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Chapter Text

Two Souls.

That was the rule.

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It smelled faintly of wildflowers and cut grass. She thought there was a breeze blowing. And there was sun.

Yes, sun.

Her eyes fluttered open, slightly squinting in the bright light.

Where am I?

She shot up, eyes zipping to her surroundings.

This is not Britain.

Long grass tickled her ankles as a warm breeze teased her hair.

This is not Britain.

Confused as she was, she could at least tell that this was not real. Not the azure sky, nor the warmth on her skin, not even that innocent butterfly perching on the edge of her drawn sword.

This is NOT Britain.

She found herself testing the illusion, stepping on the grass like she would have tested the chill of a lake in spring. It didn't ripple. The vast landscape of a false paradise remained unchanged, reminding her that she was alone. Again.

Nothing would ever change that.

Why am I here?

It was as if her mind had been replaced by a ball of fur. It bothered her to no end that she was both clueless and exposed here, out in the open.

Kings are most vulnerable in ignorance.

Her eyes closed as she willed her thoughts back. What came to mind was pain, the presence of Sir Bedivere, and Britain.

Oh. Britain.

It all dawned on the young King.

I failed.

Her death flashed before her eyes, taunting her… torturous.

Again…again on that bloody hill. Scattered remains of enemy and comrade alike, with the body bearing her own face at her feet. And then…Bedivere…and…a wonderful dream…I…I…

And then for a fleeting moment, the pain was gone, banished by a flash of yellow orbs, and a naïve head of ginger hair.

Shirou...

She willed his image away, her brow creasing. Her jaw tightened visibly as she clenched her teeth, head hung in sorrow, shame, and resent for herself. Her hands went to her head as she sunk to the ground, tears threatening to spill. Her breath hitched.

"Dear Britain...Forgive your unworthy King."

The corners of her lips pulled downward, as the tears freely rolled down her cheeks.

Forgive me.

She begged.

Forgive me.

She pleaded.

Forgive me.

She blinded herself with hope that they could hear her; that they could forgive her. Though she knew it was foolish to believe in that false, impossible hope. As if they would ever forgive her for failing.

They would be merciless to a King who failed twice.

And they would definitely curse one who did it on her own free will.

She destroyed that which would bring them back their glory.

She tasted salt as a new torrent of her sobs washed over her. Her tears marred the beauty of her face, and without looking she knew her eyes were red.

"Forgive me..." she choked out as she desperately wiped away her never-ending tears. Her voice was cracking. How pathetic a King she is indeed.

Do Kings cry? Ridiculous!

She rubbed at her eyes, willing the tears to stop but they wouldn't stop spilling. They couldn't. She hugged her legs, face flushed from crying, the claws of guilt crushing her heart in its grasp.

Two chances to undo the past.

The first time, her chance was stolen away by her own master.

The second time, her blade put an end to that cursed cup.

And though her tears told how excruciating it was to accept how she left her homeland…

She did not reg—

"Saber?"

Her head snapped back at the mention of her name. She knew that voice. Green orbs met amber ones.

"Lan...cer?"

They held their gaze in silence. Saber broke away from his eyes, hands frantically wiping away her tears. "You...did not see me-" Saber said between breaths.

He stared at her with a comprehending sadness beyond his honey-coloured eyes.

So it's true that even Kings weep. The Irishman thought.

A pair of green eyes glanced a moment at the hand that was offered to her, before meeting the eyes of the handsome man before her.

A small smile graced his lips. "It's been ten years, King of Knights."

Saber's hand hovered over his with uncertainty, and Diarmuid took it upon himself to close the gap between their fingers.

He hadn't changed.

Chivalrous as always, Saber thought to herself as he pulled her up gently.

"You have my thanks, First Knight of Fianna." Saber bowed a little, lowering her eyes as soon as they met his to hide the effects of her tears. He didn't seem to mind.

"You do not don your armor, Saber?"

His words took her by surprise. Arturia herself did not even notice. A long white dress replaced her usual blue garment. Her feet were bare and her ankles and wrists adorned with delicate silver chains. Her hair was loose, but she wore a thin, simple, silver circlet encrusted with small sapphire gems. On her right hand, was the silver ring of the Pendragons, with no heir to pass it to. She was dressed simply, but elegantly. Only in death did her country recognize that she was a woman.

"This is what they had me wear when I was buried, I suppose." Her eyes went back to Lancer.

Wait...then why is Lancer...?

A dead man can feel no pain, so they say, but the anguish Lancer felt was in his core. His gaze was distant. He was turned to the right, giving Saber a clear view of his profile. The Irishman was covered in cuts and bruises. His clothes had remains of his blood that looked like only rain had washed it away.

Even dead men suffer from a shattered heart.

He looked so...broken. She wanted to console him, relieve him of his pain, but what would she say? What could she say?

"It has come to mind that perhaps Saber knows of my name but not my origin," He turned back to her. "Would the honourable King of Knights care to hear the tragic tale of Diarmuid O'Dyna?"

There was no joy behind the curve of his lips. It was a bitter, sad expression that she knew all too well.

She mirrored him, sadness lacing her lips.

"Only if he wishes to share it."

Chapter Text

Two souls.

Tied together.

Bound by fate.

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The knight returned her smile, pleased at her answer, and offered his hand.

"Come."

Saber took his hand a little hesitantly, and allowed herself to be escorted. She was tugged along gently through the seemingly endless plain. The situation felt foreign. She had always led, never followed; always been on the front lines, never behind defences. Her eyes strayed to where his fingers enveloped hers. He held her hand in his firmly, yet tenderly, as if giving her the option to let go.

But she didn't.

Guiding her was Lancer…Tall, strong, the very image of a knight in armour. She should know. When they met, she'd almost wished for his company at the Round Table. Her eyes moved from his wavy black hair down to his back, brows furrowing at the deep gashes she saw amid the tattered fabric of his garbs.

Why?

He led her to a low-branched tree that shaded them from the high sun. Diarmuid lay on the grass, hands behind his head, but not before letting his lady King lean comfortably on the tree trunk.

He laughed as he began, "Forgive me if my words seem to be laced with pride." It was a sweet, innocent sound, not marred by resentment or agony.

The blonde smirked, "A knight as skilled as yourself should be proud." She nodded to him, signalling that she was eager to listen.

"I was the first of the Knights of Fianna , the one most trusted by my leader. Though I was but a knight, one high as him regarded me as a friend. Skilled with both spear and sword, even more formidable when wielding two weapons, I was quite the powerful one, if I should say so myself."

Is that a challenge?

Her eyes met his with an amused raised eyebrow, and he smirked.

"Moralltach, The Great and Fierce One, was my stronger sword. It left no blow unfinished and would never miss its mark. Beagalltach or Little Fury was a shorter sword I owned. Both were bestowed upon me by Aengus, who raised me."

He was raised by another as I was. Her days with Kay and his father suddenly came to mind.

"Gae Dearg is the name of my strongest weapon, the Red Spear that cancels mana. Gae Buidhe is the Yellow Spear that makes wounds that never heal."

The knight sat up, keeping one leg outstretched and one bent, and rested his arm on his bent leg. Glancing at her as if asking permission, he took her left hand in his right and turned it over gently. "I am quite sure you already know the strength these spears possess."

Looking at him with questioning eyes, she flinched slightly when he brushed the thumb of his free hand over her wrist.

Diarmuid withdrew his hands as the slight tremor passed his fingertips. Saber only realized what he had been doing when his brow furrowed and he averted his eyes. On her wrist was the reminder of a deep cut that had given her a handicap all those years ago.

He was looking for a scar.

She searched him for the mark that had ended his life in the last war, thanks to his foolish master. She was hit by a pang of guilt when she couldn't find it. His back was so torn apart she couldn't distinguish it from the other gouges roughly ingrained in his flesh.

"I slew three thousand four hundred men single-handedly, all to bring victory and glory to my captain." Her thoughts were interrupted by the continuation of his story, temporarily banished from her mind by the way his eyes caught the sun.

Why would heaven ever forsake this man?

"For many years I basked in the praise sent my way and nothing could make me happier than serving my lord." Just as suddenly as they lit, his amber eyes darkened, excitement dying in his throat.

"And I was also known for this," he sighed. He moved his hand up to tap the mole beneath his eye. "Diarmuid of the love spot!" he exclaimed, swiping his hand in front of him as if he was spelling his name in the air. The move was half-hearted, like he never had pride in such a title. And his eyes masked no pain.

His jaw tightened, and he spoke as if his words were poison, slowly killing him from within. "At first it dealt me no harm. It only added to my fame. Never did it cross my mind that this cursed spot would be my downfall."

"One day, my captain, Fionn Mac Cumhaill, whose years had finally caught up to him, had received word that his wife had died. He had many spouses, but Oisin, his son, suggested he marry Grainne, the beautiful daughter of the High King of Ireland. Their marriage was arranged."

At the mention of the Irish princess, Arturia swore she saw him wince, the scowl on his face only intensified as he resumed.

"Grainne's ignorance only bestowed upon her a heavy predicament. She thought she'd be the wife of Oisin, or even of Oscar, Fionn's grandson. Only at the celebration did she discover she was to marry the aging captain. Fionn, who could be her father, or even her grandfather, was soon to know her in bed. She despaired in silence beside her betrothed. One of the knights proposed a toast to their happy marriage..." Diarmuid trailed off.

At this point his voice was barely above a whisper, and he was looking so far, far away that though he was right here beside her, she feared that if she tried to touch him, her fingers would pass right through his image. This…this was where fate threw him into the abyss.

"Grainne fell for me the moment she saw the spot on my face."

And this was where gravity crushed him at rock-bottom.

"She came to my chamber in the depths of the night asking...no, begging me to elope. Tears laced her eyes, but despite her pleas, I refused. Such actions were forbidden. Never would I betray my lord. An honourable knight is forever loyal, is he not, King of Knights?"

He wasn't looking at her; wasn't expecting her to answer. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Of what worth is a false love?" he seethed though his teeth.

Saber tore her eyes from him and looked to the leaves of the tree she leaned against.

"And then?" she half-said, half-whispered, hoping she wouldn't provoke him. Suddenly the cool breeze blowing turned frigid, and she could no longer feel the warmth of her companion's ambiance.

Her voice soothed him enough that he could continue. "Many times, she repeated her request, and each time I denied her and told her to return to her quarters. In desperation, she cast a Geas on me, sealing my sin with her kiss. My world crumbled before me. I was stripped of my honour and shamed all in that one instant. She took all I lived for; she took everything from me: my life, my future, with just a kiss in return. Bound by the Geas, I had no choice. I succumbed to her wishes and we escaped into the night."

He laughed cruelly. "My Lord was furious. He sent hundreds of knights after me, promising wealth and power to the one who would strike me dead. The knights that fell by my hand were the same ones whose side I once fought on."

Arturia's eyes widened and flew to him, only to be avoided when he turned away.

"So many times it crossed my mind to stop and return to my lord's side and explain everything. I wished to go back, but Grainne's Geas was powerful. Surely my Lord would have me killed, but I would much rather have faced my fate than live in shame. I returned to Grainne, giving no word of the battle fought. It would never come to her knowledge that knights lay cold and dead in the rain as a result of her actions. It was her ignorance that brought this disaster. If only she had made efforts to know her fiancée, the battle could have been avoided. But, perhaps it was my fault as well, for having this love spot," Diarmuid narrated, eyes looking straight up to the canopy the small tree provided.

A deep gash across his jugular caught Saber's attention, and suddenly she was filled with rage.

Diarmuid was a mess of deep scars. Gashes on his back, gouges on his chest, lacerations all brutally decorating his body. He was made to suffer before he died. A cut to his neck would have sufficed and yet…

She chewed on her lip silently as she looked down at the white gown she wore to her last great ceremony.

Do I even deserve this?

"My sin was unforgivable. Men searched everywhere for clues to my whereabouts. Grainne and I were forced into hiding, remaining deep in the forest. During the years I spent with her, the look in her eyes never changed. It was trance-like, just like any woman's eyes would be when they gazed upon me. Though one of Royal blood, she was no different from the women I had charmed." Diarmuid laughed cruelly at his own fate. Saber watched him, her own fate replaying in her head.

"I knew I had to spend the rest of my life with Grainne, so I endured every day that had come to pass, faking smiles, pretending I was content…at least as pitiful as I was, I could make someone else happy. Finally, after years and years," Diarmuid stated, "word came that Fionn had forgiven us. We were overjoyed, finally being able to come out of hiding, but I was even more so, hoping I could once again fight by my Lord's side. I had served him for many years; I had been loyal and true. There was no reason that I couldn't serve him again, if he had really overlooked the event with Grainne."

There was a smile on his face that looked so forlorn that she wanted to tear it apart.

"To celebrate our freedom, Grainne, who missed her father, decided to hold a feast. Even my master was invited to the celebration. When we met, he showed no hostility. He treated me as he always had, merely waving off the subject of Grainne like it was nothing. He said he had lost a valuable subject, and had hoped I'd still be willing to fight on his side. With his word, my honour was restored. I couldn't be happier. The captain invited me on a hunting trip, and I agreed. I could finally serve the captain again."

Diarmuid was avoiding her eyes. She wondered if he was really telling the story for her or if he was doing it to remind himself of his cruel fate.

"When the day arrived, I took only my weaker sword and Gae Buidhe with me. We encountered a powerful boar that had once been human, which had the strength of a hundred men. Fionn and I fought it together. I did my best to shield Fionn and our other companions, but I was at a disadvantage, having only brought my weaker weapons. The boar was slain as the sun reached its peak. I had been fatally wounded. I lay drenched in my blood, a deep gash running through my abdomen."

Lancer traced where the wound was, like the pain was still there.

"At least my companions weren't harmed, I thought, and Fionn wasn't hurt at all. Water drunk from Fionn's hands had the power of healing; I thought he would aid me in my pitiful state. He approached, carrying water in his hands, but when he reached my side, he whispered close to my ear, 'Do you think I've forgotten what happened with Grainne?'"

Saber's head snapped to face Diarmuid, eyes wide and brows knit. Diarmuid continued, "I could do nothing but watch hopelessly as he let the water flow through his hands and scatter in the ground next to my head. "That's-!" Saber interrupted, but found no other words to say.

Her eyes sank to the grass, a frown slowly forming on her lips.

The raven-haired man blew his lone bang out of his face. "All I wished for during my second life was the loyalty I was denied. However, fate was too cruel." An image of Kayneth and Sola-Ui entered his mind. Tch. He touched his thumb to the mole beneath his eye.

"Well, that's all in the past. I'm done with being a servant...And I'm tired of Grainne."

How could he just dismiss it like that? What of his other scars? Had he been tortured? In the vicious sliver of life he had left, had his own captain wounded him? Mutilated him? Shamed him?

Before she knew what she was doing, she'd run her fingers gently over the lacerations on his back. Her brows had furrowed at the touch, green eyes widening in horror at the large gashes. Even sinners were spared this inhumane treatment, instead granted an undeserved, painless death.

How could anyone allow such horrid things to happen?

It was then that he turned and took her hand from his scars and enveloped it in his. Diarmuid met her distressed green eyes with guilty orange ones.

"You look distraught, King of Knights…"

He squeezed her hand soothingly. Her worried gaze only intensified. Shouldn't she be the one comforting him? She wasn't given a cruel curse. She wasn't the one forced against her will to betray. She wasn't the one who was given death by her own master. Hell, she was once a leader herself!

His palm felt cold in hers. It was so unlike the same hand that had led her earlier. Now, she no longer felt the warmth of his fingers, nor sensed the protective confidence he had when he led her here. Odd as it may sound, she desperately wanted it back. She gripped his hand firmly, leaning closer to him to meet his sunset eyes with her own concerned emerald orbs.

"You did not deserve this. Not any of it."

She shook her head slightly, her voice firm but consoling. Her words were barely above a whisper, as if they were for him and him only.

His eyes widened. The King's words were simple, but more than enough to rest his soul. In that single moment, he'd heard the words he'd yearned to hear for so long. He'd almost wished he could drown in the sea that was her eyes, If only to live frozen in this moment for all eternity.

He'd only realized he'd been crying when he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, tasting the salt of his tears between her knuckles.

Chapter Text

That was just how they were made.

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Diarmuid stared at the little King he was so fond of. He felt lighter than air, as if she had just released him from chains that had tied him down for ages. She had her head rested on the tree trunk, and the wind was playing with her hair.

…

He should really stop staring, shouldn't he?

"Why is your name and title King Arthur Pendragon? Forgive me if I sound rather rude, but that's the name that was passed in your legend. I realized it during our first duel, but I must say, I was quite surprised," he broke the comfortable silence that had come over them.

Saber smirked. "Such an odd question indeed, Lancer, but I suppose someone whom I've had the honour to fight should use my true name."

"Arturia..." the man voiced. He remembered the first time he'd ever heard her say it, a long, long time ago. "It suits you, King of Knights."

"You're one of the few who knows me by that name, Diarmuid O'Dyna."

"Oh," said the knight, "it is an honor then, to know Saber by her real name."

Arturia smirked, "Only if you deem it as such."

The man laughed, smiling into the back of his hand. She laughed with him.

The way he said her name felt almost foreign. She'd never been able to enjoy being called by it at all, having been called 'Arthur' her whole life. Shirou hadn't even asked for her name, nor did he use it when he had found out.

"I hope you didn't have a terrible fate like I did," the spearman said when the laughter came to a stop.

"Ah, well, I did not have charm magic bestowed upon me." Lancer tilted his head at this, giving her a half-smile.

Saber glanced at the little spot beneath his right eye before she spoke again, "Would the honourable First Knight of Fianna care to hear the tragic tale of King Arthur Pendragon?"

Lancer smirked, "Only if she wishes to share it."

This girl interested him. Between them, the mood was oddly familiar. The Knight of Fianna recalled the tales he shared with his comrades over food and drink. How strange that a lady could incite such a feeling in him. Well, she was a knight, after all. There was something about her that he just couldn't figure out. It was something only she had; something that he'd never come across in any other woman.

Arturia began, "The tale of King Arthur began in the dark times of Britain. The great King, Uther Pendragon had passed away. His kingdom grieved for him. His domain was in chaos, with no one to take up his crown. It was then that the mystical sword in the stone appeared. 'Whosoever pulleth this sword from this stone shall be the rightful King of all Britain.' Those were the words engraved on the rock. Though hundreds of gallant knights tried to remove the sword, it remained fastened to its sheath. One day, a small girl approached to try her hand at pulling out the blade."

Diarmuid raised his eyebrows to confirm Saber's person in the tale. She nodded sadly. Suddenly, he wondered if it was right to be curious of her past. Once, in his younger days he had taken a swift blow to his arm. Despite the healer's words, he sparred with one of the other knights just as he had been patched up. In the end, he had to forfeit. Reopened wounds were as excruciating as new ones.

He silently hoped her past wasn't as painful as he thought it was. He'd hate to see her cry again.

"Only I and Merlin, the greatest wizard in all the land, were present. I moved toward the stone, reaching for the handle. Before I could close my fingers around it, Merlin told me, "Before you attempt this, Arturia, I suggest you give great thought on regards to what you are about to commit to. Once you take that sword in hand, there is no returning. You will no longer be a mere human being.""

Saber sighed, closing her eyes. She tilted her head back to rest on the tree trunk. "Those words have haunted me ever since. As days became years, I realized that Merlin was right."

Lancer watched curiously, awaiting the story's continuation. He thought she looked slightly different with her hair down. She looked more...peaceful, as if she'd never seen the destruction brought by war or the effects of battle. Her golden locks swayed with the wind. Her eyes were beautiful and delicate, lips soft and pink.

What on Earth am I thinking?

His eyes left Arturia, focusing instead on the tiny flowers in the grass before him.

The girl continued her tale, eyes still shut. "I know…I have come here to free this sword on my own volition," said I, gripping the handle with both my hands. I recall the look on Merlin's face when I pulled out the magic sword. His eyes widened. His mouth was agape. It slid out smoothly, like a sword would leave a sheath." She smiled fondly.

"It was heavy then. It weighed down my arms as I held it up before me and marvelled at its beauty. The sword in the stone was too big for me; it reached almost to my chest at its full length. Merlin draped a long rich cape over my shoulders; more than half of the fabric trailed behind me as we marched through the kingdom. Upon reaching the King's quarters, he said to me solemnly, "I am sorry, Arturia, for such a great burden has been placed on the shoulders of such a young girl. Let glory and honor be on your side, my king. My life is yours. Though I am but one man, let my life be compensation for your sacrifice. Let it be this kingdom's gift of thanks," the man said, bowing."

Diarmuid's eyes drifted back to the woman he was facing. Her eyes were open now, focused on the canopy of leaves that bore the same colour. The corners of her mouth pulled downward. Aside from that, she remained blank, eyes refusing to show emotion.

"I was born and raised for that day. I played the role of Arthur Pendragon, the perfect king, the king my father had meant for me to be. There was no room for error, no time for wrong. All the teachings of my foster father, Sir Ector, finally became of use to me. I sharpened my skills in all aspects; my skill with the sword became best in the land. Merlin even made me master Mana Release."

Diarmuid raised his eyebrows. So she's not only skilled, but she uses mana for her strength as well?

"That skill proved useful many times. Don't you agree, Diarmuid?" she asked, remembering the duels she shared with her fellow knight. My strategies led to numerous victories. The Knights of the Round Table were ever loyal, staying by my side and leading the rest of my troops. "Our King is the god of battle. He may always be found leading the charge. He has never tasted defeat. No one can stand in King Arthur's way," my subjects used to say. "His countenance has remained the same ever since he drew the sword of choosing! Our King does not age! Truly, he is the embodiment of the dragon!" they said."

Arturia paused, and in those few quiet moments he saw her bite her lip.

"It sounds like you lived the life of another," he commented. He could already feel the air around her getting heavy, as if she had a huge burden on her shoulders.

"Perhaps I did. My dreams were dreams for my country. My actions were in the hopes of bringing my country glory. I played Arthur Pendragon so well that I even agreed to marry like any King should. The finest lady of the land, Lady Guinevere became Arthur's wife. We agreed to abide by the customs though I held no love for her. Instead, she and Lancelot...ahh... She became a close friend of mine. Guinevere had as close a friendship with me as Irisveil," Saber explained.

Lancelot?

"I..." For a moment, Saber's eyebrows crossed, like she had felt a sudden pain.

Diarmuid wanted to stop her right there.

"Before I had Camelot, I had to defeat Vortigern. The man had turned into a ferocious black dragon, the very avatar of Britain itself. In his last moments, he told me this "Child of my brother Uther. You cannot save this kingdom. You cannot win against mankind. Because the age of mystery had ended. The coming age is the age of civilization, the age of mankind. The power that is in your essence is at odds with humans. As long as you exist, Britain has no future. Curse your fate. The Old Britain has ended long ago."

The young king had her hand out in front of her, her expression so forlorn and lost. "Perhaps I should have listened to him."

Her hand clenched into a fist.

"The King cannot understand the hearts of his people." These words began being spoken in the corners of the kingdom. I began to drift apart from my comrades. They left one after the other, and before I realized it the Round Table was almost unoccupied. I couldn't comprehend why they had distanced themselves from me. "

The face she wore now was full of confusion, and she absent-mindedly clenched and unclenched her fist.

"And to add to the growing unrest, Lancelot, my strongest knight, had been meeting Guinevere in secret. The kingdom demanded that I punish her and my knight, but I chose to forgive them. More of my knights deserted me. It seemed my decision was not taken well. I knew the people were frustrated with me. There was never a moment when I didn't feel cornered or alone."

So…what happened was to be expected. While the King was out on an expedition, he left the kingdom on an unstable foundation. A rebellion was raised that divided the kingdom in two. "The Battle of Camlann" took place. What was once a beautiful kingdom was torn down to the ground. I returned and seized the kingdom once again. I fought my last battle with my domain barely holding on its own. But to do that...I had to kill a traitor...In a way, she was my own child, Mordred."

Saber put her hand over her stomach as if remembering the pain. "I think that was the first time I ever cried. I knelt on land stained red by blood of both my men and my enemies. It was as if Hell itself had surfaced. Weak and bleeding, I was taken from the battlefield by Sir Bedivere and Sir Gawain, the Knight of the Sun, but the latter did not see me to the end. He cried at his deathbed blaming himself for my death. He claimed it was his own selfishness that prevented Lancelot from coming to me. Sir Bedivere was the one knight still alive who remained by my side. With the little strength I had left, I had him return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake, its creator. I met my end leaning against a tree, facing a gallant knight."

She met his eyes. Green clashed with amber. The situation dawned on him. Diarmuid's heart sank. Here she was again, leaning on a tree, facing a knight; the situation repeated itself in this goddamned afterlife. She was breathing but it seemed like a lie. The knight sighed. He really had hoped she'd escape the cruel fate he'd heard whispered by drifting Servants like himself.

"Any regrets?" he asked.

"The reason I joined the Holy Grail war was to wish that someone more worthy would pull the sword from the stone...The only thing I worry about now is Britain, I wonder how my land is doing, after I left it so suddenly...I am still deeply sorry, but, recently, I've come to accept my life. I haven't completely forgiven myself, but someone taught me to be proud of my accomplishments," Saber smiled at the thought of a certain redhead.

"In fact, I don't even know why we're still here... I destroyed the Holy Grail. I am supposed to have died…and ultimately ceased my role as an Epic Spirit." she stated.

Oh. He hadn't thought about that, but in a way he was thankful. Seeing Saber again was quite a gift.

The man shifted.

"You know, there's one thing I can't believe in your story," the man remarked, not really knowing how to answer to her statement. He changed the subject. If it was possible he'd like to prolong her stay with him for as long as he can.

"Oh," the king raised an eyebrow, "and what is that?" Diarmuid was silent for a few moments. "Was Guinevere really the finest maiden in the land?" he asked, barely over a whisper. Halfway into his statement he inwardly slapped himself.

For what reason would I ask her that?

"Pardon me, Diarmuid, I didn't catch that. Might you repeat your question?" Saber asked, unconsciously tilting her head to the side.

He found that small nod of hers utterly adorable.

"Ah, nevermind. It's not important," he said as he shrugged it off. The pair was enveloped in an uncomfortable silence.

What now? He asked himself in his head. When was the last time he felt this flustered when speaking to a lady. Oh right. Never!

Saber turned and ran her fingers across the bark of the tree. "You know, because of my duties as a king, I don't think I've ever climbed a tree," Saber said softly, her tone almost sad.

Diarmuid stood, chuckling lightly, and offered his hand to Arturia once again. "Care to give it a try?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips. The blonde took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up. "Why not?"

Chapter Text

Arturia didn't know how to climb trees, but even then, she was bad at it. Right now she was struggling to grip the bark. "Perhaps we can try an easier tree. I feel oddly out of strength," she said.

It was like she barely had any control over her muscles. It didn't make any sense. If she really had just woken up, she shouldn't feel this weak at all. But even if she did feel a bit drained, it would be much easier if she could actually reach that stupid branch. She silently cursed her small stature.

Goodness, why should my height get in the way now?

Lancer had said it was all right to start with the tree that had served as their shade for their conversation since it had low branches. The branches really were low. For Lancer, anyway. Said man was pursing his lips. She swore he was hiding his laughter.

Damn that six-footer.

"Can I not just leap up there?"

"Knights do not cheat," he winked, "Besides, that's not necessary for an event like this," the knight said, smiling. The girl came close to pouting. "That is easy for you to saaa-AAAAH!" The king shrieked. Lancer lifted her up from her waist and set her down gently on the lowest branch.

Easy as lifting a feather. Diarmuid noted.

She gripped the bark like there was no tomorrow, desperately trying to still herself.

"Your face is all red. Is something the matter?" The knight asked as if nothing happened.

She brought her hand to her face. That sudden rush was a bit too much. "No, no, I was just taken by surprise...You have my thanks," Saber said regaining her composure.

"Though I wouldn't say that that was not cheating," she teased, easily receiving a chuckle from the man.

As soon as her eyes left him to see the view in front of her, she gasped. Beautiful. She could see so far from here. She'd never really known the world could look so vast, not from a low tree anyway. This little tree seemed so lucky. Saber didn't know what she'd give to see a wonderful view like this every day.

Why didn't she ever try this before?

Back on the ground, Diarmuid smiled. She looked so amazed, just like a child taken to the ocean for the first time.

A breeze blew her hair into her face. Lancer watched as she ran her fingers through her golden locks. Her hair looked so smooth, yet that one stubborn strand refused to go down. It suited her though, adding a bit of cuteness and rebellion to her look. He blew at his own stubborn bang.

Her eyes caught the sunlight, shining like emeralds.

God, she's beautiful. Lancer found himself in a familiar situation. There was a beautiful girl sitting on a low branch of a tree.

Saber, Guinevere couldn't have possibly been the finest lady of the land.

There he was, looking up at her.

Your subjects don't know how to look.

But, this time it was different.

The most beautiful lady in the land could not be Guinevere.

It wasn't the girl who was in love with him.

It's you.

It was-

"Diarmuid."

She called out, and when he looked, her eyes were filled with an immeasurable pain.

"There's something…something I need to tell you."

the same expression of anguish he'd seen on a knight who was deceived by a trusted friend, the same excruciating feeling he'd felt when Fionn had left him to die, the same countenance Saber herself had shown him when his cursed Master had ordered him to—

"You dare try to speak to my future wife, mongrel?"

An arrogant voice interrupted his thoughts.

Two pairs of eyes widened in disbelief?

That voice…that tone could it be…?

Red eyes and blonde hair materialized in the air next to Saber. She stiffened, but remained in her position, watching the man form from gold dust. So it was him… the man who looked like he was made in the heavens yet had the mind of someone hell born, the king who'd constantly mocked her very life, the vain devil who though he could seduce her with pretty words.

She hated him.

And yet for a brief moment, just before he'd died by her hand in the Grail war, she thought she'd seen…

Seen…

Something.

"Gilgamesh," she said simply, acknowledging his presence, though slightly annoyed.

"I'm touched you used my real name, Saber. This means you finally return my feelings, does it not?" his eyes glinted. "I have not forgotten my promise," the gold man smirked, "I am sure you haven't either."

At this, the female scoffed and turned away from the man she so abhorred.

Gilgamesh? Archer's true identity is Gilgamesh? What feelings? What promise? Questions plagued the Irish knight's mind. Well whatever they were talking about, he didn't like it.

More so since he figured they'd met recently.

After he died.

Eyebrows twitching, the knight patiently watched the King of Heroes, ready to act if the lady wished him to.

What was that basta— man…doing here anyway? What awful timing. He was rather enjoying his time alone with his— with the King of Knights. Really, couldn't he have waited just a few minutes, no, hours longer? Irritated orange eyes flew to the blonde, heavily armoured King.

Gilgamesh was now seated on the farther end of the branch, daringly close to Saber. Lancer didn't like Archer ten years ago, and his opinion did not change. There was just something about the arrogant king that got on his nerves. Besides the arrogance, of course.

Oh, and then there was the fact that he was stealing Saber's attention.

What?

Lancer inwardly slapped himself. He did not like where his thoughts were going.

As the knight lectured himself within his mind, the two kings had started an odd conversation.

"You know, Saber," the blonde man started, and for once, the irritating smirk he'd always sported disappeared from his face.

"I really did have fun."

Her eyes widened and she turned toward him in disbelief, jaw agape and everything. There it was again. The expression he'd worn when he looked at her just before he died. His gaze wasn't piercing, nor vain, nor cold. It was…warm.

Had Archer actually spoken kindly?

"And now that we have been reunited, I shall make you mine!" the king laughed.

Of course not.

Half-heartedly, the girl watched his countenance change back to the condescending face he always wore. She detested that look. A shame. Had he kept that warm gaze on a little longer, she might have actually tried to tolerate him.

The British woman displayed a face no different from her usual calm demeanour, the Irishman observed, but she looked, just the slightest bit disappointed. What had been going on in her head, he wondered. And just what had happened between the two Kings? They acted as if they'd just met. That couldn't have been possible.

Unless…

Diarmuid felt something go off in his head.

That lucky bastard.

Lancer silently watched Archer. For some reason, the man was getting on his nerves. Why was he even reacting this way? Appearing in a Grail war twice was not entirely impossible, wasn't it? Saber appeared twice too right? Still, the blonde man was definitely suspicious. His gaze turned into a glare. Gilgamesh was unpredictable; therefore, he was a threat. Threats must be eliminated immediately to ensure safety, right?

Lancer's glare was met with a scorching irate glower.

"Who gave you permission to gaze upon me, mongrel?" The king snarled, metal ringing as he clenched his fist. The knight deliberately ignored the tantrum, and continued unfazed and unafraid.

"Forgive me for disturbing your...interaction, but I think you should come down from there," Lancer said, taking note of his lavish heavy armor.

What was that? Saber thought she heard something. Must've been the wind.

"Oh," said Gilgamesh, raising an eyebrow as his scowl deepened, "and what gives you the authority to order around a king, you worm?"

There it is again. Saber thought. The girl looked around for the source.

"You and I were both slaves to the will of our masters. That puts us in the same class, does it not?" Lancer retorted, eyebrows crossed, as he moved to the ground under Saber.

"HAH! I'm the King of Heroes. YOU are but a mere knight! A dog!" the blonde man exclaimed, eyes growing ever more irritated.

*Crack*Saber's attention was directed to where the tree branch connected with the trunk. It ruptured.

Oh no.

"Don't put me on the same level as you, you MONG—!"

*CRAAAACK!*

There was a silent fleeting moment before gravity decided to act on the blondes. Gilgamesh fell rather undignified, crashing to the ground on his royal behind. Diarmuid extended his arms, already prepared to catch Saber. He caught her in a hugging fashion, her chin resting on his shoulder.

She's too light...I expected her to be heavier considering her strength. Maybe she relied on Mana release more than I thought.

The knight set her down gently. "Thank you, Lancer, but that wasn't necessary. I am fully capable of handling myself," the girl said, fixing her dress, a light blush being the only indication that she was embarrassed, and maybe more than a little flustered. The knight chuckled a bit, pleased and quite charmed by her reaction.

"True, but that wouldn't have been very knightly, would it," Diarmuid took her hand and brought it to his lips, bowing gracefully.

"My lady."

"Mongrel..." a menacing tone cut the atmosphere, interrupting the knights just before Lancer could touch her skin.

The pair turned, remembering they had company. "You dare forget my presence?! I am your king. Respect your ruler! It is enough of an insult that I am to stand on the same ground as you." The raven-haired knight sighed, his moment spoiled. Saber's eyebrow twitched.

For a king, you're quite impossible. If only I didn't feel so worn out, I'd have smacked some sense into him.

She disagreed with this king's ways of ruling. He was much too demanding of his subjects, treating them like slaves and forcing them into impossible works. He was a spoiled king and no one dared stand against him. Saber thought of her subjects as comrades and saw her people as ones to be protected and guarded with her own life. A king like Gilgamesh was simply unacceptable.

"And you!" Gilgamesh pointed an accusing finger at the spearman. "You should know that Saber belongs to ME!"

Saber swore she could hear a vein pop in her head. "King of Heroes, I do not-"

Saber stopped mid-sentence, interrupted by the change in the air. The temperature dropped and the air was heavy.

Magic?

Suddenly the servants felt their mana flare, reacting to the sudden burst of magic. A current flowed through Saber's mana circuits, suddenly filling her with so much energy, only to dissipate like mist as if it was never there. The heavy, mysterious fatigue settled on her shoulders again.

What on Earth?

"What was that?" The king locked eyes with her two companions. They felt it too.

"It seems someone's looking for us." The King of Heroes said, disinterestedly, "If you haven't noticed, Saber, we're not the only Servants present in this...realm." Gilgamesh voiced, a tinge of weariness evident in his tone.

To anyone else, there was nothing amiss, but to a fellow king…

Green eyes took in the Mesopotamian king's image. His shoulders were slouched slightly. Behind those red eyes hid exhaustion. No commoner would have noticed the change in the king, but Saber had been one herself. Something wasn't right.

What is going on?

"I bet you didn't notice, mongrel." The King of heroes sneered at Lancer.

"I have noticed, King of Heroes. This realm is full of different Servants from varying eras. I was not the first to appear, nor the last. I don't know who came before me, but after my appearance here, there were several. There was Rider, followed by a tall dark haired man whom I did not recognize. After several years there was a brute, who was the ancient Greek hero, Hercules. He was followed by two more violet-haired ones, a male Assassin and an elf-like female Caster. There was another whom I did not see clearly. He was followed by you, and finally, Saber."

Purple haired assassin? The Caster was definitely Medea. They appeared according to how they disappeared in the wars. And from both the wars too.

"Do not address me so familiarly, mongrel!"

Lancer grunted. He was this close to blowing a fuse and even closer to popping a vein. The King of Heroes definitely knew just how to anger those around him. It must have been a talent to be that audacious. Really, the man had to review his conduct. What kind of ridiculous king had this man been during his lifetime? And what about his subjects? What fools they must have been to have followed a sorry excuse for a king like him.

King of Heroes my foot.

On the other hand...

Lancer's gaze shifted to a more pleasing sight. Saber. Now Saber was a king he would have been honoured to dedicate his life to. She was chivalrous. She was kind to her people. She had a strong sense of justice.

Of course, she was suffering…

But she certainly was worthy of being called the greatest king. Saber was—

Saber?

The woman had a hand clutched at her chest, like her heart had just began to hurt. Her hand was balled into a tight fist and her teeth were clenched.

Lancer rushed forward, taking her free hand . "Are you all right? What's wrong?" his voice was so full of concern, that Saber met his eyes. But just as quickly as she did she left his gaze. She was in pain, but mixed in her eyes was…Was that guilt?

She removed her hand from his and pointed somewhere in the distance.

"We have to go there. Something's…pulling me in that direction. It hurts to resist," Saber explained through heavy breathing. Whatever that pulse of magic did, it was clear that the caster had just taken Saber hostage.

Lancer cursed. I should have been more careful.

"Let's go," he voiced, to Saber's surprise. "We don't have a choice now, do we?"

Saber nodded and followed, shooting Gilgamesh an undecipherable glance before catching up with Lancer.

When her green eyes left him he balled his fist up in frustration, and reluctantly followed the two knights. All the while his mind was running in circles, confused and irritated. Not at Saber, not even at that disgusting mongrel, but at himself.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

He felt weak. He felt powerless. He wasn't himself. He was drained. He couldn't do anything. He didn't have enough mana to even use the most basic of his skills.

Shit.

The Gate of Babylon wouldn't open.

Chapter Text

"Oh, be silent, King of Heroes!" Lancer snapped, quite fed up, only to be answered with even more insults than he ever knew existed. A couple of them were even in Babylonian.

Lancer could only wonder how Saber could put up with this man. From the moment they'd left he'd been shooting her with several err…attempts at seduction? For the first few minutes she'd been shooting him down but at some point had just been ignoring his remarks. It was clear by how he wasn't ceasing his barrage of… whatever it was… that he couldn't take a hint. Lancer, on the other hand might actually have been more irritated at the King of Heroes than Saber herself. It just didn't seem right to let him talk to Saber like that.

"I'd say Saber is more annoyed than caring towards you, King of Heroes." Eyes of gold orange clashed with red ones.

Saber…

She still had her fist over her chest.

Lancer cursed.

A few minutes into their trek he'd asked if she felt better. It still stung. She told him it felt like she was being tugged by something, as if there was a string tied around her heart. The more they traveled, the less it hurt, she explained, and that's all it took for Lancer to take it upon himself to ensure they got to their destination.

"Haaah? You dare say I'm mistaken? Are you challenging a king, you swine?" Gilgamesh's snake eyes flashed with annoyance.

"I shall not tolerate these nicknames any longer. As a knight, I cannot let that slide," Lancer declared angrily.

"Neither can I. Prepare to die, mongrel!" Gilgamesh shouted.

"Stop this nonsense!" Saber half-shouted, turning to face them with her fists clenched. Realizing she had just lost her temper she drew in a breath.

"I...am going to get to the bottom of this…" she put her hand over her chest. "With or without you."

She couldn't believe she just got caught in this ridiculous curse, and now thanks to her carelessness she was stuck trying to find her way to a place that was definitely not going to be good for her. The worst of it was that she had involved Lancer and unfortunately, that other king.

Ugh…

She whirled herself around and quickened her pace, leaving the two men watching her retreating back. Their eyes locked like the two dogs fighting over territory.

"If only you could be less obnoxious."

"If only you could go die like the pathetic, moronic, useless piece of existence you are, mongrel."

Diarmuid sighed. "I am going after her. If you want to come along, perhaps you should keep that mouth shut, lest we lose sight of her completely."

"You do not order me around, mongrel," he replied, eyebrows twitching in annoyance, nevertheless he followed, wiping the sweat from his brow before his…companions would notice.

Shit.

Thud.

"Nnnghh—!"

She'd only walked fifteen meters from them when she felt her heart scream. The ground wasn't a very comfortable place to land, but it was completely blocked out by the immeasurable pain that burned through her chest like lava.

"Arghh—"

It felt like she was being stabbed repeatedly in the same place. There was no physical wound. She wasn't bleeding. All she could do was try to bear it. The clenched hand she held at her chest threatened to tear her clothes. A sharp alarming sound was going off in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and block out everything. The black dizzying stars in her vision were dancing with the pain like she was some kind of joke.

Amid the rippling waves of agony she realized.

This does not make any sense…I am moving where this curse is taking me so why…?

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, the sting almost bringing her to tears.

Think.

Damn it was hard to work her mind around things when everything hurt.

"Saber?"

An uncertain call from Lancer. She silently hoped the vegetation wasn't so dense that he couldn't find her. Moments like this, she hated the most…when she was helpless. Like a damsel in distress that could do nothing but wait to be saved.

Just when she was about to black out, she thought she heard footsteps, before she was lifted off the ground by the back of her dress.

"L-let me down!" she managed.

"I would never let you down, if you would simply accept my proposal and marry me."

.

.

.

He should have never let her out of his sight. Not even for a second. If this greenery wasn't so goddamned thick he'd have found her by now.

Ugh…

What was even more unsettling was that whoever cursed Saber had done a good job. Neither he nor…*sigh* Gilgamesh noticed anything. Now she was being forced to make her way to some unknown area, which is definitely a trap, which could endanger her, which is bad, which is completely his fault, which…

"Let go of me!"

Saber?

That bastard must have gotten to her first!

"Gilgamesh, if you make ANY move to harm her I swear I—"

Oh.

