Work Text:
In the end, it was a wasteful attempt.
The patch of Pan-Human History’s sky shining high above, the Child of Prophecy summoned to stand side by side Chaldea’s Master, the curtains closing on the victors and the defeated. Euphoria and disappointment dredging up his innards, despite it all.
…Chaldea’s only a speck now but Oberon can still see them. The Storm Border, and -
Ha. Don’t you guys have no time to waste?
Finally we can part ways here and henceforth.
…
He can’t see the Storm Border anymore.
Only that smudge of sickening blue, diminishing as Oberon-Vortigern falls ever further into the abyss.
— He should hurry up and go to sleep now. It’s irritating to continue to stare at that nauseating sky, the same colour as that fool’s eyes. It’s irritating to continue to think, to wonder of that child’s fate and the dream to meet ■■■■■■■. There would be no fuss, no struggle, a perfect end to the Insect who was born to gnaw away and destroy Fairy Britain.
“…”
Oberon-Vortigern watches as that blue shrinks to a glimmer before disappearing, the hole made by Albion’s remnants sealing forever shut.
Well then.
“——————”
✧✧✧✧
Deep inside the autumn forest, tucked far away from the Queen’s gaze, nothing changes. The simple-minded and powerless fairies, being born, fleeing and dying here in obscurity.
For the third time in the Queen’s Calendar, ■■■■■■-■■■■■■■■■ was born.
✧✧✧✧
“Another day you lot are so excited over nothing huh…ah. Forgive me for that loss of tact, I’m home everyone!”
The squeaks and cries of the Welsh fairies increase in volume as their lord enters the clearing. It’s only been a matter of days since Oberon rose up from the forest floor, and yet the Welsh fairies had wholeheartedly accepted him as their King, as their friend.
“How is everyone today?”
A gracious smile at the hornworm fairies who cuddle up around his feet. For the winged fairies who flutter up to whisper into his ears, his hands to act as a perch, movements graceful and steady, meticulous enough to not startle the fairies who scatter from the touch of outsiders.
Speaking of outsiders, he needs to fix that.
“Gather around, everyone…”
Oberon explains to them his plan.
To put it simply: The forest fairies are so stupid and defenceless that if any fairy poachers with half a brain came looking around for easy targets, this bunch would have their wings torn and captive in a heartbeat. Their own saving grace that protected the Welsh fairies from such a fate before Oberon came around was precisely their weakness: The fairies had so little mana in them, they wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket if someone captured them to use as sacrifices for Morgan’s yearly curse.
But circumstances change. It wouldn’t hurt to be too cautious, to prepare a safe hideout and connections as he waited for the Child of Prophecy to be born. The songs were already being spread throughout the country, it was just a matter of time.
He only had one chance.
“Alright! You guys got it?” Oberon finishes explaining and looks expectantly at the fairies surrounding him. A chorus of agreement answers him as well as a few gurgles of “Oberon”, “Vortigern”, “Play with us!” wobbling up from the younger ones. Silently, Oberon grits a prayer of revulsion and thanks to Morgan that these low-born fairies were simpletons and even other fairies couldn’t understand their chatter very well. If not, it would be prudent to snuff them out, lest they could expose him to the Child of Prophecy.
Ahem. Oberon clears his throat, and shoos the crowded fairies away.
“We’re going to do a trial run now! Remember what I told you guys: Stay out of sight away from the paths, hide up in the trees and bushes! I’m an outsider, a verrryyy dangerous one.”
As he turns to leave, a pinprick dots ruffles onto his cloak.
“Good morning, Blanca.” Oberon greets the pure white moth with courtesy, for she was very helpful. Blanca alone in the forest wasn’t afraid of the outside world and strong for her size. That had been a pleasant bonus, to discover such a willing and helpful fairy, eager to act as his humble mount around Britain.
Blanca’s feelers tremble against his silk as she crawls to get to his shoulder. Oberon smiles and reaches down his hand, aiding her up.
