It had been a few days since they had claimed Dumnonia, and the city was still adjusting to the shift in power. Arthur had already addressed the people, standing before the remnants of the battlefield and declaring their freedom.
Even after all that, after the people had named him their king, Arthur still found it difficult to think of himself as one.
He wasn't just some legend. He wasn't an untouchable ruler carved into history. He was a warrior, a leader by necessity, and—more than anything—a man who had fought too long to stop now.
But here, in the quiet of this room, away from the city and its expectations, he could allow himself to relax—just a little.
Arthur sat beside Tier's bed, watching as she adjusted her position. She was healing quickly, but not fast enough. Her body was still worn from battle, and he could see the faint traces of exhaustion in her golden eyes, even as she tried to act unfazed.
"You're still not at full strength," Arthur noted, leaning back in his chair.
Tier scoffed. "And yet, I could still take you in a fight."
Arthur let out a sharp breath of laughter. "That so?"
She tilted her head, a smirk playing at her lips. "You're not invincible, Arthur."
"Debatable," he quipped.
Tier narrowed her eyes, but there was amusement behind them. "The moment you start believing that, you're bound to get yourself killed."
Arthur smirked. "Don't worry, I have you to keep me in check."
She rolled her eyes, but her expression softened just slightly. "You make it sound like I don't already."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough."
Tier had always been sharp, disciplined, and composed. But when she let herself be, when she allowed herself to speak freely without the constraints of duty, Arthur found that he liked this side of her.
The warmth in her laughter.
The way her lips curled into a rare smirk.
The way she didn't hesitate to challenge him.
Even now, as they sat in her room, the remnants of battle still lingering on the edges of their minds, he felt something rare.
Peace.
Tier exhaled, shaking her head at him. "I'm surprised you're not out there giving another speech. The people seem to have latched onto you."
Arthur grimaced. "I think one speech was enough. Any more, and Merlin's going to start calling me 'Arthur the Preacher' instead of 'Arthur the King.'"
Tier chuckled. "Merlin gives everyone ridiculous names."
Arthur nodded. "True. But he's been worse with me lately."
Tier tilted her head. "Maybe because you've been worse lately."
Arthur blinked before letting out a dry laugh. "I suppose I deserved that."
She didn't respond right away. Instead, she let the silence settle, her golden eyes watching him carefully.
"…You've changed."
Arthur stilled at her words, his smirk fading slightly. "Have I?"
Tier nodded, her expression unreadable. "You're different from the man that didn't care for his own death. Back then, you carried everything like a man bracing for a storm that would never end."
Arthur looked away for a moment. He wasn't sure what to say to that.
"…And now?" he asked finally.
Tier studied him for a long moment before she spoke.
"Now, you laugh more."
Arthur let out a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well," he said after a moment, his voice quieter than before, "I have you to thank for that."
Tier blinked, her eyes widening just slightly.
"For what?" she asked.
Arthur leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at her—truly looked at her.
"For what you did for me when I was at my worst."
Tier's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She didn't look away, but something in her expression shifted.
There was a quiet understanding between them, something unspoken but deeply felt.
Arthur smiled—small, sincere.
"Thank you, Tier."
The words were simple, but the weight behind them was immense.
Tier held his gaze for a moment longer before finally exhaling. She closed her eyes briefly, as if composing herself, before opening them again.
"…You're welcome."
The moment lingered, stretched between them like an unspoken promise.
But then—
A knock at the door.
Arthur turned just as the door opened, revealing her.
Artoria.
She stood there, her posture as straight as ever, her presence as commanding as it had always been. But there was something else in her eyes.
Something quiet.
Something uncertain.
Arthur met her gaze, and for a second, the weight of the moment settled between them.
"I need to speak with you," Artoria said, her voice even but laced with something else.
Arthur nodded.
"…Of course."
He stood, sparing Tier one last glance before turning to leave.
