IBHJ 1190

"You have what you came for. Let's head back, Bedivere."

"No." Bedivere shook his head.

Shirou's expression became grave, but Scathach's hand on his shoulder stopped him. She gave him a subtle shake of her head before turning to Bedivere with gentle eyes. "You understand your position is very sensitive right now, don't you?"

She knew what Shirou wanted to say, that a leader's duty came first, always. It was why he couldn't mourn openly even when Mordred chose to die alone. But here, with just the two of them... why force her student to maintain that mask of ruthlessness?

Bedivere met her concerned gaze. "I understand, Scathach. But this box... I have to take it to Avalon."

"Avalon?" Shirou raised his eyebrows. His voice softened. "Mind telling us why?"

"It was Sir Garand's dying wish." And with that, he began to share the story.

"I see..." Shirou nodded, piecing together an image of Garand. Even through the lens of Bedivere's clearly biased account, his discernment let him read between the lines to form a clearer picture.

"Tell me honestly," Bedivere asked. "Was Sir Garand right?"

"Of course-"

"Please," he cut in. "Don't spare my feelings. I know where I stand, I don't need comforting lies."

Shirou fell silent. Mordred's eyes flashed in his memory, and the placating words died in his throat.

"That Garand, he-" Scathach began, but Shirou cut her off. "He was a criminal. Plain and simple."

‘Oh, Shirou...’ Scathach's heart ached for her student, forced once again to be in that role.

"From the Empire's view - from any view - this Garand was nothing but a dangerous traitor. But if he was right, if someone really did replace the Emperor and now pulls the Empire's strings... then he was a loyal martyr who deserves our respect."

"So we judge by results alone?"

Shirou nodded.

"What about everything else? What about his loyalty? The pain he felt? The doubt that must have torn at him?"

"None of that matters."

"How can you say..." Bedivere stumbled back, shaken.

"The pain, the struggles, the doubt, those belong to us alone," Shirou said quietly. "What we leave behind are our results. It's true for everyone, Garand, you, Scathach, Artoria, Gilgamesh... countless heroes and even ordinary people, we're all the same."

He let out a quiet breath. "People see Eternal King and envy what I've become. Some even dream of going back in time to replace me, thinking they could do it better, be more perfect, more revered. But they're blinded by the achievements. They don't see the pain it took to get here. I started with so little, and every bit of growth came through agony and helplessness."

"Results... it all comes down to results..." Bedivere's voice was bitter. "Then tell me Eternal King, if you were in Sir Garand's position, what would you choose?"

"Choose between Emperor and Empire?" Shirou let out a dry laugh. "Someone once tried to trap me with a similar false choice. I told them then what I'll tell you now - only a fool lets others define their path. The real answer lies in carving your own way forward, even if others can't see it yet."

"In the end, you're still avoiding the question." Bedivere's head dropped in resignation.

"I'm not avoiding it, I'm teaching you to ask better questions. Anyone can rush headlong into a wall and call it bravery. True wisdom is finding the door nobody else thought to look for. You might disagree, but it doesn't matter now." Shirou's voice hardened. "We're past hypotheticals and you're out of options, Bedivere. Either you die here by our hands, or you see this through with us to the end. When all is done, history will judge whether you and Garand were traitors or martyrs. The results will speak for themselves."

"Options?" Bedivere smiled bitterly. "You’re right, I lost that luxury a while ago. But I can't give you the answer you want - I don't even know myself if my loyalty lies with His Majesty or the Empire. What I can tell you is this: I won't work against you."

"That's enough," Shirou nodded. "But you're not going to Avalon alone. Come back to Tir na nÓg with us. We'll have someone else deliver the box."

"Let me at least wrap it properly first," Bedivere said, and he agreed.

As they watched Bedivere carefully packaging the box, Scathach turned to Shirou. "I'm surprised you convinced him so easily."

"I didn't convince him of anything," he shook his head. "I was ready to kill him if I had to. I just spoke my mind."

Scathach gazed at him fondly. A true king was meant to be like water, flowing between gentle and harsh as needed, with no fixed nature of their own. But Fujimaru Shirou was different, he had his own stubborn personality. That answer he'd given wasn't some calculated royal rhetoric, it was pure Shirou, the same hero who'd always fought for the weak.

But still—

"You should call me Shisho when you address me, Shirou."

"I’m not in the mood. I'll use it when I feel like it."

Scathach: "..."

So it's just whenever you feel like it, huh?!

She felt a headache coming on. Why couldn't he show her the same respect Cú Chulainn did? Then again... if he suddenly started acting like Cú Chulainn, wouldn't that feel even worse?

There was something special about Shirou's way with people. Somehow, he'd managed to befriend the most unlikely characters - from the impossibly proud Gilgamesh to the naive Arcueid, from the playful trickster Merlin to the empty Solomon. These days, even Beasts and UOs counted themselves among his friends.

But Scathach understood the truth of it. That gentle spirit of his, that wisdom and understanding—none of it had come naturally. Like he'd said before about being a King: no one is born knowing how to rule. It takes pain, it takes facing your own helplessness, it takes struggling through the hard times to grow into that role.

And wasn't that the story of all of them? Not just Shirou, not just her, but every hero whose name lived on through history. Even the countless ordinary people who fought daily battles just to survive - they all shared that same journey.

That's why they couldn't let the Emperor and the Empire keep their grip on Pan-Human History. This wasn't just about preserving the past, it was about honoring every moment of growth, every hard-won victory, every storm they'd weathered to become who they were.

…

With the box safely packed away, Shirou's group set out for Ireland. But as dusk crept in, his stomach reminded him loudly that he hadn't eaten since the fighting began. Being in his own body rather than using a Heroic Spirit had its drawbacks.

The adrenaline and tension had kept hunger at bay during the chaos, but now that they'd found Bedivere and the immediate danger had passed, exhaustion was catching up with him. His companions weren't much help in the food department, Scathach with her immortality curse had no need for sustenance, and Bedivere being from the Empire was in the same boat. Shirou was the only one who needed a proper meal.

They were just resigning themselves to scrounging up whatever they could find when a tantalizing aroma drifted through the air.

Following the enticing smell, the trio came upon a campfire where several fish sizzled on makeshift spits. Since the Empire's inhabitants had no need for food, this had to be a human's handiwork.

Scathach plucked one of the fish from the fire and held it out to Shirou with a knowing smile. "Get something in your stomach."

"Isn't this stealing?"

"That doesn't sound like the Shirou I know," she teased.

"You've got me there, Shisho." he grinned, accepting the fish.

"Oh? Back to calling me Shisho now that you're in a better mood?"

He just smiled contentedly around a mouthful of fish, earning an exasperated look from her.

The moment was interrupted by the crunch of leaves behind them, followed by an indignant cry. "Hey! Those are my fish!"

Shirou froze mid-bite - he knew that voice.