✧✧✧✧
Oberon reaches the borders of the Welsh Forest before doubling back. As he returns, he does so in a very unkingly manner: Stomping on bracken, exaggerated exhaling and coughing, throwing his voice; the works. Blanca doesn’t seem to mind the noise, snug on his shoulder, half-nodding off but inwardly Oberon rebukes himself. It’s bad taste to imitate lowly scum but if the Welsh fairies gained experience on how to avoid fairy poachers, they could build from there.
Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to hear him coming.
…
He’s back.
“Oberon!”
He’s swarmed once more by his beloved subjects. They crowd around Oberon, shameless in their happiness to see him.
“Oberon’s back!”
“I told you guys to hide..! I. Am. A. Threat!” He throws his hands to the heavens and the Welsh Fairies obediently look up expectantly, as though presents would rain down from the sky by their lord’s grace.
“Oberon? Outsiders from where, where?”
“Friends? Oberon’s friends?”
“Our friends!”
“We ■■■■ Oberon! ”
“…”
“Oberon!”
Oberon sighs, exasperated. One of Blanca’s feelers tickles his cheek as she tilts her head to look at him. Likewise, with the Welsh fairies staring worriedly at him, Fairy King Oberon can’t hold such an expression for long.
“You guys really are something else…oh well! Let’s try again, everyone. I’ll explain more clearly this time, so listen close…”
✧✧✧✧
Motivation has completely vanished with the day and Oberon flops onto the forest floor, with the Welsh fairies following suit. Undoubtedly if their lord decided it was nap time, it was nap time.
“...Hopeless.” he mutters into the dirt, low enough that the fairies halfway in dreamland can’t hear. Blanca’s fluttered off somewhere to retire for the late afternoon, near the trees where he’s built a tiny house.
…Oberon’s residence.
Careful to not disturb the slumbering fairies snuggled around him, Oberon curls himself over to gaze upon it.
In the time since he’s been born, Fairy King Oberon has made a house.
He doesn’t use it for anything other than the fairies’ playthings, knickknacks brought back from the outside for them, but it’s there for him to look at. As for the state of its grandeur, such matters were better left unsaid. Oberon can only imagine the sneer on Morgan’s expression would be upon seeing it.
What to do. What kind of King didn’t have a place to hold court, even if it wasn’t as grand as a castle?
A hornworm fairy rolls over from the bed of leaves to the tuck of his cloak, hitting his leg and stirring in its sleep. Oberon reaches down and brings it to cradle against his stomach, shushing it to deeper dreams. If it disturbs the other fairies and the whole bunch wakes up it will be such a pain.
Turns his back to the alone house as he pets the fairy, letting it seep away his body warmth.
He can’t rest while Morgan sits the throne.
But the Child of Prophecy isn’t here, the foreign magus hasn’t arrived, and so Oberon waits, biding time for better opportunities to come.
✧✧✧✧
The autumn forest located deep in the heart of Wales.
The insect fairies are more excitable than usual, the hornworm fairies bumbling around his buckled shoes, squealing in joy as Oberon nudges them away, the flutter of the little humanoid fairies sharing their excitement as he gets ready to depart.
It’s an important day.
The Nameless Forest awaits, and within it -
A presence behind.
Oberon smiles. It must be Blanca, right on time. He dusts imaginary dirt off his robes, picture-perfect, words falling from his lips as he turns.
“Good morning Blanca. Are you ready? It’s best to get an early start, after all. We have to go and greet the Child of Prophecy and-”
There’s something white at his feet. It’s not Blanca. It’s a fluffy white four-legged creature, unlike any of Britain's residents that Oberon has observed before.
“Kyuu?”
“...” Bile explodes in his throat, revulsion at the tiny creature crashing over him.
“...Who are you.” What are you.
He feels sick. It’s wrong, this presence reminds him of that incubus and before the foreign creature can so much as blink Oberon’s spear is in hand-
It’s gone.
Before Oberon can comprehend the situation further —
A sigh behind him.
Oberon whirls around and the forest follows suit in a blur, the autumn trees still, the Welsh fairies burnt, Blanca who went cold and was discarded, and he, himself is —
✧✧✧✧
The Chaldean Master lies unconscious below the tree branch from high up where Oberon sits, his Pan-Human Servant and the Child of Prophecy equally in slumber besides him.
