"Miss… who is this?"
The maids waiting at the main gate stared as Artoria carried the stranger inside. None had ever seen her bring an outsider home. Judging by the visitor's color, she'd either lost a lot of blood or endured severe pain.
"No questions. I know the drill—treat her first, then brew some ginger soup."
"Yes, ma'am."
The hand-picked elite maids set to work: two lifted the limp woman—no one else matched Artoria's strength—one fetched towels and dry clothes, another produced a first-aid kit. With practiced efficiency they stripped the soaked garments and applied hemostatic bandages. Watching their calm expertise, Artoria finally exhaled.
After a quick shower she returned to find the stranger installed in her own bed. Are you kidding me? Do I look that desperate? You dump an unknown woman onto my sheets without even checking if she's dangerous—unbelievable.
"Let's Hope she wakes up in a good mood."
She dressed, gave the unconscious intruder a last look—thankfully the bed was big enough for four—and headed downstairs for a late bite. Once she left, a bald woman materialized in the room. After a quick scan she confirmed the patient couldn't cast anything lethal; the spell disrupting her mana would keep her harmless for now. A good thing, thought the Ancient One.
"She's your responsibility now, Artoria."
It had been her idea to drop Morgan onto Artoria's car. After weighing every option, this was the cleanest: a nod to Merlin's wishes, and the sword would pass from its guardian to Artoria, amplifying her power. As for the vision of Artoria cleaving Earth in two—well, that would be Stephen Strange's problem once she herself was dead.
With that the Ancient One stepped away, certain Morgan posed no further threat.
"Nothing more on my end. You can rest easy."
Artoria was halfway through a delicious dinner when Sharon's call came through. Since the Battle of New York, the little cradle-snatcher hadn't bothered to ring her up, so Artoria knew the moment she heard Sharon's voice: another mission. Nick Fury still hadn't given up on the sentimental card, and it left Artoria speechless. What was the big secret? Just ask her straight and she'd sign on, but no—he had to play games, hoping she'd beg to join the Avengers. Who did that bastard think he was? As if the great Artoria Stark couldn't live without S.H.I.E.L.D.
She had no quarrel with Sharon, who was only following Nick Fury's orders, so Artoria humored the woman's small talk. When the call ended she wolfed down the rest of her dinner; she intended to sleep like the dead.
"Almost forgot I still had one more in here."
Back in her bedroom, Artoria's head throbbed at the sight of the woman sprawled across her bed. No choice—she'd brought the stranger home, so she had to see it through, even if it meant crawling on her knees. Especially since the woman looked startlingly like her: the same features, though the visitor had a mature, bewitching softness utterly different from Artoria's own martial bearing.
"Who are you, and why have you appeared beside me?"
Wearing loose pajamas, Artoria slipped under the warm quilt from the other side of the bed. Lying on her side, she stared at the bloodless, pallid face. Without thinking she reached out, fingers brushing the woman's cheek. It wasn't blood that answered, but something deeper—a tremor in the soul, a ripple in the very core of their spiritual foundations, faint yet wondrous.
Unconsciously Artoria drew the woman into her arms, lending her own warmth to the cold, blood-drained body. Holding her, Artoria felt a satisfaction she had never known; body and mind both found solace, and she sank into profound sleep.
"Ugh…!"
After Artoria drifted off, a pair of violet-blue eyes snapped open. Disoriented at first, the woman's expression twisted when she found herself pinned. The chaos of mana inside her body contorted her face with pain, but worse—someone was holding her. Damn it! Only her little sister had ever been allowed that privilege; even Mordred, fashioned from her sister's blood through alchemy, had never been cradled like this.
Were it not for her injuries and the spell-lock on her magic, she would have taught the offender a lesson. Straining, Morgan lifted her head to see who dared embrace her. She would kill them—except the embrace was warm, achingly familiar, and the scent… where had she smelled it before?
The rain had stopped; the clouds had scattered. Gentle moonlight spilled through the window, scattering the darkness. With effort Morgan raised her head, fury in her gaze—then shock, then joy. That face, identical to her beloved little sister Artoria, was one she could never forget.
For years Morgan had waited for that face to appear again. Beaten and unconscious, she had awakened to a miracle. Overcome, she tried to speak, but emotion choked her voice; no sound came. It hurt, yet she had never felt such happiness. For the first time her 'sister' held her tenderly—something Artoria had never done—and jealousy of that shameless Guinevere flared anew.
"Lilya… Elder sister is here. I will always love you most."
The whisper was so soft it failed to wake Artoria. With painstaking care Morgan lifted her head, leaned closer, and pressed a feather-light kiss to Artoria's brow. Moonlight draped them like gauze, turning the bedroom into a scene worthy of divine brushwork as they slept in each other's arms.
---------------------------------
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! If the story has you hooked and you can't wait to see what happens next, you can unlock 30 chapters in advance over on my Patreon: patreon.com/TLHimejima1
Every bit of support means the world to me so if you're loving the ride, don't forget to drop a Power Stone and let me know.