He was met with two pairs of "where-were-you?" eyes. He marched toward the two silently, trying to ignore that the other man's arm lingered on the small of her back.

"What happened?" he asked, suddenly wondering if he had been gone for too long a time.

"I had only made it this far when it…" Saber put her hand on her chest, "…it crippled me."

Hm. Odd. The pain had stopped just as suddenly as it began. That made no sense. Unless…

Unless…

She eyed her two companions. A gallant knight. A conceited king. Each looking at her expectantly.

"I think…you have to come with me."

.

.

.

That idea did not go very well with the two men.

"Will it not be best if we reach our destination unscathed? We can't be certain if danger awaits us or not. I am not about to drag you both there."

I don't have the strength to do that.

The trio marched on. When Lancer had found her a few hours back, she didn't feel like herself. She felt drained. The long upward hike through the dense forest only made it worse. She kept on walking, but let Lancer take the lead, not being able to hike fast anymore. The sweat trickling down her face made her wish she had a mount right now. Sadly, summoning a mount like Iskandar or Medusa could wasn't one of her abilities. She was so exhausted, asking the King of Heroes for a ride on his plane seemed like quite the good idea.

She looked to the man who lagged behind. He looked exhausted, weighed down by his heavy gold armor.

Perhaps not.

His movements were sloppy and he panted, clearly dead beat. His hair was out of its usual updo, and his long blonde bangs clung to his face, wet with sweat. Whatever arrogance he once had was replaced with hardship. He didn't even notice her eyes on him. She'd hate to admit it, seeing the King of Heroes like this felt like an achievement. She might even be a bit entertained if she wasn't equally as fatigued as the blonde man. Being a King, she could understand what he must be going through. Unable to keep appearances was a big blunder; that must be why he looks so agonized.

But Gilgamesh was still suspicious. No matter how tired he might look, he is still a ridiculously powerful opponent. Another thing she'd hate to admit was that she almost lost their final fight, and thought Lady Luck might have played a role in letting her win.

Besides the fact that he could be a threat, there was one other thing she couldn't seem to get her head around. The moment right before he faded to dust, he'd caressed her face, and for the first time since she'd met him she thought she saw something else besides cruelty…something entirely human that she thought impossible for him to have.

When he found her on the ground a few hours ago, she'd expected a more painful ordeal. She definitely did not expect to be let down like she asked. And it wasn't like she ignored the arm he placed protectively behind her, no matter how annoyed she was at it. She wasn't going to fall back down, nor did she need any support. Frankly it felt embarrassing, but he still did it.

In the time it took after he disappeared till the moment we met again…perhaps he'd changed?

She shook her head, tearing her eyes from the King of Heroes. She shouldn't be thinking about such insignificant things right now.

Saber faced front again, staring at Lancer's back.

Why isn't he even breaking a sweat, when the King of Heroes and I are completely drained?

There had to be something strange going on. The absurdity of the present situation was a bit much. The pull on her heart wasn't as painful. Right now it was like a light tug every now and then. By some magical force she knew…

"Halfway there," Saber's voice quivered so slightly that any normal person would have missed it, but Diarmuid had known enough proud leaders to know she was worn out, and by experience he was wise enough not to point it out.

If anyone saw them like this...well. They were Epic Spirits: Beings so powerful that their names and deeds are known throughout the world. And here they were, walking like zombies on crack. It didn't even end there. Two were about to drop from exhaustion. Hell, the ever aggressive Gilgamesh, who was really close to Saber right now, wasn't even making a move. The Gilgamesh didn't make a move on Saber. Who could ever predict this? Even Gilgamesh's prideful stance went down the drain. Lancer took one more look at the two.

Well perhaps I should point it out.

He stopped abruptly, causing Saber to bump into him, the latter quickly mumbling an apology.

"Perhaps we should rest a moment. The sun is still high. If this is halfway, we can afford to spend an hour," the spear master said. He closed his eyes and signaled for silence, missing a questioning gaze and an annoyed glare.

There's no doubt in my mind that I heard—there! Running water, and not too far off.

"There's a body of water to the northeast…probably. We can take a rest there," Lancer said, pointing out the way.

The armoured man groaned. The metal defense must have been heavy as hell.

"How far, mongrel?" Gilgamesh asked, thinking the mongrel must be lucky to even be having a conversation with him.

"Do I appear to be a map to you?" Lancer sarcastically replied, but satisfied by the king's undignified look, nonetheless answered the man's question.

"Fourscore measures in the least," Lancer replied. He glanced at his companions. Saber looked like she was about to collapse; Gilgamesh even more so.

"I can carry you there, King of Knights, if you wish it," Lancer offered, not wanting any harm to come to the girl.

"Oi. Mongrel. Do not even think about—"

"I shall be fine, it shames me for you to worry about such a thing," Saber interrupted, though clearly exhausted, but more discomfited. Lancer sighed, knowing she would answer that way, and reluctantly resumed walking, casting a worried glance back at her.

They might not make it, he thought. The trio travelled in silence, two members too tired to make a sound.

Thankfully, Lancer was right about the water. They reached a small waterfall that emptied into a clear pool. Gilgamesh was too relieved that he raced to the water and brought the cold liquid to his mouth with his hands. His shoulders relaxed as he continued to drink. The King must've forgotten his status and arrogance, as he was gulping down the water even without a fine wine glass or a chalice.

Lancer stared at the King, sending a thankful prayer to the gods that there really was a spring here.

"We made it, Saber," Lancer said, walking slowly towards the waterfall.

"Saber?" he called out, only to be answered only by silence.

Red snake eyes and gold eyes raced to the young woman. She was pale, and she looked like she was about to—

"SABER!"

Chapter Text

He'd always seen Saber as the headstrong, confident knight he met ten years ago, the same beautiful young face that traded blows with him with such pride and honor that he couldn't help but be in awe of the woman. He still did, still viewed her as the warrior he met back then, except now he glimpsed the other side of the coin, the side Saber tried so hard to hide, the part of her he knew in the back of his mind existed yet didn't acknowledge, the face she never showed to anyone. He finally understood why she always kept on that solid facade.

His arms looped around her just before she hit the stony terrain, a sigh escaping his lips in relief. A few meters away, Diarmuid saw the King of Heroes had frantically scrambled his way to the woman, and stood frozen, now that she was safe. It terrified him, and left him troubled, that the King of Heroes mirrored his own expression: one that was panicked, chaotic, and concerned at the same time. Troubled him because the King was showing he actually cared, and it terrified him that such a little girl could invoke such a strong feeling in him…in them. Saber always put on a strong front because in the very rare occurrence it collapsed, it utterly destroyed the people around her. Just like how it rattled the King of Heroes and himself. Diarmuid looked away from red-eyes; there were much more important things to be dealt with, and the current matter was shoved into the back of his mind like a bad memory best forgotten.

Important things, meaning the unconscious female knight he had safely circled in his arms.

That was too close, she could have gotten hurt.

His lips curled downward into a grim line. Each time he touched her he was reminded she was frail: too small to be a warrior, too thin to have ever been able to wield a sword, and yet she could stand against him with ease. But collapsed and slack in his arms, the woman seemed as vulnerable as a child, and as fragile as a sheet of glass. He was too anxious to move her for fear she would shatter, and he'd be left alone again amid her broken pieces.

Inwardly, he gave himself a good, hard slap to the face. Saber wasn't a brittle piece of crystal, and when he looked at her it was still the mesmerizing knight that he saw. It's just…the more time he spent with her, the more it was getting harder to ignore the soft lips, the tiny frame, the lovely features that made Arturia a lady, and conversely stirred in him the overwhelming need to protect her.

Sharp stones poked at his soles from the rocky ground. This was certainly not the most ideal place to lay her down. With an ease that came with being such a strong knight, he got up gracefully, securing her in his arms, and looked for a comfortable place to bring Saber. As he moved, her head hung limp and her arms lazily dangled at her sides like an abused ragdoll's. The man's frown deepened. What would have happened if he wasn't there with her? His eyes snuck to the other man they were travelling with. What if she was alone with Gilgamesh?

Diarmuid turned away. He was here. What-ifs hardly signified anymore.

Except for one.

What if Gilgamesh was the one who caught her? What then?

Questions plagued his mind as much as the girl did.

If Lancer's thoughts tormented him, Gilgamesh's exploded into a chaotic mix of murder, irritation, and frustration. Lancer was turned away from the lake, unaware of the glare a very pissed off Archer was sending him.

Tch.

It had been a while since he'd had to remove his armor manually, and he did it with such ferocity that the gold clanged around him as they hit the hard rocks. He threw off the black garment he wore underneath the metal, as if trying to discard the inner turmoil that had been scratching at him to do torture that irksome, sex-deprived stud.

If there was anything keeping the King of Heroes at bay, it was that Saber was still very infuriatingly secure in that mongrel's arms and as much as his nerves popped at the idea that it wasn't he that caught her in her weakness, he had to be thankful someone had caught her at all. The rocks looked brutal enough to inflict some sort of damage, and even if they couldn't exactly die anymore, it couldn't hurt to be careful.

That did nothing to quell his fury at all, and it burned through his veins like the venom of those snakes he hated so much. Balled fists shook as he plunged himself back in the water to calm himself. A few minutes later, he would realize throwing punches at the water only made him more agitated, because the water evaded him the same way she'd always slipped between his fingers right when he thought he had her.

Saber…

It was a miracle he could find her again, and he wasn't going to waste it. He was puzzled, to say the least, when he'd awoke in the Throne of Heroes, when he was so sure Saber would see to it that the Grail was destroyed, but that ended up being beneficial to him, since it allowed him to see her again. Correspondingly, he had another chance to right things, except this time, that sorry excuse for a hero that had been such a pain ten years ago was back to block his way.

The worst thing was he couldn't do anything about it, because he could barely even support his own weight. From the pool he focused his energy on his castoff pieces of armor, hoping to make them disappear into his Gate, and was more exasperated to find out he could barely make them shimmer.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He slumped into the shallow pool, picking up stones and crushing them in his fingers to vent his aggravation. Gilgamesh seriously hated feeling this weak. The last time he felt this way was...when he died. He felt increasingly pathetic. He went away from the water for nothing, he was tired and exhausted and and and and he was actually rushing to save Saber. That girl better be damn thankful, he thought. Why the hell did that swine have to get to her first? He closed his eyes and slipped into the water, hoping it would dissolve the chaos in his head.

Suddenly, the energy he was robbed of came surging back through his veins like a storm. Fatigue left his body so fast as if he'd had a week's worth of rest in an instant.

Magic? He opened his eyes, scanning the pool of water before him, and ultimately landing on the shining crystal shards that pierced his hand. He brought his fingers out of the water to examine what was left of the stone he'd destroyed. The bluish pieces stuck to his blood, but as if time were turning back, he watched his broken skin mend itself, the blue crystal shards disappearing into the wound like it had never been there. Interesting.

"Mongrel."

Diarmuid was still holding Saber, looking for a comfortable place to put her down. Gilgamesh felt a tinge of jealousy, rising in his throat.

Why the hell is that bastard still holding her? The knight turned to him.

"Bring me my wife."

The knight hesitated, tightening his grip on her protectively. This only frustrated Gilgamesh more.

"Use those hideous eyes of yours, lowlife."

Reluctantly, Diarmuid approached the pool, hugging the unconscious girl close to his chest. The body of water was shallow along the edges, yet after a few feet sank into a deep cave. His eyes settled on the rocks that got Gilgamesh's attention. So, the arrogant one was trying to help after all. Diarmuid walked into the water until it reached his waist and slowly let Saber into the pool. He kept his arm on her back to support her and cradled her head with his other hand so she could breathe. She relaxed, like the water relieved her of all stress. When she looked like that, it felt comforting; it almost convinced Diarmuid that he'd never seen her faint at all.

"I'll do that, mongrel. You retrieve the crystals," Gilgamesh ordered, pulling Saber away from the knight. Diarmuid scowled, but knowing Saber would heal faster, waded to the deep.

"That's right worm. It's only fitting you obey those higher than you. Ha!" Gilgamesh smirked.

The spearman glared daggers at the arrogant king. "I shall never submit to you. This is for her," Lancer said as he pointed to the sleeping Saber.

"If you do anything to her," his eyes glistened with the ferocity of a lion, "I will kill you."

Diarmuid turned and dove, swimming down toward the nearest crystal, instantly feeling its effects on his skin. It felt ridiculously invigorating, and he wasn't even tired. If it did this to him, it would do wonders to Saber. Even just imagining her vivid green eyes open again sprouted a warm feeling in his chest, so he tugged at the crystal with vigor.

Eh?

The jewel stuck firm to the stone it was set in, and the small bubbles that escaped his lips did nothing to ease his worries.

This is going to take a while.

.

.

.

"Vile woman, why do you still resist me?" he said gently, so she would not wake. He found his fingers tracing her jawline before they rested on her chin. His eyes filled with amusement. How was it possible for someone to be so beautiful? That she had shown a moment of weakness before him troubled him a little bit but he knew that even when she looked like this, delicate and exposed, she had every ability to bounce back.

"Yet now, you're weak and defenseless." He leaned down closer to her sleeping form. Her hair was a golden halo around her head, swaying gently with the flow of the water. She wasn't awake yet, what's a little fun?

"How shall you defend against this, oh beautiful King of Knights?" He tilted her head up slowly, not taking her from her dreams. The centimeters that separated them taunted him, daring him to close the little gap that divided him from his queen. His bangs skimmed her forehead at their proximity, and when their noses touched, they shared breaths.

Funny. He hadn't heard his heart hammer like this in ages. It throbbed in his ears like a steady bass drum. Oh, he was excited, and her lips looked way too enticing to possibly resist.

Maybe I should go ahead and indulge.

Her eyes opened.

Oh. Shit.

In the next fleeting moment, she stared at him uncomprehending before Gilgamesh felt her fist connect with his face.

He recoiled, hand over his aching cheek. Gilgamesh spat blood as the inner part of his cheek continued to bleed.

"Wha-What in heaven's name are you doing?!" Saber shrieked as she thrashed about in the water, struggling to get her footing. The other King screamed back, "YOU SHOULD BE—Oh." Gilgamesh paused mid-rant. "Why, you're all red, Saber. So you have finally opened up to your true feelings for me."

"Nonsense!" She retorted, bringing her hands to her face, instantly surprised it felt hot. While her mind detested the gold-loving man and she knew, she knew, how much she despised him, her own body betrayed her. But she couldn't help it! She'd spent her entire life acting a male, only to have that farce forcibly shattered by the second Emiya, and then suddenly she's being treated like a woman, which is the entire opposite of what she used to be! Then, that inhumane creature who called himself a King was trying to kiss her? True, she'd been open enough to allow him to touch her when he said his last words, but the very little hope she developed that he'd changed was quickly snuffed out by this little piece of harassment he'd done.

"No point in trying to hide it, Saber," he teased, wiping off the blood on his lip with the back of his hand.

"Silence! What is this place? Why are you undressed?" she questioned, still uncharacteristically panicky.

"You tell me to be silent and yet ask for answers? Stupid woman."

"But—" Saber protested.

"Why am I dressed this way? Then should I take this off too—" The other king said, hands moving to the gold cord that held the garment up.

"Absolutely not! This is not how a ruler should conduct himself!" The female king screeched.

"But you were implying that—!"

It was then that Lancer surfaced, carrying a big crystal in his hands. He panted slightly, his wet, wavy hair clinging to his face. Sunset eyes flew from Saber to Archer. Blood trickled from Gilgamesh's lips and Saber was red as a tomato.

Eyes trailed after him as Lancer waded to Saber. He took her hand and closed her fingers around the crystal he brought. Saber's eyes brightened, her strength returning. "Glad to see you awake," Lancer smiled. Then he turned to Gilgamesh and scowled. "As for you, remember our deal?"

"Hah! You think you can kill me, the almighty owner of this universe?"

The Knight of Fianna smirked, causing the King's smug smile to disappear.

"One, you're not at full strength, while I am," The knight felt the surge of power from the crystal just moments ago. " And I've been here for much, much longer," Lancer said. The King of Heroes was scowling now.

"Two, you're useless without your Gate of Babylon. Right now, you don't even have the strength to summon a chalice."

The King of Heroes grit his teeth, clearly offended. But he was right. His magic circuits couldn't even support returning his armor to his treasury.

"Three, between the two of us, I am taller, heavier, stronger than you and have greater skill in hand-to-hand combat. But," Lancer paused. He swept his hand to the side and his long red spear materialized in his hand. "I am much better with a weapon." Lancer drew it back, ready to throw Gae Dearg.

"Prepare yourself, King of Heroes!"

"Wait."

Lancer stopped mid-throw, barely catching the spear by its tail. He glanced back at the woman behind him.

"We have to reach the area before sundown. I'm positive that our summoner wants all of us present. At this point, it will be best to play it safe," said the female blonde, who had regained her normal calm demeanor.

Sighing, Lancer resumed his usual casual stance, thinking Saber was right after all. Although the King would reappear somewhere else if killed here, it would take ages to find him. But though it wasn't like him, he couldn't help but wish he could skewer the King of Heroes through the chest. It ought to teach him some sort of lesson. Even if it didn't, the mere absence of the king would do loads to his emotional state. It's not like the King of Heroes would disappear permanently, anyway. They could always find him whenever they were in need of his help, which given Saber's and his own power combined, would be never. Now that, was an idea. But, sadly it seemed Arturia needed Goldy right now, as per her request, and it certainly was out of the question to deny a reasonable wish, especially one from the King of Knights.

"If you wish it, I shall follow, King of Knights," Lancer said, letting Gae Dearg dissipate into the air in front of him.

That the King of Heroes felt insulted was an understatement. To be at the mercy of a simple dog? Pathetic! He was the King of All, heaven be damned, he was a god! How could he let a mongrel even think they had the upper hand? But every time he tried to use his mana, his nerves would burn from the strain, accomplishing nothing, and frustrating him even more.

The healing crystal was held out to him at arm's length, offered to him by the King of Knights, who seemed to have regained the vitality he so adored. When he turned away, she didn't allow him to refuse, rather forcefully placing it in his arms. The sudden surge of relief didn't appease him as much as the brush of her fingers did. When they weren't hitting his face or holding a sword to his throat, they seemed quite soft.

Unfortunately, the crystal seemed to only heal physically, and though the blonde was slowly regaining his prana as he rested, that didn't mean he had the capacity to attack anyone. That would be completely all right with Gilgamesh, as his treasures need not be dirtied by the blood of the scum of the Earth, but right now the only one with an acceptable amount of mana was that miffing dog that dared call itself a knight.

But for now…with a wave of his hand and a smile that was more of relief than satisfaction, he succeeded in returning his armor through one of his golden gates. He winced at the sting, but he'd die before admitting his exhaustion, especially in front of Saber. He'd done well to keep face till now, but maybe the impatience that drove him to dematerialize to find Saber was a bit of a stretch. At least, that effort had not been in vain. To think that dog would dare touch Saber was just disgusting. What foolishness! Saber did not deserve to be level with the mongrels. Clearly the dog must be blind if it cannot see the difference between her and himself. No ruler would ever lower herself to the ranks of the hounds. What queen would do such a derogatory thing?

A snap of his fingers, and he reappeared fully clothed in his wide-necked shirt and snakeskin pants. Lancer and Saber got on the shore as well. The girl's dress clung to her curves tightly as water droplets danced in trails from her hair, to her neck, before falling to the stony ground. The white of the dress hid nothing, now that the water turned it translucent, and the silk warped around her frame so closely, it almost left nothing to the imagination.

"Nice view."

The words slipped from the blonde king's mouth before he could stop them, a wicked grin finding its way to the corners of his lips. Despite himself, Diarmuid's eyes wandered before he caught himself and looked away, muttering an embarrassed apology.

Saber crossed her arms over her chest, her face a shade of red darker. Why? She didn't know. She had no problem with things like this; she was a knight! There were times in the field of war where the battle was too close to be embarrassed about being seen nude. Her servants had seen her bare for most of her kingship. There was Kay too, and his father, and even Merlin. The eyes of men on her body had never made her feel conscious of herself, except for that one time when Shirou—! When Shirou… The woman's eyes darkened at the mere thought of his name. But these two men weren't Shirou. Diarmuid was a knight, and Gilgamesh an unreasonable king. Why should she feel so uncomfortable? All this could be solved if she could just phase into her battle dress, which by the horrid sting that tingled in her magic circuits was apparently not even an option.

A loud snap took her from her thoughts, and in the next instant a big black jacket materialized over her shoulders and an elegant dress shirt and jeans materialized in her hands. She didn't even need to look to know they were gifts from the King of Heroes. This would be the second time she'd received something from the King of Uruk. First, the finest wine she'd ever tasted from the banquet of kings, and now, these garments which looked to be the finest the modern world could offer.

"Saber, even humiliated you look beautiful; fitting for my wife. And though I enjoyed that little display, I shall not allow any mongrels to see you in such a pitiful state. That right is mine and mine alone."

The short woman's eyebrows crossed. "I do not belong to anyone, King of Heroes."

Not yet, you don't.

The woman moved swiftly through the vegetation. She wouldn't allow any more of an exposition, so she hid a little distance away. The clothes didn't let her mind stray from the King of Heroes and his red eyes, because she swore he winced just a little when he'd summoned those clothes. Just a little, not enough to be noticed by the indifferent mind. It would make sense that the King of Heroes was just as worn out as she was. They had just come from their own battle, which ultimately, he ended up defeated. His circuits should be near empty, like hers. Why would he go out of his way for her, when it was too clear he'd only ever seen her as an object?

The King of Heroes is being generous today.

Suddenly, it didn't feel so impossible that he'd changed.

…

Because Lancer was a gentleman, he turned away from the bush Saber hid behind to change. She must not have so careful in choosing a hiding place. Women were not objects, and they should be respected, particularly Saber. He had been treated like an object for far too long a time. There was no way he'd ever do the same to Arturia. The King of Heroes was wise enough not to push his luck. It was enough of a treat to see Saber so exposed, but if he wanted a queen, he should treat her as one. She did not let them wait long, and appeared in the attire Gilgamesh provided.

Saber glanced at Lancer, still drenched from head to toe. His hair stuck to his face instead of his usual hairstyle.

"Would you be so kind as to provide clothes for Lancer as well?"

Gilgamesh thought to himself. Mongrels don't deserve the rich clothing of Kings. But seeing Saber, who watched the other man run a hand through his dark hair, through the corner of his eye sent his stomach churning.

Jealousy hits hard.

Gilgamesh waved his hand and threw the clothes that materialized at Lancer, which prompted Saber to send him a stern look. Well at least now her attention was off of Lancer.

The raven-haired man caught them, throwing a suspicious glance in the King's direction, before reappearing in a white button-down and jeans.

Modern clothes?

"King of Heroes, why do you have these garments?" Saber asked. She didn't even have either of the outfits she wore in the modern world. Lancer didn't even wear a modern outfit.

"I spent much more time in the modern world than either of you. I had to do something."

"Then why do you have feminine clothes?"

…

The sun was still high in the sky as the trio marched on, and as the two blondes needed to regain their mana, they once again resorted to walking. The tugging in Saber's chest had stopped completely following her collapse, but now that they'd taken their short respite, it began to throb again, as if prompting them to move. Lancer took the lead again as the vegetation began to thicken. He swatted at the overgrown forest green with his red spear, clearing a path for the two Kings.

The forest…somehow seems familiar. Did I pass here sometime before?

"Lancer," Saber called.

The knight jumped, snapping out of his trance. "Is something the matter?" the woman asked.

"Nothing of the sort. Do you know where we are, Arturia?"

The girl felt oddly surprised. She still wasn't used to her own name. Well, except for when she told Diarmuid about it, but that was an introduction. She supposed Gilgamesh might know, but he wasn't even listening to the conversation.

"Not in the least," she replied.

Lancer raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain? We have all been here before," Lancer said. That was…weird. She should have figured it out by now since it has been a few hours.

At this, the King of Knights gave Diarmuid a questioning glance.

He ran his fingers through his hair saying, "We've been here since we died."

Saber felt the fog in her mind clear up a bit. She knew that. So this is the Throne of Heroes, huh? Her eyes drifted to the taller man's back. Should she tell him?

That she'd never died till recently?

That is was her first time here?

Should she?

"We wake up here in the state we are in when we died. The first time was when we entered a contract with the Grail, and when we are defeated in the war, we end up here again. That's probably why both of you were weak when you appeared here. Whenever one of us Epic Spirits accepts a summoning to fight for the Holy Grail, we are transported out of here, and into the real world. When we are defeated, we experience the way we originally died again. Before waking up here after my defeat in the Holy Grail War, I had to be fatally wounded by the enchanted boar again and had to be left to die. The next time I opened my eyes, I was in this realm again, in the state I was in when Fionn left me at death's door," Lancer said.

Makes sense. Saber thought.

"It is depressing, really. How many times must we be tormented by our death before this cursed Grail is satisfied?" The corners of his lips turned up in a painful smile.

"We are immortalized here, never aging. Spirits can eat or drink if they want, but hunger never seems to matter. We can even use our abilities and Noble Phantasms here. I have never explored the entire area. It goes on and on. In some areas of this realm there are castles. In other parts there are arenas where Spirits test their skills. We cannot die in any case. If we do disappear, we just come back," the Celtic one explained, waving his hands in the air as he did so.

"There are oddities though, like how we can still feel things as if we were alive, or how we wake up here as disoriented as we were the first time. Personally, I think we have to be shown our deaths over and over again so our desire for the Grail never wavers. I've been here for ten years since the Grail War I took part in and I remember everything. What I don't understand is why neither you nor Archer ever appeared till today."

So Gilgamesh really had stayed behind after the 4th war. Saber thought.

"This is the Throne of Heroes, a realm created by the Grail solely to house Servants for the War," Lancer announced. The blondes he addressed remained silent, realizing that this was their fate. There was no afterlife; there was no rebirth, no heaven or hell for the Epic Spirits. There was only this sort of purgatory that chained them to Earth: the Holy Grail.

"Welcome home."

Chapter Text

She almost wanted to think they were just three friends exploring the woods together; that he was no king, that he was no knight, and that she was no king of knights. They could easily be mistaken as such, wearing modern fashion, walking with swinging arms, bickering every now and then. But happy thoughts like that didn't exist in their world did it?

Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Her heart strained to beat under the pressure of the magic curse, but she willed herself to stay calm.

Breathe, Arturia…Breathe…

She kept her breaths even and bit back whimpers of pain, hoping to the heavens and beyond that Gilgamesh of all people would not notice. She stopped herself from looking back to check on him. At least he couldn't see her face. That made things much simpler.

Nearly…there…

She focused her vision forward on Lancer's back to keep herself from blacking out, but as he blurred and defocused, she knew she couldn't take much more of this stupid curse.

Lancer turned around with an eyebrow raised as if he was expecting an answer.

"My apologies, but I didn't quite hear you," she voiced, masking the strain with an apologetic smile.

Another eyebrow rose. "You must be exhausted. I merely suggested a brief respite."

"You worry too much. This is nothing compared to the challenges I faced in training."

The knight shot her a look, but turned and kept walking.

"If you say so…"

She watched his retreating back, wondering if she'd put up a good enough act. Arturia wanted this over with. The sooner they got there, the better. Every time they stopped, the pain only seemed to worsen. Another break was the last thing she needed. It hurt her pride enough that she fainted not long ago, and in front of the worst type of audience, no less.

"If you think you can fool me, you are mistaken, little girl."

The King of Heroes passed her on the right, eyebrows crossed and hands shoved in his pockets, leaving Arturia alone with her thoughts.

Fists clenched, she walked on.

…

It was hours before Saber talked again. The woman looked so weary, Diarmuid felt guilty for not insisting on another break.

"We've arrived."

Arturia breathed the words out in relief, feeling the bonds around her heart loosen. At the very least, the curse was over. Air had never tasted so sweet. She relished her unburdened breathing so much that she'd almost missed the beauty of the nature that surrounded her.

If the Garden of Eden did exist, then it would have to be here. Hidden within the dense forest they were travelling through was a clearing dotted with round white boulders. Colorful petals peeked up over a rolling green carpet of grass as if reaching towards the expansive blue sky. The breeze made the grass ripple as it twirled through the tiny bright meadow. Birds sang as if they were welcoming her into the little paradise. She held out her open palm, feeling the sunlight's warmth dance on her fingertips. Everything looked so surreal, like it was pulled out of child's storybook and brought to life before her eyes.

She tried to lock eyes with the other knight to thank him, but when she beheld the man, his eyes looked so hollow, she swore she was staring into straight into an abyss. The usual bright orange orbs had taken such a dark turn that they'd looked crimson under the shade of the trees.

Lancer?

She searched frantically for his warm aura and found nothing but a dank emptiness where it used to be. His gentle gaze turned cold. The face that showed such sincere smiles now grit teeth. Hands that had held her so carefully clenched tightly into shaking fists.

"I…need some water," Lancer murmured, disappearing back into the forest with his head hung before Saber could say anything to stop him.

What just happened?

"What now?"

The King of Knights was shaken from her thoughts by the sudden question. She'd almost forgotten her other companion since he was so silent for most of the journey. Saber turned to the King of Heroes, who glared at her with irate red eyes. His tone was stiff, like a challenge. As usual, Gilgamesh was a mystery to her. He had kept that attitude since the forest, and she did not know whether it was better to ask him about it or to leave him alone to reveal it himself. But, given as he was Gilgamesh, she didn't expect any answers either way.

"Now…we wait," she replied plainly, and watched as he pulled an entire couch out of a pocket dimension. His eyes glazed over for a second there, but it seemed he was regaining his mana.

"Care to join me?" he smirked, noticing her eyes on him.

And his attitude, apparently. She turned away from the king and his condescending eyes, and called Excalibur. The strain burned her veins, but just seeing the sword again, the only familiar thing she had in this unfamiliar world, brought a very welcome comforting feeling, as well as the assurance that she could at least summon basic things. She took one last look at the Sword of Promised Victory before letting it vanish into the air. It would be a while before she could actually use it though.

"Now wasn't that a little cruel? Showing me the very weapon you used to kill me just hours before?" Gilgamesh teased, leaning into his couch like he owned the world.

"You would know. You define cruelty after all," Saber stated coldly, but the man just laughed. She could tell he wanted something, even if for the most part, their conversations consisted of insults and disagreements.

"What is it you want, King of Heroes?"

"I believe you already know."

If he was talking about that preposterous proposal, he was out of his mind.

"I have no need of your nonsense."

She turned away from the King, heading in the direction Lancer had taken, to the blonde King's dismay.

"I do not grasp why you prefer that mongrel's company over mine," he grumbled, a tinge of envy slipping out of his usual supercilious voice.

"That, King of Heroes, is exactly why."

With those words and one last meaningful green-eyed look that Gilgamesh couldn't comprehend, she was gone.

Gilgamesh's standard smirk wavered, and then he burst out into laughter.

Did that woman just make him doubt himself?

Him, the King of Heroes, of all people!

What a woman.

Lancer's trail of cut shrubbery was easy to follow. He must have pulled out a spear, judging by how cleanly severed the branches were. The more she walked, though, the more she realized that maybe his slashes were a bit wider than necessary, nipping off tree bark here and there, and leaving tree roots bleeding and scattered about. It looked careless, or unfocused, as if he were hacking away without being aware of what he was doing. Larger gashes scarred the shrubbery as she continued down the path he left.

She clenched her fists. "Lancer?"

Silence.

She ran.

…

Red. Red. There was so much red.

Is this…my blood?

The Knight stared in horror at his bloodied hand, suddenly remembering the dire situation they were in. Where the hell was Fionn? And did he manage to beat the—

The boar! Where-?! Argh!

As he almost blacked out again, he realized he was missing half his gut.

Shit. Shit!

Black stars dancing in his view, he searched frantically for his comrades, feeling relief only when he saw the face of his lord.

Fionn! My Lord, you're safe!

He could almost smile despite the pain that racked his body when he saw his master try to bring him healing water from his hands.

He truly sees me as a knight again.

Drip. Drop. Drip.

His Lord cursed, once again running back to the water .

My Lord was just careless. He'll heal me. I know he will.

The water once again failed to reach his lips.

He will heal me. Don't doubt him, Oisin. He will heal me.

The water splashed, wasted on the ground right in front of his wide eyes.

Pain.

"You don't really think, I've forgotten about that have you?"

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

He lunged at his master, grabbing his wrist—

"—armuid!"

Huh?

That wasn't Fionn's voice…

He shook his head violently, opening his eyes only to have them met by wide green ones.

"Saber?"

When her eyes left his for her wrist, he blanched, realizing he'd been hurting her this whole time. He retracted his arm the next second, and stabbed the red spear into the ground next to him

"Saber, I—" he started, nursing the wrist he had nearly crushed in his grip.

"Do not trouble yourself with it," she interrupted, hiding her hand behind her back. "Are you all right, Lancer?"

Her words of worry were answered by panicked apologies.

"I should be asking you that. I must apologize, I didn't realize—"

"I told you not to worry about it," she reprimanded, as if nothing happened, "Shall we continue and get some water?" She asked, hoping to change the subject and take his mind off the earlier event.

Saber turned away from Lancer, already able to hear what sounded like a running stream. The man sure knew how to survive in the woods.

"I bet I can get to the stream before you can," she teased, smiling back at the man behind her.

He looked stunned for a moment before chuckling. Perhaps she wasn't hurt at all and he was just overreacting. After all, she was challenging him to a race.

"You looking to lose a bet, King of Knights?"

"Oh, I don't intend to lose, Lancer. On the count of three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

He raced on ahead of her, and when she was sure he was out of sight she discretely brought forward the arm she hid behind her back and examined the bluish skin just below her palm. It only made sense that he had a killer grip from all that expert weapon handling. If anything, she should have expected this. But what on earth could influence Diarmuid so much that he'd turn violent outside of a fight? Her eyes narrowed, and she uttered a simple healing incantation, instantly feeling the power drain from her system as she used her basic magic.

What on Earth had gotten into him?

She looked around and sighed, wondering if covering up the injury was the right thing to do.

Now to find that stream.

The two knights returned from their drink to find a drastically bored King of Heroes sipping on a glass of red wine as he lounged on his luxury sofa. As they had nothing to do, they decided to relax as well. Lancer plopped down on the grass and leaned on a tree, while Saber decided to walk around.

The petite one held her arm out of the shade of the thick canopy to feel the waning sunlight again. This time the rays were gentler, and they colored her pale palm orange as the sky. The entire landscape basked in the auburn light, and Saber found it difficult to think that the view was the same view as when they first arrived. There was just an unexplainable magic to the sunset that she loved.

To be honest, she did not know what to make of the beauty of her surroundings. It just seemed odd to her that such an evil tool as the Grail would contain such wonderful dimension as this. But, a sunset is a sunset. She used to watch them all the time with Kay. It became routine until she had taken the sword from the stone.

A short walk, and she found herself running her hand down one of the marble rocks in the middle of the field. It was unreal. Such beautiful things never occurred in the real world. Then again, perhaps she just never truly appreciated the beauty of Camelot in her old life. Was the grass this green? Was the sky so blue? Was the world painted in more colors than gray?

"Jeanne!"

The woman was shocked out of her thoughts upon recognition of the voice. Gae Dearg automatically appeared in Diarmuid's hand, and in the next second the Irishman put himself between the disturbed dark magus and the two somewhat defenseless kings.

Saber nearly frowned at Diarmuid's lack of trust in her ability to protect herself, but deciding he was only doing it for her best interest, turned her ire to the disgusting mage who had the nerve to show his face to her again.

"How many times must I tell you that I am not this Jeanne you speak of?!" Saber questioned angrily, frustrated that even after ten long years the magus hasn't realized the truth yet.

Lancer's eyes moved from the French man to the English woman. He vaguely remembered the fish-eyed one's complete obsession with the King of Knights, but nothing more. Though, he did grant them a chance to display their honor as knights, so that gave Diarmuid one thing to thank Gilles for…versus a thousand reasons to kill him.

"Is this stalker bothering you, Saber?" Lancer asked, pointing his spear at Caster. "Your defeat is certain, crooked one."

The red spear spun easily in his grasp as he took a stance, causing the gray-skinned man to flinch. Good, the man at least remembered how Saber and Diarmuid defeated his slimy minions that night ten years ago. But perhaps Lancer felt so enthusiastic that he forgot Saber could deal with her problems on her own.

"I am in no need of your protection,u Lancer. I am fully capable of defending myself," Saber reprimanded, her pride feeling a little bruised.

"Oh, Saber, don't be that way," he replied, not taking his eyes off his target.

"Is that really the proper way to treat someone who too was invited to this gathering?" Caster started, but his voice was lost in the bickering of the two knights.

"Lancer, you know I am in no need of protection."

"Of course, King of Knights, but it would be nice to rely on your comrades every now and then. You are a King after all."

"You speak the truth, but I think that dealing with Caster should not take even a minute for me alone," Saber argued.

"Then it will take even less time if we collaborate, will it not?" Lancer countered, not backing down.

And so, the French magus was left only to watch as his Jeanne fought with the pretty Irish dude. Well, this was certainly unexpected. Surely Jeanne would prefer to talk to him over that pagan Knight, wouldn't she? So why was he being ignored, and why of all things was she entertaining that tarnished adulterous playboy? A sinner whom she didn't even know! Why, when he was right here?

No matter, once he successfully returned her to her right mind then he could spend all the time he wanted by her side again. At least for now, he could settle for some attention.

"Jeanne—" he started again, in vain.

"Mongrel, what gives you the idea that you may speak to my wife for such a long period of time?" Gilgamesh shouted from his couch.

"I am not your wife!"

"Saber is hardly your spouse!"

Clearly these two boys weren't going to give him any time at all. And still these duffers call themselves Heroic Spirits.

Caster's brows knit together. He'd be damned if he let those two get in between him and his love. He'd been here for ten agonizing years waiting for her to show up once the Grail War concluded, and here she was, right in front of his eyes. His countless prayers have finally been answered. Like hell he'd let the chance go to waste. He flung his hand forward, muttering a chant under his breath.

With my hand I open the gates of hell

With my blood I summon the beast

Come forth tendrils of below

And capture the maiden I—

The spell was broken with the sudden bang of a thunderclap, and from the heavens fell a heavy war chariot, alive with lightning.

"HOHOHO! Has the King of Knights finally fallen in love? About time!" The boom made him seem like a high Santa Claus.

What in Jeanne's name—Rider? Gilles' magic disappeared undetected, having been interrupted by the thunder of a hero that barged in.

"Don't make assumptions," Saber reacted, automatically recognizing the voice, "King of Conquerors."

She could roll her eyes right now. Arturia hadn't forgotten how this King of ignoble blood had managed to ridicule her way of ruling so easily, as if it had been flawed in every imaginable way. He'd picked at every little thing, scrutinized every detail, and trashed it without a thought to spare. And yet…there may have been truth to his words. After all, he was wishing to expand his rule, and she was wishing to end hers. Still, she couldn't have been completely erroneous.

The King of Heroes may have laughed. But he never said she was wrong. She slipped a brief glance at the blonde man, before welcoming the King of Conquerors. It was not wise to dwell on such strange thoughts.

The colossal man waved at the trio, cape melting into the sunset. But the more they looked, the Servants found two white masks poking out of Iskandar's huge silhouette. Behind him stood two Assassins: a male and a violet-haired female. Hassan. Upon his reaching the trio, the two Assassins remained a safe distance from the King of Heroes and the King of Conquerors himself, but Iskandar approached with no fear. He stood, chest out proudly.

"I am honored to have faced such formidable foes in the war. I shall defeat you next time, King of Heroes," he beamed, showing that big goofy smile of his, as if the bloody, sword-covered death was but a dream and nothing more to him.

Gilgamesh scoffed from his place on his couch. "Ridiculous. The likes of you could never defeat me, the King of all."

Iskandar, at that point, should have at least felt a little shame. However, the red-haired hulk did nothing but stand akimbo and mirror the King of Heroes' signature smirk, leading the blonde to raise an irritated eyebrow.

"You claim to be undefeatable and yet," Iskandar pointed to the adorable King of Knights, "did this dreaming little girl not defeat you in the last war?"

Gilgamesh froze, eyes wide as dinner plates. How in the world—

"HOOOOOOH! So it is true! My sources are indeed reliable!" the King of Conquerors guffawed. The Assassins joined him, snickering in the slightest manner. Even Caster found it amusing.

"Do you desire a repetition of the death you experienced, insolent lowlife?" Perhaps the pain you experienced was not sufficient!" Gilgamesh raged, leaving his couch to stomp menacingly towards the heavily muscled man.

"WOAH THERE, hold your horses, King of Heroes, do we not still have to convene with our summoner?" Iskandar laughed awkwardly, putting his hands in front of him in a desperate attempt to quell the anger he just caused. As much as he would love to tease the shorter king, that defeat ten years ago hurt like hell.

Red eyes momentarily left their huge target and settled on the shortest king, who had her arms folded and was currently looking away.

"Hmph. Be grateful that your King is merciful," Gilgamesh said. He could teach this mongrel a lesson later. Even make a show of it. Maybe then Saber wouldn't show such a disapproving face. Wait a minute. What the hell? When did he start caring what she thinks?

"I will not be reduced to being your subject, King of Heroes. Instead, you should consider joining my army!" Iskandar suggested, as he had done many years ago. Clearly he hadn't gotten the message.

"Is that something you should ask of a king?" The snake-eyed king bit back. This idiot was really pushing it.

Forgotten among honorable kings, knights, and both, Caster cursed. No doubt he could trump the two blondes, judging by their low levels of prana, and the Lancer didn't seem like too much work. A quick summoning spell of his little creatures ought to do the trick, especially since the things were itching to get back at Lancer for taking away their little blonde toy. But Caster didn't have enough power to deal with a team of Rider, Lancer, and Assassin, who no doubt would side with Jeanne, given how he had acted when they all met last. He had left an impression, yes, but not a good one. He'd have to act when he and Jeanne were alone. For now…he could wait a little longer.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and Diarmuid swore Caster was up to something just now, and sent the gray-skinned man a suspicious look, which the man took no notice of. Whatever malicious intent he sensed a moment ago was temporarily gone, perhaps due to the appearance of both Rider and Assassin, but that didn't let Caster off the hook. He had done such horrendous things in the 4th Grail War, plus he had an unsettling obsession with Saber, and that definitely did not sit well with the Irish knight.