Foolish, vulnerable, naive, to let themselves fall under the Nameless Forest’s spell upon arrival. Except for that girl, but Oberon reassures himself that’s a good thing, with the Child of Prophecy’s memories and skills around - even as inadequate as she was right now - the Chaldean Master wouldn’t die out.
Don’t die, work hard, get along.
I need you, you need me.
Working together, forging bonds under duress - how else can you hope to grow, to be able to reach Morgan and I?
Oberon cloaks himself, stows away till the opportune time comes. He’s waited so long, he can afford a little more time. Then he’ll be their saviour, their loyal and trustful companion in this perilous fairytale.
✧✧✧✧
Oberon’s eyes open.
Oberon’s eyes can’t close.
So he continues to stare at the swarming sea. Continues to exist in this pupae stage as the murmur of insects watching him grows louder and louder until his ears burst in tandem with the rest of his —
✧✧✧✧
The Child of Prophecy. Oberon’s been observing her, finding the best way to sneak her the Staff of Selection without arousing suspicion. In the end he’s decided on telepathy, using that incubus’ circumstances as a valid excuse.
Only she wants more now.
How is Oberon supposed to teach her magecraft, when he himself has no need for such skills?
“It’s a bit embarrassing haha…you see it’s a bit cold here in the stables - ”
She doesn’t mention it but Oberon can guess the rest even without Fairy Eyes to weed out the truth. Frostbite, rotting flesh in the dead of winter. They didn’t even keep horses in this dilapidated stable, let alone a heat source to warm up a fairy.
Unpleasant memories. Feet bone-white, so much as a twitch and the flesh would fall off -
“Ah I see, I see. Give me a few days - one to two - and I’ll teach you the spell to keep warm! You see, magecraft needs to be adjusted for each fairy, what works for me won’t work for you - ”
A flowing conversation to lighten the dingy atmosphere, give her something in the future to hold onto.
✧✧✧✧
Artoria, Fujimaru, Muramasa, Red Rabbit, Da Vinci and Gareth. All gone!
“What the hell…” Oberon stares at Dracae’s river, deep down into the murky currents.
Surely. Surely the Master of Chaldea who crushed five Lostbelts couldn’t be this stupid?! Leaving aside the other Servants, what a farce it was that the Chaldeans would fall for such a simple trap, risking their lives for a false reward!
“…”
Unease coils. It was six against one but in Dracae’s own territory —
If Fujimaru and Artoria die here, it’s the end. There’s no way to defeat Morgan without the Child of Prophecy.
“...”
Stuck on the banks, agonising whether to jump in after his dear ‘companions’ or whether to trust in them, that they could overcome this hurdle like fool’s gold —
Oh, what a pain. He hopes Muramasa is giving them all a good hard thunk on the noggin right this minute.
— And just now. That sign —
A beat of muffled wings.
The convenient rope comes down from above, secured by little feet.
Blanca.
He reaches towards her and Blanca speeds to his palm, settling down her burden in hands that cup her gently.
“Many thanks, Blanca. You’ve come just in time, were you worried?” Were you following?
Blanca doesn’t reply, never does. Instead she flits onto his shoulder as he raises his free hand to stroke her neck fuzz, smile back in place as he turns to the river once more, faith restored. The Chaldeans won’t die so easily; help was always around the corner.
“…Haha. You’re such a reliable one.”
So. Till the end, make sure you — ”
He strangles that thought before it’s born, swallows it like the mud that swamped him when the words ‘SOLD OUT’ jumped out. Greeting and saying goodbye to Oberon as he stared into the river, before continuing on its way as happily as you please.
✧✧✧✧
Oberon’s eyes are closed.
He keeps them closed, devoting every scrap of energy he can muster to maintain this thread-like Saint Graph. It’s not like before, the ceaseless buzz of writhing insects, the muddy stink of filth and grime. Warm blends of autumn sunlight flitter between the gnarled trees, gracing him with their presence, coddling the weak.
Distantly, he hears the chatter of the insect fairies.
They’ve gotten real talkative of late. They were always there now, waiting.
From far away, their words reach him.
