Winter Champion

You come to in the middle of an empty field, plundered by rain.

You sit up with a groan. Though the ground you’re own has long turned to mud, you find that yourself aren’t all that wet. Meaning that, most likely, it has been raining for a while, but you have only been here for a minute at best.

Well. Alright. Time for the usual check-up.

First: the area is completely unknown to you. While the flora isn’t widely different from what you know, you find that you are completely unable to identify them in any greater detail. Wherever you are, it’s vastly different from anywhere else you’ve ever been- and you have been in quite a lot of places.

Second: you are alone. A quick glance at your command spells tells you that your contracts are still active, just… far away. You can probably call forth shadow servants if need be. That’s reassuring, at least.

Third: there is a certain… emptiness, within your chest. It’s a sensation that is near impossible to describe, but one that is familiar nonetheless. You are currently separated from your body. Or separated from your soul? Either one.

In short: you are dreaming, as usual, and you got lost, as one does. Or as you, specifically, do.

A shiver runs through your body. Either way, you should get up and leave, else you’re going to catch a cold. (Can souls catch a cold? Are you currently a soul? Da Vinci had made it sound like you were, but you’ve always been a bit dubious. You know you’re some part of [Ritsuka Fujimaru] that got separated from where you’re meant to be, but what part this is is still unclear to you. Maybe you’re overthinking this, but you dare anyone who has ever read a report from Chaldea to tell you this is an unwarranted reaction.)

You get up, then look around. Thankfully, there seems to be a village nearby. You hurry there, seeking shelter from the rain.

It becomes quickly obvious that wherever you are, it’s not anywhere resembling present-day earth. You see a small catboy chatting with an orc in a shop. Right next to it, a goblin woman waving goodbye to a customer. It seems to be a pretty classic fantasy setting, all things considered.

You debate as to where to go for a few seconds, then head for the inn. You don’t think you have any currency the locals would accept, but if nothing else you should be able to get a seat in a dry place.

You push the door open. The owner, a tall wolfman scrubbing a mug, spares a nod your way. You take your seat in a corner. The is fairly empty; there’s a minotaur in a corner, armwrestling with a woman whose arms are covered in bright tattoos. A faun is nursing a drink next to them, daydreaming.

The backdoor opens up, and a woman walks, carrying a small drider. “Garth, have you seen-”

She pauses. You pause.

She is on the short side of things, her blonde hair long enough that it would reach her hips if she untied it. She’s wearing a light attire- fit for a mage, you are guessing. Three lines are tattooed on both sides of her throat, like bright blue gills on her pale skin. Her face is circled by a short, fuzzy beard. She’s wearing a ponytail, different from the pigtails you’ve grown used to, but you know that face. You know that face.

At the same time you raise your pointer finger, Artoria, Caster, she who chants, also raises her hand, pointing at you with wide eyes, and you both yell in unison: “YOU!”

The entire tavern turns to look at you.

“Ah,” The innkeeper’s ear twitches. “Friend of yours?”

“Paramour of yours?” Adds the minotaur.

“Man, is there anyone in the Frost Marches you don’t know?” Jokes the faun.

“Ah- it’s a long story. I’ll tell you guys later.” Artoria smiles at them. You’re shocked to see that the smile, while obviously hiding discomfort, is in part genuine. “Let me put the little one to sleep, and then we can go to my room to discuss, alright?”

Hidden meaning clear: we do not talk about Fairy Britain in front of them. Sure. You can do that. “It’s no problem.” 

It would be a bit awkward to just wait here though, so you get out of your seat and follow Artoria through the inn’s backdoor. It seems to lead straight into a- nursery, apparently. A dozen children- all bearing the lower body of a spider- play in the courtyard.

Artoria makes a quick sign your way to be quiet. She then heads inside one of the rooms, filled with cradles and a dozen more kids- toddlers, really- dozing off peacefully. Artoria gently kisses the forehead of the child she’s holding, and then lowers them into a free bed.

“Cute kids.” You comment once you leave the room.

“Thank you,” she replies, which is probably an automatism because otherwise it would be a bit of a stupid answer-

Suddenly, it occurs to you that while Artoria is just as short as you’ve always known her, she is still noticeably older. 

“...” You wring your hands together awkwardly. “Are they, uh. Yours?”

“Eh, only technically.” She shrugs. “Gwyn’s the one raising them. I’m more of the fun aunt to them.”

Your gaze goes over the courtyard again. Including the babies inside, that’s about twenty kids. “Been busy, huh?”

Artoria’s face snaps towards you. It seems like she only just realized what she just said. “I didn’t-!” She stops mid-sentence. Raises a hand. “That’s not-” Pauses again. Lowers her hand. “I mean, yes, but it’s unrelated to the number of children.”

You make a face. It does seem kind of related to you. “Hey, no judging, good for you. I didn’t know fairies of paradise could bear any children to begin with, it’s cool that you get to start a family if you want to.”

For some reason, Artoria’s gaze suddenly wanders, as if she wanted to look anywhere but at you. “... I… can’t.”

… Ah. Well that makes your lighthearted joke suddenly very insensitive. “Uh, sor-”

“Driders don’t need outside input to reproduce. They only need… uhm. A host. To. Carry the eggs.”

You pause in your steps. Gears turn in your head.

“ Anyways. Come over here, we’ll discuss in my room.”

“Oh my god.”

“I said come over here!”

“Oh my god, no, no, you have to give me the details Artoria. How does it work? Do they…?”