Saber met Lancer's eyes. They both sighed. Seems they were thinking the same thing. Lancer's expression turned somewhat serious.

There was yet another who some disturbing obsession with Saber though (making the count one…two…three? Three.), and in Lancer's opinion he was much more of a threat than Caster. It baffled the knight how Arturia's eyes showed not a hint of worry, rather, they were laced with…guilt?

But why?

"One missing from the participants of our war," Lancer concluded, singling out the only one not present.

As if on cue, a knight with long purple hair bowed before Saber, his long locks reaching the grass.

"My king."

"Sir Lancelot," Saber said, quite surprised, prompting all the 4th Grail War contenders to look their way. Her knight appeared out of nowhere. Saber knew he would show up sometime. It was clear the intentions of the spell's caster were to bring all the Grail contestants together, and that meant Lancelot would no doubt, come.

"Sir Lancelot, there is no need for such formalities in this gathering," Saber lectured.

No roars. No violent fits of chaos. He seemed to have gained back the sanity he was deprived of during the war. What remained was a stoic, elegant face and an ever serious expression.

Lancelot? The name seemed to trigger a flow of information from the Throne of Heroes for all the servants. Was this gentleman…Berserker?

The other Servants, however, had never seen the side to him that made any actual sense. Hell, he couldn't even speak anything but 'RAH' and "hwoooh" back when they were competing for the Grail. The man that was before them right now was an absolute stranger to them, as he was neither the mad dog, nor the black roaring beast of a man that appeared at the most untimely moments.

"You are kind as always, my liege. However…I still…I still desire punishment for the incident with Guinevere. Because of my actions, you—"

Saber sighed, cutting him off, ignoring the tug at her heart. "Really, what do I do with you?" She asked no one in particular, shaking her head slightly. She gently cupped his face with her right hand, prompting the King of Heroes to put on a bitter scowl.

"When will you understand that I forgive you?" she asked solemnly. Rider almost scoffed. It seemed Saber really did treat all her subjects like they were sheets of glass. Even the ones that deserved to be punished. If it were him, he'd be having this guy walk straight off a cliff. That is, if he really had a woman to fight for.

Berserker just stared back at his king solemnly, finding sincerity in her eyes and gentleness in her beautiful smile. And somehow, forgiveness seemed even more of a punishment than death.

How could you?

"As you wish," he said seriously, taking a look around and realizing this matter could be discussed at a later time. He stood, towering over the petite King. She seemed used to it, as she smiled back at her knight.

Her knight.

Gods. Lancer inwardly slapped himself. I'm thinking too much.

Suddenly, there was a flash of blue. An Irish man materialized in the middle of the group. He opened his eyes, revealing blood red orbs.

"Who the hell are you people?"

His eyes roamed the crowd. There was a huge man clad in red. Red? What horrible taste in clothing. Red is for women. Next to 'Red' were two black-clad masked freaks. He so did not want to talk with them. There was an even creepier gray skinned man with—wait…Are his eyes normal? Last time he checked, eyes pointed forward. Then there was a man who looked sort of familiar… And there was another man who had really…long hair. His eyes landed on the two Servants he recognized.

"That bastard, and Saber," the mysterious blue-clad man said, "what is your business in this area?"

Five of the Servants turned to the two who were called out, wondering who this rough man was. Rider assessed his looks from head to toe. Blue? What horrible taste in clothing. Blue is for women.Iskandar thought.

Saber interrupted before Gilgamesh could lash out at the blue warrior. "Lancer, were you summoned as well?" she questioned, noticing the other Irish man perk up at her words.

Diarmuid raised his eyebrows. Lancer? The Knight of Fianna racked his brain for a name. This man looked familiar; he hailed from the same land, definitely. A wild, bestial look that supposedly made maidens swoon, a barbed, deathly looking spear, and lastly… a name that was spoken of highly, one that was praised long after his death, even among the Fianna.

"Cu Chulainn," the raven-haired Lancer called out. Saber's eyes went back to the man who spoke, eyes immediately flashing a curious look.

The blue man kept silent for a moment, piecing name and face together. He kind of looked familiar…like that kid he saw this one time. He had the same features, except he was much older now, he should think. The Throne of Heroes they were all currently standing in gave him the last clue he needed. This guy was a Lancer too.

"Diarmuid O'Dyna, fancy meeting you here, though you were just a kid back then. To think you grew up to be a warrior too, huh. The Grail labels you as a Lancer, doesn't it? I can't believe you were summoned before me. You know what?" he said, waving Gae Bolg in his hands easily, "How about we test which one of us is truly the most skilled master of the spear?"

He lunged. Diarmuid quickly stepped between the fearless Lancer and Saber, moving his own spear to deflect his opponent's, but the very moment their weapons collided, Saber's heart screamed in her chest.

Saber protested, "Both of you, cease this foolishness!" She strained against the excruciating pain that gripped her heart once more. Not good. Not good. Not good. No!

Diarmuid stopped short at the King's words, barely parrying a blow to his neck. Damn it, Cú Chulainn!

Saber's breathing became labored, drawing red snake eyes in her direction. Should he tell them to stop? They won't listen. Should he stop them with weapons? It would worsen her pain. Should he pull them apart? Like hell he'd stoop low enough to touch those mongrels. Perhaps he'd kill them.

"HOOOH! The Lancers of different wars! This truly is a sight to behold!" The huge man came between them and slung his heavy, HEAVY, arms over their shoulders. "But can't we just get along?" Saber sighed, relieved at the efforts of the Red King. Gilgamesh's swords, already half out of their portals disappeared once again into his treasury.

"Bastard, who are you?" Cu interrogated. His spear forgotten on the ground, he struggled to release himself from the big man's death grip.

"Why, I am the King of Conquerors!" he beamed in reply. Lancer and Lancer were not amused.

"I do not see why you should stop our duel, King of Corn Sorcerers or whatever. Here we have Servants, all built for the fight, and yet you stop a duel between men," Cu Chulainn protested, still squirming in the big man's grasp.

Corn Sorcerers? "A duel, you say?" the King of Conquerors challenged, "This is not a duel." The bearded man let go of the other Lancer, who rubbed his neck. He then whispered to the blue-haired man still in his death grip, "Can you not see that this man does not wish to fight? Not now, in any case." The blue man stopped struggling, actually listening to the words of the older man. Really? Who in their right mind would refuse a duel from him? Besides, everyone here was certainly worthy. Archer and Saber may seem to have such little mana left, but hell, Saber had a pathetic Master in their war and still managed to kick ass. Then there was Archer...that demon.

"With the lady there…" Iskandar pointed to the only woman present, who was currently speaking to Lancelot…and ignoring Caster, "wishing to keep the peace, your opponent has no desire to spar with you." The colossal man let go of his air-deprived captive.

"If I were you, I would not want to spar with a man held back by the wishes of the lady he fancies. Perhaps at a later time," Iskandar lectured, a knowing smile on his face.

Fancies? Cu questioned. Though he hated to admit it, this…King of Corn Sorcerers was right. If he could not fight his opponent at full strength, he did not want a duel at all. Fancies? That Lancer fancies Saber? That notorious playboy? Wasn't he married to some dumb babe? Cu Chalainn observed his counterpart. He was still with the Red guy and himself, but he was staring back at the King of Knights, who seemed to be...to be catching her breath? Hm. So he does fancy the little lion.

"NOW, let us commemorate this meeting with some wine!" The huge man grabbed both Lancers by the cloth at the back of their necks and dragged them to Gilgamesh.

It's this attitude that made Rider's master so scared isn't it? Diarmuid thought as he struggled to regain his footing. "HAHAHA! You look pathetic, Lancers! Are you truly Epic Heroes, mongrels?" Gilgamesh mocked as the odd trio reached him. He was momentarily distracted from Saber and the girl had engaged in a conversation with her knight.

"Say, King of Heroes, how about you bring out that fine wine of yours?" asked the buff hero.

"What madness brings you to think that I would share the finest wine in the universe with my subjects?" he accused arrogantly in reply.

"Aw, and I was looking forward to a fine drink," the Red King pouted childishly.

Despite his words, the blonde king waved a hand in the air and several golden chalices materialized, along with a gold pitcher full of wine. His red eyes faltered for a moment as the magic energy flowed out of him, but he refused to show any more weakness and resumed his arrogant face. Saber raised an eyebrow at him before resuming her conversation with the other British knight.

Gilgamesh saw a little opportunity arise and he smiled at his thoughts. What a clever king you are. He said to himself. Red wine flowed out of the jug and into one of the fine chalices. Gilgamesh grabbed it, eyes glinting, and approached the pair of British knights.

"Well," the King of Heroes interrupted, rudely stepping between the pair, "we can all enjoy this fine wine together or…" The arrogant king turned to the other servants, "you can all amuse me with your blood."

Was that a challenge?

His smile was sinister. The Servants could tell he was serious. The blue Lancer for one, was itching to get back at Gilgamesh for the horrid defeat not a day ago, yet wanted to keep the peace at least until the mysterious summoner reveals his purpose. He grit his teeth. He did not want to die by the hands of the same man twice.

Meanwhile, the petite girl glared up at Gilgamesh as if scolding him for his preposterous statement. Not only that, but her conversation was rudely interrupted. Gilgamesh had tripped the stability of the situation. Any time now, the assembled Servants may break out into a war. Gilgamesh himself was unpredictable, and Caster was even more so. No one could tell what the Assassins were thinking. Even as the King of Heroes was exhausted of mana, his looks may be deceiving. Judging by how Lancer was at full power, the other Servants present would be so as well, leaving the participants of the 5th Grail war, namely she, Cu, and Gilgamesh, at the mercy of even just a single angry Servant.

"But," he said, "whether the red we see is of blood or wine is entirely up to you, Saber." He sampled the wine in the goblet he held and turned the chalice in his hand. Iskandar raised a red eyebrow, noticing the familiarity of the King's words.

What is your decision, adorable King of Knights? Gilgamesh thought to himself. There was no way she could refuse.

The blondes warred with their eyes. Saber did not want any fighting for the day, especially since none of them had an idea why they were summoned. Plus, she didn't think she could take much more of the attacks on her heart.

Something big was about to happen. Even Cú showed up, and he was from a different war. As much as possible, she'd like to keep the fighting to a minimum. However, if she chose the wine, that would mean she was accepting yet another gift from that king. It was a form of surrender to one who she considered despicable. Egad.

The air around her was tense. Even the loud King of Conquerors was serious, eyeing the other Servants around him, but mostly, they fixated on the man that had been the reason for his loss in the 4th war. The Assassins were already back-to-back clearly preparing for an incoming battle. Caster, for some reason, was vengefully looking at Diarmuid, who was held back by the King of Conquerors' left hand. The blue-haired Lancer was stiff, though still in Rider's grip, as if in the next second his prized spear would reappear in his hands. The other Lancer was about to interfere but his actions were stilled as Berserker broke the silence. "My King," he addressed Saber seriously, "if this man is troubling you, then I shall rid this world of him at on—"

Saber raised her hand, signaling for his silence. Gilgamesh huffed, receiving a glare from the purple-haired knight. Face indifferent, Saber took the chalice from Gilgamesh's hand though he did not offer it. She brought it to her lips, unknowingly touching where the other king's own lips had been. He grinned at her actions.

"Be thankful, mongrels!" The servants, though disgusted at the standard nickname the King of Heroes had given them, were relieved at the actions of the female king. At least she wanted to keep the peace, no matter how short it may end up to be. The floating jug of wine filled the other chalices, which floated to the Servants present. After a toast, they all sampled the red liquid. Eyes widened one after the other. (Except for the Assassins, mask and all, and Caster because, well could his eyes actually widen more?) It truly was the finest of fine wine. Truly fit only for a king.

"That is the way to do it, King of Heroes!" Iskandar bellowed, already refilling his cup. "This wine is even better than the one we shared before!" he announced, bringing up a very distasteful memory in the Assassins and Saber.

"Do not address me so familiarly, mongrel. But as the one true King, only the finest wine would ever reach my collection," Gilgamesh explained, continuing to enjoy his endless stash of wine.

Iskandar finally forgot to hold the death grip on his two parallel captives. The Lancers distanced themselves from him, learning to fear the man's grip. Man, arm wrestling with him would be hell.

The two spearmen exchanged glances. It could wait. They came to a silent agreement.

Gilgamesh refilled the cup Saber took from him as she watched silently. There was a sudden flash of pink reflecting on the jug. The woman turned, careful not to spill the contents of her gold chalice. Soon, all the Servants followed, trying to identify the new arrival. The pink was from her floor-length straight hair. Her features were womanly and delicate, yet she hid her eyes behind a thick mask. On her forehead was a strange red tattoo. Her clothes were tight fitting and black, matching the ornament on her face. The woman surveyed the crowd, choosing to address Saber out of the pair of Servants she recognized.

"Saber," she said, ignoring the presence of the other strange Servants, "you and Lancer were summoned as well?" The knight was taken aback. It seems that the Greek woman had a newfound respect for her. Saber nodded and said, "I assume you do not have an inkling of our purpose here either."

The other female agreed, prompting a defeated sigh from the blonde. They were no way closer to discovering anything about their sudden summoning.

"And who are these other Spirits?" the long-haired woman phrased lowly, cautious of their other companions.

"The Servants of the Fourth Holy Grail War," Saber answered. The older woman looked over the crowd once again, studying their probable abilities and build. She contemplated on whether she had enough strength to face even one of them. She frowned. Maybe not.

"So you participated in the past war too?" she asked, noticing that only King Arthur of the present crowd could fill the position of Saber. No other Spirits fit the image. Maybe the other blonde was Archer of the 4th war. Speaking of Archers, where was the white-haired Archer she knew?

King Arthur nodded, confirming the woman's hypothesis. "What Servant are you, lass?" Iskandar asked, curious about the new arrival.

"I am Rider, although normally one would introduce himself first before asking others."

"HOOOOH! So this is my counterpart? It is an honor indeed! We have much to discuss, but first, I am Iskandar, the King of Conquerors! Who might you be, woman, and why do you hide behind a mask?"

This man is very forward. Rider thought. But as we all shall be participating in this…strange activity, it should be alright to introduce ourselves. The Servants were curious. What could she be hiding behind her mask?

"I am Medusa," she said simply.

...Maybe it's best to not see behind the mask.

"Perhaps," she continued, "you may also honor me with your names and titles."

The suggestion was put on hold though, with the arrival of two more Servants, both with purple hair. The air shimmered behind Medusa before a Japanese samurai and an elf woman appeared. The 4th Grail War participants stared, remaining curious about the two. Maybe they were their counterparts. That would be most interesting.

"Caster and Assassin," Saber acknowledged. The male greeted her back courteously, amused at the growing scowl of Gilgamesh's face.

"Greetings, little lion," he said. Saber smiled. Seeing this, despite the King of Heroes' bratty attitude, he sent three chalices of red wine to the trio of new arrivals.

Seizing this chance, the King of Heroes talked to his Saber, all the while preventing Lancelot from speaking to her again. Saber began to scold him, and he asked, "Who are you, my mother?"

Anything to impress the lady of his interest, eh? The Japanese Assassin thought, accepting the wine. Medusa did the same, and was quickly swept a little away from the crowd by her huge counterpart, who asked her questions to no end. The poor girl wasn't much of the talking type and was slightly overwhelmed by the chatty king. The rest of the Servants conversed with each other, Lancer and Lancer even talked in Irish. Gilles de Rais was curious about his own counterpart, but cautiously watched on.

The third chalice remained untouched. Caster? Assassin thought. The woman's jaw was clenched. Her fists were closed tight, shaking from the force. Her brows were knit. Her eyes filled with murderous intent and rage. Assassin followed his former master's eyes.

Gilgamesh? But why would Caster be angry at—

Caster murmured something so soft he almost missed it.

"Soichirou-sama," she whispered, her voice cracking with both grief and rage. A magic circle appeared.

Chottomatte. Assassin thought. Does she intend to attack him?

"Caster, it is not wise to—"

Too late.

"Burn."

Chapter Text

Intricate symbols burned through the grass at the magus's feet, scorching a red hot scar into the dainty flowerbed they all stood in. Wisps of power shot up from her feet and were channeled with practiced ease into her accusing finger, which aimed itself at her killer. A single word was the trigger, and all at once the concentrated magic hurtled towards its unsuspecting blonde target, expanding into menacing tendrils of burning vengeance.

Green eyes, distracted by the bright light, peeked behind the King of Heroes to find two intertwined dragons made of fire, both hurtling toward Gilgamesh at an alarming speed. Two emotions stirred within her, one was concern, and the other an infinitesimal ounce of regret. Before she knew it, her index finger had drawn one of her own familiar symbols.

A sudden gust of wind sliced through the Servants' little clearing, effectively ruining Medusa's Rapunzel-worthy hairstyle, and with a thankful word to Merlin in her mind, Saber tilted her head to meet her eyes with the female Caster's. The King shook her head lightly at the enraged woman, willing her to calm herself.

Such foolish actions will only bring you down. She tried to communicate with her eyes. She and Caster had not got off on the best terms, but she hoped her diversion would have at least snapped the magus back to her senses. Gilgamesh was the last person she wanted to anger if she didn't want a repeat of the defeat she suffered not long ago.

Saber watched the magus' eyes widen and sink in the span of a few seconds. When tears began to well up in her eyes, the magus broke her eye contact. Greek curses escaped Caster's colored lips, and the magic circle at her feet disappeared into the grass. The chalice of wine still floating in front of her was shoved into Assassin's hands as the Greek mage stomped away, no longer able to hold back.

Soichirou-sama…

Her eyes flooded over his memory, and she slumped against a tree, far enough away from the crowd for her to let loose.

The King of Knight's concerned eyes followed Medea, growing in worry every passing moment. Every step the magus took away from the crowd crushed her heart. Medea...a misunderstood mage who had succumbed to the will of Aphrodite, been used like a tool, been blamed for things she had no control over, and finally been cast aside when she was no longer needed. After the hell she went through, the man she loved, albeit only by the god's power, the only one who she could turn to, betrayed her for a woman he favored.

Kuzuki must have been the first one to show her kindness. Kuzuki must have been the first one she truly loved. During the war, Medea died believing she had at least saved the only thing important to her, but even that had to be taken away. Kuzuki was gone forever, and Medea couldn't even join him in death. That attack was just an attempt at revenge by a woman who gained it all and lost everything in such a short span of time, aimed at a dead man immortalized in this stupid Grail and she had stopped it.

Had she done the right thing?

Saber's eyes returned to the cruel rubies of the King of Heroes, no longer able to watch the Greek woman's sobbing.

We just take and take and never give back, don't we?

Distracted by her thoughts, she did not realize that Gilgamesh asked her a question and went silent. "Yes?" she asked, hoping he would repeat his interrogation.

Gilgamesh looked pleased and announced, "Hear that, mongrels? Saber said 'yes' to my proposa—"

Aaaaand now he has a bleeding nose.

Booming laughter filled the clearing as Iskandar watched the two other Kings.

How amusing. Iskandar thought as Gilgamesh nursed his kingly nostrils. It seems only Saber could somewhat hurt him without him going completely berserk. He'd lie, but in reality he missed their company. Sure, they were enemies back then, and there was no way in hell either of them would ever join his army, at least...not anymore. But he couldn't help but think they could be friends. There was just something about them that made him hope.

A smile as warm as sunlight crossed his features.

Some sort of bond must have formed between the other two Kings. Based on past experience, he knew that Gilgamesh was at least intrigued by the little King of Knights. Her way of ruling interested the King of Heroes, for what reason, Iskandar couldn't fathom, but it wasn't his place to question Gilgamesh's taste. The gold king was a collector of treasures. If he deemed Saber worthy enough of his attention, then there must be something unique in the King of Knights that his eyes missed.

If one would look at Saber as a lady, Iskandar thought, then he supposed the woman would classify as elegantly beautiful, but the strong kind of beauty. She was clearly no damsel in distress, especially if she managed to kill Archer, who crushed him completely in their last battle ten years ago. He looked more highly at Saber now, for if the Assassins were right, and Saber had a pathetic civilian for a Master, then that made her victory over the King of Heroes even more amazing. Perhaps it was that strength that attracted the king of Uruk.

Interesting.

Meanwhile, Cú Chulainn chuckled at the beautiful King's actions. That woman was definitely something. He'd known that the first time they'd clashed, right when her rather…talentless Master managed to summon her. How the hell he'd managed to summon Saber, he'd never know. It's not like he was complaining though, Saber was, to say the least, incredible. She was powerful enough with a useless Master, it was hard to imagine fighting her at full strength. Diarmuid had just been telling him about his battles with Saber before Medea had decided to shoot a ball of fire at the golden asshole.

The younger Lancer had been privileged to have fought her in the previous Grail War. Hell, and her Master back then wasn't even a proper magus. Jeez, how formidable was that woman? Cú noticed the sudden silence of his counterpart and followed his gaze, finding that the man too was focused on the same person that occupied his thoughts. A smirk made its way across his face. Saber again, huh? Cú shook his head. Tá an fear seo cinnte dÚsachtach. Hopeless.

"Diarmuid, if the alternative is you moping around here while your mind is clearly on someone else, you should go talk to…her," the Irishman trailed off.

Suddenly, an enormous mass of magic energy caught the Servants' attention, and they all turned towards the King of Knights, who was now facing a huge, grossly buff man who towered very nearly a meter over the tiny king and looked to be around seven times her weight. He was topless, so the crowd could see the proof of the great strength he possessed. Long, black tendrils of hair reached until his middle back. On his wrists and ankles were heavy steel bracelets. Berserker?

However, the similarities to the mad man Saber faced had ended there. The man's appearance took a significant turn. His skin was more natural, the grayish shade it had when he was a Servant was replaced by an even dark tan. Heterochromia eyes surveyed the small crowd, but focused on one familiar face.

"Greetings, pretty lady." Several eyebrows shot up.

His voice was low but melodic. "Have you been summoned for this gathering as well?" he asked. Saber had to forget the fact that this man could snap her in half like a toothpick, before slowly nodding up at him.

"I am Heracles," the man announced, revealing his identity to the gathered ones, "the Berserker of the last war," he announced to clear the static air and to clarify his position. He sat down on the ground (the Servants swore there was mini earthquake there) and the Grecian found himself near eye level with said pretty lady.

"You are quite the formidable creature, little king. Reminded me of a time I too had been a hero. Pray, tell how you managed to defeat me. I've certainly learnt not to underestimate an opponent by size," Berserker chuckled to himself, resting his chin on his humongous palm.

"It certainly was not easy, Berserker. You nearly destroyed me the first time ̶"

"She defeated you because clearly she is stronger than you. That is all there is to it, mongrel. If that miniscule excuse for a brain of yours can not comprehend that simple fact, you have no place thinking so highly of yourself for owning that ridiculous amount of muscle," the King of Heroes interjected, folding his arms and staring the man down. The mongrel had no right to comment on the King of Knights' stature, neither did he have any right to speak with her. This was true especially when he was currently engaged in a conversation with the lovely King.

It was mongrels like this that he despised most of all: self-important freaks of nature who think so highly of themselves just because they stand a head taller than the average man. Those who think that absurd mass of fibrous tissue is a display of power have a severely distorted viewpoint. Mad Enhancement? Nothing but pathetic wording to disguise the fact that he was reduced to a rabid dog. It is an insult to call this sorry beast a demigod.

Heracles's mismatched eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar lightweight that stood before him, his gaze cold and hard as steel.

"I was not belittling her for her size. I simply did not expect such a powerful force within such a petite body. Though…I hear she was the one who killed you." His words were like a prosecutor's: cunning and clever, baiting the guilty to reveal himself.

"So, do tell me, gold one, if this lady defeated me because she is stronger than me, then what does that say…of you?"

And Gilgamesh, fiery as his temper was, could easily fall into the trap.

But, to the muscly man's dismay, his words did not incur even the slightest bit of rage, even if he was sure the man would have toppled over the edge.

The lady knight who defeated him passed Heracles on his right, hoping to find the other Grecian. The heavy man's gaze followed her, still filled completely with awe.

"It says we are even." The words were spoken with faked indifference, for the emotions that came with were much too foreign to express.

When Heracles turned to ask for an explanation, the King was studying his wrist with crossed eyebrows and an otherwise unreadable face, like those words weren't meant for Heracles, but for himself.

Unaware of the Greek hero's watchful eyes, Gilgamesh looked up for a moment, staring at the retreating back of the sword wielder, and then shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.

What Heracles missed however, Diarmuid did not. He'd watched the entire exchange, from when Heracles had first spoken to Saber, to when she'd squeezed the King of Heroes wrist to calm him.

Oddly, from the moment they made that bit of contact, his wrist had been itching like a rash. What that meant, he didn't dare dwell on.

"Ara, sorry for the wait!"

An innocent, childish voice, resonated all around them.

The King of Knights stopped in her tracks, all thoughts of Medea banished from her mind.

All at once images rushed to her, ones of sandy beaches and a bright, white moon, of love and innocence, of reckless driving and most of all...friendship.

That voice…

The girl shook her head. No. It was simply impossible. Hesitantly, she resumed her pace, refusing to look toward the voice. She stifled the feelings of hope when they peeked out from her heart. She could not bear the icy pain of rejection if she turned to find it was just her imagination after all.

It's not her. It cannot be her.

Her calm pace turned into one more frantic, but before she could get far, arms closed around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

Wide eyes watered slowly as strands of the woman's long light hair fell upon her shoulders. She'd recognize that anywhere.

"Irisviel."

Upon the mention of the name, the blonde was spun around to face its gentle owner, who with a gentle tug, pulled the unresisting Servant once again into her arms.

The king's hands hesitated before returning the hug. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe she was still sleeping. Maybe the Grail was playing tricks on her.

"Did you miss me this much, Saber?" Irisviel laughed, still clinging to 'her' Servant, who had buried her face into her shoulder, uncaring of the watchful eyes of the others. Judging by how her life had been so far, she knew there was never any time for blissful moments like this.

Fate decided to bring Irisviel back to life; and wherever Irisviel was…

"Saber."

Kiritsugu was.

Behind the angelic woman stood her polar opposite. Clad in black and varying shades of grey as usual, the man was comparably a dark shadow to his wife's brilliant light. Nothing had changed since the last Saber had looked him in the eyes. Black and hollow, more alike to an endless abyss than to the lively dark tones of the night sky that hung above them.

"Kiritsugu," she said, with cold fury that expressed the pure hate for the man who stepped on her pride and ideals long ago. For all their years apart, the feeling had never died. His only redemption in her eyes was that he saved Shirou, and nothing else.

I have not forgiven you; nor will I ever.

The man's void eyes stared back, unintimidated, observing the adorable king's jaw clench. She was holding back for Iri's sake, of course, not his. He knew he was less than scum in Saber's eyes now: nothing but a lowly piece of trash that deserved not to be called a Hero of Justice…that deserved not to be so idolized by his adopted son.

Of course, he couldn't blame her. He followed the King of Knights eyes when they flickered to his side, landing on El-Melloi's servant. Why-? Ah, yes. The Servant he forced to kill himself, that's who it was. He received a vicious glare from the said Servant, which failed once more to even irk him. They had very important matters to discuss. He could not afford to debate with the knights and their goddamned ideals.

"Ano, Kiritsugu~" Irisviel cooed, clinging to his right arm. "Why not we start? It seems everyone is present."

The blue-clad man cocked an eyebrow, noticing his red rival was nowhere at the scene.

"Thank you all for coming, Epic Spirits of all eras," Irisviel bowed, her husband making no effort to do the same

"I am Irisviel von Einzbern, this is my husband," she said with a friendly tone, gesturing to her spouse.

"Emiya Kiritsugu." He stated simply to introduce himself.

But, as soon as the introductions were out of the way, the friendly air took a serious turn.

"Please, we need your help," she pleaded, bowing. When surprise had taken the audience, the King of Heroes' audible laughter filled the clearing.

Snapped out of her stupor by the blonde king's reaction, Saber thought it well to ask.

"What for?"

The Japanese magus answered her with a monotone voice, as if the weight of his seven words was nothing at all.

"Please help us destroy the Holy Grail."

Saber's eyes were wide, and the Servants around her exchanged glances, wondering what the hell this person meant.

"I destroyed the Grail with Excalibur. I saw it disappear," she reasoned, but the stoic man shook his head.

"Then why are you still here?"

Saber ground her teeth.

"You only destroyed the Lesser Grails. It will come back and another war will start. This cycle of madness will only begin again. So please, lend us your strength," Irisviel pleaded in the stead of her husband.

"Do you honestly think we would do this for free?" Cú interrogated, irritated by the fact he was called to serve once more. "Listen, lady, I am a warrior. I hunger for the fight, and I thought I saw that wish granted when I was summoned into the Fifth War. It turns out that goddamned cup has a lot of unjust shit going down at the other side and I do not want to be a part of it. Plus, I sure as hell am not going to be devoured by that unholy corrupted piece of tableware again!"

Gae Bolg was out in a second, aimed perfectly as Irisviel's homunculus heart.

"You think being impaled by your own weapon is fun? Wanna try it? " he growled, with words as menacing as his weapon's red barbed blade.

"This…This favor may be heavy, but so is our compensation," Irisviel continued, eyeing with fear the red weapon pointed at her chest, even with Saber by her side.

"I do not believe, Saber's Master, that there is anything of any worth you can offer the dead," the King of Conquerors interjected, letting out a hearty laugh after. "You of all people must know that everyone here has long since gone to the grave. This Throne of Heroes too, provides us with everything we want or need. Why give up this pseudo-heaven?" Despite the wide confident smile, he didn't sound too convinced at his own words.

As Irisviel was about to speak, Kiritsugu held up a hand to silence her, and then turned to the Servant he employed to ensure Caster's defeat. His black eyes met the taller man's red ones, but despite their outward appearance, it was clear Kiritsugu had the upper hand.

"True. But what else is more appealing to the dead than another chance at life?"

Dead silence settled on the heroes as they processed the magus's absurd statement. That was ridiculous. They all died on their own terms, and who's to say they regretted it?

"If you successfully destroy the Holy Grail, you will be free to live the rest of your lives as you please, however," the man continued, "If you choose to live, you choose to die. There will be no resurrection should any of you lose your life a second time."

Saber pursed her lips, knowing clearly her answer without having to think.

"I accept," Saber said simply, stepping up in front of the couple. The blonde put her hand Irisviel's shoulder. The woman straightened, smiling at her close friend. "Even without the others, you have me." Saber smiled at her friend. The red-eyed woman enveloped her in a hug.

"I knew I could count on you."

Kiritsugu watched the action take place blankly, recalling how close his Servant and his wife had been during the Fourth War. The way Iri held the servant reminded him of his abandoned daughter and his adopted son. For the past five years since he'd rather miraculously appeared here by Irisviel's side, he had been trying to open a window to the world to check on them, knowing he couldn't really return without purpose. When he'd returned his attention to Saber however, she had been joined by the powerful King of Heroes, just as he was hoping.

"Is it your wish to have your eyes carved out, Master of Saber?" asked Gilgamesh, who had felt the man's eyes on him. "This is no favor to you, mongrel. I only wish to accompany her," the King of Heroes explained, taking Saber's chin in his hand, which was promptly swatted away. Her rejection didn't seem to discourage him though, rather only strengthened his drive to do the ridiculous mission.

"As do I," Lancer stated, completing the Knight classes in front of the two magi. "I will not participate for your sake, but for the sake of the future."

I'll follow the light you show me, Arturia. Diarmuid walked over to Saber's left side, Gilgamesh already at her right. Alexander the Great chuckled. Your actions are very amusing, Lancer. Knight and Knight… how adorable, indeed.

"I shall follow my King, wherever she may lead me." That was Lancelot, with an odd expression on his face. The British knight eyed the two Servants at Saber's sides with suspicion and a little bit of shame, for he had delayed in joining his King's side.

Saber…You trust him. Right? Cú asked in his head, wondering whether to stay or to go.

"I'll go if you go, blue."

The Lancer looked up to see Alexander the Great looking at him with a serious expression. "If anything, we could make matches happen," the huge man said jokingly, gesturing at the three servants assembled in front of Emiya. Cú smiled at the double meaning and nodded, joining Saber in front.

"HOHO! Quite an army you're building, King of Knights!" Rider stepped forward too. "Besides," he continued, "I want to see how that wimp is doing." Rider remembered his unmanly master. Perhaps he has finally toughened up. The King of Conquerors would be proud if he did. Waver was a clumsy idiot, but he had a good heart, and an even better mind. During Rider's time in the world, he looked at Waver as his son, or maybe his younger brother. He was even able to go in peace, knowing his Master would live.

One by one, the Servants moved forward, hungry for the second chance they could only dream about. To live again…would give them a chance to be normal; to live a life unchained to the duties of a hero. They could be free. They could do whatever they wanted, as long as they destroy the Grail.

Kojiro Sasaki, or at least that's who he represented anyway, approached the group as well. It was frustrating to be a fictional character. Unlike the Servants around him, he had never lived. He was a mistake, an aberration. He never had a life, not until Caster summoned him to the world as Assassin. This was his chance to write his own story. He could take up a new name, a new face, and he could live.

He suddenly noticed the absence of his Master from his side as he walked forward. He stopped mid-way to look back. "Caster?" She seemed to be the only one left behind.

"I refuse!" she shrieked and pointed an accusing finger at Gilgamesh. "My wish had finally come true. I do not care for another life. I was fine with the one I was granted during the war, but you…you took my only happiness away from me!"

For a minute, the King of Heroes thought he recognized her face. Did he perhaps kill her husband? The King just waved it off, ignoring the woman's misery. It was nothing to him. He was probably just one of the many he killed. Gilgamesh couldn't care less about Caster, but Kiritsugu, however, was determined to let her join.

"We need your powers to destroy the Grail."

"I do not care!"

Irisviel seemed silent for a moment. Saber noticed her eyes go dark, before their usual brilliance returned.

"Is it because of Kuzuki Soichirou?" Irisviel asked, her voice more solemn than normal. Caster jerked, surprised. Irisviel had hit the mark.

"If that is the case, I'll bring him back with you."

Caster was stricken. Her knees failed her and she collapsed to the ground.

"Irisviel—" Saber started, trying to ask the questions that the Servants all had in their minds

"Then it is settled. You will all participate," Kiritsugu interrupted hurriedly, before Saber could say any more. "You will all be transported to the physical world, but ten years into the future."

"In the present, the Grail cannot summon enough mana to bring you there. As you might have noticed, time is of no importance here, in this realm. It is up to you to see if an hour has passed, or a week, a month, maybe a year, even a century. Bringing you into the future isn't any different from sending you into the present. The changes in the world aren't much. Fuyuki City still looks like Fuyuki City. To help, as though you were summoned again as Servants, just like the last time you made it to the world, you will receive information about the world around you to help with adaptation," Irisviel said kindly.

"You will have all the skills and magic power you had as a Spirit, however, you will have physical, human bodies. You will experience all that humans do. You cannot attain Spirit form anymore, but any form of transportation or teleportation magic you use is still possible. You will feel hunger and thirst, and you can be affected by illnesses. As I said before, this will be your last life. Any accidents may kill you, even if you are all stronger than the average person. Use any means necessary to keep yourselves alive, in combat or out of it." To stress his point, Kiritsugu's eyes roamed the crowd, emphasizing the importance of their new lives.

"The main objective is to destroy the seven seals that summon the Grail, and then destroy the Greater Holy Grail itself. These seals appear at random locations throughout the world. Once one of them surfaces, we will tell you of its location and you will have to destroy them. These seals are what tie the Grail to the world in Spirit form. These are the reasons why only a Servant can touch it. When all the seven seals are destroyed, they will release enough energy to summon the authentic, physical Greater Holy Grail. As this is the real Grail, though you would have physical bodies, you will be able to take possession of it," Kiritsugu continued. "Once you have it…" Kiritsugu paused for a moment. "Destroy it with your combined powers."

Kiritsugu's slight hesitation bothered Saber, but she thought she might have been imagining it. Kiritsugu was a secretive man. He wouldn't have revealed so much of the plan, not even to Maiya. He would never tell the whole truth; there was always something he would hide. So what is he hiding now?

"You will destroy the seals in teams. Until you are assigned to destroy a seal, live a life normally. Eat, drink, study, work, travel, whatever. You would be free to do as you wish, but do be cautious and take care of yourselves!" Irisviel sounded like a worried mother seeing her children off to college.

"You will all appear where the last Holy Grail War ended," Kiritsugu told them, eyeing the Servants who'd just come from the latest war. Saber could practically feel Gilgamesh's eyes on her but she chose to ignore him, knowing the man was smirking at her.

"HAHAHA! We're up for some adventure!" Alexander bellowed.

"Are there any questions?" Irisviel asked, like a schoolteacher would to her students.

"One," Saber said. She noticed it from when Kiritsugu and his wife arrived. The Servants gathered here were from the Holy Grail Wars she had participated in. There was two of every class except Saber and Archer.

"Where is Archer?" she inquired. She did not see that white-haired Servant anywhere.

The mage-killer and his wife exchanged glances. "You'll find out soon enough," Irisviel answered.

Kiritsugu nodded and gazed up at the dark sky. The sun had made its exit while the conversations took place. Only the light it left behind illuminated the sky with a waning glow. It would be pitch black soon

"All you have to do tonight is sleep. The next time you open your eyes, it will be on Earth," Kiritsugu said. With that he began to dissolve into the air, and clutched the hand of his wife. "We must be going," Irisviel said a little sadly as she waved goodbye to her friend, "See you soon!" The couple disappeared completely, leaving the Servants to contemplate their decision.

"Saber."

The girl turned to face Medea. The older woman looked broken, her face deprived of all energy.

"Yes?"

Caster kept her gaze firm. "To what degree do you give that man your trust?" she interrogated. Saber was taken aback. Trust him? I would never trust anything to that man! Saber regained her composure and sighed. Unlike her and the 4th Holy Grail War participants, some of the Servants didn't even recognize the pair that recruited them. The only clue they had was their last names. Emiya and Einzbern seemed to ring a bell, but the others remained in the dark. In the end, only Saber would be able to speak about them wholly, and even she was skeptic about the event.

"I am only sure of one thing: that man truly wants to save the world. Nothing is more precious to him than the lives of the human race, but if anyone poses a threat to the masses, he would do anything to save the majority. He would not attempt a stunt like this if it wasn't for the greater good," Saber replied calmly, though there was something nagging at her from the back of her mind. Few Servants were reassured, but Caster retained her stoic expression.

"I could not care less about that wretched world. I would not so much as flinch if it burned into a fiery hell. I asked you if you trusted him to see if the man keeps his promises. Soichirou-sama is the only thing I want!" She raged, her eyes flashing red with her wrath. Caster could grab Saber by the neck any time, but she feared the three men who surrounded the shorter woman. "If that man does not keep his word," Caster's eyes were glowing dangerously, "then I shall do everything, everything, to keep you from reaching your goal!"

The mage woman turned sharply, her cape whipping Saber's face, and she disappeared into the air. Her hand went to her cheek. There was no wound, not even a scratch, but it seemed Caster's words hurt like the cold metal of a knife. She was blind. She was too blind to see the way Caster loved her Master. She was there when Caster was defeated. She saw Kuzuki die. No, she let him die.

"Saber, are you—"

"I'm fine." She cut him off, letting her hand drop to her side. Unconvinced at her words, Lancer looked to Gilgamesh, but the blonde man avoided his eyes altogether. Crazy what ten years could do. He was completely out of the loop.

By the sudden emptiness of the clearing they stood in, Diarmuid could infer that the other servants were starting to retire. He observed a few Assassins jumping across trees, and just glimpsed the larger Berserker's hair slip into the forest. Gilles approached, and though he felt himself go on guars, all he did was hand Arturia her a black rose before leaving, speaking words to her Lancer was unable to hear. Cú Chulainn did not even choose to move. He simply dropped to the ground and wrote an 'F' in the air with his index finger. A flame appeared at his feet, and the red-eyed Lancer dozed, comforted by the warmth. Medusa left with a curt nod to Saber. It seemed Rider respected her now instead of holding a grudge for the one who defeated her. Maybe she and Rider…could be friends when they all appeared on Earth again. After all, they would have no reason really to fight each other, right?

The night grew quiet, with only nature's voices left whispering. It seemed there would be no more talking tonight.

"That entire ordeal was insufferably boring, but at the least it granted me one more chance with you, King of Knights." The King of Heroes lifted her chin to meet her gaze, but withdrew his hand right before she had the chance to shove him away. "You certainly are not planning to sleep on the same level as these mongrels, correct? I have only the finest sheets, and if you so wish, we can share an amazing night tangled beneath—"

"I do not think so." she voiced, before he could embarrass her more. She decided to ignore the heat that flooded her cheeks, and folded her arms over her chest. Even the flirtiest of men had the decency to—ugh! If she had any less self-control, the king would be on his knees begging for mercy!

But of course, her retorts would forever fall on deaf ears with the King of Heroes. The said man just shrugged, and as he began to dematerialize he stated, "The offer still stands. If you wish to change your mind, you need only say so." He ended it with his trademark smirk.

With one last threatening glance at the two dogs left beside his queen, the King of Heroes disappeared into the night. Lancelot most definitely felt like a rabid dog, and he would take great pleasure in mauling that bastard's stupid-ass face off his bloody head. Diarmuid was flexing and relaxing a hand clenched around his red spear while taking deep breaths to calm himself. With the way the King of Heroes had just spoken, he deserved an award for not hacking the amadán to death right then and there.

"My King, are you not going to retire for the night?" Lancelot asked after cooling his temper, looking around in the darkness that enveloped them.

"You go on ahead, Lancelot," she told him, smiling in the slightest way.

"Very well," he answered, though he eyed the man that remained.

If you do anything to her… He warned Diarmuid with his eyes, before turning his gaze back to the woman he so adored.

"That silver crown suits you, my King," he said before disappearing into the air. Arturia's hands went to the circlet on her head. She'd almost forgotten about it. A spark of realization hit her. It was actually possible that Lancelot was the one who chose the crown. Saber's green eyes searched the area, but the Knight of the Round Table was long gone.

"Arturia, may I have a moment?"

Diarmuid put his hand on her shoulder and they both dissolved into the air.

The couple materialized on a high cliff that towered over the Throne of Heroes' sea. The moonlight reflected on the waves, making the tide glitter and shimmer as it hit the rocks. A salty breeze blew at the girl's hair, tossing her blonde locks around her face and making Diarmuid want to sweep the golden strands behind her ear.