“A sign, a blessing!”
“Glad, glad.”
“Are you here to greet Oberon too?”
“Honoured visitors to greet our lord. Gentle, kind visitors from the outside.”
“Oberon is going to wake up.”
“Our king is going to wake up. Finally, finally today is the day our lord is going to open his eyes!”
That’s not right.
He’s not born yet, hasn’t stood up yet. Hasn’t taken on the mantle of the King of the Welsh Fairies, hasn't prepared enough, hasn’t met -
Hasn’t met -
Oberon forces his eyes open, golden brown auburn colours blending together and far above when his eyes eventually blink into focus, a twilight sky. The insect fairies' buzzing rises to an excruciating pitch and they come scampering over, overjoyed at his awakening.
Breathe. Twitch his limbs. Open and shut his eyes. It’s all enough to leave him exhausted, hollowed to the bone. When he moves cracked lips, croaks out words as to whom they were talking to, the insect fairies don’t seem to understand.
Only Oberon is here, they say. Only Oberon heard and came to live with us.
It’s okay, don’t be scared, all of us have been here watching since the start.
There’s nobody else. He must have been hallucinating. Months spent in rot; it wouldn’t surprise him if they had lasting effects, a husk inside and out.
The beginning of peaceful days in the autumn forest.
✧✧✧✧
Fairy King Oberon’s wife, ■■■■■■■.
The tale penned by one of the most famed writers of Pan-Human History, bounding Oberon to his wife forevermore, the most sacred of vows.
The Queen of Fairies, Oberon’s beloved wife. ■■ clings to that fabricated longing.
Fairy King Oberon’s wife, ■■■■■■■.
Not Oberon-■■■■■■■■■’s -
✧✧✧✧
Oberon laughs as he falls to the forest floor, breathing heavily in and out. Exultation overflows him, the joy of being alive, of running on your own two feet.
Truly, Servants were amazing.
The Welsh fairies flit over, overjoyed to keep him company. And why not? He’s in a great mood today, been carrying out good deeds, protecting and guiding the lost, actions that make a right and proper prince.
Everything is fine, everything is going well. Even if Oberon were to talk rubbish - to tell the Welsh fairies of the horrors outside, because it’s him, they would —
They would —
✧✧✧✧
Ritsuka sleeps unimpeded here inside the abyss. Little over two minutes to go and they’ll stay here forever, a collected ending of both Fairy Britain and Pan-Human’s history blotted out together.
Oberon’s over the moon, his goal achieved alongside dragging down Chaldea. Joy weighs down his gut while his throat itches. Yet he envies —
✧✧✧✧
Oberon knows before he wakes.
His eyelids remain sealed shut. His breath stills, stops.
The acrid smell of burnt wood in a forest. Silence where once there was always noise. No one would come here, be born here after the Queen set her dogs upon the forest as an example to the rest.
He knew after all. Before Fujimaru passionately declared that they would come with him, before the soldier brought the news Barghest and her soldiers were marching on the Welsh Forest, before they raised the Round Table Army’s banners. Everything Oberon had thought of, everything he had planned and adjusted accordingly for, he knew from the start what the Welsh Fairies’ ending would be.
✧✧✧✧
(tiny, faraway buzzing)
…
…Perhaps.
If back then he had left when Fujimaru yelled at him not to go ahead. The Welsh Fairies’ purpose had been served by then: Meeting the Child of Prophecy and the Chaldeans, fostering hope that there were good and kind fairies, fairies worth saving. If he sped on Blanca and arrived before the fires started spreading, he could have given the Welsh Fairies a sweet dream. A reprieve of unconsciousness for the good-for-nothing fairies as they reincarnated from this life to the next generation. A blissful lull instead of the sensation of being ripped apart by Barghest’s hounds, choking on smoke, burning to death.
...
No use. No use thinking along these lines anymore.
No one would remember or care, the fate of the Welsh Fairies who trusted in their lord.
The only memory left behind was the enshrinement of the Welsh Forest to how it should be, to close the paths to ensure that outsiders could never desecrate it again.
Oberon didn’t need to do anything, both back then and now. They were already inside, tucked far, far away into the foundation of Oberon-Vortigern’s spiritual core, no one else could touch them, not here.
