Shakespeare, who had been lurking in the shadows and watching the interaction between father and son, suddenly felt his heart lurch without warning.
He instinctively looked toward the King of Knights on the Throne, only to meet a pair of green eyes as deep as still pools.
Through his pupils and retinas, the overwhelming presence carried by that gaze bore down on Shakespeare, nearly forcing him to his knees in submission on the spot.
The reason it was only "nearly" was that, a second later, he could no longer hold out and dropped to his knees.
Thud-
Artoria crossed her legs and leaned comfortably against the marble armrest, saying with amusement:
"Without an audience, without permission, you forcibly brought me onto your stage... In the old days, even ten thousand deaths would have been too lenient a punishment for such a crime. You have quite some nerve, Playwright."
"Aaah-! M-mercy!"
Shakespeare let out a miserable scream and repeatedly begged for mercy.
It was not merely because an outside force had forcibly altered his Noble Phantasm, but because he had realized the gravity of the situation. If this King of Knights truly had gone to Avalon, as the closing passages of the epic described...
Then any attempt to restrain her through the power of his stage alone was nothing short of a pipe dream.
Seeing Shakespeare surrender at lightning speed, Artoria stopped exerting pressure. She rose and looked at Mordred.
"Go back. Claim the victory that belongs to you."
"Yes. As my king commands."
Mordred placed a hand over her chest in acknowledgment.
She raised her head slightly and gazed at the face of the person she had served, then betrayed, during her lifetime. After a long hesitation, she finally ventured:
"Will I... have another chance to see you?"
Artoria did