{Arthur's POV}
Eventually, her laughter ebbed into quiet gasps and soft hiccups, and she slumped against my side, utterly defeated. Her small hands gave a half-hearted pat to my chest, her face still red from the tickling.
"Unfair…" she muttered, breathless. "Using tickle warfare… so dishonorable. That's cheating."
I chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair from her face as I gently wrapped an arm around her.
"Everything is fair in war, Artoria. Even tickles."
She huffed, puffing her cheeks like an indignant squirrel, and dramatically rolled onto her back, letting her limbs flop down like a puppet whose strings had been cut. "Then I declare war back. And I will have my revenge, O tyrant brother."
"Looking forward to it," I said with a smirk, settling beside her.
The cool grass cradled us both, blades tickling at our arms, slightly damp with the night's dew. The moon floated high above us — silver and serene — and the stars were strewn across the sky like shards of a shattered dream. They blinked lazily, flickering in old rhythms, like the heartbeat of the world. Somewhere in the woods beyond the hills, an owl hooted. A soft wind rustled the leaves.
It was quiet.
Peaceful.
The kind of peace I didn't trust to last.
I exhaled and spread my arms wide over the grass. "You ever think about how small we are, Artoria?"
She rolled to her side, propping herself up on one elbow, her eyes squinting at me. "Are you going to say something weird again?"
"Maybe."
She sighed, clearly preparing herself for some dramatic philosophical nonsense, then plopped her cheek down on my shoulder and snuggled close.
"I'm ready," she said. "Say your weird stuff."
I laughed. "I just mean… look at all those stars. Millions of them. Each one older than us, older than Albion, older than everything. And here we are, two kids lying in the grass like it all belongs to us."
"It does belong to us," she said confidently, her voice muffled into my sleeve.
"Oh?"
"Mm-hmm." She lifted a finger to point skyward. "That one's mine." Then another. "That one's yours. And that one's for Sir Ector, and that one's for Kay, and that weird flickery one is Merlin."
I tilted my head to glance at her. "Why is Merlin the flickery one?"
"Because he's weird and blinks in and out of existence," she said matter-of-factly. "And probably watches people sleep, like a creep."
That earned a laugh from me, a real one, full of warmth. "Fair."
We stayed like that for a while — shoulder to shoulder, eyes to the stars, speaking in the quiet language only siblings could share.
I don't know what compelled me to speak next. Maybe it was the stillness. Maybe it was the weight of the future pressing too loud against the silence. Or maybe it was because I needed to say it — to tell someone, and there was no one else in the world I trusted more.
"Hey, Artoria?"
"Mmm?"
Her voice was soft, dreamy.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared up at the stars like they held the answers.
"What if I told you… that I want to create an empire?"
The night paused around us.
Even the wind held its breath.
Then—
She turned her head slowly to look at me, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Like… a real one? With knights and castles and thrones and giant banners that flap in the wind?"
I smiled faintly. "Something like that. But not like the ones we've seen."
Her brows furrowed as she processed.
"I want… to build something better," I continued. "A place where people aren't judged by their blood or their birth. Where a farmer's son can become a knight if he's brave enough. Where no child goes hungry. Where war isn't something we expect — but something we prevent."
Artoria blinked, her lips slightly parted.
"I want to unite all the tribes. End the squabbling. Bring everyone under one banner — not by fear, but by choice. Not to conquer, but to uplift."
"You sound like Merlin," she muttered, brow crinkling. "But less annoying."
I gave a soft laugh. "Thanks… I think."
"But why?" she asked after a beat. "Why do you want that? It sounds… hard. Like, really hard."
"Because I can't stand to see people suffer when I know I can change it. Because if I have the power to make things better, and I do nothing… then what's the point of being king?"
Artoria didn't respond right away. But her fingers found mine — small and warm — and gently interlaced with them.
I didn't look at her. I couldn't. The stars were easier to face than her eyes.
"So that's your dream?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"And you want to make it real?"
"I have to."
Another silence. She was thinking — deeply, for once. But when she spoke again, her voice was different.
Soft. Vulnerable. Tinged with something like fear.
"What if I don't want to share you?"
I blinked. "What?"
She turned to face me more fully, her eyes wide, shining under the starlight.
"What if I want you to myself?" she whispered. "What if I want you to stay just like this forever — just us, just here, watching the sky? I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you."
"Artoria…"
I sat up, turning toward her, and gently placed my hands on her shoulders.
She stared at me, eyes shimmering.
"You won't lose me," I said. "No matter what I build, no matter where I go, I promise you — you'll always be by my side. You're my sister. My twin. My other half."
She stared for a long moment, then leaned forward and buried her face into my chest.
"I love you," she murmured, so quietly I almost didn't hear it. "More than anyone. I don't care about empires or thrones. I just want to be with you."
My arms wrapped around her instinctively. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure what I was allowed to say. She was so young, so full of fierce loyalty and unfiltered affection, it almost hurt to hold.
But I held her anyway.
Because I knew the truth.
She was the first person who had ever loved me this much. Who had ever made me feel like I belonged.
And I would carry that love — that devotion — into whatever future I tried to build.
After a long moment, she sniffled and looked up, clearly trying to salvage her dignity. "That doesn't mean you're off the hook. You're still a dummy for saying big stuff without asking me first."
I smiled. "You're right. That was terribly rude of me, my lady."
She nodded primly, though her cheeks were still flushed. "That's more like it."
Then she flopped back onto the grass with a sigh and stretched her arms out dramatically.
"But fine. I accept. I'll be your general. Or your bodyguard. Or your royal advisor. Or your wife."
I choked.
"What?"
She grinned. "What?"
"I—what did you say?"
"Hmm? Nothing. Must've been the wind."
"Artoria—"
"I said I'll be your knight, dummy."
I gave her a side-eye. "You're insane."
"I learned from the best," she said sweetly.
I groaned and laid back down beside her.
The stars above us glittered, indifferent to our small drama.
And maybe that was okay.
Maybe this moment — this single perfect night — was enough for now.
"I'll build that empire," I said quietly.
"You better," she replied. "Because I'm going to be the one standing beside you when you do."