A gentle dream within a dream.
✧✧✧✧
No good.
Oberon collapses on the musty carpet of autumn’s leaves and doesn’t get up.
✧✧✧✧
How long has it been?
In the autumn forest, time curdles to a crawl.
Maybe — hours or days or perhaps even weeks since he’s fallen down and not got up.
His wings and hands are dirty, unfitting of a lord.
He doesn’t care.
The smell of rotting leaves, the gurgling of the stream a few feet away, dappled sunlight enveloping the autumn trees to shine down gold upon the foliage; it’s all so cheery and dazzling it makes Oberon want to vomit, the sham of it all.
The land itself wished for destruction but produced such beauty.
…The Welsh fairies haven’t come disturbing him, haven’t come asking him to play or talk with them. Someone’s shushed them to the side. But Oberon knows; they’re there, they’ve always been there.
It’s just as well they didn’t come close. Oberon fears right of now that he couldn’t keep up the lordly charade, that he would tear apart their wings segment by segment if they so much as touched him, nausea twisting his stomach at the thought —
Servants don’t need to consume food for nourishment so that’s out, but Oberon dry-heaves anyway, curling into himself as he does so. Gags on his own dried-stained claws, spit and bony flesh. Forcing something anything out to empty himself of overwhelming disgust. Rough, hideous sounds born as disoriented as he is as Oberon writhes, sinks prim, proper teeth down into his lips and tongue repeatedly until blood spills and his head spins, metallic agony clogging his airway and searing his veins shut. His head rings, pounding like he’s up in the bell towers and Oberon concentrates on that pure invasiveness, to ignore everything else.
From a long way off he can hear voices yelling. The rapid beating of wings, the pounding of feet.
Stop staring, Oberon musters up spitelessly, before he’s blissfully dragged underneath by the weight of his actions.
✧
His dream came true.
Here in this woven world, Oberon will at last meet his ■■■■■■■.
He’s never been so happy before as he arrives on wing to the outskirts of Gloucester. Giddy even. He strokes Blanca’s head as thanks before sending her away. It’s late, far past the witching hour but the lifeblood of the city remains pulsating. Citizens fairy and human alike, would be soirée goers laughter entwining together, drifting high into the sky to dance with the stars above.
He wants to go into the city centre now to find ■■■■, but he holds back. The floral scented letter that had arrived on the borders of the autumn forest, had invited Oberon to wait here for his ■■■■■■■.
He can almost envision ■■■. The scent of their laughter on the wind, late night talks as the moon watches from above, both of them shy; neither of them looking directly at the other as their hands entwine by ‘accident’ —
He just knows after all. Both - all parts of him agree on this, that ■■■■■■■ is undoubtedly here.
He wants to show ■■■■ everything, wherever they go in Britain. It feels like he can contain all the disgust, anger and helplessness, go against his nature, now that ■■■■■■■ is here with him.
“Mind if I join you?”
Without waiting for a response, a human sits on the wall beside him, barely far enough to avoid touching the outer tips of Oberon’s wings. Kicking their legs out, staring at the silhouette of Gloucester’ walls with a faint smile. Male, black-haired, blue-eyed, average height for his age but decent looking. It’s a rare occurrence to have a human freely walking around without its owner - a miracle of Gloucester - , but Oberon could care less about the details right now.
“I don’t mind. Do you have business in the city?” Small chat to fill in the gaps. Oberon smiles, wishes they would hurry up and go.
No such luck.
“Sort of…it’s a long story. How about you?”
This human feels strange. Using Fairy Eyes, it makes Oberon’s already jittery stomach turn looking at him. There is kindness in there - a surprise that it hasn’t been sapped out from the human being alive under Morgan’s dictatorship - but more than than he feels foreign —
Something about the blueness of that gaze plucks at his nerves, rings warning bells.
“Is everything alright?”
Ah. As he’s been watching the human, the human has been watching him too.
Oberon coughs into his gloved fist to lessen the awkwardness of that moment. He should have dug out his handkerchief but he’ll need that for later. Abashedly he averts his gaze; stares at the tips of Gloucester’s buildings instead of the human who talks to him as though they were on equal footing. He thinks of who waits inside and his heart softens.
