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"Lancelot, if I had stepped down—at the height of my kingdom's prosperity—perhaps the tragedy that followed, could have been avoided."
Saber's voice was soft, filled with a wistful sadness, as she looked at Lancelot.
Having witnessed Rider's bond with his Master, Waver, she'd begun to understand Haru's words. She, too, had once shared such a bond with her knights.
Lancelot, his movements stilled by her words, stared at her, his face a mask of shock. Even the Command Spell compelling him to attack seemed to falter.
"My king—why would you think such a thing?"
"I drew Excalibur to save my kingdom. And once the invaders were driven out my purpose was fulfilled."
Lancelot fell silent.
He couldn't argue with her.
He knew that all the Knights of the Round Table, drawn to her ideals, her unwavering devotion to her kingdom, had pledged their loyalty to her, their hearts filled with a shared dream of a unified, prosperous Britain.
And it was after that dream's fulfillment, after the invaders were defeated, after Camelot reached the height of its power, that they, the knights, had become complacent, their hearts corrupted by the spoils of victory, their actions leading to the kingdom's downfall.
"A certain king said that my way of ruling was suited for saving a kingdom, but not for governing it. Perhaps—he was right." Saber said, a wry smile touching her lips.
During her reign, she'd meticulously overseen every aspect of her kingdom, her judgments fair, her punishments swift, her actions guided by a sense of balance and justice.
"I sacrificed the few—to save the many." She paused, her voice filled with a quiet regret, but Lancelot interrupted her.
"Your actions were not wrong. They were necessary."
Saber, unfazed by his interruption, continued, "But those actions—those repeated sacrifices—they led to my kingdom's destruction."
"The fall of Camelot is our responsibility. The Knights of the Round Table—the people we all share the blame," Lancelot said, his voice firm, his gaze unwavering.
Saber stared at him, her face etched with surprise. 'Why would he say that? Why would he claim the fall of Camelot was the people's fault?'
Lancelot, seeing her confusion, sighed.
"Our victories—they made us arrogant. You gave us hope, my king. We believed—that with you leading us, we could achieve victory without loss, that we were invincible."
"So, we questioned your decisions, your sacrifices, even though we knew they were necessary, that they saved lives. We saw them as a betrayal of our knightly ideals."
"But there's no such thing as a war without casualties," he added, his voice laced with a bitter self-mockery.
Saber was speechless.
She hadn't realized her victories, her successes, had been the seeds of Camelot's destruction.
"You shouldn't blame yourself, my king. Your desire for the Grail—it's to atone for your perceived failures. But you did nothing wrong. We failed you. All of us, the knights who survived, we share that belief." Lancelot, resisting the Command Spell with all his might, knelt before Saber, his head bowed low.
"Rise, Lancelot. I don't blame you. It was my fault. My—failure as a ruler." Saber reached out her hand towards him.
"Always blaming yourself—You are too kind, my king. Too noble. It is your very virtue that shames us," Lancelot said, tears streaming down his face.
"Let us bear the burden of our sins," he pleaded, his voice choked with emotion.
"I'm sorry, Lancelot. I can't do that," Saber replied, tears welling up in her own eyes.
Lancelot remained kneeling, his head bowed in silent protest.
"We can share the burden of Camelot's fall…" Saber said softly, tilting her head.
"As you command, my king!" Lancelot rose, his voice firm, his face filled with a renewed resolve.
The king and her knight exchanged a smile, a silent understanding passing between them.
Lancelot took a deep breath, then, still kneeling, he held Arondight before Saber.
"The fall of Camelot—we share that burden. But my betrayal—that I must atone for. It is a knight's duty! My king, I, your first knight, Lancelot, beg for your judgment!" His voice rang with a newfound strength, his face filled with a quiet peace.
He had finally confessed, finally acknowledged his sin. He could finally reclaim his honor as a knight.
Saber looked at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, her heart heavy.
Then, her expression hardened, her face a mask of regal authority. She looked down at the kneeling knight, tears streaming down her face, yet her smile was gentle.
She raised the holy sword and plunged it into Lancelot's chest.
——
In the Einzbern Castle, Haru sat in the living room, sipping tea.
To ensure they could reach the Root, he'd sent Kiyohime, Hassan-i Sabbah, and Illyasviel to the Ryuudou Temple, the location of the Greater Grail, nestled within the heart of Mount Enzō, Fuyuki City's greatest spiritual nexus, to prepare for the ritual.
With several hours remaining, Haru relaxed, his primary task for now simply to maintain the Lesser Grail's stability, preventing it from shattering under the weight of the two Heroic Spirits' souls.
"Would you care for some tea, Kayneth-san?" he asked, offering Kayneth, who sat in a nearby armchair, a cup of tea with a long straw, carefully placing it within easy reach.
"Thank you for your hospitality, The El-Melloi will not forget your kindness," Kayneth said, his voice filled with gratitude, his earlier arrogance gone.
He took a sip of tea, savoring its warmth and sweetness, then leaned back against the soft cushions of the armchair, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips. He felt safe.
Crippled by Emiya, then strapped with a bomb and dragged across town, caught in the crossfire of a Servants' battle—it had been a harrowing night.
"Achoo!" He sneezed.
"Did you—catch a cold out there in the forest, Kayneth-san?" Haru asked, his brow furrowed slightly.
"It seems so. It is winter, after all. Do you perhaps have a coat and a hat?" Kayneth replied sheepishly.
Haru, thinking of Sola-Ui, of her—services, nodded.
He transmuted a thick, 'Green' army coat and a matching 'Green' beanie.
He couldn't help but grin. This was going to be—fun.
"Is that Magic?" Kayneth stared at the clothes, his eyes wide with awe. The creation of matter from nothing—it was a feat bordering on the miraculous, the realm of true Magic.
"You want them? Consider them a gift."
Kayneth, ignoring Haru's playful tone, nodded eagerly.
A magically created artifact! It was a treasure beyond price, a dream come true for any Magician.
If he could glean even a fraction of its secrets, if he could unravel the principles behind its creation, then perhaps, after generations of research, his descendants could reach the Root.
And now, he held such a treasure in his hands.
He wouldn't let this opportunity slip away.
"Here, let me help you." Haru, a strange glint in his eyes, placed the 'Green' beanie on Kayneth's head and helped him into the 'Green' coat.
"....."
"Thank you! Thank you! This is the greatest gift I've ever received! It will be a treasured heirloom of the Archibald family! Passed down through generations!" Tears streamed down Kayneth's face.
He'd lost his magecraft, but now—he had a chance, a chance for his descendants to achieve what he could not—to master true Magic.
The Archibald family could finally join the ranks of the prestigious mage lineages—the Barthomeloi, the Einzbern, the Tohsaka—families with a legacy of Magic. And it was all thanks to him, Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald.
He could return to the Archibald family, a hero, even in his crippled state. They would shower him with praise, provide him with the best possible care.
His future, once bleak, now seemed Bright.
"I have some Grail War business to attend to. I'll see you later, Kayneth-san," Haru said, waving as he left the room.
"May fortune favor you!" Kayneth called out, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.
As Haru left, Kayneth, beaming with pride, looked at his reflection in his teacup, admiring his new—Green ensemble.
"Darling, where are you going dressed like that~?" a sultry, feminine voice purred.
"That voice—it sounds familiar." Kayneth murmured, his brow furrowing slightly.
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