“Damnit, Master, what gives you the right to butt in? Don’t trust us to sort it ourselves do ya...? Piss off...” A certain foul mouthed blonde knight grumbled, walking through the halls of Chaldea. Mordred was in a rotten mood. She was one of the most powerful Servants that Gudako had (although admittedly, Master hadn’t yet summoned all that many - but Mordred was confident that this would remain the case), and yet she was being treated like a petulant child.

It came down to the foul old hag Semiramis. The two of them had been at each other’s throats since the Master had summoned her. Half-there memories of an old Grail War had ignited the Assassin’s distaste, while the Saber was just pissed off about her newfound nemeses’ smug expression, and the rest was history. Or rather, passive-aggressive and actually aggressive current events.

Unfortunately for the Knight of Treachery, Semiramis had more than a little strength of her own - between the two of them they made a significant chunk of Chaldea’s combat power and, if Mordred were the sort to give a crap it’d probably be fair that Gudako wanted them to stop fighting and work together. Which, Mordred figured, was why Master had asked her to come to the hag’s room for a chat, an attempt to make up.

She didn’t expect it to work, obviously. Her apologizing to Semiramis for their various arguments and insults was about as likely as her willingly putting on a dress and makeup - literally never happening under any kind of circumstances. But maybe Master would be satisfied with getting them in the same room or something, hell if she knew what ran through the girl’s head half the time.

It wasn’t long before she reached Semiramis’ room. Not all of Chaldea’s Servants bothered to have their own rooms, but the old hag was the sort to take one just because she could - something about her due as an empress. Most rooms were fairly spartan - with all of humanity except those in Chaldea gone there wasn’t exactly anywhere to get furniture. Mordred had no idea where she got the fancy carpet or wallpaper, let alone the plush loveseat and king-sized bed. But somehow Semiramis had managed to convert a simple but functional bedroom into a gaudy suite. As if her mere presence in the room wouldn’t make it unbearable enough.

The Assassin-class servant was lounging on the loveseat when Mordred came in. “Welcome, welcome, to my temporary throne room,” Semiramis said, bowing a bit in her seat. “An honor to have you here.”

Mordred rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Where’s Master? She asked me to come here, shouldn’t she be here too?”

“Ah, but we shouldn’t waste her time with our little quarrel,” Semiramis said, waving away the question, “Please, pull up a seat, there’s much to discuss.”

“I’ll stand. I think if I sat in one of those chairs I’d puke or something.”

“Dear, you don’t think I’d be so crass as to slather a potent contact poison over a chair, do you? Of course, I have, but it’s still a rather rude assumption. And when I was about to apologize, too.”

“You can’t possibly think that’d be enough to hurt me-” Mordred started, but trailed off mid sentence. “Wait, what was that last part?”

“Oh, of course it wouldn’t, you are a Servant after all. It’s merely a small habit I’ve gotten into. But yes, Master asked us to apologize and make up, and I intend to do as much. You could hardly do less, could you?”

Mordred opened her mouth a bit, then closed it, then shook her head to clear the confusion a bit. “You… You can’t be serious. You’re gonna drop it, just like that?”

Semiramis smirked a bit. “Of course. Master asked so kindly, I could hardly deny her outright. And she has a point. Our little feud has distracted Chaldea’s two strongest fighters, and that is going to become an issue if we don’t put an end to it.”

Mordred frowned. The foul old witch made some sense. She didn’t like that. It made her feel all weird inside, and kinda… empty in the gut? ...Was she feeling guilty or something? She wasn’t all too familiar with the feeling, it was usually swallowed by anger. She coughed. “Well… you’re not wrong. You just irritate the heck out of me.” Mordred blinked a bit - that was a bit more polite than she’d meant it to come out.

“I understand that, and to be frank, likewise.” The Assassin confessed. “So let’s not make it any harder than it has to be. I would like to apologize for antagonizing and attacking you all the time.”

Mordred groaned a little. That empty feeling was spreading, up her chest, and it didn’t feel nice. “Well… if you promise to stop being such a-” Bitch, Mordred thought, but the word didn’t come out. “-nuisance, I’ll take the apology… wait, what?”

“I’m sure you’ll be less annoyed by me soon,” Semiramis said. “But first, a minor confession. The poison on the seat wasn’t the only one.”