“I’ve come to meet someone important to me.” As Oberon dares to put the truth into words, it feels more real somehow. That meeting ■■■■■■■ is going to happen, any minute now.
“I’ve always been seeking ■■■. It feels like a dream that we’re going to meet now…a dream I’m glad that’s finally ending.” He’s surprised himself with these words. He wonders if this is similar to the joy Morgan felt, when she turned away from her fated role.
“I see. I guess everyone in the end no matter their differences, shares the same sentiment.”
“Mhm~ Okay it’s your turn, stranger! What business do you have in Gloucester?” Embarrassing, it’s embarrassing. His ■■■■ for ■■■■■■■ is sending Oberon into a tizzy; at this rate even his wings are aflutter, giving his happiness away.
“I’m waiting for my - partner. We’ve come here to find our - ” The human breaks off, gaze averted and Oberon doesn’t push for more.
So it’s like that then.
A beau in love followed by an outright miracle - a fairy who loves him back. A third party, perhaps a forbidden or the actual rightful lover?
Oberon charitably softens his smile, allows a shred of pity to soothe the edge to his next words.
“I hope you find them and everything works out.”
“Me - Us too. But these matters are never easy, are they.”
The finality of the human’s words puts Oberon back ill at ease, dismay clouding over him. What’s this sob story, this resigned smile? Oberon doesn’t want to hear about a tragic romance, a love that never could be, not today of all days.
It’s time to put an end to this conversation.
“I’ll be off now.”
“Oberon.”
His name comes from both the person in front, and the fairy behind.
He's never told them his name.
“We’ve come to meet - ”
“We’re glad - ”
The shining stars dimming, the twilight sky folding way to pale blue throughout their talk.
Colours of the sky that didn’t exist here in Fairy Britain.
A trick.
I’ve been tricked.
“ Oberon - ! ”
✧✧✧✧
Morgan has been clawed down. Soon enough Barghest will hurry back to Manchester and learn of her precious humans and fairies’ fate and fulfil her purpose. With Aurora’s peace shredded into bits, Albion’s remnants won’t be far behind to follow.
For both fairies and humans, they would end nowhere within the British Isles.
✧✧✧✧
Like the ancient, grand trees born in forests of yesteryear. Boughs weighed down by the weathering of millennia yet reaching towards an eternal sky, keystones to the little ones nestled within their branches that run across their stony bark. Roots anchored into the cracks of the land, nurtured by nature itself, without the need for humanity’s invading touch. Only when you hack them open to appraise the core, the sturdy trunks part way to reveal the hollow innards, unearthing the rot.
✧✧✧✧
■■■■■■■ and ■■■■■■■ wait in front of him. He doesn’t need Fairy Eyes to gauge the depth of their feelings directed towards him.
Besides the Chaldeans and her - the Fairy of Paradise reborn as a Servant - that Fujimaru summoned all the way down here, there’s nothing in the Abyss, inside or out. Just him and Chaldea on opposing sides, the way it ought to be.
At last, there’s no need for any hesitation. Blanca's gone ahead and both parties can choose however they want to go out.
Either way, it’s the end.
✧✧✧
Oberon’s awfully drowsy. He’s flat on his back and the autumn bed of musty leaves warmed by the sun, the soothing laps of gurgling water - He wants nothing more than to snuggle down in his cloak and doze.
The Welsh fairies are buzzing in the background, pests as usual. No doubt wanting their lord to get up to play with them, as if he didn’t have anything else better to do.
“Oberon’s friends, Oberon’s ■■■■■■■.”
“Oberon will be glad, Oberon will be mad.”
Who are they talking to? There’s no one else allowed in here, after -
After -
Panic jerks him upright, drowsiness shrivelled up by alarm. The chirping of the Welsh fairies grow, tiny “Oberons?” questioning in concern.
Oberon draws in a breath —
“Good morning, Oberon.”
…Unbelievable.
Here of all places.
Forbidden to outsiders, here in the heart of the forest.
