Three years passed with remarkable swiftness. Art's sixteenth birthday came during a rare period of peace, celebrated in a settlement that bore little resemblance to the crude camp where her journey had begun.
What had started as a ragtag band of disaffected youths had evolved into a legitimate fighting force of over two hundred, with permanent headquarters and satellite outposts throughout the western territories. Their reputation had spread across Britain—defenders against Saxon incursions, protectors of vulnerable communities, followers of the "Sword Maiden" who sought to unify the fractured land.
Art herself had changed dramatically. At sixteen, she'd grown to her full height, lean and strong rather than traditionally feminine. She kept her hair cropped at chin length for practicality, and dressed exclusively in well-crafted leather and light mail armor. Caliburn remained her primary weapon, though she'd become proficient with bow, spear, and dagger as well.
More significant than her physical development was her evolution as a leader. No longer merely Bobby's student, she had developed her own command style—firm but fair, demanding excellence while showing genuine concern for her followers' welfare. Her natural charisma had matured into true presence; when Art spoke, people listened not because of title or authority, but because her words carried conviction and wisdom beyond her years.
Bobby observed these changes with scientific detachment overlaid with something approaching pride. Though immortality had long since cured him of human sentiment, Art's development satisfied his intellectual appreciation for potential realized. He'd provided knowledge and guidance, but her remarkable growth stemmed primarily from innate qualities he'd merely helped cultivate.
Their relationship had evolved as well. Where once she'd been an eager student absorbing his every teaching, now she was increasingly a partner in strategic planning, sometimes challenging his suggestions and offering alternatives that occasionally surpassed his own concepts. Bobby encouraged this independence—a puppet leader would never achieve what history required of her.
On the evening of her birthday celebration, Bobby found Art alone on the battlements of their main fortification—a former Roman outpost they'd renovated and expanded over the previous year. Below, her followers celebrated with music, food, and moderate amounts of ale, the sounds of laughter drifting upward in the cool spring air.
"Sixteen," Bobby observed, joining her at the stone parapet. "In Roman times, you'd be considered fully adult now."
Art smiled slightly. "In village life, I'd likely be married with a child already."
"Do you regret the path not taken?" Bobby asked, genuinely curious about her perspective.
Art considered the question seriously, as was her habit. She rarely gave hasty answers, especially to significant inquiries. "No," she finally said. "Though sometimes I wonder what simple contentment might feel like."
Bobby nodded. Leadership's burden inevitably separated one from ordinary pleasures. Art had experienced more in sixteen years than most humans did in lifetimes, but always with the weight of responsibility that precluded carefree enjoyment.
"Lord Pellinore's messenger arrived while you were training," Bobby informed her, changing the subject. "The Council of Western Lords has agreed to meet with you."
Art's eyes widened slightly—the only indication of her surprise. "All twelve?"
"Eleven," Bobby corrected. "Lord Vortigern refuses to 'treat with a girl playing at kingship,' to quote his charming response."
Art's lips tightened. "Vortigern's territories suffer the worst Saxon incursions because he refuses alliances with his neighbors. His pride costs his people dearly."
"Indeed," Bobby agreed. "Though his absence may work in your favor. The other lords find him obstinate and difficult."
Art turned her gaze back to the celebration below. "When is the council?"
"Midsummer. At the old stone circle near the western coast."
"Neutral ground," Art observed. "Neither Roman nor tribal in association."
Bobby nodded approvingly. "They're taking no chances with territorial implications. This meeting represents unprecedented cooperation among the western lords—testimony to your growing influence."
Art's expression remained thoughtful. "Three years of building alliances, demonstrating our effectiveness against raiders, establishing justice in territories we protect... and still some dismiss us as upstarts or brigands."
"Change threatens those invested in existing power structures," Bobby pointed out. "You represent something unprecedented—leadership based on demonstrated effectiveness rather than bloodline or wealth."
"And my sex remains an issue for many," Art added wryly.
"A feature, not a flaw," Bobby countered. "It distinguishes you from countless would-be kings whose claims rest on nothing more substantial than being male heirs to minor lordships."
Art smiled slightly. "You always frame disadvantages as potential advantages."