“Oh, was the doorknob drenched in venom? Is the floor?” Mordred said sarcastically. Something was weird, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t uncharacteristic guilt now.

“No. Odorless, colorless gas. The room is filled with it, so dense as to affect even a Servant. Of course, I’ve taken the antidote, and thus will be immune to it’s effects. You, on the other hand, seem to be starting to see the signs already.”

Mordred’s hand went to her belt in a flash. In an instant she went from sarcastic but calm to seething with rage, seeing red. That bitch thought she could beat Mordred with a bit of gas? They’d done this before, and she’d won! This would be no different, especially when she was so close and evidently not armed at all. “You think the poison will finish me before I can kill you? Think again!” In a streak of red, she drew Clarent from it’s sheath and struck at Semiramis.

...And the pretty red parasol bounced off her head without leaving a mark. Before Mordred could even process what had happened, Semiramis grabbed what was supposed to be a sword and pulled it, and it’s wielder, closer. Their faces were inches from each other, and the former Empress gave a cruel smirk. “Now, now. That’s not how you treat a lady, is it? Not that it hurt, at all. You’re becoming so dainty and weak~”

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” Mordred said. Then blinked. “Wait, the fudge? Why should I apologize to a beautiful woman like you?” She paused again, eyes wide. “Darnit, why am I swearing like a six year old?”

At that, the Assassin laughed - and it was an oddly genuine, deep laugh. “Oh goodness, that’s working better than I thought it could!” she said, catching her breath. “Oh, Mordred… Master wouldn’t abide me killing you, any more than I could abide your continued profanity and rudeness. Unfortunate, but I do love being creative. I came up with a much, much better thing to do to you. You value your power so much, that I think it’d be just delightful if I stripped it away.”

Mordred was quite possibly angrier than she’d ever been since she was summoned. She wanted to verbally tear this bitch a new one. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was something rather different. “This is quite rude! I would request an apology, Mistress!” Mordred clapped a hand over her own mouth at that. What the hell? That was tangentially related to what she wanted to say, at best!

“Of course, sorry, Mordred,” Semiramis said with her cruel grin returning. “But really, I think you’ll be much better soon. No more foul mouthed treacherous knight. You’ll be far better as a dainty, delicate doll. No more imperfections, no more fighting, and certainly no more of that awful attitude.”

“I respectfully disagree!” Mordred said, her words again changing as they left her lips to become formal and polite. It was infuriating, but she couldn’t seem to work up the strength to attack. Clarent had turned into a dainty little parasol - but even that should have left a mark. She must have been losing power since she entered the room, her very body turning against her. Looking down she could see her clothes changing, the thin band of red expanding. At the same time, she noticed her chest and gut were oddly… smooth, glossy, and just a little grey. Feeling it revealed that they weren’t flesh anymore, but some kind of hard material. Mordred’s eyes went wide, as she saw it creeping up her skin.

“Oh, you thought I was using a metaphor when I said you’d be a doll? No, I don’t think I was.” Semiramis said serenely, pointedly knocking on Mordred’s smooth belly. There was an empty thunk sound, as her fist collided with hollow plastic. The transformation rapidly progressed - Mordred was made to watch as her skin gave way to cold plastic, creeping down her hips and up to her shoulders. She had just enough time to see one shoulder morph into a ball joint, before her expanding clothes covered it with a poofy sleeve.

A gentle but insistent hand pushed Mordred from behind, and shortly she found herself sitting in a chair in front of a vanity, an array of cosmetics and brushes laid out before her and a big mirror making sure she got a good look at herself. “Now then, my lovely doll in the making, let’s help that appearance along…” her tormentor said.

“I’d really rather not, if you please,” Mordred said, internally swearing at how she couldn’t outwardly swear.

But of course, Semiramis ignored her, picking out the appropriate brush and at the same time pulling the hair band from Mordred’s ponytail, allowing her spiky hair to fall loosely to her shoulders. “Please, I insist.” she said, as if Mordred had any choice in the matter, and started to brush. Mordred’s hair was stubborn and ill kept, but after a bit of wetting with a wet rag (Mordred wondered for a second where she got the bucket) it eventually gave up the ghost, being brushed out and straightened. All the while, the physical transformation continued. Mordred had felt the new ball joints in her hips form, and the plastic was now doing the same to her knees. It was also trailing down her arms, claiming her elbows and rapidly approaching her hands. The plastic was chased by her very clothes. The tough leather and metal was giving away to soft fabrics and silks, and already covered significantly more - and if Mordred didn’t know better, she’d think that there was more to cover on her chest… which there might actually be, who knew how the magic worked? It had been hard to tell before, but in the mirror Mordred was mortified to see how it was clearly forming into an elegant gown.