The man sat on the edge of the cliff without hesitation, as if knowing well that the ground would never break. Arturia mimicked him, sitting a tormenting distance from the knight. She was both near and far from him. Close enough that if he moved just a little, their shoulders would brush, but far enough that as it is, they weren't touching.

The salty air carried to him the scent of her hair, but he pushed the lovely distraction out of his mind, for the reason he brought her here could not wait a moment longer.

"I brought you here to ask for your forgiveness."

Saber's eyebrows went up. "For what?" she asked. She didn't recall Lancer doing anything wrong, not one.

"I apologize for ever blaming you for my forced suicide."

Saber's gaze softened. I would never blame you for that. I…I deserve it.

In her silence, Lancer said, "It was never your fault, but I took out the rage I held for both our masters on everyone and everything, even you; even if it was your pure spirit that gave me the will to fight." He hung his head in shame and stared down at the waves that struck the rocky shore. "I am truly sorry, Arturia." The man stared down at his palms solemnly, clenching and unclenching his fist.

The girl closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air, and played with the blonde strands that framed her face.

"Shouldn't I be the one apologizing?" she asked, as she stared out into the distance, not really expecting a reply.

She could feel his eyes on her, yet she avoided his gaze. Now it was his turn to wonder. "It was an honor to face you in battle, and even more so to fight on the same side, conversely, our last duel became shameful on my part. To think Kiritsugu would soil an honorable duel between knights and force you to…" Saber left her statement unfinished. Her gaze ran over the toned expanse of his chest as it rose and fell with every breath he took.

"I…I was unable to do anything. Forgive me for not being able to stop him; it is my deepest regret. Our battle was glorious and yet…" Arturia trailed off. The two Knights came to a silent understanding.

"Mm. It seems like we were both cursed with horrible Masters then," he declared, trying to lighten the mood.

"Just our luck," the King replied.

When their eyes met at last, the two broke into laughter, relieved of the guilt in their hearts. Arturia looked to the sky. Even in the Throne of Heroes, the sky was beautiful, dotted with unknown, unreal constellations.

That would be the second time I have heard you laugh, King of Knights. Lancer thought. I might even be the only one who has ever done so. But that would make it all the more special, will it not?

The pair spent a couple more moments in silence; the only sounds heard were the waves crashing to the shore below. The sound of the water was an effective lullaby. Lancer found an odd thought. If Saber was the King of Knights and he was a Knight, was she his King as well?

"Say, King, do you…?"

He felt a little weight on his right side. The King of Knights leaned on him, asleep, finally giving in to her exhaustion. Diarmuid ignored the heat in his cheeks and tried to remain still. Saber looked tired and he didn't want to wake her. He slowly brought his hand around her waist to support her and shifted himself to be able to pick her up. He swept his hands under her knees gently and carried her with ease, again astounded at her weight. He could almost disregard it.

He laid her down gently, and went to a position far enough from her that she would not feel his presence, but close enough to shield her from the sea breeze. He smiled as he closed his eyes, happy that she trusted him enough to leave herself in his care.

Chapter Text

When she was a king, Saber preferred nights that dreams would not come to her. Unfortunately, the moment she closed her eyes in the King's chambers, she would be visited by Merlin to continue her duties in her sleep, or more commonly, be visited by her nightmares.

She expected the latter to come to her tonight. Will it be the Mordred, Lancelot, or Guinevere this time? She could vaguely feel her eyelids weighing down and her body growing slack, when finally the exhaustion from their day-long ordeal had hit her. She barely registered the shoulder that she had leaned upon, and the scent of the chivalrous rival she'd been reunited with before sleep finally claimed her, her last thought happy, for after ten years she'd finally reconciled with the Irish knight.

Maybe for once, she would be allowed a dream.

An azure sky was what first greeted her, a great blue dome as far as her eyes could see, painted with soft white clouds that did nothing but add to the clear heavens' beauty. When she spun, there was nothing but endless sky in every direction, the white clouds floating slowly across, creating various shapes as they went.

A light breeze tossed her golden hair around as she breathed in the sweet air, looking directly upward. The yellow star was absent from her sight, even if she could feel its warmth on her naked white skin. As she breathed out, she turned her vision downward, where stood an exact copy of herself where her feet touched the surface of reflective water, staring back up at her and copying her movements.

She bent down, and so did the figure. She reached out and touched the water, joining her palm with her mirror's. The water rippled at the contact, distorting the image, and it soon disappeared into the depths of the still lake she had been standing on. The ripples continued across the surface, troubling the calm water, until they too had soon disappeared into the far off horizon.

She turned around, hearing the trickling of water behind her.

What appeared suspended in front of her was a familiar headdress, one that had been worn by her father before her and by his father before him. The radiant item spun around slowly, it's jewels refracting the ever present daylight.

She reached out to the only item in the strange realm he was in, her fingers almost grazing the familiar metal.

"Saber."

The familiar voice jarred her out of her thoughts and she whirled around, coming to face the bare body of the worse of her Masters.

Excalibur was at his throat before he could say anything more.

In her peripheral vision, the blue sky above fractured like glass, a web-like pattern spreading out from directly above her. She could hear each sickening crack, sharp and screeching to her ears, until finally she watched the sky fall.

The shards of blue struck the water like boulders, breaking it brutally under their weight. The once quiet lake answered in thrashing, foaming white wherever the boulders hit, tossing and turning like a man at the whipping post. As the heavens crashed down, tendrils of black seeped through the spaces the blue sky left, swallowing the heavens into its nothingness.

But Saber did not flinch...and neither did Kiritsugu.

"What do you want?" she hissed, as the thundering cries of her dying world echoed all around.

The lake tipped sideways under her bare feet, throwing her off balance. Her instincts tried to drive Excalibur into the watery floor, but it did not hold, and to her horror, her beloved sword sank into the depths, leaving her slipping across the surface of the lake.

Arturia yelped as the lake dislodged itself from the crumbling sky and began to fall like a plate of water, aqua splashing off the edges into an endless black abyss.

Kiritsugu's sinful hands had grabbed onto her wrist, holding her steady as the dreamscape fell, far down the dark space.

"Calm your mind. This is just a dream, King of Knights."

Green eyes watched the crumbling remains of the sky disappear. Just like that, she could no longer feel the pull of gravity.

"Un-unhand me!" She tried to wrench her wrist out of his strong grip, but was surprised when the man did just as she said.

"My purpose here is not to harm you. You are a significant part of my plan...an asset. I would not jeopardize a fundamental part of my mission," he told the girl, expression ever unchanging. Arturia rubbed her wrist, repeating her earlier query.

"I came to inform you of some...important matters regarding you and your companions re-entry into man's world," Kiritsugu stated with stern eyes.

"Firstly, while we acknowledge all of your abilities and consider them instrumental to ensure our success, we find it absolutely necessary to control them. The present time is rather fragile, and its people even more so. The Command Seals that functioned as the Grail War's controlling mechanism can no longer hold you back, and as you will be given fully functional bodies like those you owned in your old lives, you will no longer be dependent on a Master's mana supply. Heaven knows what sort of chaos you can cause," Kiritsugu explained. He moved to fish his pack of cigarettes out of his trench coat, but realized he wasn't wearing it. Or anything for that matter.

Saber's green eyes sparked at his last statement. An unspoken insult was to be found there, and she found herself angered on her fellow heroes' behalf. If Kiritsugu noticed her reaction, he didn't show it. Nevertheless, she kept her furious gaze on his pupils, refusing to accept his judgements.

Kiritsugu did notice. It was hard not to, when the King of Knights had nothing concealed. He could see the quivering of her tiny clenched fists, the muscles of her arms very slightly ripping when she shifted her fingers. Probably to alleviate the pain of her nails digging into her palms. There was movement by her collarbones, she was grinding her teeth. Her modest chest heaved with breaths. She was trying to calm herself. And of course, even while floating in midair, she assumed the same ready stance she took when she was fighting Lancer. Arturia Pendragon was angry.

He looked down beneath his bare feet, where none of Arturia's sky or sea remained. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so critical.

"Power corrupts, and even the most righteous heroes are not immune to its silver tongue," he answered, raising his eyes, and skipping over her figure to meet her green orbs. She might not be happy with what he would say next, but none of this was under any debate anyway. He drew a deep breath, missing the flavor of tobacco on his tongue.

"You and the other Servants will be stripped of the full extent of your powers until you are dispatched to destroy a seal. Only then will you be able to use them to their full abilities," the magus-killer finally let out.

Saber scoffed at the condition, resting a hand on her hip.

"Preposterous. And what if battle shall find us? How are we to defend ourselves?" she asked, insulted at Kiritsugu's obvious mistrust. She had sworn to help Emiya's cause. Why would she do anything to obstruct them from their goal?

Kiritsugu expected this reaction, of course. If he was presented the same proposition, he would have been just as of work had been put into honing their skills to perfection. The condition was the equivalent of sharpening a knife til it could split hairs and finding out the match was hand-to-hand.

"I am leaving you with half. None of you are by any means normal human beings. Even at half your power, the average human stands no chance. Is that enough insurance for you?" Kami-sama, his teamwork skills needed bloody improvement.

Saber considered this, unspeaking. Her mind drifted to the other blonde in their group. She remembered feeling...petrified. Against him, both times, there was never a moment she could clearly see a way to victory.

And even when she had won, she knew her victory was only by a hair's breadth and no more.

"Fifty percent is the most powerful I could make you while not endangering the populace. Also, at fifty percent, should anyone go rogue, defeating them should be less of a problem. This leads me to my second point, your role," Kiritsugu continued, counting his points on his fingers.

Again, Gilgamesh flashed in her mind. Even at half...

"You, Saber, are the singular Servant both Iri and I have ever interacted with, and so are the sole Servant we have solid influence on. We can trust you. We need you to be our safety. Another controlling variable on the ground, so to speak," Kiritsugu said.

"And a tool you can use to eliminate those who choose not to follow your rule," Saber finished for him, challenging him with her piercing gaze. Just like before…

"No."

The single syllable flew from both their lips at the same time, bouncing back and forth in the invisible walls in the darkness around them. Slowly, Kiritsugu lifted his arm and pointed at the back of his hand.

"You are no longer my Servant, and so I do not command you, Heroic Spirit King Arthur," he voiced, looking at the unmarked skin where once were a red sword-like command seals, now just his blank, rough complexion.

"It's your choice. But, given your ideals...I'm sure you won't allow them to go rogue, even without me asking you," said the magus.

Saber was unsure how to react, given those very ideals were the reason he and she didn't get along in the first place. Their incompatible attitudes and views drove them apart faster than a bullet. Although, after meeting his son, somehow Kiritsugu's ways weren't as despicable. She still disagreed with him, but she was no longer blind to his reality. In her eyes, he was a person. A person whose opinions should be respected. Because of that realization, there was a part of her that wanted to know him. Why would he push Irisviel away? Why would he look at his daughter so lovingly a moment, and turn into a cold-eyed killer the next? Why, for all the murders he's committed, does he hate an honorable duel so much? Why does he hate her so much?

Just what could have happened to make Kiritsugu the tragic man he was?

"I will do what I think is right."

Kiritsugu nodded. It was the right move to leave her a choice. Besides, the King of Knights' morals would never allow her fellow Servants to run loose; he didn't know why he bothered. One thing was for sure, having Saber on his side gave him an advantage. Not only was she a powerful force, she was also key in recruiting more allies. He could probably count on El-Melloi's former Servant's loyalty, and perhaps with a little convincing, she could reel in Rider. Those three already had a brilliant team dynamic, given the way they reacted to Caster's attack.

Right, Caster. There was a risk to bringing that unstable Servant along, but if he was gambling the fate of the world, he might as well go all in. Caster's abilities were not to be taken lightly, and if turned the right way, they could use them to their advantage. Anyway, just in case, he had the King of Knights as a failsafe.

And then there was Berserker, the Grail War's tragic, insane wildcard. The Throne of Heroes identified him as Sir Lancelot du Lake, surprisingly. Given he was eager to follow his former king, he shouldn't be much of a problem, now that his Mad enhancement has been removed. Then again, there was the fact that Saber might have caused his insanity, and the reason why he could be classified as a Berserker in the first place.

Of course, there were the servants he had no chance to gauge. He wasn't around for the Fifth war, so there was no telling just who he had entrusted the world to. Kami, he hated having such a shaky foundation, but he couldn't do much else.

There was one other that could damage the cause rather than help it. Kiritsugu's eyes flashed as his thoughts went to the problematic man that was Tokiomi's Servant. He had doubts about inviting him to participate for feared a double-edged sword. On one hand, Archer was the most powerful Servant there was. On the other, that also made him a formidable enemy, a threat second only to the Grail Kiritsugu was trying to destroy.

The turning point was Saber herself. He'd be blind not to notice her obvious...influence(?) on the flashier King. It was made more apparent during their recent meeting. He had no idea what exactly had transpired between his former Servant and the epic, but he knew he could use it to his benefit. If he played his cards right.

He just wished the one card in his hand wasn't the servant he had shunned.

He looked at his Servant, with regretful eyes. All the loose ends tied up to her. He needed her, but she could very well do without him. If he'd known then her value, maybe he wouldn't have been so coarse. Maybe.

There was no changing the past. The present, however...well, that brings him to his third point.

"Thirdly, the world you will enter is ten years into the future, as we have already said, but there may be...things that changed, and not just surface level. The Earth you will appear on is not the same Earth it was before," he vaguely reasoned, massaging his brow.

"What do you mean? Of course, it has changed with the times," she questioned, her voice less on edge.

Kiritsugu's hand again reached down to his nonexistent trench coat pocket for a cigarette, but in realizing it's absence, ran his hand through his hair, which Saber noticed, had grayed. He had gotten older.

"The Grail hasn't been idle since you destroyed it's lesser form for the second time. In fact, its abundant magical energy has been rather erratic. It's highly possible it had been acting irregularly since I commanded you to use your Noble Phantasm on it."

His words caused Saber to stiffen, but she said nothing.

"I will not discuss the unnecessary details, as you and your companions will soon wake. If anything of importance comes to light, I will meet you here. And perhaps the others too. As I already said, this world is a different one from the one you came out of. Perhaps the details will make themselves apparent, but they do not change the mission," Kiritsugu said sternly, meeting her eyes once more.

Saber nodded, wondering just what had happened in the ten years she slept through to make Kiritsugu feel the need to tell her.

Kiritsugu could see, in the corner of his eye, that the dark space they were floating in was beginning to bleach into white. He did not have much time left.

"...Good luck, King of Knights," Kiritsugu stated, tasting the statement on his for the first time since his days with Natalia.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure, but as the woman who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders began to fade away, he made one final statement.

"And thank you."

…

Her eyes fluttered open, Kiritsugu's final words still echoing in the back of her mind. Where was she?

When the sleep had left her, instead of the dream-like glittery galaxies of the fantasy world the Grail had created, her bright orbs were greeted by a familiar starry sky. A sky she knew all too well.

Fuyuki.

She shot up when the sky had registered, green eyes wide. A soft, familiar gold had appeared at the corner of her vision, and she ran her hand through her hair to get it out of the way. It was soft, just like she remembered. Her hand was brought up in front of her eyes for close examination, and she flexed and bent the tiny, fair fingers that had once led Britain, the very ones that had pulled Caliburn from the stone, and of course had brought her rule to its tragic end.

A sharp pain in her heart drew her vision down to the rest of her. Fair skin, a slightly muscled physique that did next to nothing to help her draw her sword, and a petite frame. Goodness, had she really been so frail?

She moved beneath the clothes Gilgamesh had granted her in the Throne of Heroes, feeling an unmistakable lag between what she wanted to do and when her body did it. She didn't remember having a body being so...heavy. But that mattered not.

A body.

A real body.

Gone was the ghostly sensation of being a Spirit. Gone was the unreal floating feeling of non-existence. Gone was the dream-like feel of pseudo-life.

She was here. She was breathing.

She was alive.

Irisviel told the truth.

The girl got on her feet unsteadily, feeling uncomfortably like a toddler just learning how to walk, bright eyes sweeping side to side. She looked around in the little light that came before the dawn. They really were in Ryuudou Temple. Arturia recognized everything, from the gate that Assassin blocked her from, to the oriental temple that stood to her right.

It was like the scene was harvested from her memory, except it had quite a few more scars. Where she stood, the cement was newer than the rest. It was near unnoticeable, if not for the lighter shade. A large gash right where her final fight had taken place. But that wasn't all that had changed.

The forest surrounding the steps to the temple was denser. And the indoor garden's shrubbery was a little more unruly. Little details that hardly mattered, but it gave her peace to know this part of the world that she'd destroyed had healed.

Had she?

That didn't matter. What did was finding the servants-Diarmuid!

Several feet away, beneath trees and the leaves of shrubbery, orange eyes snapped open.

Arturia?

Diarmuid got up as quickly as he did when he was a knight in training...and fell forward. Luckily he had the trees to steady himself. Great Celtic gods, if his comrades saw him now, they'd laugh. He felt like he'd drank one too many of Oscar's wine with the way he swayed on his feet. But, well, being crazy intoxicated didn't stop him from winning brawls. Unsteady limbs weren't going to deter him from finding the female knight.

But first...he seemed to be in some sort of garden. The tree he was leaning against was not nearly as thick as a hardwood tree should be, and its roots were shallow and widespread instead of running deep. The soil could not have been more than a few feet deep. Although, that was assuming this tree was something natural. He'd never seen a tree with leaves so pink.

Anyway, given her voice came from upwind…

The knight took a deep breath and stretched out his muscles, trying to get rid of all the fuzziness between his nerves. This was his body, definitely, he felt more at home in this skin than he ever did being a Heroic Spirit, even if the spirit form was quite handy. It would just take a little bit of getting used to.

He felt his heart pumping as he jogged toward where he supposed Arturia would be.

Right. He had a heart now.

...

Saber whipped her head around, feeling a familiar aura.

"King of Heroes," she acknowledged, knowing not why she let him approach unguarded, "I can not say I expected you to–"

She was silenced when he rested his hand on her cheek.

"Do you know where we stand, King of Knights?"

His voice was strange. It froze her in place. Fear, maybe? This was the same man who tortured her and her Master just days (years?) before, it wouldn't be a surprise. She followed his eyes downward to their feet, where she stood on a large scar across the courtyard, filled in with newer cement.

She shied away when it hit her, removing herself from the familiar touch. Of course, the image was still fresh in her mind. Him covered in blood, a gash across his chest, one that she had inflicted, and for all that she was worth, she still couldn't believe she was able to deliver the killing blow before he could. His hair had fallen onto his face that moment, and for the first time she'd seen an expression she didn't know Gilgamesh could make.

They were standing on the very spot she ended his life.

You are a hateful woman. You defied me to the very end. But I shall forgive you. Some things are beautiful for the reason that they are unobtainable.

King of Knights, it was truly...fun.

How could she possibly forget such a moment?

She stepped back when he tried to touch her again.

"Don't."

For a second, the King of Heroes scowled, but the frown was quickly replaced with his signature smirk.

"If you think your refusal is going to discourage me, you are sorely mistaken, lioness. Twice already, I let you slip through my fingers. I will not let you go a third time," he said, brushing her loose hair behind her ear as he did so.

She swiped his hand away and turned her back to the King of Heroes. Why was the ancient Urukian even here? Why had he come with her? Certainly, saving the world wasn't his intention, she'd be damned if he'd joined her for the same cause. Her fingers went to her cheek, as she pondered on the subject.

It burned where he touched her. She could never get used to such intimate contact, be it with...with...whomever! It almost disgusted her how much like those blushing tavern barmaids she was feeling. Flustered, embarrassed...angry?

With a long, deep breath, she calmed herself, with hope the King of Heroes' observant, red eyes noticed nothing. It was proving to be difficult to think under such an intense stare. Harder still to determine the answer she was seeking.

Why was he here?

To pursue her?

Suddenly all her hair rose on end and she flicked her eyes to the temple steps, where no doubt a Servant had woken. Gilgamesh, however, was looking toward the temple, with irritated eyes. Another one. She picked up a few more signatures after that. The Servants were all waking.

Saber dismissed her thoughts. She had plenty of time to dwell on those things later. It didn't matter why Gilgamesh had chosen to follow, only that he kept his word and would aid in destroying the Grail.

"Something on your mind, my queen?"

She flashed him a dangerous glare, but her eyes were drawn to the pavement below her, and the lighter color of cement. There was...one other question she wanted to ask the King of Heroes.

"During our last fight, why did you-"

"Saber!"

A familiar voice interrupted her, drawing her attention to the Fourth War's Lancer, who was jogging up to them from one of the gardens. His was one of the closer mana signatures. Saber greeted him, unmindful of the scowl on her blonde companion's face.

"Diarmuid. I had wondered where you could have ended up," she said, as the dark-haired man approached.

Gilgamesh watched silently, his mind not registering the words. All on is mind was Saber, and why there was a curve on her lip that he did not cause, why she walked toward that dog and with him shied away, why she welcomed that mongrel and not himself.

There was no reason to see red, not when the lowlife was involved. How could that pitiful creature hold a candle to his splendor? There was no reason to fret, when she spoke with a beast so weak he deserved not even the job of being his slave. There was no reason for love's envious heartstrings to wrap themselves so tightly round his heart.

None. None at all.

So Gilgamesh stood there with his knuckles white, hoping soon his queen would notice her mistake. That smile belonged only to him. Her hands were only his to hold. Those green eyes exist for him to drown into. Him only. The King of Heroes did not want to have to teach her.

But also, there lingered, in the very back of his mind, the words he himself had told her after their last fight. For the first time, he wanted to think he was wrong.

Green eyes glanced back at him before she and the mongrel headed together to the temple, most likely to find the other servant he had sensed.

Gilgamesh eyed the petite hand that swayed back and forth as she walked away, wondering when he could know how it would feel to lace his fingers in between hers.

Somehow, he didn't think it would be for a very long time.

Diarmuid was almost thankful that Archer had chosen not to follow, although it must be because the King of Heroes didn't believe 'such a menial task as finding the other useless mongrels' was worth his time. From the corner of his eye, the last that he saw of the blonde man was him perching himself on the roof and sipping a glass of wine, all the while watching the back of the King of Knights.

Arturia's eyes glowed in the dim light. It was one of the first things he noticed when he was walking up to the two kings. They shone like magelight, two glowing green gems that drew him forward as if they had their own gravity. The knight wondered if it was her and not himself who was bestowed with a love charm, for there was no more adequate explanation to describe the hold she had on him.

And her words were too kind, he feared that she had seen his ears reddening, and had prayed the night would cover it up for him. The King of Knights had beauty in all aspects. She was as honorable as she was beautiful, as if her looks reflected her pure spirit.

"Shall we search for the other Servants?" he asked, just when he noticed the King of Heroes' grimace.

Had he interrupted something?

He left the question unsaid when the King of Knights agreed and gestured to the temple and to the gate, where she had sensed two others close by. They both chose the temple and began to leave, but he couldn't help but notice the way she glanced back. It wasn't a look he could describe. Only one he wished she had given him.

Ridiculous, he knew, for she had already shown him such kind eyes. He should be content with that, and not let the bubbling greed seep through. She was not his for him to exploit all her attention.

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts.

"Do you feel altered in any fashion?" the girl asked her tall companion, as they both swung open the heavy double doors.

Diarmuid inwardly scolded himself for letting a lady do such a thing, and then berated himself for forgetting for a second that she was raised a knight before a woman.

"Somewhat," he managed, despite the conflicting thoughts in his head. "Not significantly different, anyway."

He tried flexing his fingers, still feeling the momentary delay, but he was getting used to it. The temple interior was primarily built of expensive looking polished wood and stone that were carved into intricate oriental patterns. Due to Saber's experience with tatami mats, she felt a little guilty allowing both herself and her companion inside with their footwear, but finding the Servant became priority.

She swept her eyes left and right, following the mana signature she was picking up, but keeping tabs on the one they had left in the courtyard.

Diarmuid followed the female king, avoiding the mat's edges like she was. The temple was full of what he suspected were religious items, none of which struck him as familiar. Some were silver, like her shining armor. He let his mind fly back to the sight of her during their last battle, bright, radiant, enchanting.

Hm. Was this how it felt to be under a love charm?

He stopped short when he caught his reflection in a silver vase. The charm!

He couldn't stop himself. "Saber is my charm still in effect?"

He then realized the dire consequences his action could bring when she looked up at him to check. He quickly covered his mole with his hand before she could see it and stepped back into the shadows.

"Forgive my actions, King, I am only playing safe. We were lucky you had not seen this when we arrived at this location due to the darkness, however, we are human now…there is no guarantee of what should happen. If by chance it is still in effect then…"

Then I will lose you. His words hung in the air unspoken.

"It was you who requested me to act, knight." Saber huffed. Honestly, are females always to be taken lightly? He looked ridiculous, shying away from her like she was some untouchable god or something.

"Do not underestimate my magic resistance, knight. I may have been born with the body of a woman, but that should be no reason to look down on my capabilities. If that charm didn't affect me before, why should it now?"

Her words did not seem to sway Diarmuid. The stubborn man even took a step back. He knew by doing this he was hurting her, insulting her even, but he'd rather she hated him than love him by the curse. Not like Grainne, never again. Just the thought of Saber's beautiful green eyes blinded by the effects of the bloody love spot made him want to take his life, if only to save himself from the torture.

His obvious poor faith in her abilities to resist the effects of magic was beginning to get to her. She knew now the horrid end of his otherwise noble life by the tangled strings of love that had him caught in their web. He had reason to be afraid, but she was no ordinary maiden. She was not raised a trophy to be dressed like a doll and married off to some new allied king. She was raised manning stables and polishing armor. She grew up with swords and horses, not embroidery and poetry.

"Remove your hand," she commanded, her fingers reaching out. On his knuckles, her fingers were like feathers, soft and delicate, fair and small. But her grip was the one of a swordsman as it encircled his hand.

"Diarmuid, trust me."

A voice as steady as a tranquil lake, with eyes clear and honest like its waters. Determination swam in those green orbs, and just like that, as if in a trance, he let her take his hand away.

"It's still in effect."

He blinked, realizing he'd just let his hand drop to his side, leaving Saber exposed to the love spot's effects. When did...?

"What is that surprised countenance for? Did I not mention my magic resistance is not to be underrated? You should know never to take me lightly, Diarmuid O'Dyna," she reprimanded, smiling with those bright beautiful eyes that had definitely put him under a spell.

"A-ah," he agreed. He couldn't grasp what had just transpired. One moment he was looking in her eyes and the next, he'd dropped the hand he'd used to so desperately keep her from the curse. And now she was looking at him just like before. Just, she was closer.

He tore his eyes from her gaze and looked to the hand that had deliberately disobeyed the orders of his brain. It was still in the hollow of her fair palm. He turned his wrist before she could pull away and ran his thumb gently across her knuckles, savoring the bit of contact before reluctantly letting her slip through his fingers.

In the very least, I have you.

He stared at his palm before continuing after the female king, who walked a few footsteps ahead.

...

"Saber, wait."

The knight blocked her path with his right arm, eyes pointed toward the back courtyard. The blonde knight nodded, following his gaze from their perch just outside the back of the temple. Down below was the body of a woman, sleeping with her back to them.

"It's Caster-"

Diarmuid clamped his hand over her mouth and moved the both of them backwards. After an irate look from Arturia, he pointed towards a second body, one of a man he didn't recognize. Movement of the dark head told him the stranger was stirring.

"How about that man? Is he familiar to you?" he asked, trying not to focus on how soft her lips felt.

Saber removed herself from his fingers, her eyes widening.

"I...I don't believe it."

It was clear from the look he gave her that he had no idea what she was getting at, but she slowly directed him to a different vantage point which was closer to the two on the ground.

Could it be?

The man turned in his sleep and finally Saber could confirm her suspicions. A sharp nose and angled chin, with dark tousled hair and high cheekbones. God's angels, Kiritsugu and Irisviel hadn't lied. For now, she could, she should take the magus-killer's words with little doubt, especially if he's kept his words and done the impossible.

A sigh escaped her lips as she remembered the dreamscape she was in with her former Master. She must find a way to convene with the rest of the Servants to at least brief them on the new situation.

Now that they've found Caster, they had a way to contact the others, but...It just didn't seem like the right thing to do to approach her right now, even if it was the logical choice.

"Diarmuid, will it be alright to wait until she wakes?"

Arturia had on an expression he had never seen on her before. There was no curve on her lip, but in her eyes something he recognized in himself. A longing he could not quite describe.

He nodded. Anything.

So the knights observed from their perch as the purple-haired magus woke.

Medea's eyes snapped open and she shot up from the ground, a magic circle at the ready behind her. Where was she? Fuyuki? A quick look around told her she was indeed at her former residence the temple full of energy that she had used as her base of operations. At least, until her plans were thwarted by two blondes and a bunch of kids she barely even remembered. One of which she now had a grudge against, the heartless beast…

Her eyes began to sting. Gods, she didn't even want to be on this stupid mission. She cared not for this world. It was cruel, and unforgiving, and judgemental. She owed nothing to the world of mortals. Not her service, not anything. All she wanted now, was for her request to be fulfilled. If Saber's Master hadn't kept his word, this world would face destruction that even Ares could not fulfill.

"Medea…?"

The woman froze, believing the voice to have been a hallucination. It was all she heard in the Throne of Heroes after all; it wasn't real. It wasn't real. But despite her insistence her body would not follow.

Her head turned slowly, the shuffling on cement directing her gaze backward to hollowed eyes and a solemn expression.

Gods…

Tears fell from her eyes in torrents. There was no way, there was no possible way he was alive. She sank to her knees, the sobs from her throat increasing in volume til they were the shrill wails of a young child.

It is not possible. It is not…

A gentle thumb wiped the hot tears from her cheeks, and when she lifted her gaze it was his eyes, his face, him.

"Soi...chirou…"

Saber averted her eyes. This wasn't something she had the right to see. She was part of the reason Medea hadn't fulfilled her only wish after all. In the end, the Servants were just souls who wanted a little more from their lives. Only recently had she realized that by winning the Grail War she was in effect crushing the wishes of the others, and damning them to the eternal purgatory of the Throne of Heroes.

Diarmuid saw the King of Knights shift by his side out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze lingered a little longer on the couple locking lips in the fading moonlight.

"Assassin should not be too far," the blonde one said, knowing the samurai never strayed too far from his Master.

"I'm not."

Both knights whirled around to find the samurai standing calmly behind them, also watching the romantic scene below unfold.

"Kojiro," Saber acknowledged.

"Greetings, lioness. I must thank you for letting my former Master reunite with her lover. She was devastated when she discovered she had not protected him against the Kin-pika. In the very least, she has gotten her wish, no?" the samurai's voice was a deep baritone. Respectful in tone, yet there was familiarity in the way he spoke.

This Kojiro had fought Saber before. He was sure of it. By the way the samurai was speaking he could infer it was a good fight, and it was fair. Perhaps uninterrupted by the workings of cruel Masters like his was. Diarmuid's fist clenched at his side.

"Yes, you are right…" the King of Knights replied.

Assassin frowned for a moment and reconsidered his words. "Oh, I must apologize. I didn't mean-"

Saber smiled sadly. Kojiro hadn't said anything wrong. "No, it's alright. My wish wasn't one that could be fulfilled by the Grail," she reassured him. "Neither was it one that should."

Kojiro didn't look convinced, with his azure eyes so doubting. "Still, if there were something I am able to do, I would not hesitate. It isn't fair, since both mine and my Master's have been granted."

At the purple-haired man's words left his mouth, Arturia and Diarmuid locked eyes before questioning him. Sasaki looked away and scratched the back of his head.

"Well, only partially. Saber...you are aware I am but a spirit given this name. I am not truly Kojiro Sasaki, for he was just a baseless legend. I just happen to possess the similar characteristics. Naturally, my wish would have been to live my own life. I am not aware of my real identity. I wanted to, perhaps, create one for myself. Now, I can." The samurai smiled sheepishly, peeking out of the corner of his eye to catch the woman's reaction.

It was a serene smile.

"You are absolutely correct."

Assassin made her see there was indeed a bright side to Kiritsugu's mission. A new life, was it?

The samurai moved and bowed. "I had nearly forgotten. I do not believe we have formally met, minus the wrath of my master. My name is Kojiro Sasaki. I am in your care."

Diarmuid cocked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar greeting, but responded too with his name and title. When the japanese man rose from his bow though, his eyes had sparked, just like a rival's did before a duel.

"By the way, Saber. I've brought company," Kojiro said, turning once again to his 'lioness'.

At that, what Saber had thought were dark shadows caused by the moonlight revealed themselves to be two more Assassins; the ones she met in the Fourth War.

"'Tis not the nature of knights to hide in the shadows," the female one remarked, her ponytailed purple hair catching the breeze, "However, we can understand that you do not wish to interrupt that," she said, gesturing to where the Medea still had her lips locked with resurrected lover.

"We were scouting for other Servants, our conqueror wants an audience for a short meeting. Do you wish to participate?" the woman asked the two knights.

The King of Conquerors was already two steps ahead of her. Saber needed an audience with the Servants if they wanted answers about their condition. A meeting would be the perfect place to tell them.

"Yes."

Diarmuid knew by the rules set by Kiritsugu Emiya that while in the real world they could do as they pleased, as long as they were present whenever they were summoned. He could find a quiet place to stay, away from the world. He could take off to his place of birth, and discover how much it had changed after his death. He could hunt like before in unfamiliar forests with unfamiliar prey. He could do what he used to. He could live like he wanted.

But as he echoed the King of Knights' reply, he knew that none of those would ever make this new life worth it, if he lived without her.

Chapter Text

Gilgamesh joined them in following the familiar overbearing aura only the King of Conqueror possessed. Such a mana signature could only belong to the red king after all. Saber was a serious martyr. Gilgamesh, an iron dictator. Iskandar ruled with a different voice and a different attitude, one that relied on his followers' admiration of him and his persistent drive to conquer all. Rather than or elicit fear, Iskandar inspired.

It was only fitting his energy felt the same. It was powerful, and it was welcoming, but most of all it was red. Blood crimson and beautiful, of course it would lead them to its heavily muscled owner. No one else could own such magic.

Assassin, the woman with the flowing hair that had come with them seemed to have the same line of thought. Saber couldn't see her face but the king knew she was smiling. Come to think of it, the black-clad assassins had been curiously close to the King of Conquerors in the Throne of Heroes, and even now.

"Saber."

The woman turned her gaze over to their blonde new arrival who was keeping their pace. Gilgamesh had once again chosen to tag along, though he did not at all look pleased to be trudging the same ground as his so called mongrels.

"After this, you are to come with me."

Her surprise was to be expected. Of course, Saber was a woman independent. Perhaps in this world she had planned to take residence on her own or take refuge in the house of that bloody ginger boy he didn't know why she was so fond of. Mongrel did not deserve her attention. Certainly not more than Gilgamesh did. Gilgamesh watched her eyes shift from shock to anger, and the fade away to confusion. The expression was new. The time he had known Saber, the answers to his questions was the blade of Excalibur.

"What is it you mean, King of Heroes? I can not continue speaking with you if you insist in puzzling me with your little word games."

Meanwhile, Diarmuid watched the exchange with bated breath. Since the King of Heroes had rejoined them, the man had monopolized all of the blonde woman's attention. He could feel it. It was in the way her eyes would steal over to his frame, and the way she would look away before Gilgamesh could return the gaze. It was in the faraway look the occupied her countenance when she feigned distraction, and in every nervous twitch she would try to hide whenever Gilgamesh would so much as look her way.

The Mesopotamian occupied her thoughts, that much was clear. The Throne of Heroes saw her differently; her attitude had only changed when they had woken up in Fuyuki again. Diarmuid knew Gilgamesh had been with her for god knows how long before he had joined her at the temple. Who knew what the two kings had conversed about?

There was an unidentifiable pain in his chest, that he knew had no place in this mission. Had Fionn felt this same pain the moment Diarmuid's curse took effect on his betrothed? He would never know, only that it was a pain he could now finally understand.

"Oh, but I am playing no game. It is only fitting for a queen to stand beside her husband after all. I have no intention to let you out of my sight," Gilgamesh clarified with that ever-present smirk.

Both knights scowled.

"I had my own queen and I have no intention to be yours, King of Heroes. If perhaps you could just accept that—"

Gilgamesh looked at her straight in the eyes, the arrogant curve of lip disappearing into a straight line. The mild amusement in his blood orbs faded into a serious gaze, one piercing as it was powerful. It was enough to kill the words before they left Saber's throat, leaving her speechless, captivated by the supernatural red hue.

"I get what I want," was his unfazed interruption, already used to her angry rejections of his advances. He took it in stride as he kept pace with his queen.

"I want you."

Her right foot snagged on her left, and she lurched forward. Three syllables and he'd pushed her over the edge. His voice sounded off the walls of her skull and repeated his emotional torment. Gods, she would never understand the King of Heroes, try as she might.

Gilgamesh withdrew the arm he would have used to catch her seeing as she had regained balance on her own as any person worth his salt would. Hopefully she didn't see the gesture as an insult. Her distracted eyes told him she hadn't even noticed. Had he so dazed her with his words, she was lost in thought?

Arturia's lip quivered as it cursed her loss of grace in front of the worst company no less. The woman could never understand how the King of Heroes could possibly act so...so...ugh!

"You cannot have me," were the words that finally came from a pair of very clearly infuriated lips. Their word, of course, did not seem to deter the centuries-old blonde.

Gilgamesh smiled. Of course she would say that.

Unknown to the two blondes, there was another who mirrored the red-eyed one's expression, except his was a countenance less expecting and more pleased. Kojiro Sasaki had no idea why the little exchange had brought about such a strange feeling in him. It was akin to relief, and it was an emotion he welcomed.

Kojiro had noticed that he and this King of Heroes shared nickname for their favorite blonde. The lioness seemed to be more popular with the other servants than the Japanese man had predicted. It seemed he would have to take better measures to siphon off even just a fraction of her time. There were too many Servants to compete with, including the raven-haired foreigner who wore his envy so clearly on his face. Were warriors of the Lancer's race untrained to mask expressions, unlike the samurai Sasaki resembled?

The woman assassin who led them decelerated to a slow walk as soon as Iskandar's mana became so obvious they couldn't have been fifty meters from him. A clearing slowly appeared before the servants, the dim light of the dawn filtering through the trees assisted by a controlled bonfire by the feet of the more bestial Lancer.

The spot in the woods behind the temple was filled with most of the Servants that had been summoned, with a few just coming in.

"HA! You may be the strongest demigod known to man, HOWEVER, I am the King of Conquerors! And being that, I shall conquer you and recruit you into my army!" Iskandar howled.

"True, true. HOWEVER, can you match strength feared by the gods themselves?!" Hercules countered.

One very loud corner was occupied by the crimson dressed warrior who had summoned them all. He currently locked arms with Heracles over a fresh stump that the two no doubt had created for the sole purpose of this arm-wrestling bout. Assassin walked over to the former, tucking a few strands of stray purple hair behind her mask as she approached the man. She whispered something in his ear and finally the King of Conquerors took notice of the new arrivals and gestured them over.

Only Saber approached. Gilgamesh thought the invitation disdainful, the native didn't feel like talking to a stranger and would rather wait for his pseudo-master, and Diarmuid was too distracted to notice.

"My King, I had been searching for you." That was Lancelot, who joined Saber as she made her way to the ginger Grecian despite the glares he was getting. "I appeared in the middle of some sort of barren building that looked like it had been visited by the wrath of a dragon."

Of course, that was where their battle ended. Saber tried to ignore the pang of guilt in her heart as she remembered their tragic confrontation, and distracted herself with other thoughts. Was that parking building still standing until now?

"I appeared at the nearby temple. The second time I joined the war, that was where I ended it," Saber replied as her former knight made the familiar gesture of kissing her hand.

"Ended that blonde king too I presume?" Lancelot whispered on her knuckles.

"The King of Heroes? Yes," she said as he straightened up and took his place to her right. Lancelot looked troubled, more troubled than usual. The wrinkle in his brow was deeper and his stare ahead was far away, much past the Iskandar and his muscled Grecian rival. The slight squint told her he was trying to reach out to something he couldn't quite grasp.

"There are gaps in my memory when I think back on our Grail War, my liege. I…remember you most of all, but when it comes to the others I draw blanks," said Lancelot's deep, solemn bass. God had she missed this voice of his. She hadn't heard this tone since their days as allies against Camelot's enemies.

He was answered by a curious eyebrow and his king's full attention.

"With this King of Heroes I know at least we had a fight that was…airborne?" Lancelot said unsurely, his statement answered by Arturia's subtle nod at his words.

"And prior to that…the Lancer who is so fond of you. I remember being on opposing sides, and then on the same one and I remember you," Lancelot said with his hand on his forehead. His eyebrows were tightly scrunched together. Perhaps the mad enhancement of the Berserker Class had more of an effect on him than Arturia had thought.

"Yes, most of us met that day. Diarmuid's Master ordered him to eliminate me by assisting you against Lancer's wishes. Both yours and his Masters' plots were thwarted by the King of Conquerors though."

She said it with indifference, and he reacted in horror. How could he voluntarily agree to a fight that was clearly unfair?

"My liege—"

Saber smiled at him, so sickeningly sweet he could taste honey on his tongue. She left him gaping as she strode ahead. Again, it dawned on the troubled frenchman his king was a saint. It was too much to bear, didn't she know? Lancelot resisted the urge to act, resisted the need to catch her her hand again, to bloody force her to understand she should be angry she should befurioussheshouldbeathisthroatforhissinssheshouldbe-

His fingers curled around empty space as her wrist just swung out of his reach.

"Have you not located Caster? The one from our war?" Saber asked the man currently in the middle of an arm wrestling match, after realizing the mage who had caused them too much trouble.

She was answered not by him, but by her former escort who sat amusedly at his right side. Saber thought it odd the nameless Assassin would do so. She didn't recall Iskandar being friendly with the sneaky servants. In fact, Rider was the one who eliminated them. All of them. This woman too, she recognized. This Assassin was the one who stood and accepted Iskandar's blade. Why of all things would she even be lending her services to the King of Conquerors instead of just slipping away as Gilles de Rais had apparently done.

"We have, of course; otherwise we would be unworthy of being called Assassins. The man you speak of does not wish to join us," the Assassin said, her chin resting on her palm as she leaned on Iskandar's side of the large stump.