"Because perspective determines outcome more often than circumstance," Bobby replied. "The Council presents your greatest opportunity yet to advance your vision for Britain. How you handle it will determine whether your influence remains regional or expands nationally."
Art nodded, straightening her shoulders almost unconsciously. "I'll need to prepare carefully. Arguments tailored to each lord's specific concerns. Demonstrations of how unity benefits their individual interests while serving the greater good."
"Exactly," Bobby approved. "Unification must appear not as surrender of sovereignty but as enhancement of security and prosperity."
Their planning conversation continued late into the night, long after the celebration below had quieted. Bobby noted with satisfaction that Art's strategic thinking had developed remarkable sophistication. She analyzed political motivations with the same precision she brought to battlefield tactics.
The following weeks saw intense preparation for the Council meeting. Art drilled not just in persuasive arguments and political negotiation, but in the formalities expected when dealing with established nobility. Bobby arranged for appropriate clothing to be created—practical but impressive armor for the initial appearance, complemented by ceremonial attire suitable for formal discussions.
Elaine, who had adapted to their evolving circumstances with remarkable resilience, managed the domestic aspects of preparation. Though she'd initially feared Art's path, she'd gradually accepted her daughter's destiny, focusing her energies on supporting rather than restraining Art's ambitions.
"She barely sleeps," Elaine observed to Bobby one evening, watching Art pore over maps and documents despite the late hour. "The Council consumes her thoughts."
"As it should," Bobby replied. "This meeting may determine whether she achieves her ultimate goal or remains merely a regional power."
Elaine studied him with the directness that had never diminished despite their years of association. "And which outcome serves your purpose better, Merlin?"
Bobby smiled thinly. "My purpose, as always, is observation. Art's success or failure is her own—I merely provide context and knowledge."
"After all this time, you still speak as if you're merely watching events unfold," Elaine noted. "Yet your influence shapes every aspect of our lives."
"Influence isn't control," Bobby countered. "I offer options. Art chooses paths. The distinction matters."
Elaine shook her head slightly. "You remain as enigmatic as when we first met. Though I've grown accustomed to your strangeness, I'm no closer to understanding what you truly are."
"Perhaps understanding isn't required for cooperation," Bobby suggested. "Results matter more than origins."
"Perhaps," Elaine conceded. "Though I wonder if Art will eventually demand answers you've withheld from her mother."
Bobby's expression revealed nothing. "When questions arise, I address them truthfully—if sometimes incompletely."
"Half-truths and cryptic statements," Elaine said, though without rancor. "Your specialty."
"Information is like currency," Bobby replied. "Its value depends on timing and audience."
Their conversation ended as Art approached, carrying yet another scroll of historical records Bobby had procured from a monastery archives. Her dedication to preparation was absolute—studying not just current politics but historical precedents for the unification she sought to achieve.
As Midsummer approached, Art selected her delegation carefully. Besides Bobby, who would attend as her principal advisor, she chose Gwen, now her most trusted lieutenant; Sir Kay, who had left Pellinore's service to join Art's cause two years prior; and three others representing different aspects of her growing influence—a respected elder from a village under her protection, a former Saxon captive who'd witnessed her justice firsthand, and a young scholar from a western monastery who documented her achievements.
The journey to the stone circle took five days, traveling with a larger escort that would remain outside the Council grounds. Art used the time for final preparations, rehearsing arguments and considering potential objections. Bobby noted with approval that she anticipated not just logical counterarguments but emotional and tradition-based resistance.
"Lord Trahern will invoke ancient tribal boundaries," she predicted as they rode. "While Lord Caradoc will focus on practical military concerns. The challenge is addressing both perspectives simultaneously without appearing to favor either."
"And the religious dimension?" Bobby prompted.
Art nodded. "Bishop Aldwin supports unification in principle but will insist on Christian primacy in any new governance structure. The druids' representative will oppose this without openly challenging Christian authority—likely suggesting a parallel rather than hierarchical relationship."
Her analysis continued with remarkable precision, demonstrating comprehensive understanding of the complex political landscape they were entering. Bobby offered occasional refinements but found increasingly little to correct in her assessments.