Familiar presences. Uninvited guests.
He flops again to the forest floor.
“You guys sure are persistent.”
It doesn’t take much for Oberon’s mood to sour, but these two are clearly overachievers in pissing him off. And why are you lot being so friendly towards outsiders? Oberon directs his gaze towards a bunch of soulful looking fairies as they chitter-chatter near Fujimaru’s head. This catches their attention and their wings poof out, appropriately shocked at their lord’s withering stare.
The fairies hang their heads in shame, peep up from the bottom of their hearts about “Oberon’s friends” and he wants to sink into the soil to avoid Artoria’s knowing eyes.
“…Stop cuddling them, they’re bad people.” Oberon grumbles but alas, today of all days, the Welsh fairies choose not to listen to him. Traitors.
“I was going to agree, but as Oberon says, it’s a matter of perspective.” Fujimaru pipes up, voice soft so as not to disturb the chattering fairies a wing-length over. Artoria giggles as she lies still as stone, while a hornworm fairy noses curiously at her crown. Unbelievable.
Blanca, sweet, sensitive, Blanca senses Oberon’s inner turmoil and appears, pressing up against his elbow, her fluffy body a tiny, reassuring weight through the thin fabric of his shirt. At least I still have you.
Their breath, the autumn leaves crinkling under their shared weight.
How long do you two want to dream of a dream, the words flutter into existence but Oberon crushes them down.
“Yes, do you two outsiders want some tea and cake as well?” Oberon instead says, in a voice full of syrup.
“That would be nice, actually.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not very polite, Oberon.”
“Fujimaru’s right. If you want to be mean, not in front of the little ones.”
Oberon wants to murder them. The gall of these two.
Barging into places that didn’t welcome them, playing the righteous fool, talking to fairies who were better off not knowing and -
“…Stop calling that name.”
“...”
Neither of them apologise. He could almost muster up gratitude for the onus, at least before ash curdles on the tip of his tongue.
“...Why are you two here. I spilled my guts already - literally. Ah, but then you, Ritsuka, like to barge into other people’s worlds don’t you~ My bad, my bad~” Seeing unhappiness (but no guilt, damn you both) on their faces, heavy in the silence pleases him, lacquered smile in place once more.
“You know why.” Fujimaru’s voice.
“We couldn’t enter, otherwise.” Artoria’s voice.
What is this inquisition even. Oberon grumbles in his heart. He wants to kick them out, let them never blacken the autumn’s forest haven again. But that would trouble the Welsh fairies so Oberon settles for the next option: He just needs to wait them out, after all. A dream could only last so long, before it broke.
Oberon doesn’t respond any further and squints up into the sky.
Time passes. Undetermined, he, Fujimaru, Artoria, Blanca and the Welsh fairies in this lull -
What joy morning brings erodes away by nightfall. Even she, the haughtiest in the land, had learnt that with the twilight sky leading to the world being undone and likewise, it would be his turn before long.
“If you lot want to save yourselves, this is your last chance.” He means it.
Fujimaru and Artoria don’t respond, and when the Hollow Worm engulfs the Welsh Forest, it’s an easy embrace.
✧✧✧✧
The night before the finale with Morgan.
It’s been a night to remember, having one last heart to heart with Fujimaru and Artoria respectively. And to think Artoria had called him out on being a liar! Not just once, but several times! Oberon could shed a tear. He would even go as far as to say he feels rather peculiar about this outcome, as though while his back was turned Artoria had grown up, truly become the fabled saviour the fairies of Britain sing for.
Blanca sits on her accustomed place at his shoulder. She’s no longer so active, conserving her energy for what’s to come.
Oberon tilts his head while he leaves the encampment, nuzzling against her dulled floof, sharing, knowing - their mutual warmth. Even that only gets a weak flutter of her antenna, as Blanca blinks slowly at him, eyes shining tiny pinpricks of light, reflecting hundreds of diffracted Oberons back towards him.
Not long now.
✧
It makes no difference if his eyes are open or close, if he’s dreaming or awake. He can’t see any longer, falling down in the dark.
But he got too close. Can’t help but look upwards despite the endless vertigo, recall that far flung star.
