Blossoming Journey

Summary: The last thing Taylor expected to find in her locker was a perverted white haired man, an infinite expanse of flowers, a sword and a white dress. Not that she was complaining - she'd take the weird over the gross any day.

Taylor felt... inadequate, to say the least.

Here she was, covered in gross filth, mostly rotting menstrual blood mixed with her own vomit, still reeling from the horrid, rancid stench of the locker... in the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

It was a garden, filled with flowers as far as the eye could see, and more importantly, she also saw what she assumed to be the center - as it seemed to be in the middle of a circular depression on the ground. She realized that she was in a hill, and that it expanded infinitely taller behind her, but went to a fixed point at the entrance to the thin, circular tower.

It was a large, heavy looking wooden door, inlaid with gold. It opened, and out came a white haired man wearing a black sleeveless shirt and playing with a white, cat-like animal that seemed to be pawing at him in anger. Given its behavior and overall fluffiness, Taylor wondered if some biotinker hadn't decided to combine the best traits of cats and dogs to create the ultimate bomb of adorableness.

It seemed he saw her, for he approached her, even as her legs and hands were becoming too wobbly to hold her.

"You're a little early," he said, offering her a kind, charming smile. Taylor nearly melted. He was a little too girlish for her taste, more 'pretty' than handsome, but he was devastatingly pretty. Nearly weapons-grade so. "Hello there," he said, kneeling down in front of her, "you're looking a little harried, are you quite alright?"

Taylor felt her vision swim. "I'm... urgh," she felt the vomit coming back up.

"Take a deep breath, take in the smell of the roses," he said, placing a hand on her back and rubbing soothing circles into it. "It'll help."

Too dazed to do otherwise, Taylor followed his instructions and soon enough she felt her shivers disappear, her body steadily stop trembling, and she realized that even her exhaustion was ceding. Her head was clearing.

"There, there, that's all better," he said. "Can you stand?"

She shook her head, and he helped her to a sitting position.

"Well then," he said, "I think we've proven you can understand me," he said, "Cath Palug, go get everything ready."

The thing with the unpronunceable name leaped off the pretty man's shoulder and darted into the flowers.

"You're a little early, and there's more damage than I was expecting," he said, "but nothing too worrying," he said. With a wave of his hand, he seemed to summon a large, gnarled staff to his hand. It seemed to be wrapped around a torch... no, she could tell, it was a miniature replica of the infinitely tall tower. He brought it to her face and taped her forehead with it.

Almost as if by magic, she felt clean. It was startling, to go from being absolutely filthy to being as clean as she could ever be. The feeling was refreshing, amazingly so, and she could only let out an appreciative moan. Her clothes, she noticed, were gone. She would've felt a little weirded out, a little scared, but...

He was warm, and fluffy, and nice. She wanted to snuggle up to him and sleep forever, here, where she'd be safe from her bullies, where nobody would ever look for her. Nobody cared anyway. Not her former friend, not the faculty, not even her father, who was too lost in his own pain.

She felt safe, and she felt cared for, and she felt as if his vanishing her clothes was simply to free her from what covered them.

She felt herself be covered again shortly after. He'd replaced her old, baggy jeans with opaque black tights. They were unbelievably smooth, perhaps impossibly so, and they covered from her toes to her waist. She also knew that he had replaced her underwear with a silky white pair.

Her feet were then covered by soft, comfortable white slippers. She knew them to have only a slight heel, would be easy to move in even though she was not used to heels at all.

And then came the upper part of her clothing. Instead of a separate skirt and shirt, she instead got a white dress. She recognized the pattern - she had seen many a weeping lily, and her dress reminded her very much of one of those. It was accented in black, and the sleeves were detached. Finally, she had a pair of satin-like gloves on her hands and a black ribbon to tie her hair back, keep it from falling on her face.

She blushed brightly. This was the kind of getup that she imagined Emma would wear, if she could. This was designer clothing. And, were she to be honest, it was unbelievably flattering to her undeveloped figure. She felt it might've fit better on a slightly shorter girl, but it did a very good job of emphasizing her few good traits.

He had already done so much for her, in so little time. She snuggled against him.

She could stay there forever. Stay in that place, with him, forever.

"I know it's nice," he said, "but you don't really want that, do you?" he asked.

Taylor whined and shook her head.

"I understand perfectly, I've been here for a very long time. Trust me, it gets incredibly boring after a while," he quipped. "Now, can you stand?" he asked.

Taylor nodded, and he helped her to her feet. It took a bit of time before she could fully stand on her feet, but once she could, she felt her energy returning. She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand.

"Cath Palug is surely finished," he said. "Come with me."

He offered her his hand, and she knew, right then and there, the implication.

You do not need to accompany me if you don't want to. I can wait. I will wait for you.

She might be speculating, but this man - his presence, it was soothing.

Her unconscious mind was giving her a very clear and simple result. I can trust this person. She knew. She knew that no matter what, she was safe here with him. That he would protect her, that he would guide her, that he would teach her, and he would do so with a smile on his face, encouraging her every step of the way.

It gave her heartache, to know that her father would never be like that with her. That she felt safer with this stranger than she ever felt with him. That she already had more of a bond with this man whom she had just met, rather than the one who had raised her for so long. It was guilt, she understood, that she already loved this person more than she loved her father.

Her heart guided her. She knew. He would not guide her to danger, so she took his hand, and walked behind him. Weak, slow and unsure of herself, but placing absolute trust in her guide.

They took a careful path, as the flowers parted to allow them passage, the roots moving out of the way, the ground smoothing in the wake of their passing. Every step was a little more sure, a little more grounded, a little more confident. Taylor knew that she was recovering, little by little, and becoming more like what she was supposed to be.