They arrived at the stone circle on Midsummer's eve, establishing camp at the designated distance from the sacred ground. Messengers from various lords arrived throughout the evening, confirming attendance and establishing preliminary protocols.
As darkness fell, Art stood before her tent, gazing at the ancient megaliths silhouetted against the twilight sky. "Romans, Christians, tribes, Saxons," she mused. "Layer upon layer of belief and conquest. And now us, adding our own chapter."
"History isn't linear but cumulative," Bobby observed. "Each era incorporates elements of what preceded it, often unaware of doing so."
Art glanced at him. "You speak as if you've witnessed this process many times."
"Books provide perspective," Bobby replied smoothly, deflecting the implied question about his true nature. "Tomorrow focuses on the future, not the past. Rest well."
Dawn broke clear and bright on Midsummer Day. Art dressed carefully in the armor Bobby had commissioned—functional protection decorated with subtle symbols incorporating both Christian and older iconography, topped with a deep blue cloak that enhanced her natural presence without appearing ostentatious.
Caliburn hung at her hip, its distinctive hilt visible but not prominently displayed. The sword had evolved further over the years, Bobby subtly enhancing it through applications of his advanced knowledge. While it appeared externally unchanged, its internal structure now incorporated principles of metallurgy thousands of years beyond this era's capabilities.
"Remember," Bobby advised as they approached the stone circle, "confidence without arrogance. You come as equal, not supplicant or conqueror."
Art nodded, her expression serene despite the stakes. "Three years ago, I fought to protect villages from raiders. Today, I address lords who command thousands. Either the gods have strange humor, or you planned this path from the beginning."
Bobby merely smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps both."
The Council itself proved every bit as challenging as anticipated. Eleven lords of the western territories, ranging from minor nobility controlling small regions to significant powers governing multiple communities, gathered within the ancient stone circle. Each brought advisors and guards, creating an assembly of nearly fifty influential figures from across western Britain.
Art's entrance was calculated for maximum impact—arriving precisely on time, neither hurried nor delayed, with her small delegation arranged to suggest capability rather than threat. Bobby watched with professional appreciation as she navigated the initial formalities flawlessly, demonstrating respect for tradition while maintaining quiet dignity.
The discussions that followed tested every aspect of Art's preparation. Each lord presented different concerns, from practical matters of defense against Saxon incursions to philosophical questions about governance structure. Some were openly skeptical of her youth and gender; others were cautiously supportive but concerned about sacrificing traditional autonomy.
Art addressed each issue with remarkable composure, neither defensive when challenged nor triumphalist when supported. Her arguments blended practical benefits of unification with appeals to shared British identity transcending tribal and regional differences.
"We face enemies who don't distinguish between our territories," she told the assembled lords. "Saxons don't ask whether they raid Lord Trahern's lands or Lord Caradoc's—they see only Britain, vulnerable through division. Our strength lies not in independent resistance but coordinated defense."
Bishop Aldwin, representing the Christian establishment, posed particularly challenging questions about religious authority under Art's proposed unification.
"Christ teaches unity," Art replied carefully, "while respecting the journey each soul takes toward understanding. A unified Britain would protect all faithful while compelling none in matters of conscience."
The druid representative, an elderly man named Myrddin whose name's similarity to "Merlin" had caused some confusion during introductions, nodded approvingly at this diplomatic response.
By midday, the initial formalities had given way to substantive discussion. Art presented a specific proposal—a council of lords maintaining regional authority while contributing to common defense and submitting to shared jurisprudence for matters crossing territorial boundaries.
"This isn't surrender of sovereignty," she emphasized, "but pooling of strength. Each lord remains master of his domain while gaining protection of combined forces and representation in matters affecting all Britain."
The proposal generated intense debate. Bobby observed the shifting alliances and resistances with analytical interest, noting which lords appeared receptive and which remained skeptical or hostile.
Lord Caradoc, a battle-scarred veteran governing territories that had suffered frequent Saxon attacks, emerged as Art's strongest potential ally. "The girl speaks sense," he declared bluntly. "We've tried fighting separately for decades. The results speak for themselves—Saxons control more territory each year while we quibble over ancient boundaries that mean nothing to our enemies."