“ We have more pressing matters to discuss, Ritsuka! ”

Unfortunately, she’s right, so you let her manhandle you into her bedroom (you allow yourself a couple second to notice that wow, she is noticeably stronger than she used to be . She could throw you around like a sack of potatoes like this. ) She locks the door behind you, then goes to sit on her bed, tapping the space next to her. “Okay. Get over here. How did you end up here, of all places?”

You shrug, then come to sit next to her. “You know how it is. Falling asleep in my bed, waking up in completely random places. That’s just how life is sometimes.”

She stares. “Does this… happen often?”

Ah. Right. She doesn’t know about that bit. “Yeah.”

She sighs. Heavily. It’s more like a groan, really.

“And what about you? ” You poke at her shoulder, blatantly trying to change the subject. “How did you end up here?”

Thankfully, she takes the bait. “Eh, you know how it is. Sacrificing myself in a blaze of glory, waking up in completely random places. That’s just how death is sometimes.”

She says it in a joking, lighthearted tone. You feel like you’ve been punched through the guts. You’re used to that, death; seeing people die, and seeing them come back afterwards. That doesn’t make it hurt any less. It all comes back to you, the pain and the sorrow and the guilt I didn’t even get to properly tell you goodbye I didn’t even get to so much as hug you-

Breathe. Breathe. Compartmentalize. You’re good at that. “Sounds like an adventure. So, how’s your new life?”

“Oh, Ritsuka, this place sucks so bad, you have no idea.” She huffs. “There’s like, five invasions going on at any given time. You can’t take three steps outside of town without getting attacked by randos. Every individual settlement has about two hundred years worth of beef with each other. And they don’t even know how to work steel. Everyone does things with copper around here. It’s weird.”

She says it all with anger, but there’s something in her voice, a fondness that makes you feel soft and mellow inside. How much Artoria complains is directly correlated to how safe she feels complaining about it. For her to be so open about her grievances… “I take it you’re having fun here?”

There is a slight pause. And then, gentler than you have ever seen her do so before- she smiles. “The people aren’t too bad, I guess.”

When she looks like that, it’s very hard not to grab her face and kiss her on the spot. You don’t, though, because you’re pretty sure she’s in a relationship? Actually, now is a good time as any to check. “Found yourself a drider lover, eh? What are they like?”

She stares at you for a second, then barks out laughing. “Because of the kids? Nah. I’m not in a relationship with a drider. ”

Ooooh? Your gossip sense is tingling. “But you are in a relationship?”

“Believe it or not, I’m actually a married woman now.” She looks deeply smug about that. It’s adorable.

“Well, tell me more! Who’s the lucky one?”

She scratches her chin, smile widening. “My wife is the beautiful princess of the southern tribes.” Aw, this is cute. You’re about to congratulate her on that, but- she keeps going. “I’m also the consort of the Queen of the Winter city. And I… have this weird thing going on with the leader of the eastern Orc tribe and the leader of the northern Siorc tribe? I don’t think there’s a human equivalent for it… I’m their alpha? It’s like, wife, but I officially wear the pants in that relationship.”

The more she goes on the higher your eyebrows fly. Not that you’re surprised Artoria can get some (you don’t know if she ever realized it herself, but a lot of people were interested in her back in Fairy Britain) but that’s still a lot to take in. “So you have been busy.”

“I- only denied that it had anything to do with the amount of kids I’ve mothered!” She puffs her cheeks. You can tell she’s not genuinely offended, though. “People here aren’t that big on monogamy. And very casual about sex.”

Huh. So like Chaldea, on a world scale? There are certainly worse cultures to have, in your opinion. “You’ll have to tell me those stories, though. How did you meet? Who made the first move? I want to hear it all!”

She snickers. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But first, when do you think you’ll wake up?”

Hm. Good questions. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wake up on my own normally. Sometimes I get stuck for days. It really depends.”

“Okay.” She nods. And then, with no warning whatsoever, she grabs your shoulders and hauls herself over your laps. 

For a couple seconds, you’re frozen stupid. You don’t know how to react. Her face is so close to yours. She’s pretty light, as you expected, but that’s still a whole person’s weight pressing right on the top of your thighs. You fear that you might do something unwise, but she opens her mouth first: “Wanna fuck?”

Your mind turns blank. “Come again?”

“That’s the plan, yes.”

You can’t help it. You start laughing. Your hands come to hold onto her, landing on her hips (they fit perfectly in your palms.) “I meant that this is a lot more direct than what I’m used to. Though make no mistake. I would kill to get to eat you out. Just so we’re clear.”

She blushes a bit at your words. “ Very glad to hear so.” Her hands come up to your shoulders. “And look. For all I know, you could wake up in thirty minutes, and I’d have missed my only chance to do this. If I learned anything from living in Savarra, it’s that sex is a lot of fun, you’ve got to take your chances, and I should have asked for more than handholding back then.”

You pull her closer to you. Her chest presses against yours. You can almost feel her heartbeat like this. Your chin fits perfectly on top of her shoulder. Her body is so warm. You can hear her breathing right by your ear.

She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. Despite everything, despite everything- she’s alive, and she’s happy. She’s alive, and she’s with you. She’s alive, and you’re about to get as much evidence of that as you could ever need, taste and sight and sound, skin and limbs and tongues.

“I love you,” you say, hugging her tighter. “I never got to say it back then. But I did. I do.”

“I know.” Of course she does. You can count on one hand the amount of people who know you as well as she does. Excalibur’s blade is a mirror, and the two of you have seen nothing but your reflection in it. “I love you too, by the way.”

She pulls away from you, just a few inches, just enough to set her forehead against yours. Her hands come up to cup your cheeks. “Now, won’t you give me something to remember you by?”

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