Even in this body continually bearing remnants of their blows, falling an eternity takes a toll. Voice lost from lack of use, ashen limbs useless and buried alongside with eroded memories, he can still see that irritating light beyond his eyelids.
A signpost that refuses to burn out, an unreachable stubbornness etched into a done tale.
Not you, Oberon thinks but reaches anyway.
✧✧✧
Oberon stirs without waking. It’s like when he was born again, only there was no pain or nausea, no worshipful gazes on him full of hope.
“Well then, I’ll take my leave. Sad to say the Fairy King isn’t agreeable with my company, so as to what happens next, I’ll leave you two reliable ones to handle the outcome. Oh but Master, do remember to cover for me when he comes looking.”
Words of gratitude, a disgusting presence, his body cocooned in warmth.
Bit by bit, consciousness filters in like morning light.
“Oberon.”
A gentle voice calling to him. A firm voice seconding their desire, a lifeline but for whom? The last time they had gotten along was in a forgotten forest. The last time he had met them in reality was to...
“…”
A chink of light. Their faces so close to his that they take up his entire world.
The colour of a sky he hoped never to see again. The one forged again in a foreign paradise.
Unpleasant. You two are so unpleasant. I don’t - He wants to spit out but he’ll choke on his tongue before uttering those words.
“You’re finally here, Oberon. For a while, Head Nurse and the other medical Servants weren’t sure if your Saint Graph would stabilise or not.” Artoria had no doubt, of course.
“...Move away.” Stop with that infernal joy. Fairy Eyes indeed, Nightmare Eyes would be more appropriate.
He’s on a bed, a blanket far comfier than the imitations in the fairy inns tucked up to his shoulders. Ridiculous if you asked him, Servants had no need for such things. Ritsuka sits besides him, Artoria on the other side. They’re holding his hands, clawed shell digging into Ritsuka’s skin while Artoria squeezes the other one and Oberon can sense the flow of magical energy -
“...This is a disaster. Shouldn’t you two be ashamed? How will your noble Chaldea even accept this?” The two don’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.
Artoria shrugs her shoulders as though to imply Oberon’s words weren’t even worth a verbal response. Whatever happened to the dignity of a Fairy of Paradise?! Oberon scowls at her, and Artoria returns the grimace. How childish. He’ll admit he’s not the most intimidating presence wrapped up in a cocoon, but he had tried to kill both of them for goodness sake! That had to count for something.
Fujimaru takes the opportunity to sneeze in rapid concession, breaking Artoria’s and Oberon’s stare-off contest. Actually, it sounds suspiciously like a snigger. If Fujimaru so much as breathes a hint that he wants to join in, Oberon’s going back.
“It can’t be helped. You’re not the only selfish one here, Oberon.”
“Artoria, if you have any kindness left in your heart for me, do shut up.”
“I think I’ll do as I please. Invalids should keep quiet while they heal, lest you want the Head Nurse to come in and throw a bed at your blockhead.”
“…What.”
“It’s true, Head Nurse has no patience for difficult patients. She and Ascelpius are already in a foul mood doing your medical records thanks to your constantly changing Saint Graph. So - be good, Oberon.” That syrupy tone, the exact same articulation as Oberon’s in the forest. This bastard.
“I didn’t give you permission to speak, Master.”
There it is. Thinking those words, speaking them aloud, it’s already too late. Oberon very determinedly focuses on the ceiling instead of Idiot A who smiles serenely and Idiot B who perks up.
They’re still holding his hands, like he’s an actual invalid instead of being dragged here against his will. Shouldn’t it only need be Fujimaru for the transfer of magical energy between Master and Servant? Either way, it feels mildly unpleasant, and the ceiling looks so interesting now.
“Oberon! You've finally admitted - ”
“Shut up. I don’t care for the demeanour of a Fairy King any longer.”
“Stop being rude to Master, Oberon. Master, you stay put and make sure he doesn’t up and flee. I’m going to go and call the Head Nurse now.”
“Artoria wait -”
“Don’t be so hasty -”
Within a little room on a ship sailing towards humanity’s future, squabbles trade back and forth in leisure.