As he passed by Artoria, their eyes met again. There was something unspoken in her gaze, something that made his chest tighten.
He didn't know what it was yet.
But he would soon.
Arthur followed Artoria down the dimly lit hallway, the soft glow of torches casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. The weight of what he had to say pressed against his chest, but his steps did not falter.
After a moment, he broke the silence.
"I have to tell you something, Artoria."
She stopped mid-step, turning slightly to glance at him. Her expression was calm—always composed—but there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
"Let us reach the room first."
Arthur didn't move right away. Instead, he reached forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
"Arthur?" Artoria's voice held a rare note of confusion.
"I know we haven't seen each other in a few days," Arthur murmured, holding her a little tighter.
He exhaled, his voice quieter now. "I just needed to do this. Just in case."
Artoria sighed softly, as if reprimanding him, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his embrace for just a moment before speaking.
"You do not have to act like this every time."
Her words carried an air of detachment, but her body disagreed. She let herself rest against him for a heartbeat longer before stepping forward. Without hesitation, she reached back and took his hand.
"Come. Let us get to the room first."
Arthur allowed her to lead him, their fingers intertwined in a quiet understanding.
The room they entered was elegant yet simple, with soft candlelight illuminating the polished wooden desk where a familiar figure sat.
Morgan—or rather, Vivian at the moment—was already there, her cold blue eyes skimming the pages of a book. The moment they entered, she lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable as she closed the tome with deliberate precision.
She studied them for a moment before speaking.
"Good. We are all here."
Her voice was distant, cool—not unkind, but lacking warmth.
"What is it you want now, Artoria?"
Artoria didn't immediately respond, instead taking a seat across from Morgan. Arthur followed suit, sitting beside her. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to speak first.
"I'm sorry, Artoria."
The weight behind those words was immense.
The room felt smaller, suffocating, as silence stretched between them. Artoria's eyes remained steady on his, her expression unreadable, but the sharpness of her focus made it clear—she was waiting.
Arthur swallowed.
"I—" He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing forward. "I was with Morgan."
A pause.
He forced himself to say the full truth.
"I was with Vivian, too."
Artoria didn't react. She didn't gasp, didn't shift uncomfortably, didn't let even the faintest flicker of surprise cross her face. Instead, she closed her eyes briefly before exhaling.
"I already know."
Arthur's breath hitched.
"…What?"
Artoria opened her eyes, steady and unwavering. "Vivian told me."
He turned his gaze toward Morgan—no, Vivian—who simply sighed, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face.
"I did."
Arthur clenched his jaw, his mind scrambling to process what this meant.
"Then why are we here?"
"Because," Artoria said calmly, "we all need to talk about it."
Vivian—or was it Morgan now?—let out a soft scoff, but there was something fragile beneath it. "Talk? About what, exactly?"
Artoria met her gaze. "About where we stand."
Another silence settled over them.
"Arthur," Artoria said, drawing his attention back to her. "What do you want?"
Arthur inhaled deeply, his shoulders tense.
"I don't know." His voice was raw, honest. "I didn't plan for this. It wasn't some calculated choice, and I didn't do it to hurt anyone." He looked down, fingers clenching into fists. "But I did it. And I can't take it back."
Artoria remained quiet for a long moment before speaking. "...Did it mean anything to you?"
Arthur looked up, and his eyes met hers.
"Yes."
Artoria inhaled slowly, steadying herself. She had already known. She had known before she stepped into this room, before Arthur had spoken the words aloud. And yet, hearing them—giving them form and weight—still sent a dull ache through her chest.
She could not ask the questions that clawed at the back of her mind.
Why wasn't I enough?
Was I not well?
Was my love insufficient?
But she already knew the answers.
So instead, she exhaled, forcing herself to remain composed as she turned her gaze toward the other two people in the room.
"Morgan. Vivian." Her voice was calm—too calm. "How do you feel about this?"
"You were the ones who initiated it," Artoria continued. "So what was the end goal?"