The walk was long, but too short for her, as she felt a loss when their hands parted.

He had brought her to a small circle where the flowers did not grow. At its very center was a white stone, and stabbed into it was a jeweled golden sword.

It was beautiful. Beautiful beyond compare. As she saw it, Taylor could see nothing but the blade, the unbelievably beautiful backdrop fading away. This blade was on a class all its own. There was an inscription that ran along the blade, but she could not read it.

"Taylor Hebert," the man began, "you've been attacked. They have assaulted you. They have heaped insults, injury and rot upon you. Your body is covered in filth, your reputation lies in tatters. And yet," he continued, "your spirit, the golden soul shining brightly beneath, remains untamed. They have broken your body, they have sought to diminish you, but you shine bright, brighter than ever," he dipped his head slightly and tapped the butt of his staff on the dirt, it made an odd clacking sound, "I see before me potential, I see before me greatness. They have sought to destroy you, Taylor Hebert, but here you stand, untarnished, polished to a shine beyond any other. Thus, I offer you a choice," he said.

Taylor turned her head towards him. It almost physically hurt to tear her eyes away from the beautiful sword before her, but she needed to know, needed to pay attention, needed to listen.

"Before you lies the Sword that Chooses," he explained. "You can choose to walk away now. I will not begrudge you that choice. You can choose to turn your back now, and leave. You will wake up believing what you want to believe. This will be nothing but a fleeting dream, a memory that will fade into nothingness, and you will be no lesser for its loss," he said. "You can choose to walk away, and I will respect your choice."

Taylor frowned.

"Or," he said, seemingly pleased by something, "you can choose to lay hands on the hilt of the Sword, and let it make its choice. I warn you now, Taylor Hebert, that if you take this path, you will cease being human. You will become something else. A symbol. An icon. Something greater. Something divine.

"You will become a King."

The weight and gravitas of that single sentence seemed to dwarf anything he'd said before.

He did not say it as a benefit. It was not. It was an obligation, a duty. A weight. A weight that was perhaps too heavy for the thin shoulders of a little girl.

But for Taylor, there really was no choice.

He had offered her power. A lot of power.

The power to help. The power to save people.

The power to save her city.

Taylor's hand closed around the hilt of the Sword that Chooses. It was large enough for her to grab it two handed. With both of her gloved hands, she grabbed at, and pulled out, the Sword that Chooses. She was enveloped in bright golden light.

She could've sworn she saw him smile.

A smile of pride, a smile of kind, almost fatherly, pride. She had longed to see that, for a long time, to see someone recognize and love her again.

But soon, way too soon, she saw no more, as the bright golden light blinded her for a moment, and then she was back in the real world.

Her sword cut through the locker like it was butter. She stepped out of it. Her dress was different. Longer. Armored. She wore gauntlets, not her satin gloves. And despite all the metal, it was light, light enough that she didn't even notice it.

And white. So very, very white. Unstained by filth or blood. Immaculate.

The clatter of the locker doors attracted attention, and as she stood, glancing upon the golden sword that she had brought from her dream, she could only imagine what awaited her. She closed her eyes and let her mind run free, and it provided.

Before her stood a path. The Path that she had chosen.

It was a path lined with lilies, and as she began to walk it, she saw them bloom. She saw them blossom. She knew then. She trusted her sword, and she let it guide her, to walk the path that she had chosen.

Alone, with but a blade and a memory, she walked the path of blossoming lilies.

Now, if you need a little information, here's the low down:

That place Taylor went to in her 'dream'? That's the Garden of Avalon, from Fate/Grand Order. The man she met there was Merlin himself - the man is so pretty that he used to run a website wherein he pretended to be a magical-girl styled idol. Not even kidding, one of the main characters of Fate/Grand Order fell for it and had a pretty despondent reaction when he learned that 'Magi Mari' was actually a man. Also, he is a massive pervert in the part of the story he appears in, and has absolutely no problems getting laid, a lot, from what can be inferred based on how often he leaves the party while in Uruk.

The clothes Taylor got are the ones that Saber Lily wears for her third ascencion, and the 'armored' version is what she wears default.

She possesses a host of abilities - increased physical attributes that rank her as a Brute that can basically shrug off most 'mundane' attacks and throw down with anything less strong than Glory Girl, battle instincts that border on precognition and a 'miniaturized' version of Contessa's Path to Victory - she's limited to fights, but so long as there is a way to win a fight, she will be guided towards it. She also possesses very potent Charisma, enough that when people look at her, they think "this is a person of lordly caliber", as in, most people, those without strong wills, would be basically in awe of her.

Also her sword is bullshit powerful, but it's a one-use gimmick. It might, keyword being might, be able to off an Endbringer in one shot. But it cannot withstand its own power and will break immediately afterwards. When it inevitably happens, she'd get Excalibur from Merlin.

I might eventually write down the scene where she fights Leviathan in Brockton Bay and first uses Excalibur.

I've got an idea to have Tattletale's intuition feed her data on the sword, and having her broadcast it to everyone in the network of the armbands due to hers malfunctioning, basically giving a speech about Excalibur and what it represents. Were I to write the entire fic, it'd be the culminating moment of a campaign to turn Brockton Bay around and turn it from a rotting, dying city into the shining holy city of Camelot, whereupon everyone glances into Excalibur's light and basically has a Heel Face Turn.

(That's a thing Excalibur can do, by the by. When it hit Gilles de Rais, he got redeemed by its light, going from child-torturing and massacring complete monster to repentant sinner in 0.1 seconds flat, that's how strong the effect is.)

Also, since the Simurgh would see it through her future sight, it would be the start of a plan set in motion to free herself from Eidolon's yoke and start a heel face turn as well, dragging her fellow Endbringers along, including the replacements Eidolon brings out.