In contrast, Lord Bors (no relation to Pellinore's master-at-arms) represented the strongest opposition. "Fine words from a child who's never governed proper territory," he objected. "Leading volunteers against raiders is hardly qualification for restructuring Britain's governance."
"With respect, Lord Bors," Art countered calmly, "qualification comes from results, not title. My forces have successfully defended territories where traditional approaches failed. I offer not theory but demonstrated effectiveness."
The debate continued through the afternoon and into evening, eventually pausing as the sun began to set. By mutual agreement, the Council would resume the following day after participants had time to consider proposals and consult privately.
As they returned to their camp, Bobby assessed the day's proceedings. "You've made significant progress," he told Art. "Lord Caradoc and Lord Pellinore support you openly. Lords Trahern, Gawain, and Bedivere appear receptive but cautious. The remaining five remain skeptical or opposed, with Bors the most vehement."
Art nodded tiredly. "Bors fears losing influence. He's positioned himself as defender against Saxon incursions, charging significant tribute from villages under his 'protection.' Our success threatens his arrangement."
"Perceptive analysis," Bobby approved. "Self-interest often masquerades as principle."
"Tomorrow will determine whether we've truly succeeded," Art said, removing her ceremonial armor with Gwen's assistance. "Today established positions. Tomorrow requires resolution."
Throughout the evening, emissaries from various lords visited their camp, some openly seeking clarification of Art's proposals, others less transparently attempting to gauge her flexibility or firmness on specific points. Art handled each interaction with diplomatic skill, making minor concessions where appropriate while maintaining core principles.
Late that night, an unexpected visitor arrived—Bishop Aldwin, unaccompanied by guards or advisors. The elderly cleric requested private audience with Art, which she granted after ensuring Bobby's presence as well.
"Your proposal intrigues me," Aldwin admitted once they were seated in Art's tent. "Though I've concerns about its implementation."
"Speak freely, Your Grace," Art invited. "I value candid exchange."
Aldwin studied her thoughtfully. "The Church's position in Britain remains precarious. Roman protection has ended. Pagan traditions resurge in many areas. Saxon invaders destroy monasteries and churches alike."
"All true," Art acknowledged. "Which suggests the Church's interests align with unification for mutual protection."
"Perhaps," Aldwin allowed. "But unification under whose authority? A council is well and good for consultation, but effective governance—especially in times of crisis—requires singular leadership."
Bobby tensed slightly, recognizing the direction of Aldwin's thinking. This was a critical moment—the first direct suggestion of centralized authority beyond the council structure Art had proposed.
Art's expression revealed nothing. "What alternative structure would you suggest, Your Grace?"
Aldwin leaned forward. "Britain needs a high king. Not a conqueror imposing rule by force, but a sovereign acknowledged by lords based on demonstrated capability and divine favor." His eyes flicked meaningfully to Caliburn at Art's side. "Legends speak of a leader who would unite Britain in its darkest hour, proven worthy by drawing a sword from stone."
Art remained silent for a long moment, considering implications. "I've never claimed divine selection," she finally said. "My sword's unusual acquisition notwithstanding."
"Yet your achievements suggest providence," Aldwin countered. "From obscure beginnings to addressing a Council of Lords in three years—such a path indicates extraordinary destiny."
"My concern," Art said carefully, "is that suggesting monarchy rather than council governance would appear as naked ambition rather than practical solution."
Aldwin smiled slightly. "Hence why I broach the subject privately. Tomorrow, I will propose this structure—not you. The suggestion carries different weight coming from the Church."
After Aldwin departed, Art turned to Bobby, her expression troubled. "He offers the crown—or at least, the path to it."
"Did you expect less?" Bobby asked. "Your entire journey has pointed toward this moment."
"A council of equals seemed more achievable," Art admitted. "Less threatening to established powers."
"Yet ultimately less effective," Bobby countered. "Britain's challenges require unified command, not committee consensus. Aldwin recognizes this reality, as do you."
Art paced the confines of the tent, conflict evident in her movement. "If I accept this direction, some lords will immediately withdraw support, seeing me as power-hungry rather than solution-oriented."
"While others will recognize the practical necessity," Bobby pointed out. "Leadership always divides opinion. The question is whether you believe monarchy under your direction better serves Britain than fragmented authority."