“You really could look beautiful if you tried a bit more, my little knight,” Semiramis said, “But of course, you won’t have to worry about that, now. I’ll be keeping you looking presentable myself.” She kept brushing, and as she did, Mordred’s hair grew longer and longer, past the shoulder and down her back.

“I don’t believe I saw the need, before now,” Mordred said in her attempt to dismiss the claim, furious at the implication. Treating her like some pampered princess!? She’d kill that bitch once she could swing a sword again! Of course, that seemed a far away possibility at the moment. She could only watch in befuddlement as her hands transformed, little ball joints replacing her wrist and each knuckle as they turned to plastic, shortly before being sheathed in red gloves. She couldn’t see her legs beneath the increasingly poofy dress, but she felt them transform, and felt her boots change into something that would have mangled her feet minutes before - some very thin, very high heels. The plastic began to creep up her neck. “Oh dear…” she said, in a lighter and far more feminine tone than she was used to.

“It’s quite amusing, my dear Saber,” Semi said, “To see such a fiery personality so easily tamed. All it took was a little special poison I had one of the casters cook up, and you’re a doll for me to do with as I please…” The plastic continued, and as it did, Mordred felt her face grow stiff and hard. It was a weird sensation, the feeling of one’s face freezing solid, of their head emptying out. She wasn’t quite frozen solid - she could still make some expressions, but her range was limited. She slumped for a moment, the time between her physical brain vanishing and the magic replacing it, although oddly enough it didn’t seem to affect her mind at all. But now she was, from head to toe, a doll. As she watched, even her hair seemed to change - she felt it separate lightly from her head, becoming a wig even as it turned from her frazzled natural hair to a silky smooth synthetic material.

“Oh, don’t you look lovely!” Semiramis said. “Just a bit more, and you’ll be truly presentable.”

“Thank you very much, Mistress.” Mordred said politely - not anything like what she’d meant to say! She tried to tell her where she could go and stick her presentation, but instead she said something else entirely. “I hardly deserve your assistance and attention.”

“Think nothing of it.” The Assassin said, as she put down the hairbrush and got out a different kind. “It’s the least I can do for my new favorite toy.”

Mordred wanted to scream, to shout, to commit unspeakable violence. But all she could do was titter like a schoolgirl as Semiramis applied makeup to her face - deep red lipstick, a bit of blush, just a dash of eyeshadow. Wiping away any remaining imperfections, and making her slightly dull plastic skin pop with life. When Mordred looked in the mirror, she was utterly unrecognizable. About as far as it got was the red and black color scheme and the blonde hair; but between the style of her dress, her ample makeup, her long and well styled hair, she looked like some noble tart preparing for her first ball.

Semiramis offered her a hand, and Mordred’s body took it graciously and allowed itself to be helped up. Mordred herself had no part in that decision, unfortunately. She curtsied in such a feminine way that Mordred wanted to vomit. She tried to cuss her out but instead… “Thank you so much, Mistress, for making me even a fraction as beautiful as you.”

At just about then, the pair heard the door open, and Gudako strolled inside. “How’s the apologizing coming-” she started, and trailed off. “...Who’s that? I don’t remember summoning her.”

Mordred tried not to speak. If she didn’t talk, she wouldn’t say anything sickening would she? But shortly, she felt her lips moving without her command as her body curtsied once again. “Greetings, Master. It’s me, Mordred. Miss Semiramis was simply helping me get in touch with my feminine side.” the doll said without any input from Mordred. It was worse than she thought - Mordred had no control over her body at all, just a passenger watching as she made a fool of herself.

“That’s right,” Semiramis agreed. “We had a long talk, and we realized that the reason we were fighting was because Mordred was jealous of my elegance and class. She asked me to help her out with that.”

“And she graciously agreed,” the doll added.

Gudako blinked. “Mordred? Feminine?” she said, disbelief clear in her voice. Mordred internally cheered - that’s right, Master! Call her out! “Can she even still fight in that…?”