Morgan tilted her head, as if amused by the question. "You wish to know the truth, Little King?" Her tone was cool, detached—like a blade hidden beneath silk.
Artoria did not flinch.
"I wanted Arthur," Morgan said, leaning forward slightly, her smirk growing, "because of his position in the world. And because you had him."
The words landed like an arrow piercing armor, and yet Artoria did not move.
"You're lying," she said, her voice steady. "Or, at the very least, you're telling a half-truth."
Morgan's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before. "And how would you know, Little King?"
"Because I can see it," Artoria responded. "That is the wish of a divine light—I see through deception."
Morgan's expression shifted. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—frustration, then resignation. A slow exhale left her lips, and she smiled. But it was different this time. Soft. Sad.
"Yes," she admitted.
There was a pause before Vivian finally spoke. Her voice, gentle as always, filled the silence with something heavier than steel.
"She isn't very good with direct communication," Vivian said. "So I will speak for her."
"What she said is true. At least, part of it. But there is more to it than she understands, more than she is willing to say." Vivian looked back at Artoria, her blue eyes filled with quiet sorrow.
"She has feelings for Arthur. Feelings she cannot understand."
"And as you both already know…" Vivian's voice softened further, a sad smile forming on her lips. "I love Arthur wholeheartedly."
Arthur, who had remained silent until now, looked down at his hands, his fingers gripping the fabric of his sleeve.
Artoria's heart ached at the admission.
Vivian had always been honest about her affections, her love. But Morgan—Morgan, who had spent so long at odds with them, who had wielded her bitterness like a weapon—had been another matter entirely.
And now, Artoria found herself staring at a truth she had long suspected but never confirmed.
Morgan's feelings were real. Even if she did not understand them, even if she had buried them beneath layers of justification and power plays, they were there.
Artoria exhaled, the weight of it settling upon her shoulders.
"So," she said quietly, "what do we do now?"
"My feelings for Arthur won't fade, but I will truly allow you two happiness. That is what you both deserve," she said, offering Artoria a gentle, bittersweet smile. "It will be as though what happened between Arthur and me never happened."
Artoria's expression remained impassive, but the flicker in her green eyes betrayed the emotions swirling beneath.
"But it did happen."
The words cut through the silence like a blade.
Vivian's smile wavered, and Arthur inhaled sharply, guilt tightening his shoulders.
"If we pretend otherwise," Artoria continued, "we will only end up back where we started. Because Morgan will never agree to that."
There was a beat of silence before a soft chuckle broke through the air.
"Ahhh, you know me well, Little Sister," Morgan mused, tilting her head as she studied Artoria. "Especially for someone who has barely spoken to me."
Artoria turned her gaze toward Arthur then, steady and unwavering. "What do you suggest, Artoria?" Arthur asked, his voice quiet, restrained.
She swallowed, knowing what she was about to say would change everything.
"We shall share you."
Arthur stiffened slightly, but Artoria didn't falter.
"I hope no more women will come into this arrangement," she added, her voice cool but laced with something rawer, something unspoken. "But considering how I had to pull you from the bedside of another woman in a hospital room, I can't be sure if that can be trusted."
Her words weren't meant to wound—but they did.
Arthur flinched, shame tightening his jaw. It was a wound of his own making, and one that he needed to mend.
Morgan, ever one to seize an opportunity, smirked. "Share, is it? Will you share your kingdom as well, then?"
Artoria's expression didn't change, but there was the slightest quirk of her lips, the embers of a challenge sparking in her emerald eyes.
"No," she said smoothly. "But you surrendering everything you own within Britain seems fair to me."
Morgan's smirk faltered, a frown forming in its place.
Vivian let out a soft laugh, her smile returning with more warmth than before.
"I like this solution."
Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he took in the reality of what was happening.
This was far from the ideal resolution.
This wasn't how love should work.
And yet, in this strange, fractured way—this was love.
Tangled, complicated, painful.
But real.