Heracles tipped the balance a bit towards Iskandar's side, but the ginger man only smiled in response.

"Seems you really are a force of nature, demigod," the burly man said, pushing back Heracles' hand with a new kind of force.

"I don't believe we will finish before the sun goes down, son of Zeus. Perhaps we can settle this some other glorious time.

"Saber," Iskandar addressed as he and his match ended their match in a draw, "I think as the one servant those Masters have any association with, you owe the rest of us an explanation."

All the servants minus both Casters huddled around the CuChulainn's bonfire as the sun's rays began to signal its entrance in the east.

"So," began the smooth tone of the mask-wearing beauty, Medusa, "What now?"

All eyes were on Saber. A sigh quietly escaped her small lips before she echoed the words Kiritsugu had spoken to her in her dream, leaving out what the mage-killer had mentioned about her role. She doubted that was something the honorable heroes in front of her would care to hear, especially not with such difficult personalities in her crowd. The irritated glare she sent her fellow king's way went unnoticed.

"Normal lives, eh?" Cu echoed, poking his fire as if only to feel the heat on his skin. "So far this Emiya has kept his word with our bodies. Think he'll really let us go when this is all over?"

Saber nodded. Kiritsugu at least deserved that much credit. She knew, too, that Irisviel wouldn't trick her so. As if on cue, his words were marked by the arrival of Medea and her human escort. The servants present picked up fast. Obviously the stoic man wasn't one they had seen in the Throne of Heroes. He had no visible magic power, no obvious physical training. He was so blatantly a normal human being, and one from this era, no less.

"What the hell?"

Cu's expression contorted when he finally realized exactly what he was seeing. Within the crowd, even Medusa expressed a tinge of surprise. That...couldn't have been right. Standing next to the tearful woman mage was a face that should have been six feet under, ten years decayed by now.

Realizing the amount of confused attention she was receiving, Medea put a protective arm around her resurrected human lover.

"Saber. It seems that homunculus woman has kept her end of the deal. I assume I must now keep mine," she uttered, beautiful purple lip tint in a grim line.

Kuzuki Souchirou received the puzzled expressions silently, allowing his former Servant to act as she saw fit. He recognized some of them, especially the two blondes. How could he forget them. Gilgamesh, he looked at with mild anger, but otherwise he would not dare act. He could infer from all this that the people gathered were about as powerful or even more powerful than Caster.

Suddenly, the magus strode towards the short king, but not before warning all the others of what horrors she could inflict if they touched her man. A dainty hand was firmly around Saber's wrist.

The king's first instinct was to throw her off, but the magus moved quick enough that Medea was back at Souchirou's side when Saber could see what the woman had written on her skin. A red alive like fire stared back from small bold strokes on her wrist. The hot scar was shaped like a horseshoe inside of a ring, but before she could discern its meaning it disappeared as soon as it had appeared.

"I will not be far. At least...not from you."

In a blink, she was gone. So was Kuzuki.

The silence that followed was one bathed in confusion.

It was the one with hair of carnations that spoke first. "I repeat my query. What now?"

Rider's question was more difficult to answer than it had seemed initially. Arturia avoided the glowing sets of eyes that tried to catch her gaze. What answer had she? Kiritsugu had instructed them to live normal lives in the meantime. He hadn't told her how.

A drop of sunlight fell beneath her eyelids and she had to blink away the shine. It was...warm, inviting her out of the forest and into the world she had long been stolen from. The early morning breeze that nicked her skin gave her goosebumps, another reminder she was no longer a listless ghost among the living. Arturia breathed, shoulders heaving as the mountain air filled her lungs for one brief refreshing moment as she actualized the gift she had once again been given. The azure sky that had begun to brighten up above gave her the answer she had been looking for.

"We live."

…

"Why must you follow me?"

It surprised Diarmuid a bit that she had not questioned his place by her side. He was thankful of course, that when everyone had left the clearing and Saber began to walk her own way she hadn't complained when he'd taken stride beside her. He had been silent about it too, ready to leave if she had told him to find his own way, but otherwise enjoying the luxury of her company like it was a gift from heaven.

What didn't surprise him was the company of the King of Heroes. That was something he expected. Diarmuid didn't particularly appreciate it, but honestly he hadn't a clue what to make of the Mesopotamian. Not at all.

"I believe I have adequately offered an explanation, my queen."

Gilgamesh's obsession with Saber was as certain as the sun waking up in the east every passing day. What was also certain was that Saber tolerated him, no matter what had happened between them.

What had happened?

Knowledge that eluded him as long as Diarmuid wouldn't ask.

The Irishman watched the King of Knights elude the other's fingers as they reached for her face, hearing his own teeth clench as his jaw tightened. Curse his own hand for having been eliminated so early on! Anything could have happened between the two blondes following his death. From what he could gather, he could infer Arturia must have been one of the last to expire during the Fourth War and Gilgamesh too, if Iskandar had been defeated by him. Berserker...Lancelot, he must have been defeated by either king. Following that theory, Saber and Archer would have been the last two.

Diarmuid cringed at the thought, but resumed his theory. Neither could have won, otherwise their present situation couldn't have come to light. But if neither won, what happened?

Why, try as he might, couldn't he find her for the eternity he was searching, only to find out she had been summoned again? How could there have been two Archers in the second Grail war that she fought? How could she have been summoned twice in a row? How could Gilgamesh meet her both times?

The golden-haired demigod tried to touch Arturia's face again, but she slapped his hand away before Gilgamesh could.

And then there was that little sequence of him and her, the King so casually caressing her face like he'd done it before. It stopped Diarmuid in his tracks when he'd seen them like that. The Irishman only made his way across the temple courtyard when he'd seen she'd pushed Gilgamesh away. Diarmuid wouldn't lie and say it didn't affect him.

He shook his head. He hadn't thoughts like that since he was but a young lad.

Diarmuid sighed as he continued to follow the one light he had been granted in his years as a knight down the hill towards a town he knew next to nothing about.

The three descended the last steps from Ryuudou Temple. Lancer was completely unfamiliar with the location. During his time as a Servant, he had mostly stayed with his dreadful Master. Kayneth never took the time to help him study the geography of Fuyuki. The only way he could ever view the full city was through the window of the hotel Saber's Master decided to destroy.

Saber walked with a certainty of a resident of the area. Her feet did not hesitate when they turned corners or met intersections, but for some odd reason she couldn't keep herself from staring at the ground.

Their other companion, having finished his verbal bout with the woman, shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled, as if he too knew where they were headed and didn't like it. Wherever it was, Gilgamesh was unhappy about it, dragging his feet as he walked.

It was a dark chocolate brown gate of a Japanese-style mansion that greeted them when Saber's footsteps had finally come to a stop. Without hesitation, Arturia rang the doorbell at the gate, and stepped back. The girl seemed like she suddenly found her shoes interesting, as she stared down at them as she waited for someone to answer.

Is this the residence of an ally of yours, Saber? He thought. His eyes roamed the wall until they landed on a nameplate by the gate. He blinked several times as if willing the kanji to change. Perhaps it was just that he was bad at Japanese. He thought Saber hated that man, and yet

Emiya?

Diarmuid reached out to Saber's shoulder to question her actions, but right then, the gate flew open, revealing a beautiful woman with glowing blue eyes and long black hair that reached past her lower back.

Time slowed when she lowered her gaze to Saber's. Simultaneously, two pairs of eyes widened, both recognizing the other in their vibrant orbs. The dark-haired woman was first to move. Shaking, she brought a quivering hand towards Arturia's face. Just before her fingers touched, the woman turned sharply and called out the name of the one Saber came back for.

"What is it, Rin?"

The smaller gate opened wider, revealing an older, taller man, with gray streaking his ginger hair. He stood much higher than he had ten years ago, even higher than both Saber's company. His build was muscular, completely replacing the skinny youth he was before. Hard, piercing eyes retained that odd yellowish colored iris, but otherwise they were different, the naivete Saber was so used to seeing replaced by maturity and a bit of hope. They zoned in on the petite King.

As if his gaze was a current, Arturia felt the electricity run through her veins. Her knees quivered just a little as she lifted her chin to meet his eyes. Oh, it had been only hours but my, had she missed him, his face, his smile, his overprotectiveness, his boyish perfume-everything, everything.

The surroundings blurred as her heart beat faster than the wings of a bird, climbing and climbing higher til it finally reached the skyline. With a look he had disarmed her, he'd left her breathless, helpless to her feelings.

Too late, she could sense the heat in her cheeks, the smile on her lips. Too late, she couldn't stop the excitement building up in her chest. Too late, there was the desire to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him she loved him over and over and over.

"Saber?"

In his voice, all those feelings were unexpectedly absent.

"Saber?" the man repeated, a knit set of eyebrows disclosing how he truly felt.

Shirou looked at her with uncomprehending eyes. Why was she here? He thought she disappeared. No, he watched her disappear. So, why was she here now, alive and unchanged, standing right in front of him?

Rin moved before he did, grasping Saber's wrist and raising a hand pistol on a familiar sinister face. Shirou's swords were out in milliseconds, both out in the ready against the bastard that should have stayed dead those ten years ago.

"STAY BACK!" he barked, raising his right blade in the direction of the man who had given him the scars he could never erase; the man who gave Saber scars, who blinded the servant in trying to claim her love for himself. That sick sadist! What the hell was he even doing here?

Anger boiled behind Shirou's eyelids, making him see red in the vision that was Gilgamesh. The Servant had to be crazy if he thought Shirou was the same naive little dream-chaser he was ten years ago. That battle by the water was more than enough a wake-up call for the talentless magus. Shirou had faced adversary after adversary the ten years that followed the Grail War, he hadn't been idle.

But even Shirou knew a demigod was no easy target, and bloody hell, he knew what the Servant could do given the chance to open his cursed Noble Phantasm. They'd be dead and gone if he allowed that to happen. Rin-he had to get her out of here in case Gilgamesh would try to attack. Shirou couldn't afford another casualty in his household.

Shit.

Shirou bit on his lip so hard he could taste the iron in his mouth amongst the feel of his teeth chattering. Shit! All those ten years toiling and training. All those years, and still here he was, shaking like a leaf in front of an enemy he had seen defeated, one he had already fought before. He knew he could fight! He could fight! He could fight!

But Shirou still knew he would never stand a chance.

It seemed Gilgamesh shared his antagonism, fueled by the fact this idiot mongrel had the gall to try and keep his wife away from him a second time. Several weapons materialized behind Gilgamesh, all pointing towards Shirou.

"You dare point that thing at your king, mongrel?" the King shouted, masking the ferocity his rapidly depleting prana took away from his eyes.

In the corner of her vision, Rin finally noticed the dark-haired stranger standing aside, who had much more mana than her father's stupid Servant and aimed her Gandr at the unsuspecting man. The rational side of her told her to shoot and kill before he could do anything to harm them but it was hard to do that when their shorter former ally had stopped her in her tracks.

"Archer."

The green eyes he so adored, pierced him so deeply he couldn't resist their hold. If only they'd cease to dart towards that unworthy mongrel. If only they'd just hold his gaze, just like they have in the past so daringly, so fearlessly.

Babylon's Gate's shut so suddenly, as if rejecting the man their Master had become.

How is Saber taming that monster? Rin asked herself as she looked to the small woman next to her. Saber hadn't aged, but she did. She was twenty-seven now, and so was Shirou. And what in the world is she doing here? Saber didn't feel like a spirit anymore. She seemed…human.

"You're explaining yourselves when we get inside," Shirou went in the gate, Rin close behind him. Lancer and Archer gave Saber a look. Who knows what's going to happen now? They were led inside the Japanese house, everything all too familiar to Saber. The mansion looked just like it did ten years ago. Everything was more or less the same: the polished floors, the glass windows…everything. Nostalgia…nostalgia.

To the side, the hallway to her room. Right there, she remembered was where Shirou had kissed her. The thought made her blush.

The three Servants were led to the dining room, where they were given cushions to sit on. Saber and the two magi sat with ease. Diarmuid struggled to maintain the position, while Gilgamesh didn't even bother. The latter slumped to the floor and spread his legs under the low table. Rin served tea to all of them setting a cup in front of everyone, yet shaking a bit in front of Gilgamesh, before taking a seat next to Shirou. The blonde King proceeded to bring out a glass of wine, and sipped it, pleased with the taste. Saber wondered how he could never get drunk.

"So," Rin started awkwardly, cold sweat forming on her forehead as she faced Gilgamesh. The now older woman scooted a bit closer to Shirou. "Are you going to explain why you're here?"

Saber blew at her tea. She doubted they would believe their story, even if it was Shirou. The now-grown man brought the cup to his lips. Saber decided to just go on with it. They had to tell them sometime, and now that they were here, she might as well tell them.

"Kiritsugu sent us."

Shirou's cup dropped with a thud, the tea spreading slowly across the table. What? Rin choked on her tea, and ran to get a rag to wipe the spilled drink.

"Did I hear that right? Kiritsugu? My father?"

His father?! Lancer was surprised. He didn't even look a bit like him.

Saber nodded, ignoring Gilgamesh's snickering and watched Rin wipe off the tea, her being assisted by an apologetic Shirou. It was definitely unbelievable. According to Shirou, his adoptive father had died five, no, fifteen years ago now. There was no way Kiritsugu could come back to life, except by some miracle, but the Servants knew what they saw. That was undoubtedly the authentic mage killer.

Rin and Shirou nodded to each other, coming to a silent agreement. "Look, actually, you're not the first surprise that came here."

This got Saber's and Lancer's interest. Not the first? Does this mean that in the ten years we were gone, the Grail had been active?

Shirou continued.

"Beginning at the end of the 5th Holy Grail War, many…people had started appearing."

Rin continued for him, "No one knows where they came from, but almost instantly, they began living normal lives, as if they'd always been living here. We've managed to track and monitor some of them, but others appeared elsewhere in the world and were lost. We've tried to find them, but… Anyway, do you have any clue as to what is happening? And…are you part of it? What is Kiritsugu planning?"

Saber's face remained unchanged. "Others? We were not informed of such an occurrence. And Kiritsugu…He sent us here to destroy the Greater Grail, and end the cycle for good."

Shirou's eyes widened. She couldn't possibly be serious. Didn't they just destroy the Grail ten years ago?

"Cycle? You mean the Holy Grail Wars?"

Saber nodded.

"And how will you do that?"

"Destroy seals that appear around the world to allow the Greater Grail to take form and then demolish it as it materializes."

Silence.

Shirou's head hit the table.

"It seems there's a hell of a lot of things we don't yet understand. But if you really are going to destroy the Grail, you can count on my help." Shirou smiled goofily, the smile Saber had loved. She was grateful for his help.

"What will you do while waiting for the seals to appear, then?"

Saber did not reply. What were they going to do? They were Servants. They were trained fighting machines meant to follow orders and function for the Grail War. It seemed like such a sweet idea to live again while they were in the Throne of Heroes, but now that they're on Earth, well…

"You have to live as normal humans, I'm guessing?" Rin asked.

"Well…" Saber tried to reply.

Shirou let his chin rest on his hand and sighed. Really, what was the world coming to? He was happy to see Saber, as it seems she didn't really disappear forever, but what does this mean for the world? Is the Grail War starting up again? Not only that, she brought that demon of a King along with her…and some other…strange man. Ah. Well.

But this would mean she and the other two would have to stay over at…

Rin gave him a look.

…his house.

He nodded back to the woman.

Shirou showed the three Servants a 'peace sign'.

"Two weeks. We can house you for two weeks." He took back his hand. "But, after that, you should be able to find your own accommodation. Perhaps you could rent an apartment or maybe a house. Sorry, but two weeks is all we can give you. We'll help you move in, help you pay your rent, but that's all we can do." Shirou scratched the back of his head. "Sorry,"

Saber smiled at him, "No need for that, it should give us enough time to find a job."

"A...job." Gilgamesh articulated with obvious disgust.

Rin got up and said, "I hope you'll be comfortable." The woman smiled at Saber and left the room.

Gilgamesh watched the woman leave with a smidgen of interest. She reminded him a little too much of the tool of a master he had back in the First war. He wasn't sure if it was the predominance of red in her garment, or perhaps the sharp blue of her eyes, but in any case the king didn't want to bother himself with speculation.

Lancer, on the other hand, watched the blonde woman as she talked with this 'Shirou'. She seemed different. Her green eyes were lit and she was smiling. Her cheeks were tinged with pink, almost red. She was blushing. She moved differently. She almost seemed…shy. He looked from Saber to the redheaded man and back to Saber. Did she perhaps…? No. The King of Knights couldn't have possibly…could she?

The red-haired man scratched the back of his head again. It seemed to be a habit of his. There was a glint from his fingers. Nevermind that. Who is this man? He is the son of Emiya Kiritsugu, though they bear no resemblance, yes, but what is his relation to Saber?

Both Saber and Shirou left the room in response to Rin's voice, leaving Lancer with the question on his tongue.

"He was her Master."

Lancer froze, fingers hovering over the polished wood, at the King of Heroes' words.

"What's that expression for, mongrel?" Gilgamesh asked, amused, already knowing what his answer would be.

Diarmuid did not reply, but slid the door open and went after the female knight. Now alone, the King took a sip of his wine and swirled the red liquid in his glass.

"Fool."

Gilgamesh took another sip of his fine wine.

Hm?

The King chuckled at his own actions and set the glass down on the low table. He rose. It seemed he was going to follow the two Servants anyway.

A fool...I am one as well, after all.

The King left the room and shut the door behind him.

A white-haired woman entered the kitchen the King had just left. She called out names, but with no reply. The table had cups of tea left on it. She huffed and decided to clean the place up. Her hands stopped next to an empty flute. It was an expensive crystal red wine glass…with a beautiful web of cracks that marred its once clear surface.

Chapter Text

"I am serious about calling the mage association, you know. He might be able to help too. Besides he may even know about the other servants who came with Saber if they did come from the 4th War. We have to tell him, Rin, " Shirou said, looking over his shoulder. If he thought he couldn't be heard from the other room he was quite wrong.

Saber sighed. Their two weeks were nearly up and surprisingly, she'd seen very little of her former master and Rin. She wondered often where the two had been going and believed they would tell her soon, but the two came back late, if at all, and she would always miss the chance to ask them. There were days when she'd wake up and find them both gone, with only a meal left at the table for both her and Diarmuid.

"Good morning, Artu—Aria."

Speaking of whom…

"A pleasant morning to you as well. How did your little excursion go?"

Diarmuid slid next to her on the table as she served him rice. It was quite unusual…a king serving a knight…but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Over the past few days, he'd almost gotten used to it. It was just the kind of life they lived in the Emiya home.

"Uneventfully. I visited the bridge you told me about. The one by the river. I believe I have sufficiently studied the town enough to navigate it."

"And the job search?"

Diarmuid let out a long breath. It seemed his search was unsuccessful. "Drake Odina is still without work, as my luck would have it," the knight said as he offered Saber some curry, "And you, Miss Aria Dragon?"

"I have not yet found one that would suit our needs. There are several dojos around, all of which would be glad to add western sword technique to their lessons, but I do not believe they would appreciate a tutor who would disappear without a trace every now and then," Saber replied. Arturia wasn't used to their new names yet. It would take her a few moments to process when she was being addressed by her new name.

At first, she was against the idea of adopting a new moniker, but both Shirou and Rin wouldn't let the matter go. A name like hers and those of her companions were far too conspicuous, and would attract unnecessary attention if not from civilians, then from the Mage Association itself.

The night they arrived…

"And so you need new names … and I guess we could make fake documents for each of you. It isn't just the three of you, right? Did you come with others?"

Saber and Archer abhorred the idea. Proud kings giving up their name for another? The idea was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

"Mongrel, I do not see the point of this preposterous proposal. If you for even one second believe this is a sound plan, then you must have gone completely mad."

The redhead, who could never truly get used to Gilgamesh's presence, turned to the orange eyed servant. "What was your name again Dieer…?" Shirou trailed off confused, hoping he would finish.

"Diarmuid O'Dyna." Lancer finished simply sighing. Was his name that much of a tongue twister?

"Yes, well…that name might be quite difficult to pronounce in this country. Perhaps something simpler? We don't have to change all of it, but we can change it into something similar. Foreign names are fine since…well…none of you even look remotely like Japanese people. We don't want the Mage Association restricting your movements so much after all."

Saber didn't see the need to change his name. She could pronounce it just fine. Diarmuid O'Dyna.

"Something that starts with D, then." Shirou stroked his clean shaven chin.

"How about Damian?" Rin suggested. Shirou smiled and scratched his head. He wasn't the best at anything foreign. He could barely even speak English. Rin on the other hand, was much much better at this. Illya too, he supposed.

"Damian: the tamer, from the Greek language, I think," the dark haired girl continued. "How about it, Lancer?"

Lancer just stared at her looking skeptic. It didn't really sound right. The Tamer. Well, considering that his death was caused by a beast, it didn't even sound remotely close to right. He made his own suggestion. "What about Daegan? It means black haired in my language."

Rin, Shirou, Illya, and Saber exchanged glances. "Any other suggestions?" Shirou asked.

"Would you mind a name from my language, Lancer?" Saber suggested. If they absolutely had to go through with this they could at least do it right.

"Not at all, what do you have in mind?" he asked Saber back, smiling, and wishing she would come up with a nice name. She did, in fact, and it was one most suited to him. Saber associated Diarmuid with a mythical being. He had the charm of a prince, the chivalry of knights, and the power of a raging beast. And as she thought of him as a rather magical being, she thought she might give him the name of the most regal of magical creatures.

"Drake: the dragon…Drake Odina. What say you?"

Hm. It had a nice ring to it. This name was English instead of Irish, but it sounded right. A dragon, eh? Unnoticeably, he smiled with his face turned, an odd sense of happiness welling in his chest.

Diarmuid turned to the orange haired man. "Is that fine?"

Shirou just shrugged, agreeing. It was an okay name. Not too hard to pronounce either. "How about you, Gilgamesh?" Shirou asked, trying his best to suppress a shudder. It was still bothering him that they were seated at a table with someone who had almost killed him and Saber ten years ago. He couldn't fathom how calm his former servant was in front of her greatest adversary, yet there she was, tranquil as a lake, with one hand on her chin.

Did Gilgamesh even have a last name? Saber found herself looking at the blonde king. Who was he really? If she should name him, what would it be? Surely it would describe him. Gil was undoubtedly strong…stronger than her…stronger than anyone she'd ever met. He owned more riches than she could ever even imagine.

"What about Gil Edric?"

A blonde eyebrow turned upward as he king waited for Saber to explain herself.

"Edric," she repeated, "An uncommon name from my time. Edric, from the words êad and rîc, meaning 'rich and powerful.' I believe it would be to your liking?" She let the new name slide off her tongue.

It was almost too easy to name her two companions, and she had found names that suited them both well. Gil, for one, subtly raised a corner of his lips as if satisfied. She would have missed it if she wasn't watching his reaction. His new name described him perfectly and said nothing less about his glory. A suitable name for a man such as himself.

Diarmuid, too, seemed satisfied with his English name. Saber contemplated whether she should have gone with what she had initially thought would suit him. Kyle. Kyle, meaning 'handsome'. Even Saber couldn't deny that. That little love spot didn't need to work to make people fall for him. He was doing that part well enough on his own. Arturia didn't think why 'Drake' even crossed her mind, but it just...fit.

And now it was her turn.

She received odd looks from her two Servant companions. It was a little difficult to name such a complicated woman. Diarmuid found it hard to find a name for her. To him she had beauty that shone brighter than the sun and all the stars, but would she agree to a name that meant that? He made a list of all the names he could think of that matched her.

Aine or Anya , an ancient Irish name that meant splendour, radiance, or brilliance... but that was also the name of one of Fionn's wives. He shuddered. Someone like Saber should not carry the name of a pitiful woman Fionn called his wife. The man married for the sake of marrying. Saber did not deserve that.

Aoife or Ava, meaning beautiful, radiant, or joyful. However that was the name of the other Lancer's, Cu Chulainn's, wife, from whom he sired a son. Having just met Cu Chulainn, he couldn't suggest that could he?

Brianna, meaning noble or virtuous.

Deirdre, the most beautiful woman in ancient Ireland, betrothed to the high king Conchobar Mac Nessa. It was a beautiful name, but he could imagine what Saber's ginger master would have said about the spelling.

Niamh, or Niav meaning radiance, lustre or brightness, a daughter of the sea god, who fell in love with one of Diarmuid's comrades and Fionn's son , Oisin. It really didn't sit well with Diarmuid that he would involve the King of Knights with anything that had to do with his past, even if he did respect Oisin.

Saoirse, "Freedom, liberty," or Orlaith, the golden princess. It didn't sound right at all. Maybe, Ryanne, meaning "little" king. Diarmuid almost snickered at that one. Maybe he could tease Saber a bit with it.

Deirdre, so far that was the best choice. Had a nice backstory to it too. But it still just didn't, well, suit her. It just wasn't quite...there.

He glanced to his side, wishing Gil Edric wasn't between him and whom he thought was the most beautiful of women. What suited her exactly? He didn't know. Arturia Pendragon was already a beautiful name, albeit a bit suspicious considering the popularity of her legend. Why was this so hard?

"We could go with a Japanese name and say you're half," Shirou suggested, "…Ryuu Akane?"

"Aria."

Ignoring the attention that came his way, the bored King of Heroes said nonchalantly, "She shortened my name, I do not see why that should not work for her. You mongrels worry about the most trivial of things. Fools."

With that, he took a sip of wine from the glass that mysteriously appeared in his hand.

Raised eyebrows decorated the odd group's faces.

"She can have Dragon as her surname then," Diarmuid suggested, "Well, to keep it close to her real name, and well, this way she wouldn't have to pretend she's half."

After giving the two male Servants a strange look, the ginger-haired man shrugged. "Sure."

Aria Dragon, huh?

Saber smiled a little, eyeing her two companions.

Drake Odina…and Gil Edric.

Present time

"You would think this would be less of a bother. We are heroes. We have a certain set of skills," the woman king uttered as she positioned Lancer's chopsticks in his hand.

"Skills that humanity has apparently abandoned, King of Knights," the man replied, struggling to get used to the wooden Japanese utensils, "As I have observed, the townsfolk these days are never in any danger of being attacked by a warring faction. Back in my day, I could at least be hired a mercenary."

"Yes, well, I have found while mercenaries exist in this era, they would much rather slay at a distance…using guns and the like. That work is more suited to those of the Assassin class, I believe."

The two knights began breakfast, every now and then sneaking a glance at the two young mages in the other room. They seemed to be deeply engrossed in heated discussion.

"So, Saber, the Mage Association…what do you know of it?" asked Lancer. When she followed his eyes, she knew Rin and Shirou were not being as discreet as they thought.

"Apart from it being exactly what its name means, they do send a representative to the Holy Grail War whenever it happens. Perhaps to harness its power. Kiritsugu was always wary of them. I was not sure whether he trusted them or not," Saber eyed her companion, "I am actually quite surprised you ask me. Your master was, in fact, the one they had sent during our time."

"My former master was not really one to talk."

The Servants found themselves looking out to their hosts once more. Rin had a hand on her forehead while Shirou continued to angrily whisper words her way.

"I think we ought to stop relying on their hospitality, Diarmuid, they are still young after all. By the way they are acting, I do not believe they have any formal occupation yet," said the King of Knights. She would hate to be a burden, especially on Shirou. The last time they met he was working multiple jobs to keep food on the table until Tohsaka arrived.

"My thoughts as well. I just wish there were a job that allowed more flexibility. We cannot be blamed if one of those seals suddenly appears and we have to leave. And those missions could take days, if not weeks," the Knight reasoned, letting his eyes drift back to the petite blonde who sat next to him.

The mission. It had been nearly two weeks since Saber's master had plopped them back into the world, and they'd received no contact from the Mage Killer since. Their few days had been peaceful, and yet somewhat lacking. The King of Heroes had taken off barely three days into their stay in the Emiya household, dubbing the place 'much too distasteful and mundane' and set out to find a more suitable home. Gilgamesh had visited Saber every day since then, hoping to charm her into living with him, but to Diarmuid's relief, the King of Knights declined the offer, every single time.

Til now, Diarmuid knew not what to make of Arturia's relationship with Gilgamesh. The King of Heroes knew just how to derail her thoughts so much she could barely hold a conversation with him without her temper winning her over. Something had happened between Lancer's death and the day he met Saber in the Throne of Heroes and he didn't know what. Try as he might, he couldn't find out.

A loud pop resounded from the yard, and Diarmuid's attention was drawn in the direction of the noise, where the two mages continued bickering in the yard. With a final Gandr, Rin decided to storm off, leaving Shirou an apologetic mess. The redhead stole a glance at the slightly ajar dining room door, unaware of the two Servants observing him.

"I think I owe the dojo another visit, what say you?"

Diarmuid just nodded.

~oooOOOooo~

The King of Heroes disinterest grew with every selling point the mongrel was making. He'd gone through all the trouble of finding the best broker in town and he'd ended up with this wretch of a human being. The hotel he was staying at til today grew dull with its painfully white sheets and lackluster furniture. Where was the grandeur, the opulence that was awarded to five-star hotels? Well, if it was a mongrel making the judgement, of course such dreary rooms and standardized wallpapers would impress. But to Gilgamesh, the King of Kings, the hotel penthouse was if anything, a bore.

"Is this the premiere residence in this wretched town?" Gilgamesh stated flatly as the Nichibotsu Kyuden, as the pathetic broker called it, came into view.

The car came around into the driveway and Mr. Fukushima opened the door for his new client. Though he didn't recognize the name Gil Edric, Fukushima could tell he was dealing with the most powerful of men. And so, the poor, simple Fukushima ended up having to wipe his clammy hands on his trousers every five minutes, as he tried to deal with the sheer dominance of this man's aura.

Who was Gil Edric? Even if he searched the web for the name he came up completely blank. By the man's exotic look and exceptional appearance, one would think Mr. Edric a celebrity. Plus, not just anyone waltzed into the Fukushima conglomerate without any money, for they only dealt in the hundred millions. And this guy just walked in like he owned the place, strutting into the President's office unintimidated. This blonde playboy must have been worth billions.

And so Mr. Fukushima found himself doing the job of the common salesman. Great.

"Wh-why, yes sir. It was built by the best modern architects in the last year."

Sir? Since when did he call his clients sir?

"Is that supposed to impress me?" asked a clearly unimpressed Gil Edric.

The foreign billionaire walked into the double doors of the Sunset Mansion. While his back was turned, Fukushima took the opportunity to set his head on straight. It was important he impress this client to so that he would consider buying a lot here in Zeitaku Heights. The Fukushima Conglomerate had acquired this entire mountainside for the purchase of powerful people, but after the unexplainable events ten years prior, all their potential buyers had scurried off. The few people who had secured lots had done it at significant discounts, which left Fukushima at a loss.

It was a shame really. Zeitaku had the best view of Fuyuki. Due to it being on the mountainside, one could hardly hear the hubbub of Shinto, and it overlooked Miyami. The Nichibotsu Kyuden, which sat on the highest lot in Zeitaku Heights, had an even better and more expansive view of the city than those modern skyscrapers all over Shinto.

"Only the sturdiest materials were used to make it sir. Luxury was the theme in mind," Fukushima answered, he himself admiring the handiwork that went into the mansion. The Nichibotsu Kyuden was designed to reflect Fuyuki. The architect who made it married the traditional housing of Miyama with the modernity of Shinto to create this masterpiece. The palace was warm, incorporating dark wooden floorings polished to perfection, yet with floor to ceiling glass windows that were usually only seen on modern zen designs.

The ceilings of this mansion were high, and it relied on indoor heating to get through the winter months, but it was worth the sacrifice for the large, crystal chandelier to hang brilliantly in the center space. From the entrance, the mansion split into three wings. The east, which housed a pool of water and a Sakura garden that bloomed in spring, the north, where the Master bedroom and various other rooms were located, and the South wing, which could hold whatever rich people wish to hold. Of course, the entrance faced the west, where one could see the Sunset, which is what the mansion was really named for.

Fukushima considered all that to be immensely impressive, but it didn't seem like Gil Edric took any interest in his words.

"And this…neighborhood. Am I not going to be surrounded by commoners like you?"

Fukushima nearly choked. Of everything he just described, that was what Mr. Edric worried about?

"Well…there are some surrounding empty lots that are owned, but I don't think that would be a problem, all our properties are quite expansive, they won't be for a miles—"

"I don't live with mongrels," Gil Edric stated with straight face.

"You're the first to reside in this compound, sir. If you do buy a lot. The others haven't yet broken ground. This house was meant to showcase how luxurious the rest of the houses here should be."

Gilgamesh considered what the mongrel had said. There weren't many alternatives that he found satisfactory. He'd been all over Fuyuki looking for a place to reside and his patience was wearing thin. So far, Zeitaku was the one he least disliked. Perhaps it will have to do.

"Have this place furnished with only the finest of materials, no matter the expense," Gilgamesh said, deciding to explore his new residence a bit.

"You-you're going to buy it sir?" Fukushima asked. Wait, the Nichibotsu Kyuden wasn't for sale! At least not yet! At best it was just a demo house.

"Mongrel, did I stutter?" Gilgamesh interrupted, sharply. His voice made Fukushima wish he was never born.

"N-no sir."

"And tell the other owners they are being bought out. From now on I own this entire compound."

Fukushima began to sweat profusely. "Bu-but sir, that would cost a at least a billion—"

Gilgamesh gave him a smile that would have scared a lion out of its skin. Good god, Fukushima was getting way too old for his job. Suddenly early retirement didn't seem like such a faraway thing.

"Now tell me mongrel, where can I acquire a gown for my beloved?"

~oooOOOooo~

"So let me get this straight. You used to be a stable boy? A hired hand?" Diarmuid chuckled, a little bounce in his step, as he walked the streets with his favorite little knight.

"Yes, and to my brother, an errand boy and escort," Saber happily informed him.

The two Servants were headed toward the dojo on the other side of town, hopefully to secure a job, maybe to find another place to stay.

"I can hardly believe it! The king of knights, brandishing the sword of her brother? Seems farfetched. You jest," Diarmuid prodded, trying to imagine a young Arturia up and about at the break of dawn, with buckets of oats on each hand to take to the horses, and then, a younger Arturia carrying a sheath that was exactly her height.

"I assure you, I tell the truth. Kay used to make fun of me as a child, saying the best I could be was his loyal stable boy."

"He was wrong, of course."

Saber smiled at the memory of her brother. Kay was a bully when she was young, but heavens, was he a softie. Kay would always put up a strong front, but Arturia and her father Ector would always know that he didn't really mean all the harsh things he was spouting. It was just the way he showed affection.

"Oh he was. I could beat him in swordsmanship at the age of nine, but he'd call each of my winnings "a darned cheat" for reasons only he could think of."

"And later, you were king," Diarmuid beamed, wondering just how Arturia's brother must have looked when the guy heard the news. He must have been stupefied.

"Yes, I pulled the sword from the stone and was king. For some reason, it didn't sit well with Kay. He was proud of course, but he always seemed distant once I had the throne. I never understood why."

Arturia's jovial tone faded, prompting the Irishman to look her way. Her eyes lacked the luster that was there just moments before. This 'Kay' must have really meant something to her.

"Perhaps he just lacked the ability to communicate it," Diarmuid soothed, offering her and understanding half-smile, "His sister went from stable boy to king in a single day."

His words seemed to calm her, as the smile returned to her face. Diarmuid felt heat surge to his ears.

"Perhaps," Arturia sighed, "I do miss him though. Before he left, he was one of the only knights I could be myself around. His words were none too kind, but everyone needs a sharp kick in the behind every now and then. Even kings." Saber chuckled, a pure sound that could fell any man.

"What about you, Diarmuid? Any siblings?" She looked at him so suddenly, it almost made him jump.

"I…wasn't exactly your average birth. My father—Oof!"

Diarmuid reeled back as he collided with a tall, muscled figure. Arturia steadied him as he teetered, but the man he collided with was thrown back from the impact. A tassel of chestnut hair whipped around from the impact as the stranger rather unceremoniously landed on his behind.

"Bollocks!"

Arturia froze. That voice! It…it can't be. It can't…

The stranger swept his hair back, and she could see the telltale marking right under his eye. The tattoo she told him never to get. She told him it would just make his scar stand out, but he wouldn't listen. He?

Visions of rolling fields and racing horses came back to her. Sparring, laughing, drinking stolen wine under the trees. Fishing by the lake, bathing even in the rain. Dim nights in the stables sharing apples with the horses. Hiding from Sir Ector on the roof of the barn.

Arguments she knew she would never ever win. Witty words, sly remarks, arrogant laughing. Showing off and shame. A snarky voice and a crude laugh. The sharpest of all tongues.

But most of all, a pat on the head when she'd done well.

"Goodness me, I must apologize. I was not watching my step," Diarmuid said, hurriedly offering his hand to help the person up.

"More like you were much too preoccupied with that pretty doll on your…arm…"

Arturia couldn't look, for fear she'd be wrong, and it wasn't him that sat there on the ground, that it was just another stranger with brown hair and a ridiculous facial scar. That there was just another man on this earth at five and ten inches with a voice like his.

"Arty?"

The King of Knights stiffened at the moniker, and felt her throat tighten with…with who knows what. Was it fear? Relief? Anguish?

"Arturia?"

God, there it was again. The familiar inflection of the r's. The nasally pitch of his baritone. Could it be?

Suddenly, she was enveloped in two strong, familiar arms. Arturia barely registered Diarmuid's flustered remarks as the smell of sun and apples overloaded her senses. A scent she associated only with one person in the whole wide world.

Her heart beat furiously in her chest, and she could feel his do the same as the stranger held her closer, locking his hands behind her back.

"It is you, isn't it, Arty? It's you. I mean, I knew it was possible but…"

A warm, salty droplet trickled down her neck and she felt the same sting her eyes. The heat was beginning to show on her face when they sank to the ground, still holding each other close. She tucked her head into his neck and desperately tried to keep her tears from falling.

"Kay."

Chapter Text

“...Arty? Is it…really you?”

“Kay.”

Arturia was shaking, she couldn't believe it, but it must have been true. This man had scars in all the right places, he smelled of apples and he was warm. This was her brother. This was Kay.

“I don't understand. How?”

The man pulled away to look her straight in the eyes.

“Nevermind how! Arturia…Bollocks! There are so many things, so many things I have to tell you. I'm so deeply sorry. I never should have left you alone under all that pressure I just I couldn't—"

Kay stopped abruptly, realizing that they had company. Diarmuid stood flustered, looking off to the side. The Irishman felt he had no right to be witness to such a private moment, but here he was. Kay gave Arturia a look and composed himself as he stood up.

We'll talk later.

“I promise I will be right there for you from now on. I promise, Arty. Bollocks, I did not even think I could ever come across you again. Thank the heavens and thank fate. Where have you been?”

“Where have I been? Where have you been? Kay, excuse me for the term but, you look a bit older,” she said, taking in her brother's appearance more closely. 

This was indeed Kay, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes had deepened, a sign of his years despite his still youthful face. He wore his hair pushed back with product, the sides were cut short in a clean fade. He looked polished and clean cut  with his suit, a stark contrast from the stubbly jagged-haired brother she grew up with.

“And you look the way you did when I last laid eyes on you, dear sister,” he replied, placing a kiss on his siblings cheek.

Arturia looked back at her companion and pinked. Diarmuid's eyes looked elsewhere, out of respect, but still, she had been so... vulnerable around Diarmuid recently, she wondered if his opinion of her had changed. Shaking the thought away, she accepted her brother's outstretched hand. A few streets later, the recently resurrected found themselves sitting across the round table knight.

“I have been back on this earth for nearly seven years, Arturia. This newer world is strange. They have no need of knights or kings, and the people are not ruled, but rather put in line by laws. Oh and of course, there's money. The common folk are ruled by slips of paper, would you believe it?” Kay continued, holding his sister at arms length.

Seven years?

Arturia recalled what Shirou had said the day they arrived. If Kay was here due to the Grail, she could only imagine what other servants had come to the world. 

“How did that come to be?”

“If it was within my knowledge, Arty, I would tell you. One minute I was on my deathbed, and the next, in a strange new place I only later realized was Camelot, hundreds of years later.”

If Kay didn’t know the specifics, then it was most likely Grail activity, as Shirou and Rin had discussed. But, why Camelot? Saber raised an eyebrow.

“Camelot, Kay confirmed. And soon, I was surrounded by various magi wearing ridiculous garbs that made no sense to me. A ginger lad, a brunette with the bluest of eyes like those of Guinevere, and a man with hair rivaling the length of Lancelot’s. That man was the one who brought me here, Lord El-Melloi II.”

That name again… 

Lancer and Saber exchanged glances. First, with Shirou and Rin, and now from Kay. It troubled Diarmuid to think his terrible master and worse betrothed had left behind a child, but he was more curious as to why this Lord Second was so involved in this whole situation. 

Kay continued to tell his tale, but his voice faded into the background as Diarmuid's mind flooded itself with thoughts of his past lives. 

Drip...Drip...Drop went the water from Fionn's hands. Drip...Drip…Drop went his own blood in his hands.

He shook his head.

How was it that more information confused them further ? Diarmuid could practically hear his jaw crunch in frustration. He thought at least—at the very least—he was free of heartless Masters who saw him only as a tool and now this, his last Master's heir . Another being with the same twisted blood coursing through his veins.

Drip...drip…

Diarmuid felt the warmth before he realized Arturia’s fingers wrapped around his clenched fist. They snaked into the crevices of his hand and into the spaces between his fingers until his nails stopped digging into his palm. He didn't realize he drew blood until he saw the red crescents on his punctured skin pressing onto the King of Knight's fair wrist.

“El-Melloi used to ramble about how he'd met you before, and that it would be likely you would surface in this part of the world, if his theories were true. So he took me and some others and decided to wait here,” Kay said, snapping Diarmuid back to reality.

“For seven years?” Arturia asked, her eyes remaining fixed on her brother. But by the short squeeze she gave Diarmuid’s hand he could tell her attention was on himself, too.

She'd stopped him from hurting himself more, Diarmuid realized, looking at their joined hands under the coffee table. A soft expression crossed his eyes as he let them drift to her tranquil face. He squeezed once, and with reluctant fingers, he let her go.