“I can change my clothes any time I want, Master,” the doll said, “Although honestly, the very idea of fighting seems utterly dreadful to me now… so boorish and barbaric!”

“Well… I can’t well make you fight if you don’t want to.” Gudako said, “And if this really is your choice, I don’t think I have a right to deny it.”

Mordred’s heart sank. Don’t buy it, Master! She’s lying through her teeth! But the doll nodded and smiled brightly. “Thank you, Master! Don’t worry, I will still do my utmost to support Chaldea along with Mistress Semiramis.”

“We were just planning to have some tea,” Semiramis said smoothly. “Care to join us? We can have Mordred here make it, so you don’t have to worry about poison.”

“Ah… you read my mind, huh?” Gudako said. “Sure, I’d love some, and we can talk about how you made up so quickly…”

Mordred’s body turned away from Gudako as the doll went to work on the tea. But before she turned, Mordred could swear she’d seen a strange color creeping up Gudako’s neck…

-----------

Artoria Pendragon, King of Knights, wielder of Excalibur, and powerful Saber class hero, couldn’t help but feel a bit odd. Everything about this place she’d just been summoned to, Chaldea, was strange.

For one, there were more Servants present than any Grail War she’d ever heard of, and they weren’t even there for a Grail War but to save humanity from some kind of dramatic change in history. What was more, they were all summoned by a single Master, who had a seemingly infinite supply of Command Seals. Nothing that was going on made even a bit of sense to her.

Gudako was nice enough - a very formal girl, in an elaborate dress that wouldn’t have been out of place in the courts of old kings, although there was something off about her skin, something almost artificial. As far as Masters went, there could be worse - and she’d certainly summoned powerful Servants, such as those with whom she was having tea.

“I must thank you again for offering to spend this time with me, Lady Semiramis.” Artoria said to the other woman at the table. “With the confusion and chaos of a new summon, I think the peace will do me good.”

“Of course, of course,” the Assassin said, “As one of Master’s oldest and most powerful Servants, I believe it’s my duty to make sure new arrivals are comfortable. And I do love any excuse for tea.”

Artoria wasn’t sure what to think of Semiramis. On the one hand, she was an Assassin, and one known for betrayal at that. She should, and did, keep her guard up with her - not allowing her to make their tea, even. On the other hand, perhaps Artoria was being paranoid. Semiramis had been nothing but kind since they met, and Master seemed to think she was reliable.

“Apologies for the wait, Mistress, Father,” a new, feminine voice said cheerfully. A cheery blonde woman in a vibrant red ball gown strode in, carrying a tray piled high with scones, tea cups, and a kettle. The almost doll-like woman carefully placed the tray, then curtsied to Artoria and Semiramis in turn, before pulling out her own seat.

Mordred was… different than Artoria had remembered, to put it lightly. There wasn’t a hint of masculinity left in her, and she was far less angry than she’d ever been in the Throne of Heroes or in life. Semiramis had claimed that she and Gudako had worked together to help her through a variety of traumas and issues, and the result was this new, almost princess-esque Mordred.

Artoria had freaked out when she’d first seen her, cheerily waving at her from the hall as she watched Gudako summon. She’d shoved her Master behind her, stood protectively between Gudako and Mordred, before the newly feminine Saber strolled up and curtsied, asking how her summoning had been. It was baffling, but after some explanation from Mordred, Gudako, and Semiramis, Artoria was… not quite comfortable, but not nearly as on edge.

“I’ve brought the tea, as requested. Milk? Sugar?” Mordred asked politely, placing the requested additions in each cup before placing them in front of their recipients.

Artoria carefully drank, and was surprised to find it tasted superb. “...It’s ok.” she said, not showing too much emotion.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking, Your Majesty.” Mordred said dutifully. The old Mordred would have gone ballistic. Maybe she was different. That felt… weird, to think about. Or maybe that was the strange feeling in her gut…

Internally, Mordred was pissed, about numerous things. Even Father had just accepted that damned doll as the real her! And she hadn’t even acknowledged the dang good tea! How was Semiramis getting away with this so easily!? Well, she knew how - every time someone started to catch on they ended up as a doll! There was nothing Mordred could do but plot vengeance. She was powerless, unable to move or speak or anything.

Father hadn’t even seemed to notice the significant amounts of magical poison that had been added to her tea. At least Father would have to suffer this plastic prison right along with her...