Art stopped pacing, her hand resting unconsciously on Caliburn's hilt. "I didn't begin this journey seeking a crown."
"Few worthy of kingship do," Bobby observed. "Those who most desire power are often least suitable to wield it responsibly."
After a long silence, Art straightened her shoulders, decision evident in her posture. "If Aldwin proposes monarchy with selection by council rather than bloodline, I'll neither reject nor eagerly embrace the concept. The focus must remain on Britain's needs, not personal ambition."
Bobby nodded approvingly. "A balanced approach. Neither false modesty nor obvious grasping serves your purpose."
The following day's Council proceeded much as Art had anticipated. Bishop Aldwin proposed formalization of a high kingship, with the assembled lords serving as an advisory council and electoral body for selecting the monarch based on demonstrated capability rather than hereditary right.
The suggestion generated predictable controversy. Lord Bors immediately opposed the concept, joined by Lords Agravain and Lamorak. Others expressed cautious interest, particularly when Aldwin emphasized limits on monarchical power through council oversight.
Throughout the debate, Art maintained diplomatic restraint, neither championing nor opposing the proposal directly. Instead, she focused on practical implementations that would preserve regional autonomy while enabling unified action against external threats.
By midday, a tentative consensus began emerging among a majority of the lords. While full monarchy remained controversial, the concept of a "high commander" with authority over combined forces and specific interstate matters gained support. This commander would be selected by council vote, serving for a defined term with possibility of renewal.
"This position falls short of kingship," Lord Caradoc observed, "but provides necessary unified leadership without threatening traditional governance within our territories."
"A reasonable compromise," Art agreed. "Effectiveness requires clear command structure, while legitimacy demands respect for established authority."
When the formal vote came late in the afternoon, eight of the eleven lords supported the modified proposal. Lord Caradoc then made the move Bobby had anticipated since Aldwin's nocturnal visit.
"Having established the position," Caradoc declared, "we must select its first occupant. I nominate Art of Britain, whose demonstrated effectiveness against Saxon incursions recommends her for broader command."
The nomination hung in the air, its implications rippling through the assembly. Art remained composed, neither eager nor reluctant in her expression.
"A girl?" Lord Agravain objected immediately. "However capable in regional skirmishes, a female commander would invite ridicule from allies and enemies alike."
"I judge capability by results, not tradition," Caradoc countered. "Art's forces have successfully defended territories where conventional approaches failed."
The debate continued with increasing intensity. Bobby observed the shifting alliances with analytical interest, noting that several lords who had supported the position's creation seemed hesitant to award it to Art specifically. Gender remained a significant obstacle, despite her demonstrated competence.
Eventually, Lord Pellinore proposed a solution. "Let capability be proven definitively," he suggested. "The Saxon threat grows most severe in the eastern territories, where Lord Vortigern's poor governance has allowed enemy footholds. Art and any competing candidates shall lead combined forces against these incursions. The most successful commander earns the position."
This proposal gained immediate support as a face-saving compromise. Those opposed to Art specifically could claim fair process rather than gender bias, while her supporters maintained confidence in her eventual selection through demonstrated effectiveness.
Art accepted the compromise with appropriate dignity. "I welcome the opportunity to prove capability through service rather than debate," she stated. "Britain's defense matters more than titles or positions."
By evening's conclusion, the Council had established formal framework for the new governance structure and competition for selection. Three candidates would lead separate campaigns against Saxon positions in the east: Art, Lord Caradoc's son Sir Geraint, and Lord Bors' nephew Sir Galahad.
As they returned to camp following the final agreements, Bobby assessed the outcome. "A significant achievement," he told Art. "The governance structure itself represents revolutionary change in post-Roman Britain. Your potential selection, while delayed, remains probable given your tactical advantages."
Art nodded thoughtfully. "The test suits our strengths. Conventional forces struggle against Saxon raiding parties using guerrilla tactics. Our more flexible approach has proven effective precisely because we adapt rather than relying on traditional formations."
"Indeed," Bobby agreed. "Though your competitors shouldn't be underestimated. Sir Geraint has significant battlefield experience, while Sir Galahad commands substantial resources through his uncle's backing."