“We kept busy," Kay continued, noticing the gentle exchange before him, "Lord Second eventually grew tired of me sitting around and sent me to take up some form of study. Bollocks. It took four bloody years and an apprenticeship to a spiky-haired youth who loved pointing and slamming tables but eventually I graduated and began my practice.”

“And so?” Arturia asked, turning her full attention to her brother once more.

“I'm a lawyer, Arty. And you thought my silver tongue wouldn't get me anywhere,” said he, with a smug smile on his lips.

Arturia's mouth dropped, and when the surprise had left her she chuckled into her hand.

“So that explains the blue suit and red tie,” she teased, gesturing to Kay's modern garb.

“Ah, well, it's more of an homage to my mentor, Ryuuichi Naruhodou. He was always fond of the color blue,” Kay explained, delighted at his sister's reaction.

“I must apologize for soiling such a fine suit. It must have cost a fortune,” Diarmuid offered, feeling himself disappearing more and more into the background.

Ah, that was right, they weren't alone at the table. Kay's focus was redirected back to this stranger, whom Arty apparently was friendly with. If this man thought he was being slick with her holding his hand and all, he had a lot coming.

Diarmuid gulped. The look Kay gave him was mixed. Diarmuid could not read the low eyebrows, the curve of Kay's mouth. Stoic, he believed, was the closest answer. 

“Don't worry about it.”

His words were calculatedly delivered, with a voice like that a gambler uses to fool those opposite him on the table. It unnerved the Irish knight to no end. Maybe this Kay didn't like him all that much.

“Say, I never caught your name,” Kay suddenly asked, tone once again indifferent.

“Diarmuid O’Dyna. First Knight of the Fianna. It is my deepest pleasure to meet the brother of the King of Knights.”

Kay's eyes shifted downward, then up, whatever thoughts lay behind those eyes, his face once again did not betray. Diarmuid was reminded of Fionn's advisers, ever stone-faced and judging. It dawned on him that Kay may have been one of the individuals Arturia held closest, thus Kay being so apprehensive of a deserter like himself, regardless of the circumstances.

“I have heard the stories. Though I suppose I should have been able to guess. You attract an unhealthy amount of women, even when you have got that love spot of yours covered.”

A glance to the side showed a few young women covering their faces with menus whilst whispering amongst themselves. Most, red-faced and excitedly twittering, others trying to sneak a photo. Saber met Diarmuid's eyes, apologetic. Kay could be blunt at times.

“It is not exactly something I am proud of,” Diarmuid strained to say, trying and failing to put up a strong face.

The Irishman's discomfort triggered no sympathy.

“No,” Kay clicked his tongue, “No, I suppose not,” Kay said, stroking his beardless chin as he talked.

“But I might have use for it. You too, Arturia.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. Kay was sporting the kind of mischievous look he had whenever he’d drag her into plans to prank their father, or perhaps hatch a plot to get the attention of the common barmaid.

“You two were looking for jobs, yes?” the two knights promptly nodded.

“I might know a place which will allow you the freedom you need for those missions you told me about.” As Kay talked however, his face seemed to pale and his voice faltered.

“You do not seem to be excited, brother,” Arturia said, cocking her head to the side, a gesture Kay recognized from back in their childhood. She only ever did that when she was at ease, surrounded by people she trusted. He missed that, he missed the days where they were just two innocent kids with high hopes and big dreams.

Kay sighed, “Oh, and I had so hoped to keep you for myself for a while, Arty.”

Diarmuid and Arturia followed Kay through the streets 'till they reached a black Mercedes-Benz parked in the garage of a modern office building.

It was exactly Kay's type of car, the kind  anyone would know is luxurious at a glance, but not too flashy. Arturia stole a glance at her brother in the driver's seat. She could tell he was proud of this vehicle. Part of her was proud of him too, for affording such a fine ride.

She felt the engine hum to life with a suave rumble, and then they were off.

Diarmuid sat quiet in the backseat, watching his female companion elbow her brother's arm as they talked. They must have really loved each other in the old days. He knew they didn't share blood, but the bond between the two must have been made of something stronger. Diarmuid almost envied Arturia for that. 

She laughed a beautiful, beautiful sound, and again, Diarmuid felt like he was intruding on such a tender moment between family. He turned his eyes to the window instead.

As houses turned into skyscrapers and trees turned to streetlights, he couldn't help but think back on the last time he set foot in this city. According to Arturia, that was twenty years ago.

Back in the Fourth Holy Grail War, he never got to explore as much as he was able to in the two weeks since he'd been placed back in Fuyuki. And in those two weeks, he'd tried to visit the hotel Kiritsugu had bombed, but found no trace of it whatsoever. It was like the attack never happened, like El-Melloi's brief stay was but another insignificant point in the history of Man. He wondered how the common person would react had they known what had really taken place in that hotel...what had really befallen Fuyuki. How would they have reacted?

The Irish man looked down at the small red crescents pressed into his palm. Funny how such a short, forgotten point in time has affected him so much. A point in time that still affects him.

He heard Arturia's breath catch as Kay rounded a corner.

Blackened trees and ashen soil cut across the metro like an ugly gray scar. The air turned sharp and cold, the kind that racked a graveyard at night, the kind that sent chills down even the bravest man's spine. No weeds, no critters, no birds circled above, as if Mother Nature herself had forsaken this land and poisoned the soil. Death, Diarmuid realized, was much acquainted with this place.

He caught a glimpse of the blonde King in her window, her hand pressed to her cheek.

"Arturia?"

The woman's breath hitched and she blinked before looking back at him, speechless.

"Is something wrong, Arty?" Kay asked, glancing to the side.

"I...I don't know how much this... El-Melloi II has told you," she replied carefully, betraying nothing of the man occupying her thoughts.

Kay cast her a worried look. "Is it something you can't tell us?"

The woman shook her head softly. "It's nothing."

Diarmuid wasn't sure if it had become a habit of Arturia's, but as she looked through the window as they passed the gray scar in the city, she once again brought her hand to her cheek.

A multi-storey building greeted the group as they alighted the car, towering over the group like a glass giant. 

"To be completely honest I wasn't certain this was what you meant when you said you had a job for us. I must say, it is… quite the shock.,” Diarmuid managed, struggling to take in the words on the humongous sign that stood in front of them.

RTK FASHION INC.

We make fashion regal.

Both knights paled at the ridiculous size of the skyscraper in front of them. How the hell was Kay even involved with this…intimidating company?

“Kay, I am positive I told you we were trying to stay out of the spotlight. I do not believe this is the best way to keep us all incognito.” Arturia said.

Her reaction only seemed to encourage the man. 

“You think the same way we did when the dumb wizard brought it up, but if you're looking for work that will instantly give you apt financing, what better way to do it here? Besides, you'll only have to come in when they ask you to. Every other time you'd be free. That's as flexible a schedule as you'll get," Kay explained as-a-matter-of-factly.

Well, that was true, but it’s not like she had the ability for that sort of work. She was a king, by the gods, if there was anything she wasn’t equipped for, it was this, she thought, flinching as the LED screen to her right began flashing the trendiest designs.

She almost cringed as the beautiful woman on display shifted from pose to pose as the cameras flashed. How had Kay thought she'd be prepared for this?

“I can actually see Diarmuid excelling at this, but if my knowledge of this new earth is correct, I am quite sure I am lacking in the height department. That is one thing that hasn't changed since Camelot, isn't that right, Kay?” Arturia asked.

“Well, no matter what age, a king as short as a pre-pubescent lad on the front lines is not really the most normal of sights, Arty,” Kay winked. “But don't you worry about that. I was right when I thought you would end up a beauty. That face of yours will get you anywhere you want to go, dearest little sister. Wish I had the same charm.”

Arturia's lips turned downward. She was not sure how she should react to that. Physical beauty was never a concept she'd given much attention to. Merlin assisted her in keeping up appearances, but beyond that? Beyond necessity? Her thoughts brought her back to the ginger lad who'd been her Master. Shirou had said something like that hadn’t he?

Kay turned to Diarmuid and clapped the heck out of the latter’s shoulder. Diarmuid nearly fell over. Arturia flinched as she’d once been victim to that infamous “loving” gesture and was no way eager to experience that again. Kay really wasn’t holding back.

“ You , on the other hand, Mr. Diarmuid O’Dyna, were definitely put on this earth for this job,” Kay commented, smirking just a bit.

“I have to admit,” Diarmuid huffed, rubbing his reddening shoulder, “I am not accustomed to those…tasks. I'd really much rather provide some real service.” 

He watched a man on the screen cross his legs and smile before he decided this was definitely a horrid idea. If only this scar-faced brit knew the trouble he had to go through with this stupid mole. He may have thought it great as an adolescent but hell, he sure hated it eventually.

“I'd probably have a woman at my arm if I looked like you,” Kay said.

“Please, Kay, you've been at that for hundreds of years, and still you've brought home no lady,” Arturia snickered, holding open the door for her companions like a true gentleman. While Diarmuid inwardly pinked in embarrassment, Kay seemed rather accustomed to the gesture as he strode right in.

“Hey! They just can't handle my charm! ”

“You have the charm of a donkeys behind, brother,” Saber chided with a smirk.

“That's not what the tabloids say. Back when I worked there, I garnered quite the following. Not as big as the others, but a following nonetheless,” kay smirked.

“You mean, you once worked here too?” She didn’t think Kay of all people would be interested in this kind of work.

“I could not rely on Lord Second for everything. He had his own fees to cover. I worked part-time throughout law school. Lord Second was grateful once he could kick us out of the house, believe me,” Kay said over his shoulder as he made his way to the front desk.

The knight dipped down to the lady on the front desk and seemed to whisper something in her ear. She widened her eyes, nodded, and pointed the group to the elevator while she said a number.

“Before you walk in, Arturia, I would just like you to know. My flat is quite large, and it has an untouched guestroom. You could live with me. It'd be just like before. Apples for breakfast, I don't have my horse but I do have a car. But I'd understand if you would like somewhere else to stay. I could help you along too. Especially since you're just starting out.”

“That is very generous of you, Kay.” Arturia smiled up at her brother. Kay must have really missed her, if he was eager to share the same roof once more.

“Now that that's out of the way,” Kay looked to the doors and sighed.

Steel doors slid open to reveal the thirty-first floor. The walls were eggshell white, with simple tan and dark wood elements tastefully placed near the windows. Though the office came with the standard beige tiles of the building, free working spaces and collaboration desks were placed atop fashionable textured carpets, the kind that zen designers would go mad for.  A walled corner held a simple indoor garden consisting of mounted leafy greens and vines. Fiddle leaf figs and chinese evergreen sat on the white stone floor installment, delivering a pop of life to the corporate venue. The office in its entirety was very light, even the work cubicles were colored fair, with frosted glass dividers instead of gray wood. Though sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, what lit the office in the night were not the standard fluorescent bulbs, but a combination of recessed lighting and geometric pendant lights. 

"I always knew you'd come one day."

A soft clicking of Oxford shoes came to a stop in front of the trio, bringing with it one who could only be described as otherworldly. The tan oxfords led up to a pristine white set of pressed slacks and a sharp, precisely-tailored matching suit jacket. One gold button was left loose, the collar left unbuttoned as well. It was clear to all present that not a single element of the three piece was of inferior quality, no thread, no seam.

More exquisite still, was the stranger’s long hair, tamed perfectly by  single high ponytail. It was platinum white, the kind one would suppose could only belong to beings not of this earth, or only to those of the magic realm. When light struck his long locks, one could swear they were bursting with all the colors known to man. 

For the first time, Diarmuid felt like the shirt on his back was far too small, the shoes Emiya had provided with him far too scuffed. It was a feeling he was not used to. Though he learned to shave with those tiny blue plastic devices and was soon to visit the barber shop to keep up appearances, he began to think his efforts were sorely lacking. 

"Merlin?" Arturia’s voice came out in a breathy whisper.

"Hello, my child."

Lancer witnessed his friend envelop her arms around Merlin as he did her. He could see her eyebrows crinkle just before she pressed her cheek to the man’s chest and hid her eyes in his sleeve, like a child would to their father. 

“Now, now, let’s not shed tears, dear princess,” Merlin chided, a small, calm smile making its way on his face. Merlin's hands traced a path to her cheek. His touch was so tender on her skin, Diarmuid could tell it had been practiced, perhaps on one too many nights that Arturia couldn't take the pressure, on nights where the crown was too heavy and she needed a shoulder to lean on.

“You have not called me that in ages ,” Arturia mumbled softly into Merlin's white sleeve.

And it was true, Merlin hadn’t. The mage felt the familiar mana emanate from his lovely creation. It was still there, her strong spirit, powerful yet docile, like a sleeping dragon. The same imperfect green eyes, with far too much blue and specks of yellow, the same head of hay pulled into her favorite braided bun...It was Arturia, Uther’s child, which he held in his arms. Merlin curled his fingers in her yellow locks as he thought about the multitude of things he wished to tell her. 

Did she know he'd watched her, all the way from the Battle at Camlann? He'd watched Bedivere keep her company til she breathed her last, he'd watched thousands and thousands weep as she was laid to rest, he watched her knights live out the last of their years in grief , he watched their feeble attempts at moving on. He'd sparked to life, banging on the walls of the tower that had imprisoned him when he felt her presence the day Kiritsugu had summoned her. He'd seen her overcome each foe, seen her fight the Irish knight that stood with her, seen her struggle with King Gilgamesh not once, but twice. He'd seen her fall in love for the very first time, he'd seen her destroy the Grail twice —there was just so much .

And it was indeed too much to be appropriate, as deemed by Kay.

“Bollocks, that is quite enough, wizard, let’s just get the papers done.” Kay walked straight past them, and into the walled glass office Merlin had appeared from. 

Merlin seemed mildly annoyed as his little 'princess' followed her brother into the room, but the platinum blonde hid it behind a wide smile as he shook Diarmuid's hand. 

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. O'Dyna. I appreciate your chivalrous acts in the Fourth War. A shame, how your time ended, though," Merlin ended his statement with a giggle.

Diarmuid peeled his hand away from the too enthusiastic handshake, saying, "You knew about that?"

"Enough to know that you harbor some unspoken feelings," Merlin poked a thumb at the glass office, where Arturia was now calmly sipping a cup of earl grey.

It took Diarmuid a minute.

"I—what?"

Merlin laughed like the old drunk knights at the gate who in their time had seen much and heard more, the kind of laugh that told him he knew nothing yet. "I am certain you will come to terms with it, lad. Now come, there are terms of another kind we should be getting to."

It took a multitude of documents and a session of drafting new signatures for Aria Dragon and Drake Odina to secure their place in the RTK. The identities Shirou and Rin had provided them had certainly helped speed up the process. Now all Merlin had to do was plant the information in the right places and get Kay to take care of the legal matters (he complied, not without complaint of course) and the two would be set for their new careers

The sun colored the sky orange by the time Kay ushered the two out of the building. The valet had just gotten out of the car and immediately handed the keys back to Arturia's brother.

"Arty, since the company actually has a lot of spare assets, Merlin told me to give you the penthouse," Kay said, as he settled into the driver's seat.  "It's in the same building as mine. Merlin used to share it until RTK took off, but it's been a while since it's been occupied so he's having someone clean it today. You can stay with me tonight, unless you want to go back to Emiya's place."

Saber didn't know what to answer. Of course, she had no belongings and her leaving would make her one less burden to Shirou, but they hardly had the time to discuss their relationship at all. He's been so... distant , which she believed was because he was terribly busy, what with the full set of Servants from the Fourth and Fifth Holy Grail War appearing at once, but even then, he was almost a stranger. If she moved out so soon, she might never get the chance to clear the air. It was a terrible feeling, really.

But then there was Kay, her brother, her family . Here he was, right in front of her after so many years. And he was so different. He'd made a life for himself in this time and it would be foolish of her to pass up the opportunity to make up. Fortunately, Kay decided for her when he didn't wait for her answer.

"Pretty boy, although it isn't a penthouse, there is a damn spacious flat just a few blocks away from ours, and it's furnished," Kay tossed him a keyring. "It should be fit for you. Maybe even big enough for a roommate if you're up for it."

Diarmuid took a look at the key in his left hand.

"Sir Kay, I am not quite comfortable being so dependent. I would want to at least pay for it," he said, as he felt the car engine hum to life.

"It can't be helped right now, but as discussed, we set up some plans so you could both reimburse the company as your salaries come in," replied Kay, reversing with practiced ease. "Which reminds me, I need you both around on Monday, I'm not a notary yet and we need to get these, well, notarized."

Kay took quite the handful of turns before finally stopping at a modern tower, right at the edge of the urban side of Fuyuki City. Two men in suits and gloves stood at the illuminated glass double doors that reached up to the ceiling of the lobby. The doors did nothing to hide the marble flooring and elaborate chandeliers all across the room. Stone and a small waterfall occupied the left wall, and the right, a set of plush chairs and coffee tables, where several residents were lounging, mayhaps waiting for their respective rides. From there, Saber's eyes trailed upward where she spotted a common floor, and then more stories than she could count by sight alone.

In that instant, she felt ancient. Although her castle was grand, It could never have reached such heights as these. Truly the Age of Man had come and flourished.

 "Arty."

She turned, and Kay placed a set of keys in her hand. 

"Apartment 25 A. It's on the 25th floor left side," he said, as he made eye contact with the lady at the front desk and waved. "You make yourself at home. There are croissants on the counter and grapes in the fridge if you get hungry. I'll be right back, just gotta drop this guy off."

Diarmuid gulped as he was shooed back into the sedan.

"So tell me about yourself, Mr. O'Dyna."

"I'm not sure there's much to tell," Diarmuid replied, just a tad bit uncomfortable in the passenger seat. 

"Oh, but I believe there is. I've met enough bards during my time who sang your songs to know who you are. They're…" Kay looked the knight up and down, "...surprisingly accurate. Thought you'd have green eyes though, that's what they said."

Orange eyes looked at Kay curiously. His eyes weren't green, but green was usually the color he would look for in Mr. Emiya's dresser. Sadly it seemed Miss Rin had influenced Saber's master a tad bit too much, judging by the dominance of red. Here he was wearing the last one, a simple basic shirt that hung rather loosely and had three-fourths sleeves. Now that he thought about it, maybe it was a favorite color.

Grainne had green eyes, dulled ones that always looked dazed and never truly loving. He didn't like hers that much, lovely as they looked.

Arturia's…. Arturia's were the kind that would make one catch their breath at a glance, the kind that one would dream about at night.

"Your legend precedes my king's," Kay said, shaking Diarmuid from his daydream, "For a while your love story was even compared to Arturia's dilemma, but-"

"I do not mean to disrespect you, Sir Kay, but I would like to speak about something else," Diarmuid stated firmly. He thought he'd thought about his past enough for today.

"...Why?"

Kay was just being polite, trying to start a conversation, Diarmuid reminded himself. But, perhaps, it would be best to clear up any misconceptions Kay might have right off the bat. Kay was an important person to Arturia. The last thing Lancer wanted was to get on Kay's bad side.

"I don't know what you've heard or your opinion on the matter, but I did not love the woman in those songs. That regretful part of my life was neither my fault nor my desire, yet it was a burden I was forced to carry. All that because of this curse upon my face," he explained, pointing to the Band-Aid hiding the tiny black dot.

Kay looked, and then smirked. Finally , Diarmuid thought, seeing the man's shoulders relax.

"I'm happy to hear that," said Kay.

"...Pardon?"

Kay shrugged, then made a careful turn to the right. They were nearing the apartment.

"At least now I know it's not for indecent reasons you hang around Arturia. She's a woman, though she was not raised like one."

Diarmuid resisted the urge to hide in his hands. Of course not! Why would he even think—Diarmuid would never ! He'll, if he knew the effects of the charm affected Arturia, he'd keep his distance.

"I would never even think of that! I have nothing but respect for her. Her spirit, her actions, they gave me hope when I had all but lost it. I wish she was the one I served."

Kay realized Diarmuid meant it. The fact the knight was denouncing Fionn MacCumhaill was a strong indication. Loyalty to their lord was a knight's everything. It's what kept them fighting, what pushed them to go such great lengths for glory. If Diarmuid said he wanted to serve Arturia instead, no doubt it meant she had his loyalty.

That didn't mean Kay trusted Diarmuid. No, not yet, but Kay could at least tell that the knight wasn't here to harm Arturia. Perhaps he should cut him some slack.

"Has the Grail given you information about yourself?" he asked, steering the conversion elsewhere. Just because Kay was giving him a break didn't mean he wouldn't take the opportunity to know more about Arty's new friend.

"I'm a bit confused, my apologies."

"I guess not yet then," Kay hypothesized, a bit disappointed, "Most of us come out here that way, but eventually that information system the Grail granted us kicks in. We could try something simple. How old are you?"

Diarmuid looked confused for a moment, but his mind fed him the answer almost immediately.

"I am twenty-five. Wait, how did I know that?"

That couldn't be right. The knight knew he was older when he died. Twenty-five was far too young. Perhaps it was the Grail's doing. Both men promptly realized that now, the age in the forged documents Emiya provided them was off by two years.

"Bollocks," Kay exclaimed, wondering if they should bother with changing his age again or not, "You're the same age I was when I appeared, and I was the oldest of the knights then, save for the dumb old Wizard. The Grail grants you little pieces of information like that. Eventually you'll discover talents, the same way I did when I decided to take up law and accounting."

Kay was silent for a minute.

"At least you have a long life to look forward to, but...for your sake, let's hope Arturia isn't actually a minor. It's hard to tell with her."

Arturia slid the key into the knob and pushed open the door. She was greeted by a cozy flat styled in a Western fashion fused with subtle Japanese elements. There were two bedrooms to the right, a living space right in front of her, and..

She felt the familiar presence in the room before she could even close the door behind her.

"You're quite persistent today, Gilgamesh."

"I will continue to be for as long as you resist, my lioness," he called, standing by the window at the far end of the room. 

"I am not your anything, now please just leave."

Gilgamesh plopped himself down on the bar. Arturia sighed and decided to tolerate him, for as long as his actions weren't deathly irritating. She found the grapes Kay mentioned and set it down between them.

"If you do not have anything good to say, I'd like you to keep your mouth shut. Remember you aren't quite welcome here."

"Nothing about me insisting you marry me then?"

Saber glared.

"Fine. But I truly do enjoy the idea," he teased.

She flicked his hand away from her face, but he didn't advance any further as they shared the bowl of grapes, something that quite surprised her.

"I assume you will not return to the house of the mongrel this day onwards?"

"Only to pay visits from now on. If we truly are living our second lives, I believe we might as well be functional members of society. I did not want to rely on their help for too long." True, but it still bothered the King that She and Shirou had yet to discuss their...relationship.

"Hm."

"And you?” asked Arturia, directing his attention elsewhere, “Not going to boast about the mansion you most likely already purchased?"

Gilgamesh smirked. She knew him so well, so fast.

"Not a mansion, an estate," he cocked his head toward the window. Gilgamesh cringed as he took the cheap glass bowl in his hand, but he led them to the floor-to-ceiling window of Kay's apartment.

Arturia followed cautiously with one eyebrow raised. She picked up a grape, trying to follow his gaze. 

"There."

Though Kay's apartment was only around the middle of the tower, Arturia could see the entire rural side in all its beauty. As dusk began to fall, the last Golden rays of sunlight cast its mellow splendour onto the landscape, and at the very end of her gaze basked a grand mansion easily ten times the size of the Emiya property. It sat right in the middle of a vast expanse of green, sporting wide gardens and even a small forest to the back. As the sun's last rays passed its facade, the building seemed to glimmer in the distance, as if waiting for the star's warmth to come again the next day.

"Even the forests are mine."

Saber jumped as his words snapped her out of her stupor. She'd forgotten just how rich and powerful Gilgamesh truly was. She bet he hadn't even spent a hundredth of his riches on that property, maybe not even a thousandth.

"It could be yours too, if only you would come with me."

The King grasped her hand and brought it to his lips so quickly she hadn't time to react. And with his tongue, skillfully plucked the grape she still held between her finger and thumb. Taunting her, he took the grape between his teeth before satisfyingly tasting it's sweetness.

Arturia wrenched her arm out of his grip and staggered away with heat involuntarily rising to her ears. She could still feel the warmth of his tongue on her fingers and it bothered her to no end that she had foolishly let her guard down. How could she?!?

"You bastard ! Why can't we ever just---"

In the seconds that followed, three emotions overtook the mind of the King of Heroes. Triumph, for the taste of his Queen's skin was far sweeter than he thought. Worry, when Arturia's ire faded with her voice. Fear, when her eyes rolled back and she crumpled to the floor.

"Arturia?!?"

The last thing she heard was shattered glass on the floor.

Chapter Text

Arturia opened her eyes to a deep blue, never-ending above with a glass-like floor below. Bubbles escaped her lips and traveled downward, escaping through the clear window beneath.

Where am I?

The question echoed through the crystal waters, unanswered. 

Confused, the king swayed her bare legs in the current, following the little orbs of air downward. A wall made seemingly of cascading water flowed before her. Through it, an eerily familiar enchanted forest, one that she knew in the back of her mind. 

The edge of Camelot.  

Her hand reached forward, breaking the image, and she was yanked through.

My king, I offer everything that I was, everything that I am, everything I will be to you.

A head of dark hair bent down to kiss Arturia’s fingertips. She nearly flinched when his dark eyes met hers, full of determination and loyalty and something...more.

Sir Lancelot?

He was translucent, skin wispy, as if he could be blown away by a breath, yet there was no mistaking the younger figure of the man before her. She could never forget those dark orbs, those high cheekbones. It was as if he was but a ghost...or a memory.

The image of Camelot’s Queen appeared beside her, calling out the knight’s name. 

Guin?

Sir Lancelot stiffened, his stoic face betraying the slightest grimace, then he bowed and made his way over to Guinevere. 

The two figures silently walked toward the stables, their footsteps ghosting over the ground. Lancelot looked back once, met her eyes for more than a moment, then steeled themselves and refocused on the queen.

“Saber.”

Arturia blinked, and now before her stood her former master, face blank as Lancelot’s was. A quick look around told her she was in the dreamscape from before. Both she and Kiritsugu stood on the surface of the same clear lake. Above them, shards of the sky moved, suspended in the air with black nothingness peeking between the cracks. 

Saber heard a familiar laughter, and her view was brought to one of the floating fragments of the sky, where the memory she had been experiencing shone through. Guinevere was smiling, with Lancelot ever stoic by her side. That was the only thing new. Beyond Kiritsugu’s shoulder floated her father’s crown, just like before. The woman sighed as she faced the magus killer. Fortunately this time, they were both dressed.

“Kiritsugu,” she nodded, “A seal has appeared?”

“That it has.” His fingers twitched, as if he was itching for a cigarette, but as he was a visitor to this place he couldn’t control a mind that wasn’t his. “Let us wait for the others. They should be joining us shortly.”

As if on cue, a feminine figure rose from the lake water beside Arturia, her long, braided hair flowing down the side of a white collared blouse. It was Medea.

Her violet eyes met Arturia’s, but her tinted lips were silent. Caster sighed as she looked over to Kiritsugu. He and that albino woman had kept their promise. Whatever magic they had used on Souichirou had held true. It was as if Souichirou Kuzuki had never died. He was just as serious as when she had met him, and built exactly the same. She’d double checked to see if any magic was used to alter him in any way, but he was just the same ordinary human that he was before ever getting involved in the Fifth Holy Grail War. Unfortunately, that also meant that Caster would have to uphold her end of the bargain and follow Saber’s lead. No matter what the others said about her being evil, Caster still did have an honor code. Though the thought of leaving Kuzuki alone so soon did break her heart a little, all she could do now was make sure she came home.

Beside Medea appeared an equally beautiful tanned woman with darker hair. She appeared in a skin-tight, black outfit with a similarly colored black scarf around her neck. She was followed by the familiar hulking mass that was Heracles, and lastly, another one with long, violet hair, Sasaki Kojirou.

Kiritsugu waited til he had their attention to speak.

“The first seal has shown itself, and in the middle of the desert, of all places. Persia,” said Kiritsugu. 

All eyes went to the female Assassin standing in their midst. Kiritsugu gave the servants a quick glance and almost sighed. They couldn’t have had a worse group. Most of them had armor unsuited for the heat and sand. As it stood, only the Assassin could possibly complete the mission with ease. Kiritsugu himself hated missions in the desert. There were always too few places to hide, mornings were scorching, nights were freezing, and there was the imminent threat of dehydration to think about, not to mention the numerous poisonous critters just waiting for a bared ankle.

It didn’t matter though. It couldn’t. It was imperative that they complete the mission at all costs. They were heroic spirits, surely some way they could adjust in the heat.

“Remember, the mission requires that you destroy the seal completely, using whatever means necessary. Any other result equals failure.”

A few nods around the room.

“If it’s so simple as destroying a seal, surely the King of Knights would suffice. Why send us all?” asked Sasaki, eyeing the multitude of Servants before him.

Kiritsugu inhaled, long and slow. He tilted his head back, wondering how best to explain. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to, and the Servants would learn on their own.

“The Grail...it has its own person, so to speak. I am certain it will employ certain defense mechanisms the only way it knows how,” Kiritsugu drawled. He was counting on the Servants’ natural affinity for helping the world, otherwise, without any other means to fight in the real world, humanity was quite frankly, doomed.

“I trust you will be able to find your own way there, and soon. The seal must be destroyed before it has the chance to fully integrate itself into the world. At the rate it is going, I believe that gives you seven days.”

WIth nothing left to be said, Arturia watched her fellow servants disappear one after the other, til only Kiritsugu was left with her.

“What is it you are keeping from us, Emiya?”

The magus killer looked at her with eyes as dark as the void seeping through the cracks above. He didn’t grace her with a response.

Fear was a mongrel’s feeling.

Gilgamesh was arguably the most powerful heroic spirit to ever grace the Holy Grail War. From the day his feet touched upon the Earth, he was the strongest who ever walked it. The gods knew. His subjects knew. His enemies knew it better than anyone else. The King of Heroes was formidable. His name, revered by anyone who dared to hear it. He’d conquered many lands, decimated armies, slain magic beasts with power unfathomable while barely breaking a sweat. Mere mortals could never hold a candle to the things he’s done. Those mongrels could only accept their pitiful fate whilst cowering in the corners.

Fear was a mongrel’s feeling. 

And yet, Gilgamesh could feel the bile in his throat rising as he took in Arturia’s limp figure, slumped to the floor with blood trickling down her face. His heart hammered at his chest as if trying to break free from its cage and his fingers went limp. He barely registered the glass shards digging into his knees as he checked her pulse.

“Shit.” His hands were useless, he was so agitated all he could feel was his own frantic heartbeat. He lay his head on her chest, listening, begging , for the steady beating of her heart. 

Ba-dump...ba-dump...ba-dump.

He felt his own heartbeat ease, and his own breathing slow. She was alive. For the first time in millennia, the ancient king felt like thanking the gods, but that thought quickly disappeared as he swiped off a trickle of blood before it reached her eyes. 

The old king thought to destroy the distasteful coffee table that did this to her forehead, but decided against it. It was best for her and his knees to get out of the shards of glass. Like one would lift a princess, blonde slipped his arms behind her knees and below her back, and lay her down on the first bed he found.

His... concern for her well-being startled him. If he was this affected by a simple fainting spell, then what did that mean for him? Red eyes went to the now cleaned cut on her forehead to the small, darkening spots of blood between his fingernails. Perhaps this woman had more influence over him than he thought.

The piercing sound of broken glass struck Kay's ears as he stepped off on the twenty-fifth floor. 

Arturia.

The knight veered left as fast as his legs would go. The door swung open with such ferocity, the collision snapped the doorknob right off. But stingy, silver-tongued Kay cared for nothing else but his sister. He felt something crush under his weight and looked to find a small grape. His eyes then landed on the remains of a glass bowl and... blood on the corner of his coffee table.

Frantic eyes darted across the room til they landed on her bedroom door, slightly ajar, and an unfamiliar figure. Kay could barely feel the longsword in his grip when he took a strike straight for the man's head.

Metal clashed with metal before the lawyer could land the blow. Confused, the knight looked up to see a trident protruding from a golden portal.

A SERVANT?! 

 A low, animalistic screech bellowed from his throat.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY SISTER!?"

The stranger glared but said nothing, and instead pulled the covers up to Arturia’s steadily rising and falling chest. In his periphery, the knight of Camelot registered what looked like a damp washcloth and a piece of gauze.

"You will not speak to me in that tone henceforth, mongrel, or I swear, I will relieve your pathetic excuse of a body of its tongue. Are we clear?" the stranger warned.

“I only answer to her !”

“And it is for that reason only that I do not kill you where you stand,” said Gilgamesh who cocked his head to the right.

Kay gulped as he noticed the golden dagger grazing his neck. It was protruding out of a different, smaller golden portal. He was too blinded with emotion to notice. Whoever this Servant was, he wasn’t to be taken lightly. With a heavy heart, the knight let his sword clatter to the floor. 

“Ready to talk, mongrel?”

The four small indents in his hand contrasted so starkly against the fair skin of his palm, as red paint on white canvas would. 

Diarmuid lay on his new bed, new to him, at least, and examined the little welts his fingernails had left. 

What... was that? An episode?

He'd forgotten about them til he'd seen blood red in the shower drain, but the marks as they were, were hard to ignore. Diarmuid considered bandaging them, but if he did so, he wouldn't see them.

That time in the café, he hadn't felt such rage since the day Saber's master had done what he did. That moment, he wanted nothing but to rip Fionn's corpse from his grave and tear thebastardshandsoffanDSHOVETHEMUPFIONN'S—

He sat up abruptly, feeling sweat drip from his forehead.

For the second time that evening, Diarmuid got in the shower. He would not sleep that evening, no matter how many dishcloths he'd tied around his hands.

Saber shot up like a bullet, with their new mission in mind. She had to find the others posthaste. They had a week to do what was demanded of them but who knew how strong those seals would be. Surely, Kiritsugu wouldn’t call on so many of them for no reason.

"You've awoken."

Gilgamesh’s voice. 

Arturia’s eyes focused on the man standing in the doorway of what she supposed was her new bedroom, if its emptiness meant anything. 

"Yes, ah—" Saber's hand immediately went to the side of her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Gil shift, almost uncomfortably. There was a foreign expression in his eyes. For just a moment she swore she saw something other than pride.

Was that...guilt?

Her studying of his expression was not unnoticed, and quickly the King of Heroes sought to distract her. 

"The mongrel is asleep in the living room. And after all that talk…" he said, shaking his head.

Kay. Arturia thought. He must have returned while she was asleep. The woman swung her legs to the side of the bed and collected herself. They had to leave soon.

"What did your mongrel master say?" asked the King of Heroes as he turned to give her way. 

"The first seal appears tomorrow evening. And in….Persia. Kay, do you have a bag I could borrow?" Arturia said, spotting her brother on the couch.

Gilgamesh watched his future woman rush back into the bedroom, bickering with her brother. The walk-in closet at the far end, which Kay had just filled with clothes Merlin provided for Arturia, was pulled open and as she sifted through its contents, it seemed to him the little king was hoping that they would fit. 

Though the thought of watching her undress was delectable, the King of Heroes had several other things on his mind. For instance, why it was that he  wasn’t selected for this particular assignment when he was obviously the most capable. There was also the matter of the desert, which Arturia was hardly accustomed to. If that mongrel of a master had any sort of intellectual capability, he would have sent the King of Heroes.

“Gilgamesh.” 

The man looked up to meet her eyes. What a sight she was, with her blouse pulled down by her creamy shoulders. He’d barely seen a little skin and already he could feel the excitement inside of him grow in anticipation. But the King of Knights, face tinted pink as it was, clearly wanted something else, if those fierce eyes were any indication. No matter, they had time on earth for him to see even more, he thought, as he closed the door behind him. Besides, the mere sound of fabric hitting the floor was satisfying enough in itself.

"It’s imperative I convene with the others at once. We have to leave immediately," Arturia voiced, coming out in an even more modest outfit, with long, loose white sleeves and a plain pair of slacks. She made her way to the door while expertly putting her hair up in a ponytail and hooked a small back bag over her shoulder. A quiet hiss escaped her mouth as the gesture let her clip the cut on her forehead.

“And just how  exactly do you plan to do that, Arty? I do not remember Merlin ever teaching you any transportation spells.” Kay shut the door just as Arturia was leaving.

“The same way the humans these days go about.”

“And what of everyone else’s required documents? Passports?”

“Already taken care of. I just...have to visit Shirou’s.”

The older knight had completely forgotten her relationship with Shirou. The ginger lad was an acquaintance. They’d met after Merlin insisted on visiting Rin Tohsaka when more of the Table had begun appearing along with a good amount of others. The old spell-caster told him of their relationship and they’d crossed paths a couple times since, but Kay wasn’t sure how much Arturia knew about Shirou. Surely he’d told her already right?

Arturia took advantage of Kay’s distraction to head out the door, with Gilgamesh a few steps behind. It suddenly occurred to the english warrior that they’d barely had time for each other and yet here she was again, walking away from him. 

“Arty, please, you just got here. I don’t want you going off like this.”

He couldn’t lose her again. Not after what happened back then. Not after what he did.

“You dishonor your king by doubting her,” Gilgamesh said sharply, as he turned once to seethe at the mongrel. 

Kay froze at the doorway.

The few steps it took her to reach the elevator, Arturia could hear her brother gently close the door and a soft thump as he leaned against it, as he often would do after he and their father had an argument. 

She had missed him. Even during the Grail War she thought often about her brother, though it had been centuries since they’d bonded. Still, she couldn’t afford to lose any more time.

“That was hardly necessary,” she lectured, aware of her similarly blonde shadow. He just smirked, as it was wont of him to do. 

The numbers above the elevator doors lit up in increasing order, counting down precious seconds of time she should be spending destroying the seal. Finally, the doors opened and she stepped through.

Gilgamesh was about to do the same, when he felt a small palm pressing on his chest. 

"Kiritsugu didn't summon you."

Gilgamesh scoffed. "Ridiculous. What was the point of the mongrel bringing us all here then? I'm coming with you."

His fingers curled around hers to pull the obstructing hand away, but she wouldn’t budge. The man opened his mouth to protest, but no words left his lips. He couldn’t speak, not when she was looking at him like that, not when they were this close. The mere inches between them let him see the few specks of yellow that resided in her emerald eyes, the tiny, almost unnoticeable freckles just under her long, delicate lashes. Her breath was warm and sweet on his skin. 

“Stay out of this, Gilgamesh. Please.”

And just like that, the moment was stolen away by a simple bell chime. The double doors began to close, and her fingers slipped from his. 

Gilgamesh was left staring at two steel doors, wondering whether or not he should still follow. 

“Saber? Wha-what are you doing here this late at night?”

Rin answered the door in a white nightgown, her long, dark hair out of its usual half-updo. Arturia heard frantic shuffling around the house and a few curses from Shirou before the ginger lad appeared at the doorway.  

“Saber, I thought you texted you just moved in to your brother’s?”

Hoping the night concealed the heat on the tips of her ears, Saber cocked an eyebrow. So much for her being welcome at the Emiya mansion any time. But, perhaps it really was late. Shirou never let his hair get so disheveled (though he still looked quite handsome), nor did Rin. Arturia tried to peek around them, but they seemed glued to the door.

“...May I come in?”

The pair flinched.

“Oh, about that, Saber. The house is quite messy right now, and I would rather you not come in.”

Saber peeked over Rin’s shoulder to see a few shoes and discarded socks scattered around, but it was no bother.

“I assure you, I wouldn’t mind,” Saber reasoned, but it only seemed to make the two magi more agitated.

“No, really. Is-Is there something we can do for you?” Rin offered. 

The King of Knights sighed, and explained what Kiritisugu had told them. She requested the documents for the other Servants that they had all been working on since their arrival. Arturia was sure she had one for each of the servants present when they convened with Kiritsugu. Hopefully, they would accept the new identities she and the magi worked so hard to fabricate

“All these, Saber?”

“All of them,” she replied, taking the stack of documents and passports and slipping them into her bag. “I promise to repay your kindness, Rin,” she said, holding up the red wallet she was given, which probably contained lots of cash and several credit cards.

“Wha- well, will you be alright then?” Rin asked, struggling to keep up with the shorter woman as she made her way out of the compound. 

“Kiritsugu said we have a week to destroy the seals. I am meeting with the others at the Fuyuki Airport. Goodbye, Shirou, Rin,” she nodded curtly.

The couple watched their mutual friend hurry into the night and prayed she’d find a ride even out here in the provincial half of Fuyuki. Rin berated herself for wishing Saber gone so badly and for the way she had sent her off, but she couldn’t be more relieved that the petite king was out of sight. 

“We have to tell her, Shirou,” Rin reasoned, hearing the light padding of footsteps coming from the spare room. 

Shirou ran his hand through his rapidly greying hair, hoping to the heavens for the right time and place to come. The entire time Saber had spent with them, they’d danced around the topic like idiots, too afraid to break the news. But they would get to it soon. When Saber returned. Definitely.

“Mom...Dad? I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Of course you can, Hoseki. Come, now,” replied Rin as she scooped up her sleepy daughter. She and Shirou locked eyes and sighed. Looks like even after dodging confrontation with Saber, they couldn’t continue their little game after all.

Saber arrived at the airport second, surprised to see Sasaki there waiting in the airport lobby. She was grateful he’d chosen more casual clothes to wear, but his long hair still caught the occasional eye. 

"Greetings, sword-wielder," said he, offering her a friendly bow, which she returned.

"I didn't know you were staying nearby," she said, handing the samurai spirit his respective documents. She changed his name, for though it was not uncommon to be named after a legend in this country, it might have been suspicious to have both names. She hoped that he was amenable to the other information she and Shirou made up.

"You could say I had little interest in going elsewhere. I did originate in this country after all," he replied, directing Arturia’s attention to where Medea was saying her goodbyes to a stoic Soichirou Kuzuki. 

The King of Knights felt a slight pang in her heart remembering how distantly Shirou had just treated her, and how odd her former master had been since she arrived. She banished the thought. There were more important matters to be dealing with now, she reasoned, just in time for the humongous Greek hero to arrive.

"Medea. Heracles. These are yours. Our flight leaves in two hours, and apparently we've a connecting flight after that. We’ll arrive tomorrow evening, if all goes well, with more than enough time to destroy the seal," Saber explained.

"I do not...see any reasoning behind us specifically being picked for this mission," Heracles remarked, sneaking glances on the papers of the witch Medea. He didn’t feel like he was forty-five, nor did he think Hercules Grecia was the most appropriate name, but there was nothing more he could do.

