"...Hhmmrrnn."

There is no value in arguing. Secure the alliance first, worry about the implications second. One of them or the other will eventually pull their heads out of their own asses for long enough to realize the issue with expecting to build a shield wall with [i]her[/i] of all people. There are many reasons why her father's favorite tactic was sending her as far away from the rest of his army as possible, but this was certainly among the most basic and obvious of those.

Irrelevant. The logistical complications of daydreaming battle tactics from a lovestruck shieldmaiden and her useless nerd Servant did not hinder or advance the aim of putting her hands around Actia's throat. Securing this mana source [i]did.[/i] It therefore took full priority. All the same, Saber cannot help but roll her eyes. 

She bends down over the ground and begins tracing runes into the stone where Angelesia had been thrown. Ordinarily this was the type of thing she would not personally bother with. She was, after all, less than an amateur when it came to sorcery. She had her map and her compass drawn on her own flesh and she was certain to inscribe runes of fortification on any weapon she intended to keep for more than five minutes but that was the extent of her prowess with Odin's great gift. Only, in the time since she'd set that shrine alight she'd begun noticing pockets of mana welling up in the ground when she'd been ignorant of such things before. And knowing where the tiny wellsprings of power were it didn't take more than understanding the alphabet to accomplish what she wanted to, now. 

She leaves Lancer to her Nippon fantasies and waves Angelesia over to her. A breath's worth of silence. A grunt's worth of hesitation, and then she takes the girl's wrist in her hand and pulls her down to ground level to brush the fresh runes with her living fingers. They crackle with dark, unclean looking energy until the ground gives way underneath them and all of a sudden those trembling, fresh hands are hovering over weapons buried in little pits of dirt and gravel.

No adornments mark them as exceptional. Solid, wood-seeming hafts and plain sharp metal heads. Axes the both of them, one a small hatchet and the other a broad-headed battleaxe only just small enough for a girl like Angelesia to be able to swing it one handed. Saber flashes her something approximating a smile. 

"Payment," she says, "For taking your test without complaint. This one you wear on your belt. You may take it up when your opponent has emptied your hands and defend yourself this way, or you may throw it at her head. It makes no difference. This one, you swing. You may find it clumsy but the weight of it is something that must be respected. And should they commit themselves to blocking it you will have the chance to break their nose on your shield. They are payment, as I said. You are not required to practice with them or ever make use of them. Keep them as heirlooms or sell them for booze. Makes no difference to me. But Roman or no, a good soldier knows that having more weapons is better than having none."

She stands up again, but without letting Angelesia go. It takes her a moment to realize she's dragged the smaller girl up with her, and several more moments longer than she should to decide it's worth the bother of setting her back down again. She stomps into the pit and kicks the larger axe up into the ground, catching it mid-handle out of the air and setting it to rest on the young Master's shoulder.

"Now then. Your Servant is..." she glances over her shoulder, "...Unhelpful. You, I trust. What the fuck is she expecting me to do? Who am I stealing, and where do I go to find them?"