Late that night, Art sought Bobby out where he sat atop a small rise overlooking their camp. Celebrations below had continued late into the evening, her followers understanding that while complete victory hadn't been achieved, substantial progress had been made.
"Was this your plan all along?" she asked without preamble, settling beside him on the grassy embankment. "The sword, the training, the gradual building of reputation—all leading to potential high kingship?"
Bobby considered his answer carefully. "I recognized potential paths when you drew the sword," he admitted. "But potential isn't predestination. Your choices guided the journey as much as my counsel."
Art studied the stars, her expression thoughtful. "Three years ago, I was a village girl in boy's clothing, dreaming of escape from predetermined future. Now lords debate my fitness to lead Britain's combined forces." She glanced at Bobby. "Sometimes it seems too... structured. As if following a story already written."
Bobby smiled thinly. "History often appears predetermined in retrospect, precisely because causal chains become visible. The reality of living it remains chaotic and uncertain."
"The test against the Saxons begins in one month," Art said, changing subjects. "I'll need everything you've taught me—and perhaps more."
"You're ready," Bobby assured her. "Your tactical understanding exceeds most commanders with decades more experience. Your forces trust your leadership completely. These advantages compensate for limitations in numbers or conventional resources."
Art nodded, though concern lingered in her expression. "Victory against raiders is one thing. Displacing established Saxon settlements with defensive fortifications represents greater challenge."
"One you've prepared for," Bobby reminded her. "Your studies of Roman military engineering provide strategies unavailable to your competitors."
Art smiled slightly. "Your 'books' contain remarkable knowledge. Sometimes I wonder if they're truly books at all, or something more... unusual."
Bobby maintained impassive expression despite her perceptiveness. "Knowledge itself matters more than its source."
"Perhaps," Art conceded. She stood, stretching tired muscles. "One month to prepare. We should return to headquarters immediately to begin planning."
As she walked back toward camp, Bobby reflected on her development. At sixteen, Art had achieved what most military leaders required decades to accomplish. Her natural abilities, enhanced by his knowledge from across human history, created a commander uniquely suited to Britain's challenges in this historical moment.
The quantum temporal energy readings remained stable, suggesting this displacement might continue for significant additional time. Bobby found himself genuinely curious about Art's ultimate fate—would she truly achieve the high kingship, as legends later corrupted into stories of Arthur? And if so, would her reign parallel the mythic version, or diverge in significant ways?
For perhaps the first time in his incalculable existence, Bobby recognized that he was not merely observing history but actively participating in its creation. The realization brought an unfamiliar sensation—something approaching personal investment in outcomes beyond mere intellectual curiosity.
The following month saw intensive preparation. Art's headquarters became a center of military planning, with commanders and scouts gathering intelligence on Saxon positions in the eastern territories. Maps covered every available surface, supply calculations occupied multiple scribes, and training intensified for specialized operations.
Bobby provided technical knowledge far beyond this era's typical understanding—principles of engineering, mathematics, and physics that would give Art's forces significant advantages in siege operations. He presented these as obscure knowledge from ancient texts, though in reality they represented basic principles from thousands of years in humanity's future.
"The weakness in Saxon defensive structures lies in their foundation design," he explained, indicating diagrams he'd prepared. "Undermining specific support points creates disproportionate structural failure."
Art absorbed these lessons with her characteristic quick comprehension, adapting ancient (future) principles to present circumstances. Her planning incorporated multiple approaches—direct engagement where advantageous, sabotage where direct force would prove costly, and psychological operations to undermine enemy morale.
"We don't need to defeat every Saxon warrior," she explained to her commanders. "We need to make their positions untenable through combined pressure—military, economic, and psychological."
As preparations advanced, Bobby noted Art's evolution from tactical commander to strategic leader. She considered not just immediate military objectives but longer-term political implications, including how each victory or setback would affect perceptions among the watching lords.
"Winning battles matters," she told Gwen during planning, "but winning support matters more. Our victories must demonstrate not just effectiveness but difference—approaches the traditional commanders wouldn't conceive or execute."