"Neither did I. I don't even see the compatibility, given our talents are so diverse," added the newcomer, the female Assassin. Saber’s eyes widened at the beautiful amber of her eyes, and the soft curve of her face. Assassin was dressed so ordinarily that the King of Knights hadn’t noticed her presence til the woman spoke up. The woman took two files from Arturia, nodding approvingly at their names. Zayd for her partner. Zhavia for herself. 

"It matters not, now does it?” interjected the lovely spellcaster, Medea, “The sooner this is finished the sooner we can get back to whatever in Olympus' name we were doing. I don't know about the rest of you, but I am not keen on wasting another life. 

Heracles was a fearsome opponent. He possessed strength beyond all men, strength so potent it could bring him back from his own death multiple times. In all his years on Earth he’d toiled, slaying all that he had to and offering it up to his father. He was, in many ways hardened by battle, molded into one strong as a force of nature.

However, the forces of nature acting upon him right now several feet up in the air, he was hardly prepared for. Zeus help the poor, tiny men who had the misfortune of having their entire leg space taken up by the massive piece of nauseous meat Heracles Grecia was. The gods only knew if that tiny paper bag in his hands was enough to hold the three bentos worth of undigested food Arturia had purchased for him back at the airport. 

A row behind, the petite king contemplated buying the huge man an entire row for himself next time, for poor Zayd and Sasaki were nearly suffocating. 

“Would you perhaps know of a spell for motion sickness, Medea?”

The woman beside her smirked. “Bold of you to assume it was not I who caused it in the first place.” 

She snapped her fingers and just like that, Heracles begun to relax. Much to the relief of his seatmates. Arturia stifled a chuckle, which earned her a tiny smile from the Caster.

“What have you been up to these days, Medea?” she asked, truly curious. Besides tea and walks with Diarmuid and the occasional unwanted visit from the King of Heroes, she’d neither seen nor heard about the Servants. 

"I didn't think you'd be so comfortable speaking with me right away."

Considering that Gilgamesh of all people was the reason she and Shirou were able to escape Medea’s clutches with Sakura safely in their care, of course Medea would think that. However horrible the circumstances were before though, they were on the same side of the war now. 

"Is there reason to bear any ill will?" Arturia asked, with the rare teasing smirk tugging on her lips.

"...Dressmaking," the woman answered, her cheeks pinking just the slightest bit.

"Unexpected," Arturia said, cocking an eyebrow, “but not unwelcome. I was not aware the great Medea had the skills of a seamstress.”

Caster chuckled. It seemed whatever animosity there was between them had gone. The past? Swept under the rug.

"It was one of the ways I passed the time in the old days. My master has gone back to teaching, so I needed another way to make myself useful to him. I haven't made any sales but I'm sure they'll come in time,” said the great magus. 

Soichirou Kuzuki, the man that granted Caster her wish before the Holy Grail War ever reached its completion, and perished along with her. Or, he should have. He was by no means a Heroic Spirit nor a magus. Yet, by some miracle, Kiritsugu had managed to pluck his soul from purgatory and place him back in Fuyuki so that Caster would agree to come on this mission. 

“I theorize the Grail really did store him away, for no matter what tests I run, he really appears to be the same person. It's uncanny," answered Medea, to the question plaguing everyone’s minds.

"And you, pretty king?"

Arturia wondered whether or not it would be a good idea to answer, especially when she believed she couldn’t keep the job if she tried, Merlin be damned. She was about as fit for modelling as a shoe fit a fish. Especially now, looking at the two gorgeous women she was seated with, she felt more than a little out of place in that kind of industry. Zhavia, especially, with those beautiful hazel eyes and exquisite facial features. Now, she looked like she could be the face of magazines. It was a shame she hid that face behind a skull mask all those years.

"I've recently found a job. An odd one, definitely," was the reply Arturia settled with. 

"And your master?" 

Arturia was once again reminded of Shirou’s treatment of her. It was more than unsettling, when not long ago he was kissing her fervently, wishing on every star that she could stay. She could almost feel the heat from his arms back when he’d helped her make dinner, feel the way his breath would tickle her neck, make her hair stand on end.

"Why do you ask?" she said, barely over a whisper.

"Last we met in the war, you didn't seem to have a normal relationship. I would know," she said pointedly. “In fact, I was expecting to see him with you today.”

If Arturia was anything less than a king, she would have given up the perfect posture and slumped in her seat, sighing away a bruised heart like a half-drunk lad who’d lost the favor of his lady. But, she was what she was, and that was not what was expected of her.

"...He's in good health, but we haven't had the chance to talk as much."

Even though Arturia spoke with the same pleasant smile, anyone who really looked could tell it wasn’t genuine. It seemed the it heroines had nothing more to talk about, and the polite smiles and pleasantries faded into the quiet humming of the plane engine.

One seat ahead, the samurai smiled.

Miles and miles away, Diarmuid O’Dyna had given up on sleep completely. But a few minutes ago, the sun peeked over the horizon to find him still staring down at his palms. He might have been sitting on his bed but whatever it was that granted people rest had surely missed his doorstep. 

He was right about not getting a wink, and only hoped Merlin or whoever his new boss was that they would not fuss too much about the dark bags under his eyes. His reflection, for one, was quite disappointed. 

Diarmuid glided the tiny plastic razor slowly down his cheek, and got rid of the excess shaving cream on the blade before starting on the other side. He’d never cease to be amazed at the advancements in technology brought about by the age of man. Such a clean shave was only dreamt of back in his day. Men either wore stubble, or let their beards grow. As he finished off his cheek, he silently thanked Arturia’s old master for teaching him how to use these little devices. He didn’t nick himself this time.

Dry, red flecks swirled down the sink drain as Diarmuid rinsed his face.  Ah, right. There was the matter of the red marks his fingernails left on his palms. He’d be sure not to show that to Merlin either. The knight patted down his chin and ran the towel through his wavy hair. 

At the very least, he’d see Arturia again today. It always lifted his mood, being with her.

"She left?"

Why didn't she say anything?

"My theory is that she didn't think it would be so important, Mr. Diarmuid," answered what would have been the equivalent of the woman in question’s godfather. 

The fair-haired man did, in fact, fuss over Diarmuid’s eyebags and the small welts in his palms. Not a great way to start his career. 

"Merlin," Kay warned, knowing the mage was just being catty because Arturia had come and gone so soon, a feeling Kay definitely  shared. But it was no use taking it out on RTK’s newest recruit. The guy was obviously just as upset, perhaps even more so. No amount of rainbow-hair flipping succubus tantrums was going to change anything, so Merlin should really just drop it. The mage was so red in the face, it looked like he was about to stomp those pretty brown oxfords like a whining child. 

"Arty has a ridiculously strong, and infuriating , sense of duty. In that, at times, she's got tunnel vision," Kay offered, not really sure why he bothered comforting the new model. Merlin was roughly swishing a pound of concealer under his eyes, grumbling as he went, and was sure to busy the guy with enough coverage to mask the exhaustion.

However, the knight recognized that solemn look on the Irishman’s face. It was one Kay had seen in his reflection for a very, very long time. It didn’t matter how many times he’d sloshed away his reflection in the bathing pools back in Camelot, nor how many days he’d checked himself in the mirror once he had made his way to Fuyuki. It was always in his eyes.

The Rolex on his wrist told him he really should be going, so he picked up some more of Diarmuid’s signed forms and made his way to the elevator. At the very end of the hallway, he came across one of his first prints on the cover of RTK. Sure enough, there it was again, with the same kind of loneliness in both his eyes. It was a hit with his fanbase, he was even famous for them, but to Kay, he only ever believed he looked guilty.

Guilty for never truly supporting his only sibling in the pursuit of her destiny. Guilty for allowing her to throw away her life for the good of everyone else. Guilty for leaving his beloved sister when she needed him most. 

He just took what he owned and ran. 

Now, as he stood alone behind the elevator doors, he couldn’t help but think he was abandoning her again. He believed in her strength, he did. He was witness to it a thousand times over, and he knew she could handle herself as she always had. Merlin’s clairvoyance hadn’t seen anything disturbing either, otherwise the wizard would have said something, but for the first time in years he felt worried. 

This new life was his chance to repent. Repent for the faults he dealt her all those years ago. He prayed he would at least have the chance. 

He gave a glance to the papers in his hands, papers that would aid in legitimizing Diarmuid’s life here. In his briefcase were Arturia’s. Just last night he’d met the first of all heroes. Perhaps it was time he paid the Emiya’s a visit. He may not have been able to go with Arturia this time, but if he could help her....friends?

Bollocks. Hopefully this wouldn’t cost him his job.

Arturia picked at the black scarf Zhavia fastened securely over her head, completing the look of the locals. How and where Zhavia had retrieved these, Arturia would never know.

It provided protection from the arid climate, but no matter how much skin she’d hidden under the layers of clothing she’d been given, somehow the sun found ways to seep between the folds and scorch her arms. 

“Hair and eyes like yours are not that common here,” she explained, fastening her own in the bathroom mirror. “The witch’s dark hair would pass, but-”

“I am not a witch!” the woman hissed, earning her a few looks from passers-by. 

“Apologies,” hushed Zhavia, as she huddled the two alliens close to her. “Medea’s hair would pass, but the culture here is quite conservative. It’s best we respect the customs so that we can reach our destination without much fuss.” 

Walking just a little ahead of them, were their three “husbands”, donning certain headdresses the other Assassin procured. All but Zayd were similarly uncomfortable due to the heat, and they wondered just how long it would take til the sun gave it a rest.

“When your master told us the location of the seal, I was able to visualize the way there without much difficulty,” Zhavia mentioned, watching her fellow assassin negotiate for a travel van that could take them most of the way there. “Is there any reason at all that the seal appears in the True Assassin’s birthplace?”

“You pertain to the original Hassan-i-Sabbah?” Kojirou Sasaki chimed in, directing the three women towards their new travel van. 

“The great da’i, yes. We are only one of the nineteen who have ever had the honor of being called the same name moniker as the original “Old Man of the Mountain”,” she replied, closing the van doors behind them. Heracles got into the driver’s seat, with Zayd right beside him, and they were off.

Though the air conditioning was doing its best, it seemed to Arturia that the heat was seeping through the glass of the windows. Outside was land she’d never laid eyes on before. Sand everywhere, more warm of a color than the kind on the shores of her old kingdom, and strange shrubs and trees she’d only read about. The buildings were wide and painted in fair tones, much unlike the compact houses they had to keep in the heat. Their temples were elaborate, exhibiting such precise geometry, and all seemed to be facing the east. Different, but quite beautiful.

“Are you all right?” asked the japanese samurai, her acting “husband” if any of the locals ever wanted to know. His cheeks were reddening just as hers were, and sweat shone on his forehead. She nodded, wiping away the beads of salt collecting on her brow. The heat was brutal, and with no sign of any clouds in the sky, the Servants had no relief to look forward to. 

The taller buildings slowly turned to simple settlements, and then to dry farms and small houses, and soon Zayd directed them under a small tree to park. By that time, the sun was orange, dipping below the horizon as they exited the car, and to Arturia’s surprise and relief, the temperature was dropping. However, the sunset meant they’d already used up their first day. Though there were six more left, Arturia had a feeling they needed all that time.

Zhavia said she was being led just a bit further up ahead, to a mountain with more vegetation then the town they’d passed, and very soon the servants came upon a clearing between cliffs, with shadowy trees to the side and huge boulders littering the sandy terrain. 

“Are we certain this is the place?”

No sooner had he spoken did Arturia feel her veins burn with a surge of magic. She gasped as she felt her mana spike, the familiar power washing over her like the holy waters of the Lady of the Lake. Excalibur materialized in her hand, shining bright gold in the dusk, her fingers tingling from the touch. Just under her skin she could feel the soft growl of the prana dragon inside of her, low like an engine just put into ignition.

Kiritsugu had lifted the limitation on their powers, so it seemed. They were in the right place.

When she looked up, however, she noticed all the other Servants, save the assassins in their skull masks and Kojirou, who fought in the traditional umanori hakama and kimono, were dressed differently. Medea’s normal hood as Caster was now a midnight coat that seemed to blend into the dark. Heracles, with his large axe-sword in hand, wore a black hood over his warrior garbs.

It was Arturia who surprised herself, her armor nearly non-existent, replaced by a long navy scarf and dark garbs that gave her little protection. 

Suddenly, it seemed all the fauna was silenced, not even the wind’s quiet whispers dared. Confused green eyes swept the clearing, but there was nothing she could see. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, her mouth was dry. She knew there was something out there, there had to be. 

“Medea, move!”

Chapter Text

It was pure instinct that drove Arturia forward, slashing at the air next to the mage’s shoulder before the blade could reach its mark. Excalibur clanged as it deflected the knife, masking the second blade’s hiss before Saber had any chance of defending herself. 

Arturia yelped as the short dagger dug into her shoulder, and slammed her into an invisible surface rising from where they came. 

What?

Arturia beat back several other knives with one hand, and felt the invisible wall behind them with the other. Medea’s purple rays of energy tried their hand at the wall, but they too, didn’t make a dent. 

Irate purple eyes met green ones. They were trapped. 

But for the servants, there was no reprieve, as they did their best to shield themselves from the deadly rain. Every knife was a distraction for another, every arrow followed by a dagger. There was no room to stop, no room to breathe, no room to even blink or risk their precious life.

“Scatter!” Saber ordered, frantically maneuvering through the aerial assault as Medea fashioned a herself a shield. The trees provided as much cover as an umbrella during a thunderstorm, but there was nothing more they had, not  between an impenetrable force field and a barrage of weapons. 

A string of curses escaped Saber’s lips as she took a moment to inspect the blade. It was buried all the way to the hilt, a few red droplets escaping the wound, courtesy of the lack of her usual armor. She tried to summon her usual blue armored dress, but try as she did, it never came.

Why? Her armor flickered in and out of existence, like a cursed mirage. This couldn’t be happening, not now. Not now.

“Your master only  mentioned destroying a seal!” Medea scolded, weaving a purple shield around them.

The fading light made it impossible to tell from where the knives were coming from, nor let them in on any clues as to where their comrades were. Zayd and Zhavia were nowhere to be found, but the familiar roar to their right explained where Heracles had gone.

Retreat wasn’t an option. They hadn’t even a visual on the seal, and already her left arm was growing numb. 

“I swear to you I did not know,” she replied truthfully, analyzing their surroundings for something, anything . They were sitting ducks staying here, soon whoever, whatever it was that attacked would close in. 

Defense mechanisms, my ass. Of course Kiritsugu would leave out the more grueling details. Of course he would! 

The barrier at the entrance meant there was no other option but to advance. The seal was here, the air tasted of the same toxicity the Holy Grail did. All they had to do was find it.

“Stay close to me,” she ordered, hoping Excalibur at least wouldn’t come up short. “Strike Air!”

A hurricane unleashed itself from Excalibur’s tip, scattering waves of weapons and clearing a path for the two. Arturia dodged around shrubs and roots, taking advantage of the temporary leeway to gain some ground, Medea close behind, repelling attacks from their sides. 

They made it all but fifty meters when a figure all in white careened into Arturia, tackling her to the ground. Arturia’s vision went white as her attacker shoved the blade’s hilt further into her shoulder, her sword useless, pinned under a bamboo slipper. 

Medea screamed her name, deflecting projectiles left and right. The woman raised her arm, dripping dagger at the ready and it was all Arturia could do to force it away. Drops of acid fell to Arturia’s collarbone, searing her skin, and the smell of burning flesh filled her lungs. Excruciating pain shot up her left sleeve, but she threw the crazed woman off with a sharp kick to the abdomen. 

Arturia collected herself before her opponent could do so, and brought Excalibur to the woman’s throat.

“Identify yourself! Why are you attacking us?!”

The figure jerked her head up, a chilling smile on her face. Shivers raced Arturia’s body as the woman stepped forward, staggering as if being held up by strings. She raised her poison dagger again, and ran forward to strike.

The King of Knights disarmed her with a slash of her sword.

“I said, identify yourself!” Arturia shouted, pressing her blade into the woman’s neck.

Drops of black tar flowed out of her throat as Arturia raised her chin. Cold tremors raced the back of her neck as the enemy finally met her eyes. 

White. All white...her sclera, irises, and pupils, blank as a sheet of paper, staring at Arturia like predator did prey. Throbbing blue veins protruded from her lifeless lenses, making the british knight’s blood run cold, like she’d seen a ghost. It was like it didn’t even notice the cut on its throat. This...was no woman, nor Heroic Spirit. This was something else.

Arturia moved her sword swiftly, swinging the blade so the death was swift. Merciful. The creature grasped the stub of its neck, gurgling for for just a moment, before its decapitated body slumped to the floor, melting into a pot of tar. 

Arturia felt bile rise in her throat, the stench was unbearable, and her legs staggered back as the rancid fumes abused her lungs. She couldn’t breathe!

BOOM!

Multiple explosions popped Saber’s ears as she was thrown backwards like a ragdoll, her bones creaking as she dashed against a boulder. The blood on her forehead worsened the blurry blobs of black that wer e her surroundings. She pressed her hands to her head, hoping to quiet the thousand sirens going off in her ears to no avail. Blinking away the blood, she found Caster’s unconscious body next to her own, the glowing magic shields that had been protecting them gone. Blood shone through Medea’s hair, bright red under the moonlight. 

No.

Arturia scooped up Excalibur as she stood in front of Medea, putting the mage between herself and the boulder. With limited vision and no hearing, the knight was forced to rely on her remaining senses to find her opponents.

She had no doubt it was another puppet. One similar to the woman all in white. One that had no consciousness, only instinct. One that felt no pain.

The creature leapt straight out of the shadows, arms posed to strike her head, but she swatted the gremlin away with the broad side of her sword. The creature was barely up to her knees, dressed just like Zayd, with a human skull mask covering their face.

“Hassan!” she called, wracking her mind for an Assassin of its stature within Ionioi Hetaroi when Rider had dragged the Assassins inside, but she couldn’t dredge up any memories.

The figure flipped in mid-air, reorienting himself after Arturia’s hit, and dragged his hands on the ground below. 

Before Arturia had the chance to understand his actions, he flung up pebbles and dirt right into the knight’s path, blinding her to the rain of needles that followed.

“Strike Air!” Arturia called, aimlessly directing her weapon at the tiny assailant. The spell cast the shadow back, but a few of the needles, too slim to be affected, impaled themselves into Arturia’s skin. 

The creature was back, this time with the severed woman’s head is his left hand, dripping balck tar all over the floor. Sinister snowy eyes gleaned behind the skull mask, waiting, waiting...

Medea was unconscious, Arturia was losing control of her left arm by the minute, her sides were open to attack should a third enemy choose to show themselves. She wasn’t used to this. No Knight would fight without an even playing field, no knight would not be so cowardly as to pick at their enemies from the shadows. She was at a disadvantage from the start with the ambush of knives, her stubborn armor refusing to show itself, and the knife she took for Medea. And as if the situation couldn’t get any worse, she could taste blood in her throat again. Her chest seized.

Not now, not now!

Curses flooded her mind as she lurched forward violently, trying desperately to cough out the iron in her throat, a distraction the midget immediately took use of. With Arturia’s eyes barely tracking his movements, the figure hurled the severed head straight for her, quickly following with an onslaught of needles.

The severed head expanded and glowed, and with growing horror, Arturia realized why.

Saber flung herself over Caster the best she could, releasing a torrent of mana she hoped was strong enough to substitute for a shield. Arturia shut her eyes, bracing for the impact.

BOOOM!

The blast whipped Arturia’s body like a tidal wave, shaking her to her core. She barely held on hope for her already ringing ears, and could only play the unconscious magus beneath her wasn’t too beaten by the small debris Arturia’s mana couldn’t block. Saber swiped away the black tar from the blast, from her eyes, her arms.  That was the last straw.

“E nough! ”

The woman released Excalibur from its invisible coat and made straight for the enemy, dodging every needle he threw. When he was in her range, she unleashed a flurry of light, using the opponent’s weapon against him. The enemy lunged for her head with his left hand, but Excalibur cut him off before he could even touch her hair. The first strike missed his agile body, the second scarred his hand, and the third finally hit its mark.

The holy sword sliced through the assailant’s torso, splitting him clean in half mid-throw. His weapons clattered to the ground, followed by his top and bottom half, littering the grass with pungent dark blood. The body twitched violently, desperately trying to reach Arturia.

Suddenly, bright purple blasts of light decimated his carcass, severing off his extremities. Arturia looked up to see Medea, and awake with her hand raised. She was alive, thank heavens.

The englishwoman used the tip of her sword to cut off the tiny man’s mask in curiosity, finding not a face, but a skull with no skin or nose, but the same whited-out eyes. She barely had a glance before she had to step away from the toxic fumes as the body turned to black mud.

The knight turned to her comrade and offered a hand, which the magus took, dusting herself off as she stood.

“The black substance. It appears to be the same as the Holy Grail’s black mud. I am certain of it,” Arturia stated, eyes ever vigilant.

Medea nodded and pressed her hand to a cut on her arm, the glow of healing enveloping the gash. The sooner they were out of this mess, the better. 

Arturia looked to the ground, where several thin, similar knives lay forgotten. All of them bore the same mark as the one on her shoulder. Reluctantly she picked up a few. She never used daggers, skilled as she was with them, but from the multiple ambushes they had just endured, it wouldn’t hurt to have them.

It seemed the torrents of knives had finally stopped. For how long, that was yet to be determined. However, neither of their two attackers appeared to be using this kind of blade. It begged the question, who was the one throwing them?

The magus forged ahead, weaving another shield over them. Arturia dared to take a glance at her shoulder, where the dagger now stuck in an even deeper gash, her blood soaking her clothes faster than her natural healing ability could reel it in. 

The taste of iron suddenly filled the back of her throat.

“Are you alright?”

Arturia nodded, wiping the red in her hand off on her clothes.

Half a mile away, a figure juggled her dagger, wondering whether or not one knife to the shoulder was enough.

Kojirou Sasaki was not having the best of days. 

For the two weeks he’d returned to Earth he’d tried to appreciate his surroundings. The birdsong in the mornings, the trickles of water down the stream, the quiet hum of wind through the trees. His return to the Fuyuki temple was quiet, as the building had been abandoned, perhaps untouched since the last Holy Grail War.

He could see remnants in the concrete steps from where he’d had the fight of his life, one with a sword master so different, yet so intriguing. It was a moment in time he wished he could relive, even if it led to his defeat. He’d never before felt more excitement. Bless that woman.

It was also thanks to her that he finally had his own life to look forward to, and that was why he savored every breath of air he took as he explored Fuyuki. He thought he should try to find out more about the country. Through speaking with the locals, he’d learned about Tokyo, about how the culture has evolved since what would have been Kojirou Sasaki’s time, if he was real. And so, the nameless spirit decided it was time he ventured out of the city to find himself.

But somehow, he knew doing so would further him from another interesting thing he wished to know more about. After all, their battle, though glorious, was far too brief for him. It felt like merely a taste of the true wonder that was Arturia Pendragon.

Ah yes, so that was her name, Arturia Pendragon. It was such an honor to fight such a powerful Spirit, he wondered if he shouldn’t have stopped her from identifying herself back then, then perhaps at least it wouldn’t be from third parties that he learned her title.

Now, he could tell he was a little late to the game, from pure observation he knew Arturia was “friendlier” with some rather priggish boys that thought much of themselves. Still, if it was possible to relive that moment, with blood pumping in his veins and excited grins on their faces, he would have liked to see where they would have gone.

But he lost sight of her as soon as the knives started raining on them. He was no master of defence, and the long sword in his hand was not meant for deflecting attacks. Even now, as he stood still, masking his presence in the trees, he found himself decidedly out of place. There were two blades piercing his back, and though he felt the familiar energy of the Grail just a little further up north, the open path laid out in front of him seemed much more perilous than it looked. 

He swung his nodachi just in time to throw off his would-be killer, and ducked before they had the chance to sever his head. His breath steadied as he lunged, catching the man in the wrist just as he tried to dodge. A smile graced his face as he slashed upward, there were times he was truly thankful for the length of his blade.

The motion did nothing but unravel the shadow-figure’s bandages, and the attacker once more made a move for his head with a dagger in his left arm. 

Impossible...

The discarded black cloth revealed only bone where an arm should be, a skeleton shining bright orange like the dawn, impossibly long for a human limb. 

“ You...stole...MY...spot…” called a raspy, jaded voice.

The glowing arm contorted backwards, the stench of death in the air becoming more and more apparent as the masked one drew it back and flung it forward.

Every nerve in his body told Sasaki to run, run, run, but he refused to turn a blind eye to his foe. No, he couldn’t allow that cursed limb to touch him. Adrenaline was coursing through him as he dodged without missing a beat, without tripping, for even a moment of weakness could spell death. The bamboo slippers on his feet were slipping, threatening to snap with the twists and turns it took to avoid the snaking red hand, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t lose, not here.

The wind whipped through his indigo hair and bit at his skin, but he ignored the goosebumps, ignored the scratches of obstructing branches, ignored the thorns that pierced his flesh. All he needed was one opening to succeed, just one moment to plant both his feet on the ground. Just that! 

Kojirou Sasaki stared in horror at a third knife protruding from his abdomen.

No!

“You...forgot...ab..out...my...left.”

The red hand collided with his heart.

Zhavia moved their head to the side, letting the blade pass her skull without harming a hair on her head. Zayd was a few paces forward, her other personalities scattered about, giving her eyes to nearly the entire terrain. “Big” assassin had already eliminated at least two different enemies, one bespectacled blonde with a rather sick idea of fun, and a woman obsessed with killing the other, more beautiful female personalities.

But Zhavia’s instincts told her that the shadows hid many more that they couldn’t detect at a glance. She prayed to her God it wasn’t them . If they were here, even with all of her personalities combined, she hardly expected to last the night. 

Zayd’s voice hummed as he landed next to her, handing in directions to the seal. They’d found it at last, far uphill, hidden behind desert shrubbery. Zhavia adjusted the skull mask on her face. If this seal was as Zayd had told her, her own Noble Phantasm would never be able to destroy it. They needed an anti-fortress level of force, or at least the same kind of firepower as one. Which meant they needed the King of Knights.

Another blade whizzed past, but this time she caught the handle and instantly felt her blood run cold. She knew this blade. She knew this blade. 

Serenity.

She prayed to her God none of her comrades had been hit, because the antidote existed only in the mind of the attacker, and who knew if she would ever give it up.

“Well, hello my unfaithful successor. Or was it successors? Either way, I’ll have your heads.”

The two assassins froze, flashes of their individual decapitation rooting them into place as they recognized the voice. They dared not turn around and risk their lives if they raised their eyes to his mask. Zayd trembled, Zhavia whimpered. He was here. 

The female gave up any hope of surviving the night. It was far, far too late for that.

Heracles’s lungs burned with the need to breathe. He would have been doing well, he’d gained so much ground despite the way they started out with the ambush. As much as he wanted to be as stealthy as the enemy, his bulky exterior was far too much for the rather sparse vegetation. But he’d made the most of what he had, using his speed to subdue an array of different foes on the way here, leaving a few black blooded bodies behind.

So far they’d been easy pickings, all nameless. Despite everything they’d thrown at him, every trap they’d laid out, they were easy pickings for a half-god. None of them even nicked his skin. That was not the case for this pesky newcomer. Heracles was an absolute powerhouse. Even just accounting for his skin, no ordinary weapon could pierce it. Even among Noble Phantasms, those that could wound him were select. But even with an impenetrable outside, there was still the matter of his insides.

He’d beaten enough slippery fiends to know what poison tasted like, and as impenetrable as his skin was, his insides just weren’t. That was something that his latest opponent was clearly taking advantage of. She, or at least he believed the tiny shadow was a she judging by the petite figure, had began by throwing dirks and had quickly switched tactics when she realized it none of them had hurt him.

And so this chase had begun. Since he’d crushed that half-masked opera singer with his feet, he’d been running for what felt like hours, even scaling trees to get away, but Heracles could never extend the distance. 

Air!

His lungs protested, he was seconds away from falling unconscious, but he had to make it out. He had to! He hasn’t even reunited with his master yet! Heracles cursed his weakness. Imagine what the fates would say? The man who cheated death, who’s life string frayed and thinned, but never cut, defeated by mere poison gas? He would be the laughingstock of Olympus.

Still, his chest could no longer take another minute. His mind, no longer corrupted by the Mad Enhancement, was clouding against his will as he fought to stay awake. 

You’re strong, Berserker.

The words of his former master brought him back to the wilderness, where her so-called family had thrown her out to face the conditions. He didn’t remember much, but he knew she was hurting. She bled with every single move he made. She bled when he walked. She bled when he breathed. Every day she called him ugly. Every day she told him he was worthless. Every day she spewed hate from that tiny mouth of hers. He couldn’t blame her, if it hurt her so much to have him around. 

She bled torrents when he fought off those beasts. Really, even Mad, without conscious thought, he knew his master should have been dead by then. But for the very first time, when he saved her, she gave him something that wasn’t an insult.

You’re strong, Berserker.

And for someone like her, so small, who had no one. Berserker knew it meant everything. So he took it, used it, protected her with everything that he had. It worked, for a while. He was able to take her places she wouldn’t have been able to go.

And then, he was gone. His lives, stolen by a little girl king and two puny humans. Did his Master fall to their hands as well?

He wanted to stay, to be there for Illya. He wanted to make sure such a tortured soul had the chance to live without restraint. To be free from the chains that left her captive all because of a family name.

And he’d be damned if he let poison air keep him from that.

Heracles hefted his weapon, and swung it in a full circle, instantly levelling the surrounding terrain. It took the enemy by surprise, but the woman in the skull mask only stood still for a second before launching an array of weapons.

They pinged off the demigod’s skin like pellet bullets off an armored car. It tickled, really, and the hero would have laughed if it wasn’t for the toxic gas. But, as it was, Heracles had used up all his patience trying to evade the air, and in all his divine glory did not want to give more. He expected more from the foe, but as it turned out poisonous gas was their only trump card, for no weapon of man could ever pierce his skin.

Realizing her mistake, the white-eyed fool tried to run for the shadows, but Heracles was far faster, far bigger, far more of a danger than she could ever hope to be. Blood-curdling screams cut through the air as her legs contorted in Heracles’s fist, her arms shortly following suit, but all his cries were on deaf ears. Slowly, to prolong her agony, the hero twisted his wrists, just like one would wring laundry, til all the black blood in her body scattered on the floor.

He tossed the mangled carcass aside, its bones broken and piercing out of the skin like the sickest idea of a human porcupine.

Heracles finally took a breath of fresh air.

Arturia choked on her own blood.

Chapter Text

Crimson droplets of Screaming Eagle Cabernet 1992 trickled down the polished mahogany of the luxe coffee table, but it had fared far better than the borosilicate wine glass that had once had a diamond in its stem. 

Why didn’t you tell me you were coughing up blood?

It doesn’t matter--

Saber, stop moving!

Gilgamesh grit his teeth as the vision flashed before his red eyes. The King of Knights was being reckless, using her good arm to forge a clear path for herself and that ungrateful mongrel, whose weakness was what landed them in this predicament in the first place. It made his blood boil, knowing Saber was wasting her energy protecting her comrades , when she shouldn’t need to. 

The King of Heroes felt the spilt wine seep through his clothes, but he couldn’t care less, not when drops of blood had begun trickling from Arturia’s eyes and nose.

No.

Gilgamesh willed the vision away, hoping that he was seeing through different timelines, praying his clairvoyance was simply showing him an alternate reality but he knew it wasn’t the case. And much as his nerves itched to intervene, itched to torture the bastards that dared harm her he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. 

He brought his glass of wine to his lips, only to realize the last of the cabernet was absorbed by the carpet. What he had was a bloodied hand, no doubt littered with shards of glass. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter .

The little table skidded across the room, splintered in half, a victim of the king’s growing ire. She would be back , Gilgamesh chided himself, running warm water through the golden tap. Whatever the King of Knights was up to, she could handle. He wouldn’t expect anything less. 

The man breathed in. Exhaled. Inhaled, then opened his eyes, seeing far beyond the reflection on the looking glass. He passed mountains, seas, forests of great length, until finally his vision landed on her. Beautiful, despite the deep creases in her brow, the bags under her eyes that told him of her exhaustion, the weary hands that held on to her holy sword like a lifeline. 

But in the daylight, he could see clearly the ugly veins of blue running from the dirk in shoulder, the blade left inside to keep her from bleeding out. He could see the purple bruises on her arms, on her legs, no doubt from the debris when she protected that wench. Her hair was down, the ribbon lost to the wind, just as her armor which still refused to materialize. She was panting, clearly dehydrated, the warmth of the desert sun once again beginning to burn her skin.

Arturia…

Violent coughing wracked her body, but the woman didn’t stop for a second, not even with all the begging of the useless magus behind her. 

“What are you doing here?”

The unfamiliar voice of a man jarred Gilgamesh from his vision, and the image of Arturia faded away to a mongrel who looked to be of similar descent to hers, one with fair skin and white hair, with eyes of the same nature as his own.

Another clairvoyant?

“Speak, now. Are you friend or foe?” the man said, steeling his eyes.

Gilgamesh willed his vision back to the King of Knights, but found himself trapped instead in a Reality Marble of the stranger’s making. One as pure and pristine white as the man’s clothing, with no walls or windows, no limit upwards or down.

“You dare obstruct my vision, mongrel? Do you not know what happens to those who keep a king from his queen?” he raged, seconds away from breaking the connection. This mongrel had the gall to stall when Arturia was in trouble, if he could he would-

“My king made the questionable decision of forgiving such a man,” Merlin stated bitterly, remembering there was a high chance that Lancelot would be in Fuyuki too, if the biggest villain of either of Arturia’s wars was now standing before him. 

“You’re King Gilgamesh of Uruk, the King of Heroes. Bravo on your performance in the Grail War by the way!” Merlin clapped slowly, each impact generating hollow echoes in the mind space. Gilgamesh couldn’t harm him, not while they were here, but something told the old wizard it would be wise not to provoke him that much.

“Perhaps it’s time we really met.”

“She just left ?

Cú looked at him with a face of utter betrayal and a shock of ridiculous puppy eyes. It was almost ridiculous how he was living up to his name sometimes. 

“Not...not that it’s any of my business. She can do whatever she pleases. She’s her own woman,” Diarmuid said, raising his arms up in front of him defensively. Who was he to dictate what Arturia did or did not do anyway? There was just a little tinge of protectiveness that he couldn't shake.

“Buuuuuut?” Cú asked, pretending not to see the little cuts on Diarmuid’s palms. 

The former Knight of Fianna sighed, and plopped his chin onto his hands. Oh, this was hard to admit, especially without a drop of alcohol in his system.

“Well, we did occupy the same residence for two weeks,” he mumbled through the spaces of his fingers, hoping to the heavens Cú didn’t misinterpret. Cú didn’t, the older man was just amusedly watching Diarmuid sift through his feelings. 

“Aaaaand?” he asked, moving so the waitress could place the breakfast platters on the table they shared.

The Fourth War’s Lancer sighed again long and hard, looking down on the rather elaborately prepared japanese omelette in front of him.

And I can’t stop thinking about her.

“And I believe I have become somewhat...attached.”

Cú smirked, then shoved a delicious helping into his mouth. Not the answer he was going for, but it was satisfactory nonetheless. 

“Honestly, I just....Arturia...I do not. I cannot get the idea out of my head that something terrible has occurred,” Diarmuid said, poking at the ketchup hiragana spelling “happy” written on his omelette.

Cú sighed. The man had been sullen even throughout their earlier sparring sessions. Though Cú really did understand the knight’s feelings, he knew by experience that Arturia could take care of herself. They just had to trust she was doing well.

“Diarmuid, you told me that you had work today,” the Lancer reminded, hoping to take his new friend’s mind off their mutual crush. 

Diarmuid looked at the white Technomarine on the table. 7:30, he was going to be late if he didn’t leave soon. To be honest, he wasn’t all that excited about the job. Merlin was kind enough to keep all the shoots private, with just himself behind the makeup, the camera, the clothes. But yesterday, the wizard had had him cycle through three different collections because he either looked too ‘serious’, too ‘worried’, or too ‘sad’. Admittedly, that wasn't very far from the truth. They finally settled on the winter collection, which was composed of various heavy fabrics and made him sweat so much that Merlin had to retouch the makeup in between outfits. To make it worse, he hadn’t gotten around posing himself, so they had to bring in Kay for him to mirror. 

The lawyer was damn near furious for having to take another unpaid vacation day after swearing to just pick up some papers ...but he did it anyway. It took about a hundred clicks and a couple reshoots but Merlin eventually got what he wanted, pushed a suitcase full of new clothes and accessories his way, slapped a phone in his hand and rushed him out the door for ‘post’. And there, he was left on the steps of RTK, wondering whether or not this was the right direction to take.

Night had fallen by that time, and after rolling around til the bedsheets til the corners curled up. He gave up on sleep for the second night in a row, followed his footsteps down the pavement. Pavement turned to grass, grass to sand. Soon he was sinking his toes into the cold water of the sea, but...it still didn’t take his mind off of her.

“Wanna finish that fight, O’Dyna?”

Diarmuid looked up to see Cú, clad in a hawaiian shirt that Merlin would definitely incinerate, with his lance at the ready. It didn’t take much convincing for him to bring out his own two spears. The first few rounds were wordless, with Cú taking first advantage, Diarmuid winning the second and third. It was around the fourth round that Diarmuid had finally let loose, allowing his two weapons to fly at speeds impossible by human standards. Cú had only smirked, batting away the sharp edges of the other’s weapons with Gae Bolg’s shaft. 

It was nearing three in the morning when Diarmuid spin-kicked the other Lancer square in the stomach and lifted Gae Dearg to Cú's throat. 

“What’s the score?” the latter said, voice just a little raspy from the coughing fit he just had.

Diarmuid laughed. “Tied. 14 all.”

“I am obviously still the better one,” Cú huffed, beads of sweat running down his forehead as he lay on the sand. “Your dual-wielding schtick is overrated.”

That earned another laugh from Diarmuid. The knight plopped down right beside him, staring out into the sea longingly. 

“Say, I’ve been meaning to have a rematch with the King of Knights as well. You haven’t seen her around, have you?” Cú asked, stabbing his spear into the sand beside him. The last time she and he had crossed paths, Gilgamesh had swiftly put an end to him. Cú drew a little symbol in the air in front of him, and a small fire ignited between the two. 

“Rematch?” 

Cú sighed, long and hard, his breath making the fire flicker just a bit.

“We fought in the war. Never got to finish. It was...complicated,” he explained. If only Diarmuid knew just how complicated. It was going to be hard to explain what happened to Bazett, the whole thing with Gilgamesh, and Cú wasn’t even sure if Diarmuid was around to know the disaster that was Kirei. To be honest, he wasn’t too thrilled to share what happened to him, it was an embarrassment, if anything. 

Complicated? 

Diarmuid stared at the fellow Irishman, then back at the sea. If only Cú knew what happened here, two decades ago. It was very near here that he snapped his shorter spear in half for the King of Knights and watched her reveal the most beautiful Noble Phantasm he’d ever seen. She was glowing, then. Shortly after, he had the match of his life, only for it to be cut off by both Arturia’s and his own prick of a Master. 

Diarmuid was then reminded of why he was so sleepless in the first place. His eyes felt heavier, the tiny red crescents in his hands seemed to sting though they had scabbed over quite quickly.

“We were living together a while, with her Master from your war,” Diarmuid told Cú honestly. He shared little bits of those two weeks with Cú all the while wondering how much he should keep to himself.

There were a few days he and the King of Knights would both find themselves awake far too early in the morning. A remnant of knight training, she supposed. Saber would then lead him to the little personal dojo to the side of the Emiya property, throw him one of the available practice swords, chuckle and throw him another, remembering how he wielded two spears.

A few matches later, when she was grinning at him, cheeks red from exertion, he would drop the other sword, showing her he was just as proficient with only one. She would best him though, realizing how different his stance would be with just one blade. 

Remembering it now, he could almost feel the tingles on his skin as she adjusted his stance and then her finger on his as she adapted his grip for what would be a broadsword. Excalibur, she would explain, was a different kind of sword in itself that she had to train with excessively to master. It was like a cross between a longsword and a broadsword, but being a weapon not made by men, it was able to deliver some blunt force trauma while not being as heavy or thick. 

Once, she summoned her sword and placed it in his hands. He understood what she meant then, feeling the weight of Excalibur in his palms. It was lighter than it looked, but heavier than he expected. Almost like its weight was more than just metal. Its length was just a little bit off too. He realized, by normal standards, the sword was definitely too long for a knight of her stature. The length was more suited to someone taller, like himself, yet somehow Arturia wielded it like it was an extension, not just a weapon. 

In response, he tossed her Gae Buidhe. She smiled fondly when she took it, spinning it round her wrist carefully and testing its weight. They kept the cloth on, though, neither of them wanted any eternally bleeding scratches. 

It was his turn to teach her, so he leaned Excalibur on the wooden walls of the dojo. He spun Gae Dearg in a complicated flourish before he approached. Arturia looked at him with a turn in her lip, he could tell she knew he was showing off. He played it cool though, as he stood behind her, lifting her elbows and changing her footing. She was picking up his tips almost immediately after he taught them, which he probably should have expected from her. 

In fact, he felt like he was the one getting distracted, but he couldn’t help it. They were close enough that he could feel the heat from her skin, see the subtle sheen of sweat behind her blonde bangs. If he dipped down just a bit more as he instructed her, he’d kiss the tip of her ear. 

He banished the thought though, as her eyes met his. Heaven knows where his mind would lead if he stayed this near her a moment longer. Lancer backed away and showed her another flourish, this time with Gae Dearg passing his lower back. Her green eyes watched intently as he repeated the exercise, and she moved so she could see what it looked like from behind. 

The King of Knights replicated his movements, his yellow spear transferring almost seamlessly from her left to her right. Arturia repeated the flourish once more, memorizing the motions. It was almost ridiculous, how naturally this came to her. Diarmuid was sure he struggled with this for far longer, but he was happy to know there was still a lot to teach her. The knight flipped his spear and used the blunt end to move her feet to a steadier position. The small alteration seemed to work, as she passed the yellow spear between her hands fluidly in no time. Just one last thing.

