius.

The atmosphere was thick, an indecipherable feeling wafting through the air, yet as Arthur peered into his soul, he found himself to be oddly resolute, meeting the man's gaze with his own.

He wasn't backing down.