Two weeks before the campaign's scheduled commencement, unexpected news arrived—Sir Galahad had withdrawn his candidacy, effectively conceding to either Art or Sir Geraint. The messenger bringing this information suggested Lord Bors had recognized unfavorable odds and preferred redirecting resources toward maintaining his regional influence rather than risking diminishment through his nephew's potential failure.
"A strategic retreat," Bobby observed when they discussed this development. "Bors preserves dignity while avoiding direct defeat. He'll likely support Geraint now, consolidating opposition to your candidacy."
Art nodded thoughtfully. "Reducing to two candidates clarifies the choice for watching lords. The contrast between conventional and innovative approaches becomes starker without a middle option."
"Precisely," Bobby agreed. "This development favors you if execution matches planning. Geraint will likely employ traditional tactics—direct engagement with superior numbers. Your asymmetric approach appears more distinctive by comparison."
When the campaign officially began, Art's force of three hundred faced Sir Geraint's conventionally organized army of nearly eight hundred. The disparity in numbers concerned Art's followers, but she remained confident in their superior mobility, intelligence gathering, and tactical flexibility.
"We're not fighting Geraint," she reminded her commanders. "We're fighting Saxons while Geraint also fights Saxons. Our success depends on achieving objectives more efficiently, not direct competition."
The campaign's first phase focused on isolated Saxon outposts—smaller settlements established as forward positions for further expansion. Here, Art's forces demonstrated immediate advantages, using small, highly mobile teams to neutralize objectives that would have required much larger conventional forces.
Bobby observed operations from moderate distance, providing advice during planning but allowing Art complete operational control. Her command style had matured impressively—decisive without rashness, adaptable without inconsistency, confident without arrogance.
By the campaign's third week, patterns had emerged clearly. Art's forces had neutralized fourteen Saxon positions with minimal casualties, systematically isolating larger settlements from outlying support. In contrast, Sir Geraint had captured only three objectives despite his numerical advantage, suffering significant losses through frontal assaults on fortified positions.
"Geraint fights as his father taught him," Art observed during their evening strategy session. "Honorable but predictable. The Saxons anticipate his movements and prepare accordingly."
Bobby nodded. "While your approaches remain novel enough to create persistent uncertainty. When defenders must prepare for multiple potential threats, resources become fatally diluted."
The campaign's decisive moment came during the sixth week, when both forces converged near a major Saxon settlement that had served as regional headquarters for their expansion. Conventional wisdom suggested this fortress would require prolonged siege or costly direct assault.
Art proposed an alternative approach based on Bobby's engineering principles. Rather than attacking walls directly, her forces targeted the settlement's water supply and structural vulnerabilities simultaneously. Using techniques adapted from Roman engineering, they diverted the primary water source while undermining key defensive positions.
When Geraint arrived with his main force, preparing for traditional siege operations, he found Art's smaller contingent had already rendered the position untenable. The Saxon leadership, facing dehydration and structural collapse, surrendered rather than risk complete destruction.
The victory's manner proved as significant as its achievement. Art demonstrated mercy toward surrendered enemies while establishing clear terms that prohibited future aggression—a balance between firmness and humanity that impressed observing representatives from the Council lords.
By the campaign's conclusion eight weeks after commencement, the results were unambiguous. Art's forces had neutralized twenty-three Saxon positions with casualties under fifteen percent, while Geraint's more conventional approach had secured only eight objectives with losses exceeding thirty percent.
"The comparative effectiveness is undeniable," Lord Caradoc declared when the Council reconvened to assess results. "Art's achievements with fewer resources demonstrate superior leadership and innovative thinking precisely when Britain requires both."
Lord Bors and his remaining allies attempted to argue that Geraint's approach, while costlier, secured more permanent victories through traditional occupation. This argument found little support given objective metrics of territorial recovery and resource expenditure.
Bishop Aldwin provided the decisive perspective. "Leadership isn't measured merely in territory gained but lives preserved—both our warriors and innocent civilians caught between forces. By this measure, Art's approach proves superior not just militarily but morally."
When the formal vote came, nine of eleven lords supported Art's elevation to the newly created position of High Commander—a title that, while deliberately avoiding the term "monarch," carried nearly identical practical authority over Britain's combined defensive forces and inter-territorial matters.
The ceremony establishing this authority incorporated both Christian and older traditional elements, with Bishop Aldwin and the druid Myrddin jointly presiding. Art knelt before the assembled lords, Caliburn laid across her open palms as symbol of service rather than dominance.
"Do you, Art of Britain, swear to defend these lands and peoples against all enemies, to uphold justice for all regardless of station, and to place Britain's welfare above personal ambition?" Aldwin intoned.
"I so swear," Art replied, her clear voice carrying across the assembly.
"Do you acknowledge that authority derives from capability proven through service, not birthright or privilege?" Myrddin added, representing older traditions.
"I so acknowledge," Art confirmed.
Aldwin and Myrddin together placed a simple circlet of silver upon her head—not a crown in traditional sense, but a symbol of recognized authority. "Rise, High Commander of Britain," they proclaimed jointly.
As Art stood, the assembled lords knelt in acknowledgment of her new position. Even Lord Bors, while clearly displeased, participated in this formal recognition, understanding that outright defiance would prove politically untenable given the overwhelming support from his peers.
That evening, celebrations continued late into the night, with Art's followers justifiably proud of their collective achievement. Elaine moved through the festivities accepting congratulations on her daughter's behalf, her initial reservations long since transformed into fierce pride.
Bobby observed from quiet distance, analyzing the political implications of this turning point in British history. Art's elevation represented significant deviation from historical patterns in this era, potentially altering subsequent developments in ways that even his extensive knowledge couldn't fully predict.
Later, Art found him atop the same hillock where they'd often conducted private discussions during the campaign.
"High Commander," Bobby acknowledged as she approached. "An impressive title for one so young."
Art smiled slightly. "Not the 'king' Bishop Aldwin initially suggested, but perhaps more suitable for current circumstances."
"Titles matter less than actual authority," Bobby observed. "You now command Britain's combined forces and adjudicate inter-territorial disputes. The substance of leadership matters more than its label."
Art settled beside him, removing the silver circlet and turning it thoughtfully in her hands. "Three years ago, you found a girl pulling a sword from stone. Did you envision this outcome then?"
"I recognized potential paths," Bobby said truthfully. "Though your specific journey followed routes even I couldn't fully anticipate."
Art studied him with unusual intensity. "You've never directly answered questions about your true nature or origins. Even Mother, who's known you as long as I have, remains uncertain whether you're scholar, wizard, or something else entirely."
Bobby maintained impassive expression. "Does categorization matter more than contribution?"
"Perhaps not," Art allowed. "But having achieved this position, I find myself curious about the man who guided my path so precisely." She hesitated briefly. "Are you human, Merlin?"
The directness of the question surprised Bobby, though perhaps it shouldn't have. Art's perceptiveness had always been exceptional.
"Humanity is more complex than simple binary classification," he replied carefully. "I possess knowledge beyond conventional understanding because I've studied extensively across many traditions and cultures."
Art raised an eyebrow, clearly recognizing the non-answer. "Your 'books' contain information no existing library could hold. You demonstrate knowledge of engineering, mathematics, and strategy that exceeds even Roman understanding. You never sleep, eat sparingly if at all, and occasionally move objects without touching them when you believe no one observes."
Bobby reassessed Art's observational capabilities. She'd noticed far more than he'd realized.
"Curiosity is natural," he acknowledged. "But would answers to these questions change your path forward? Knowledge sometimes burdens rather than liberates."
Art considered this. "Perhaps you're right. The immediate challenges facing Britain matter more than philosophizing about your nature." She replaced the circlet on her head, symbolically reassuming her responsibilities. "Whatever you are, Merlin, your counsel has proven invaluable. I hope it continues as we enter this new phase."
"It will," Bobby assured her. "Though increasingly you'll find your own wisdom sufficient for most challenges."
As Art rejoined the celebrations, Bobby contemplated their exchange. The girl—now properly a young woman—had grown not just in capability but in perceptiveness. She recognized the abnormality of his nature without having framework to fully comprehend it.
The quantum temporal energy readings remained stable, suggesting continued displacement for the foreseeable future. Bobby found himself experiencing an unfamiliar anticipation regarding Art's continued development—both as leader and as individual navigating the unprecedented path she now traveled.