Diarmuid placed a hand on her shoulder, telling her to relax. It was important to keep muscles loose. It was like letting water flow, he said, taking away the fingers that lingered on the shoulder blade for just a moment extra. A moment too long for just friends, too short for more than that. 

She breathed, a lovely sound, and for a moment Diarmuid swore she smelled like vanilla. And then she moved, perfectly executing the flourish like she’d been practicing for years. Diarmuid would have been jealous if he wasn’t so awestruck. 

The Irish knight realized he should have appreciated those moments, brief as they were, for now that they were living apart they probably wouldn’t be able to spar very often. 

Arturia…

“Oh, with that weird Master of hers?” Cú asked, pulling Diarmuid out of his thoughts. The question caught him off guard. 

“You mean Shirou Emiya? Weird in what way?” he asked.

Cú thought about how he should put it. That boy was complicated as well. “When I first met him, it was like he didn’t even know he was in the middle of the Grail War. And when I fought Saber, she was incredible , but it was easy to tell she wasn’t at full strength. I believed she could be...more.”

Diarmuid looked away pensively. He still didn’t know much about Shirou Emiya, apart from that fact and that he and Rin Tohsaka were allies during the Fifth. The two magi weren’t always at home, so he couldn’t deduce anything much. He was grateful for their hospitality of course, but he didn’t understand why they kept so distant from the King of Knights when they claimed to have been “friends” back then.

“What did happen in the Fifth War? Arturia avoids conversation despite my insistence. All I know for sure is that the King of Heroes stayed behind,” Diarmuid asked.

That, he did.

Cú gave him an exasperated sigh. He didn’t really want to answer. Answering would mean admitting that despite his best efforts, he was eventually overwhelmed, barely being able to deal much damage to the man. “Was he a royal pain in the ass back in your war too?” he asked instead.

“Quite.”

Cú stared at him and then burst into a fit of laughter. “All you really need to know about the Fifth War is that it was corrupt. Even if that gold bastard hadn’t stayed behind, there were a million things wrong with it from the start,” the Lancer explained, staring into the fire that he just made. 

Cú’s statement only made Diarmuid more curious. How much more messed up could the wars get compared to the Fourth? 

“Where is Saber, anyway?”

And that conversation brought the two spearmen to where they were now, finishing up breakfast at a small seaside establishment Cú had been working a few shifts for called Ahnenerbe. They’d stayed up the rest of the night sharing stories, enough that Cú could confirm the younger lancer had grown fond of the petite King they’d both had the honor to fight. 

“What makes you think there’s something wrong? You know as well as I do that she can handle herself well with that sword,” Cú commented, spearing a piece of omelette with his fork.

“I know,” Diarmuid answered, “I just can’t shake the feeling.” 

The watch that was sitting by his plate ticked to 7:45. Diarmuid really should leave if he wanted to shower and at least make himself a little presentable for work. He picked up the little time teller and put it on his right wrist, transferred it to his left, then back again. It didn’t feel comfortable on either side.

“Ambidextrous,” he explained, as Cú watched him in amusement. 

“I should be on my way,” Diarmuid said, finishing up his meal. 

“Sure. You know where to find me if you want to spar. Oh, I can’t believe it almost slipped my mind,” Cú quickly brought up a familiar-looking device and handed it to him. Realizing what it was, Diarmuid brought out his own cellphone and they exchanged contact info.

“Tell me when Sab-- Arturia returns, yeah?” 

Diarmuid nodded, waved, and headed back to his apartment. He stifled the little tinge of jealousy that spiked when Cú said her real name. Ridiculous. 

Kojiro was surprised to find himself alive. The black-clad enemy’s cursed hand had touched his chest, then reeled it back. There was a flash of light, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. More flashes of purple.

“Sasaki!” 

A voice snapped him to his senses, and he narrowly dodged the flurry of daggers sent his way. He turned, seeing the familiar blonde head of the King of Knights and the beams of purple that only belonged to Caster. The large but lithe body of the enemy was closing in on him, fast, angry at his spoiled attack.

“ Tsubame Gaishi! ”  He called for his Noble Phantasm as the creature raised his red-hot arm ready to strike. His thrust his arm impossibly fast, launching a simultaneous attack in three places. The nameless spirit hoped the attack held true this time, there was no room for error, no gaps between the slices.

The masked villain swerved, twisting his body out of the way to no avail. The japanese blade impaled itself thrice into his chest, leaving gaping holes of black tar in its wake. The enemy’s snarl turned into a beastly roar, one that could curdle blood at the sound.

“ Zabani --”

Arturia’s sword was faster, slashing at the creature’s glowing right arm before it had the chance to call out what she believed was his Noble Phantasm. The bright appendage reeled back like whiplash as its owner snarled at her, forced to retreat. 

“Don’t let him call its name!” Arturia yelled, jumping out of the way as Medea unleashed her own series of attacks, the sheer volume of it forcing the creature to retreat backwards into the trees. Sasaki was close behind, sword at the ready, with Caster and Saber hot on his heels.

A low hum of energy cut through the landscape as Saber fused with Excalibur, glowing lights rising from the ground into the blade, but the process was far too slow. She’d no sooner touch her feet to the floor before she was dodging the onslaught of Assassin’s blades. The creature they were facing was incredibly fast, charging through the trees like he was born to do it. If she could just find the right spot to aim…

Drops of sweat began to form on Medea’s forehead as her eyes struggled to follow their target. Though daylight was beginning to wash over the former servants, this adversary used shadows like he was born into them, molded by them. Frustrated blasts of purple hit the vegetation rather than his body, trying her patience. 

Very well then. If he wasn’t going to stop, she’d force him. With a flick of her finger, a barrier erected itself before the villain, blocking all his exits.

“Excalibur!”

His struggle was futile. Beams of light exploded from Saber’s sword, incinerating the enemy’s arm just as a heart began to materialize in the cursed limb.

“Name...less...” it spoke, barely over a whisper. It was all it could manage with an entire half of its body missing. The japanese legend landed right beside it, and pointed his sword at its neck, debating putting the shadow out of its misery. 

It raised its remaining arm to Sasaki’s neck, as if to choke him, but the man didn’t give it the chance, severing his head before he could draw too close.

The figure finally collapsed to the ground in a pile of black tar, his last words lingering in the ears of his would-be prey. 

“You all right, Sasaki?”

Thanks to you. The man thought, surveying their surroundings. He’d hate to admit it but for a brief instance, he really did believe he was finished, that the brief second life he was granted had gone to waste, if not for the little lioness’s intervention. It must have been a rare stroke of luck that she interrupted when she did, for had she not appeared, he would have lived and died nameless once again.

His train of thought brought him back to the travelling papers she had handed him just hours before. The servant contemplated for but a moment, recalling the feeling of finally having something to call himself. Something other than the legend that he was not.

“It’s Tsuda,” he decided.

When the name left his lips, he felt as is the exhaustion of the fight leave him, easily as the sand is swept away by the waves, like a desperate thirst had finally been quenched. All this, because of two tiny little syllables, that he was sure the little lioness hadn’t even given much thought to. 

“Tsuda,” she repeated, a beautiful sound. Kojirou Tsuda , believed he now owed her some sort of thanks. 

The moment didn’t last long. Liquid warmth trickled down Arturia’s cheek before she could stop it. She tried to swipe away what she thought was a tear, but the dark red staining her fingers froze her companions in place. Blood.

“I could ask the same of you. Forgive me, but you don’t look well,” Tsuda said, approaching her carefully with his hands up to placate her. The samurai inspected her body, then her face. Arturia was peppered with so many bruises it was ridiculous, on top of the dirk stuck on her shoulder and the fact that she periodically bled from her eyes, mouth and nose.

“Agreed, Saber,” Medea voiced, the uncertainty in her tone apparrent. She’d run several antidote spells over herself and Saber in an attempt to neutralize the poison from the blade and the needles. They should have worked...they worked on herself. The blood around Saber’s shoulder looked almost black and the skin around it was bluish. By no means was that a normal reaction. Arturia took that dirk to the shoulder hours ago, and by the looks of it, she wouldn’t last much longer.

The sun had begun to show its first rays by the east, giving the servants more visibility and guaranteeing more cautious action from their attackers. The trio could afford a brief respite. 

Medea hoped the girl would listen. Her guilt was already eating at her after what Arturia did to protect her by taking that blasted blade. That, and the fact that the King of Knights had many welts on her skin which she did not have, which meant Arturia was shielding her while she was unconscious too.

Just as they were taking a moment to breathe, another hulking dark figure in a mask dropped out of the shadows, just behind Arturia’s shoulder.

“It’s me,” it said, lifting the skull mask to reveal an identical face to the one sported by Zayd and Zhavia. “The others have run into quite the predicament,” said the personality, remembering the fearsome figure of the original Hassan-i-Sabbah towering over his two other forms, “Zhavia, as she now chooses to call herself, barely had a moment to tell me to find you.”

As if on cue, Arturia doubled over, hacking and coughing up torrents of red. The blood stained the ground like poison, the grass seemed to wilt as it touched its leaves. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she cleared her throat of the warm liquid, and suddenly it was far too difficult to breathe.

Big Assassin looked over the group. “It seems I was too late.”

Arturia could barely register the ones around her calling her name, not with the frantic pounding in her ears. What remained of her sight was bloodstained, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to the excruciating fire she felt in her veins. 

“What’s happening to her?!” Tsuda begged, trying and failing to steady the poor woman. Only when he felt her blood seep through his clothes did he realize the sheer amount she was coughing up. It was like someone had taken a sword and run it through all her organs.

 “An antidote spell, Master, please !”

Caster opened her mouth and closed it. How was she to explain? “I did, it-- it was supposed to work. She should be healing by now, I-”

Big Assassin cut in, scooping the Knight King from Tsuda’s arms and laying her on her side to prevent her from choking. 

“It’s one of Serenity’s blades,” the newcomer explained, “We have to cut it out, she shouldn’t have kept it in,” said the Big Assassin, holding down Arturia’s arms as she spasmed violently. 

“Who in the gods name is Serenity?!”

The Assassin turned to her and leveled his voice. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a panic. “Serenity is one of the few others worthy to hold the title of Hassan-i-Sabbah. Her primary weapon is poison. If we don’t remove this blade, she will die. Now, quiet.” 

Big Assassin’s hand hovered over the blade’s handle, running the motions through his mind in the hopes of lifting it out smoothly. He steadied his wrist, but he couldn’t risk it. The blade was definitely barbed on the end, and it was buried up to the hilt. 

Assassin pinned the struggling woman with his weight, instructing the other two to do the same. He held his breath. 

“There’s no way we can get it out without hurting her more.”

The Assassin personality glared up at the interrupting magus, but his gaze softened as he saw her face was full of concern. 

“How long ago was this?” he questioned. “She looks like she’s going to die .” There was no point in mincing words; the King of Knights had lost so much blood, her already fair skin was a sickly sort of white. Judging by how much she had choked up, there was excessive internal hemorrhaging, to make things more complicated. If they were to leave her as she was now, the poison would reach her brain, possibly damage her beyond repair.

Now that...that was something Big Assassin could not allow. 

“Stand back.” 

Kojirou Tsuda stepped forward with more resolve than Medea had ever seen since she summoned him. At first, the Big Assassin was reluctant, barely having known the Japanese legend, but as soon as Tsuda drew his blade, the assassin moved to hold Arturia steady. No one with that much determination in their eyes could possibly fail.

Kojirou Tsuda drew his arm back, pointing Monohoshi Zao directly at the dirk in Saber’s shoulder. If he did this right, if he cut close enough to the blade, he should be able to loosen it enough without hitting any arteries.. Of course, he would be cutting through some muscle, but there was no other way. 

He struck with practiced precision, ignoring her pained groans as he moved his blade carefully around the dirk. Big Assassin swept in at the last moment, extracting the loosened blade with the steadiest of hands.

The poisoned dirk clattered to the ground beside Arturia as Tsuda flicked his katana. They had avoided the worst, but the gaping hole the knife left meant Arturia was losing more blood than ever, and fast. The black garbs she was wearing now clung to her body, slicked red with her own blood.

The servants tensed as the knight suddenly stopped shaking, now laying still with her eyes rolled back.

Damn you, Serenity!

The air filled with panicked what’s happening’s and what do we do’s, as Assassin’s checked for breathing, a pulse, a reaction.

“Serenity doesn’t use just poison,” Hassan clarified, hand hovering over Arturia’s mouth. She was breathing, weakly.  “Judging by the effects, it’s based on Boomslang venom.”

“Anti-venom, then?” Medea offered.

Assassin shook his head. Serenity was the most capable toxicologist among the ones who bore the mantle of Hassan-i-Sabbah. Her mixes most likely accounted for common anti-venoms to ensure her targets helplessly met their ends. 

“Only she knows what would work. You have to remove the poison entirely from her body, separating it from her blood. Can you do that?”

The magus nodded and knelt beside the King of Knights. Normally, she wouldn’t need a magic circle, but precision was everything. She couldn’t let Arturia die, not when the blade Saber took was originally meant for her. If only she could have done this sooner. Neon violet lines erupted from the sand, encircling both herself and the King of Knights, with greek figures etching themselves within the round space. There was no chance Medea would let Arturia’s life slip away. 

None.

Heracles was the first to arrive in front of the seal. On the way, he’d taken out a few more of those white-eyed, soulless creatures, but none of them were as formidable as that one little masked girl who could poison the air. 

Looking around, he could see none of his comrades, needless to say, he was quite disappointed. He expected more from that witch and the King Arthur so beloved by the present time. But that wasn’t really a primary concern. If those on his side were worthy of being stored in the Throne of Heroes in the first place, there was no doubt about their strength.

No, the real concern was the towering mass of mana looped into various sigils which he, with all his knowledge, could not understand. A glowing, bright red circle the size of a hydra hovered at least thrice his height off the ground, bleeding murky, dark mud from the lines that drew across it. His nostrils burned at the stench of the midnight tar staining the ground before him, no doubt the same pungent substance those mindless goons bled when he’d put an end to their existence.

Simply approaching it proved futile, as the dark mud scalded his hide and boiled his blood like the river styx, truly a cursed mass, if it was able to penetrate his demigod skin so easily. Even if he had lives to spare, he would rather not waste God Hand’s potential on such a menial task as this. Still, the giant seal that tore through the sky so menacingly was becoming increasingly bothersome, he saw it fit to end this misery business before another troublesome figure made itself known. Two strides backward should suffice.

Splintered rock displaced itself from the ground as he leapt to heights unimaginable for men. All his strength, he gathered into his buster sword, and with the might of the gods he brought it down on the bastardized magic circle. 

What?

The hero landed with a thud that shook the earth, his eyes never leaving the blood red seal etched into the sky. The air sizzled, fizzed out where his sword had met the magic, but Heracles could only watch as the cursed symbol stitched itself back together. 

The ground quivered as he launched himself once more. Again. Again. Again. 

A single drop of sweat ran from his forehead to his chin. The very first he’d shed today from exertion.

The jagged slices he’d carved into the seal, no matter how much they’d cut, repaired themselves just as quickly as he could make another strike. Heracles felt he was up against the hydra again, except this time, he didn’t have anyone around brandishing a burning torch to prevent the regeneration.

A sudden splash of mud triggered his instincts, forcing him back. There, lying in the black mud, was a severed head, scared amber eyes staring right through him. Several feet away, plopped down its body, blood spewing from the stub of its neck. A single white mask clattered to the ground beside his feet, one he recognized. 

He turned back to the seal, glanced behind him to the tiny trees, then back to the cursed circle in the sky. 

They were down to sixty-three. 

A limp body whizzed past Zhavia as she was making her way backward through the vegetation. Sixty-two. Already she could feel her power dwindling. She knew how formidable the original Old Man of the Mountain was, but it was ridiculous how quickly he was dismantling their own Zabaniya. Here he was, charging at them with a sword, of all weapons, tearing through their forces as easily as ripping up pieces of paper. All the other personalities were scrambling to get back, throwing their daggers as the armed attacker, but the rising sun had made this difficult. The shadows were far smaller, provided much less cover, and the straightforward blade that the King Hassan was wielding met every and all its targets before they could slip away.

Sixty-one.  

A single tear slipped from her eye before she could stop it. It wasn’t honor killing, like how it was with Iskandar. It wasn’t the kind of defeat that she could accept. King Hassan was culling them like chickens, cutting down a part of herself with every swing of his blade, all the while poking fun at how they had done everything to amass knowledge, only to lose it all here. And he was right. With every one of them he killed she lost another part of herself.

Gone was the love of the arts, he lay in pieces among the roots of the trees. The expert in trappings sat with his head in his lap, the stub of his neck coloring his top half red. Gone was the one who mastered the art of trickery, his hands shoved deep into a slit throat. 

Was this their punishment for wanting to know, to learn, to explore?

“I’ll...have...your head!”

The newly renamed Zhavia tilted her head just in time to avoid decapitation, but found at least half of her long hair scattered on the ground. The figure lunged once more, and it took every fiber of her muscles to swivel out of the way. Her fingers made their way to a throwing knife, but she knew it was no use. No other Hassan-i-Sabbah had ever been able to stand their ground against the original. 

Her knife clattered uselessly to his side, the clang of metal resounding in the air. King Hassan dragged the edge of his weapon from her abdomen, to her chest, and finally rested it on her throat. She gulped, took one last shaky breath and closed her eyes as he thrust it forward.

For a brief second, she recalled who she was, springing into existence one fateful day. They were supposed to execute an arrogant rajah, one who left his people suffering while he exploited all their resources. The only ones he rewarded were his guards, who kept him alive in exchange for gold, land, and women. The sultan wasted his talent for strategy on fortifying his keep so that none but those he desired could enter. So, she was born, with mesmerizing hazel eyes, a beautifully toned body, and a voice to woo all men. 

And woo the rajah, she had, with a simple sway of her hips and but a few convincing words. She took the rajah to his bed, from which he never woke, and so easily, she disappeared among the rejoicing faces of his many harlots the next morning. No one ever did find out how an assassin could have gotten past the guards, nor what weapon they had used, for she had merely returned the kitchen knife onto the plate of lamb the guards had for dinner the night of the murder. The maids had washed away every trace, having thought their lord’s blood must have come from the meat. 

She had gone through many such missions since then, with only her other selves to keep her company. But it was never a lonely existence. She was perfectly content, sharpening her skills, living on the edge, getting her kicks from the thrill of the hunt. And then came this new life, with her new leader. To think, she was looking forward to get back into the game, with all the new weapons the new world had to offer, to raising the little child personality, to seeing the world and all its beauty and faults. 

She could only pray to her god, that at least one of them made it home, then perhaps there was a chance to be reborn. 

Zhavia closed her eyes, cherishing the only name she’d ever really had, the only name she, herself was given. At least just this one thing, was hers, even for just a few hours. 

And then...everything went black.

...

Gilgamesh let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Arturia finally relaxed in Medea’s arms. Above the two women floated about a quart of silver-colored venom, which the magus quickly got rid of. 

Without the poison obstructing her healing factor, the King of Knights sat up, her wounds beginning to heal themselves. She still looked pale, what with all the blood she lost, but every moment that passed, he could see the color return to her cheeks.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Merlin said, coming up beside Gilgamesh in front of the magic circle revealing the scene. 

“You say that, mongrel, and yet, just moments ago you were stricken with fear,” Gilgamesh replied to the other clairvoyant, still unable to judge whether this half-breed was worthy of his words or not.

The wizard simply shook his head and watched Arturia get up despite the protests of the one who now called himself Tsuda and the magus who had just cleansed her blood. Arturia pointed Excalibur to their northeast and advanced. All the others could do was follow.

“It wasn’t fear,” Merlin said, sensing the resurrected Pendragon regain strength even from miles and miles away. “ I am the reason Arturia has such a powerful reserve of mana, I’ll have you know. One perhaps rivalling your own, I dare add.”

The comment made the King of Heroes cross his eyebrows, but otherwise, the mesopotamian stayed silent and continued to watch the King of Knights in the mirage before him.

“I simply care for her, like you do,” the half-succubus suggested, not eliciting any response from the blonde, “She was my best accomplishment, and  my deepest regret.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so...eager for Arturia to become the greatest king as her father wanted. Merlin gave her everything. As a baby, he infused her with the mana capacity rivalling that of dragons. He supervised her training in the daytime, making sure she had all the best teachers. Stood proud as she bested her brother, and then every other foe she came across. He tutored her, even in her dreams, provided her with all the knowledge she needed to be a great king. Books, tomes, basic spells. All of which, she consumed without complaint.

Even when it came to the most superficial of lessons, like dancing and music, Arturia was at full attention. She reformed her manners quickly, spoke with a stiff upper lip when addressing the townspeople, never used a single spoon the wrong way. When affairs were busy at the castle, she’d forgo her usual breaks with Kay for lessons on strategy, much to the latter’s dismay. Eventually Arturia devoted all her time to serving Camelot, wasted not a second on leisurely activities. She married the finest lady of the land, because that was what kings did, what Merlin told her to do.

All that time, Merlin believed that what he was doing was right. Right for Camelot, right for what Uther envisioned. He’d warned Arturia once, of what would become of her if she did pull the sword from the stone, and he thought that was enough. He forgot that despite how inhuman she strived to be, that she was, in fact, human.

Locked up in that damned tower, with nothing else to do but watch Arturia with his clairvoyance, he realized that. Especially when Arturia met that ginger master of hers, who treated the King of Knights like a maiden of all things. For the first time, Merlin saw his king living for a change. Smiling, enjoying the taste of food, blushing like the young woman she was.

And that, that made Merlin rethink everything he had been doing until then. It was why he so quickly said yes when Saber’s former master offered him an out of that tower, why he’d stationed himself in Fuyuki, waiting for her year after year. 

And then she finally arrived, with this blonde tyrant and a loyal knight in tow. Merlin was going to do it right this time, ensure Arturia was truly living instead of following the path he and her father laid out for her. He swore he would do anything to make sure she could do that. That meant keeping her alive, until this “destroying the seals” business was over, which brought him to the task Kiritsugu assigned him to. Merlin looked over to the table in the conference room behind him.

But the time for that task had not yet come. In the meantime, Merlin thought he should make sure Arturia never lost favor with her strongest ally, the man standing in the room with him. Even if he felt like he was manipulating things behind the scenes, the devious half of his blood decided that having just a bit of fun wouldn’t bring any harm.

“I know you have no need of more riches, if your epic is to be believed,” Merlin started, aware of the sharp red eyes briefly turning away from Arturia in the mirage, “but if you want to spend more time with my King, perhaps you would consider this.”

Merlin handed an elaborately decorated folder to the King of Heroes. Gilgamesh hesitated for but a moment, taking the documents only when he realized it was specially procured, made of materials of the highest quality. Even the paper looked unnecessarily expensive under the pure gold paper clip.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Merlin’s newest model. “My apologies, Merlin, I didn’t realize the time--”

Diarmuid stopped short at the sight of the King of Heroes, who didn’t even spare him a glance. Then his eyes went wide as they landed on the mirage before the two men. He rushed over to the image being projected above the magic circle.

Arturia.

The King of Knights looked like she had been to hell and back, with blood caked in her hair and dried red flecks by her eyes, nose, and lips. A deep gash ran from just below her collarbone, through her shoulder, and though it was beginning to heal, he could tell it had dealt her a lot of damage. 

He was right to feel uneasy. 

Diarmuid recognized the other Servants with her immediately, most looking worse for wear. Medea looked exhausted, Kojirou Sasaki was beginning to tire, and the masked Assassin was sweeping the area with his eyes, looking for any enemies. Today would have been the second day they were fighting.

“What happened?”

The question evoked an annoyed grunt from the King of Heroes, and he disappeared into gold dust almost immediately, going who knew where. Merlin sighed.

“Get to the dressing room. I’ll tell you while I’m concealing the hell out of those eyebags,” the wizard said, dismissing the mirage with a wave of his hand. “I told you to get some sleep, pretty boy.”

Chapter Text

When Arturia awoke, she was in the arms of a large but skinny man in a skintight dark suit, the said man scurrying through the terrain like a fox toward the large volume of mana they had been feeling. Medea was following close behind, hovering a few feet off the ground, while Tsuda made his own way on foot. 

The Assassin noticed, and put her on her feet, much to Medea’s protest. She hadn’t yet finished her spell, purple strings of light still stitching up Arturia’s wound. The latter however, felt she had suffered enough embarrassment from being carried around like a hapless princess while the other Servants slaved away.

The King of Knights stopped herself from swaying on her feet, ignoring the lightheadedness from losing so much blood. Her natural healing kicked in, she should be able to last at least til they’d carried out the mission. Any less would be a disgrace to the honorable name she’d cultivated over the years.

“You can not continue on like this, King of Knights,” the magus reprimanded, pulling Arturia out of her thoughts. Saber was white as a ghost, even if some color had begun to return to her cheeks, she looked like she had been sucked dry by some creature of the night. 

Her words, however, only spurred more anger in the little king, who gripped the hilt of Excalibur so tight she was shaking. 

“Do you think me so weak?”

Arturia had suffered far, far worse. Many a war had left her wounded. Gilgamesh , even, had left her so in tatters she could barely recover even as a Servant. To think she’d been felled by such a tiny weapon was degrading enough, and here Medea was, discouraging her from the fight. 

The magus flinched, and her lip quivered just enough for Arturia to notice. The knight turned away, her ears burning. In her moment of ire, she’d forgotten that Medea had quite literally saved her life, if the closing shoulder wound was any indication.

“I must apologize milady, I did not mean to speak so harshly.”

The frown on the Greek told Arturia of her frustration, and the magus merely hovered past her and the Big Assassin. 

“You’re one of Zhavia’s...”

“Not many of us have names, King of Knights,” Big Assassin replied. 

The assassin answered her question before she could ask it. “I do not know her whereabouts, she sent me to you to deliver a warning about one of the enemies we encountered, but, by the time I got here the poison had nearly gotten to your brain.” 

Though Arturia could see nothing behind his white mask, she was sure he was raising a skeptic eyebrow. 

“It is nothing short of a miracle that you can still stand. Serenity’s poison should have ended your life. I can only attribute that to your superior healing and that mage’s efforts,” the Assassin continued, his voice faltering near the end.

“Is something the matter?” asked Saber, following his lead through the dry landscape. 

The masked man was silent for a while, and he stopped abruptly, touching the pads of his fingers to the dusty ground beneath them. He exhaled once, sharply enough to stop the other servants in their tracks.

“You are aware, that I am but a part of a whole, yes?” he asked. Saber nodded. The assassin turned back to the ground and flared his mana once again to make sure. His frown deepened.

“I fear that my ‘whole’ is no longer as big as it once was. I can no longer feel some of the other me’s.” 

Green eyes widened. Suddenly, very suddenly, finishing this mission became more than just a task. The servants quickened their pace, urgency fueling every step.

Zhavia untucked herself from under the burly brute’s bicep as he landed a distance away. King Hassan was closing in on them like a starving beast, but the hero jumped away once again with her in tow.

Heracles.

The Greek had arrived just in time. she could feel a warm line of blood running down her neck, but the wound barely got past the skin. A second later, and she’d have been dead. She’d lost all hope of continuing to live on in such an interesting era, only for her life to be saved last minute. 

She shoved away what pride she had and whispered a single word of thanks, an uncharacteristic gesture for her, as the hero surged forward to meet her assailant. 

The metallic clanging of swords rung in the air as the two clashed, one with unwavering strength, the other with the stubbornness of a boulder. With a cut of his sword Heracles took his leg, but with an upward slash, Hassan struck the hero’s arm. They continued in a series of bouts, neither getting the upper hand on the other for long.

“It’s useless.”

Zayd landed beside her quietly, his left arm bleeding out like he’s severed a tendon. 

“Everyone knows the original specializes in frontal attacks,” he continued, feeling the remaining third of his personalities silently gather behind him. They all brandished their knives, angered at the one who’d taken forty of their lives. 

“Zhavia.” 

It was Big Assassin, with the other servants in tow. They had survived Serenity’s poison after all. The King of Knights, who looked sickly in the daylight, raised her sword toward the battle before them, but the female assassin rested her fingers on Excalibur’s blade, and gently pushed it down.

“Stand back, little king,” she said, drawing a sinister curved blade from midair, “This fight is personal .”

With an earth-shattering cry, the assassins leapt toward their foe, closing the distance between them in seconds. Heracles immediately retreated, the sheer swarm of black figures cutting across his vision made it much too difficult to fight.

King Hassan met their onslaught with fury, swinging his sword to cut down the bodies that threw themselves at him, but every slash of his blade, he was met with three more...four more, til a decisive needle to a tendon forced the first assassin to drop the sword. One strike to Hassan’s heel, the next, a kick to the stomach to topple him. The third was his eyes, the fourth, his biceps, the fifth was Zayd, shoving his dagger into the man’s stomach over and over and over. The assassin’s didn’t stop, not even when the assassin’s body had stopped all movement, not even when the body began to melt into black tar, no. They would finish, one wound for every personality he’d slain.

Arturia turned away.

“The seal...is that way, archon .”

A single, short sigh escaped her lips accompanied by the almost imperceptible droop of her shoulders. Heracles, now with a mind clear of mad enhancement, realized for the first time how small the King of Knights was, standing barely up to his chest. She was smaller even, than the similarly blonde captain he sailed with on the Argo, and yet forging ahead of them, he could sense her burden was far heavier. 

He could barely remember what it was like to face Arturia Pendragon, but looking at her now it was hard to believe this was truly the Arthur of legend that had defeated him. Such a young girl, she was. 

The seal was larger than it had been last Heracles left it, now blocking out the noontime sun with the stormy black clouds that gathered behind it. The suffocating aura it emanated reminded Saber of the gargantuan monster Caster had summoned into the river. Around it, the air seemed to thin, the arid ground devoid of all life, as if the cursed thing had sucked it dry.

“Did Jason not trust you as the strongest on the ship? Why then is this seal still here?” asked the magus.

Heracles looked at her with contempt. “I certainly do not deserve criticism from you, witch.”

Kojiro Tsuda flinched at the nickname and took a precautionary glance at Medea. She was fuming, and from the sudden spike of mana in the air, he could tell it wouldn’t be much longer til she blew a fuse.

“ What did you call me?” she interrogated, voice cracking in her anger.

“ Heracles, ” Saber interjected, eyes begging the bulky legend to explain. This was no time for squabbles. She expected heroes such as them to be beyond that.

“It heals just as fast as I can destroy it, I’m afraid,” he obliged, sending side glances over to the witch as he did.

Of course. This really was just like the battle on the riverbank, the exception being the need to sacrifice Gae Buidhe. Her left arm, though impeded by the wound on her shoulder, was fit enough to sustain a blast of sufficient magnitude.

Ignoring Medea’s voice telling her to stop, Arturia raised her arms, unintentionally tearing her wound open once again. Excalibur shone brilliantly above her head, drops of golden light collecting into the holy sword.

She closed her eyes and called upon the will of fallen heroes, of knights, of kings, of all those who sought victory, feeling their cries echo across the land. 

She bowed her head as if in prayer, speaking a verse she hasn’t said in years.

Sheathed in the breath of stars

A torrent of shining life

Zayd finally stood from the remains of the original assassin, seeing flecks of gold rising from the fallen forms of his brothers and sisters, floating toward the figure of the knight king.

This light is the hope of the planet

The proof of life that illuminates the Earth

Tsuda turned around, his fingers reaching for the tiny gold dots only for them to swivel from his fingers. The dry landscape that surrounded them looked as if it were engulfed by swarms upon swarms of fireflies.

The Sword of Promised Victory

Even Medea’s ire was quelled as she shared a glance with the Greek Hero she’d come to despise on the Argo, for the golden glow that bathed them both was far too beautiful to ignore. Beautiful enough to stop the remaining personalities of the hundred-faced one in their tracks, beautiful enough for Zhavia to shed a second tear.

Arturia’s opened her eyes with resolve.

Excalibur!

Blinding beams of light exploded from Excalibur’s tip, seeming to grow in magnitude as it shot to the seal. The force was enough to blow the Servants back, forcing them to shield themselves as the blast wrought destruction on the land before it. In the blink of an eye, the beam cut through the seal, the light growing to engulf the unknown red letters in the sky.

The King of Knights steadied herself as she fell back. The seal closed in on itself, vacuuming itself out of existence as the last of Excalibur’s light faded away. And finally, finally the battle was over. 

Heracles looked to where the lake of black mud once was. All that was left was molten sand from where Saber stood, all the way to where the red seal had floated. Something told the hero it would remain like that, that the land would never truly heal. 

At the corner of his eye he saw the woman he had saved earlier, picking up what looked to be the masks of the other assassins that perished before he came. He took out the mask he stored away, the one from the head he retrieved from the mud, and looked into the hollows where the eyes should have been. Who, he wondered, was the one who wore this? Another Assassin, one nearly as tall as he was, held out a hand, where he placed the mask.

Big Assassin similarly looked it in the eyes, and uttered a silent prayer, for the personality who once loved music and hypnotism. 

“To think, I had never seen that before. How lucky I must be,” said Kojiro Tsuda, offering the panting King of Knights his shoulder. “Come, now. It’s far too hot out for us to be here.”

Saber only nodded, sparing one last look to the clear sky where the seal once was. 

One down.

The trip back was exhausting. 

It was nearly forty degrees out, so hot that the air conditioning barely seemed to work in their little van rental. Heracles was wordlessly manning the vehicle, Arturia was leaning her head against the window in the passenger seat, the rest sat silently in the back.

Once, Arturia swore she saw a drop of her sweat evaporate on the dashboard upon contact, and the sticky sound of the leather rippling under her legs only made the ride more uncomfortable. But no matter what she felt, she couldn’t compare her discomfort to the loss the assassin’s must have been feeling. 

She looked to the side mirror, where she saw Zhavia, Zayd, and the Big Assassin sitting in the back seat, the latter having joined them in the trip back instead of dismissing himself like the other manifestations did. Each of them were holding a handful of skull masks in varying shapes and sizes, but it was clear to Saber that there were some masks missing. Perhaps that was why the Big Assassin had joined the usual pair, for...comfort.

Their similar features didn’t disclose any feelings, just as how they were trained, but to Arturia, they looked like they were collecting themselves. Or, what remained of themselves. 

In front of the three sat the former master and servant, each leaning on opposing windows. Of them, it was Tsuda who looked worse for wear. Although all the servants had phased back to their civilian attire, and his covered most of his skin, she could tell by the way he sat that he was avoiding putting weight on his left side, perhaps where he had been cut. Medea caught her gaze, but just as quickly looked out the window.

And then there was Heracles, who hunched over the steering wheel refusing to let her take over the drive. He, out of everyone, looked like he suffered the least, the pink scars on his body being the only indication the hero was ever in a fight, and they too, were fading.

Arturia tried to book them their flights back home, but only available trips were the following day. The Tohsaka credit line incurred a few hundred dollars more in order to get them a sufficient number of hotel rooms on the same floor for the night. Heracles went off to return their rental while the rest of the Servants checked into their rooms, ready to retire.

The soft pitter-patter of water on her skin finally allowed Arturia’s muscles to relax themselves. For a moment, she just stood there and watched the little droplets flow from her tangled blonde locks to her chest, and to her toes, and allowed herself to breathe. 

It was an ugly sound, raspy and labored, telling her she sustained far more injury than she would have liked, and the internal wounds were taking much, much longer to heal. The stinging sensation in her shoulder was similarly hard to ignore, and she brought her fingers to the wound to inspect the damage. Bits of blood were washing down the drain as she ran her fingers over the glowing purple stitches Medea still maintained, but she would soon have to stitch the wound back up herself to allow it to heal naturally. She hissed in pain as the soap got into the wound, but it was a necessary step to clean it. It was far too deep a gash to carelessly heal with magecraft, doing so would tire her so much she’d be out for a day. Especially since now they were back in the open and Kiritsugu’s limiter halved their strength once again. 

Kiritsugu…

Arturia grit her teeth at the thought of her Master. The bastard neglected to give them the specifics of the mission. Had they known they’d be facing foes as strong as Servants, perhaps they wouldn’t have been so caught off guard right at the beginning. Perhaps they could have destroyed the seal earlier. Perhaps, they wouldn’t have been floundering about like they did. Now, she was down an arm, the Hundred-faced Hassan was down by around a third of themself, and the rest were left recuperating from injuries they wouldn’t have sustained had they only known .

Every inch of her demanded she give the man a piece of her mind, but damn if it didn’t feel like he was blocking their connection. If they met in her sleep, oh, to slap some sense into him would be a wonderful dream. 

Arturia mechanically washed her hair with the hotel shampoo, and haphazardly tried to comb through it with her fingers as she applied the conditioner. The motions were rather robotic however, her mind was far too preoccupied thinking of different ways to reprimand the magus killer.

The bathroom door swung open and banged the wall, making Arturia jump. Her roommate stood in the doorway, eyebrows crossed, carrying what looked like a bundle of clothes and the medical kit they requested from the front desk. 

“I did knock.”

The magus threw her the garments and instructed her to just put on the underwear and come out. Arturia sighed, turned the knobs of the shower-tub.

Medea sat patiently on the end of her bed, threading the surgical needles with suture expertly, like she’d had to do it in the past. She looked up briefly to direct Saber to sit beside her, which she did, clad in loose lounge pants and the underwear Medea had given her.

The King of Knights moved away as the magus began to pour a green liquid on her wound. 

“It is merely my own form of antiseptic. A precaution. I believe it’s sheer luck your wound isn’t infected already, what with how many times you tore it open today,” she explained, this time applying the solution with no restraint. “I may not be a witch, but pharmacology has never been a stranger to me.”

Saber stifled a groan as the liquid spilled on the wound, hissing as it eliminated that which would have made the laceration far more troublesome. Medea immediately started repairing the deeper parts of the cut, having approved of this era’s “leave-in” sutures.

Arturia, for the first time, observed her bluish purple eyes, a rather unnatural color. They were far too splendid to belong to an ordinary human. Right now, however, their beauty was marred by a growing sense of irritation, which Arturia knew was directed at her. 

“You did not have to take that knife for me, King of Knights,” She said, having stitched in the first layer. She looped the thread into a know carefully and reached for the scissors. 

“Do you believe you are not worthy of protection, Medea?” asked Arturia, handing her the tool with her good arm. Medea took one look at Arturia’s expression and sighed.

“I believe in my own strength. You and I have crossed each other in the Grail War. You know my legend...what I am capable of,” the magus elaborated, as she worked on stitching the deeper damaged tissues together.

Of course Arturia knew. How could she forget? As much as she hated to admit it, had Gilgamesh not chosen to interfere, the Grail War would have taken a vastly different turn. But, it wasn’t skill that Arturia was concerned with, no.

“Did you perhaps want something in return?” Medea asked, pausing in her work to meet Arturia’s gaze. The knight’s eyes only looked back at her with a strange softness. How badly could this mage have been used to think such things? 

“Has it ever crossed your mind that I wanted to?” Arturia asked.

Medea froze just before the needle touched the severed tissue. She met Arturia’s green eyes once more, then went back to work on her shoulder. 

“I see. I forgot it was possible for people to think the way you do, King of Knights,” Medea replied, moving to the final set of stitches on the skin’s surface. She figured she might reinforce these stitches with another type of suture, perhaps the nylon one.

Arturia let a small smile slip past her defenses. She couldn’t help it, not with Medea’s lips curling into such a soft, happy expression. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but the King of Knights was looking forward to cultivating a friendship.

“Tsuda.”

“Pleasant morning to you as well, lioness,” the man said, teasingly, “How was your sleep?” 

The woman brought her hand up in front of her, palm down, and tilted it from side to side. The gesture elicited a chuckle from the Japanese legend, rich and in deep baritone. 

“Well, unlike you, I much preferred that bed to the pavement beneath the shrine gate,” the irregular Servant replied. Saber cocked an eyebrow, to which he chuckled once more and explained.

“Medea was not the most generous of Masters. Her hospitality, or lack thereof, is one of the many reasons we never got along, bound to each other as we were,” he voiced, combing his fingers through the hair he let loose over his right shoulder.

It was true. He held a lasting dislike for the magus, blaming her for his pitiful status as a Servant with no name, one that was unfit for any sort of motivation. A pointless existence, without any use for the Grail should he be given the chance to win it, and so limited he couldn’t leave the temple. 

“She seems to have taken a liking to you, however,” he continued, granting her a small smile at the corner of his lip. Warm, dry air blew at his hair, tossing several indigo strands to dance in the wind. Although Kojirou Tsuda was supposed to be an approximation of the legendary swordsman, she began to think he had a bit of an ethereal air to him that was more than human, especially with his similarly indigo eyes and the rather sculpted oriental face he possessed.

“I was,” he said with a slanted smile, “hoping you would join me this morning, and it seems whatever gods are up there listened.” He tore his gaze from the horizon to look at the little lioness, and took every moment to burn her image to his memory. After all, he knew what her answer would be.

“Why, pray tell?”

Sasaki took a breath and looked back to the horizon, where far and wide it was rosy, tanned desert, dotted with houses of shapes he’d never seen before. It was a culture he hadn’t known before, rich and colorful. Their temples looked vastly different, all seeming to face toward the rising sun. Sure, the heat was brutal, but the season was soon to change.

“I want to stay. Here, in this desert place. For a while before I move on and explore.” he said. The statement was something Arturia didn’t expect, and Kojirou took her widened eyes with amusement. “I was hoping you would like to stay as well.”

The woman’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to reply but hesitated. What was she to say to that? What did he mean? 

“Worry not, I know you will refuse,” he said, waving his hands in front of himself to placate her. Tsuda knew Arturia was never going to say yes. She had left so many things behind, like her beloved Master and...friends. Kojirou supposed the golden prick and that Irish brunette were her friends. Still, he did feel just a slight amount of jealousy.

He could see her green eyes lingering on his face as he looked down to the streets beneath them. The town was starting to wake. He estimated he had but a few moments of privacy with the king before they would be off to enjoy the hotel breakfast with the others.

“But, it was worth a shot.” Kojirou paused. Contemplated. Was it perhaps better to end the conversation here? 

“I have not lived for very long, but the majority of my existence I spent cursing Caster, waiting on those steps for some sort of meaning to come to me. And at last, there was you ,” he stated, and in a sudden surge of confidence, he allowed himself to sweep stray strands of golden hair from her face and over her shoulder.

“Maybe I’ve said it before, but those few minutes clashing swords with you... I’d never before felt so alive, ” he expressed. The glint in his eyes told Saber of his honesty, that he truly believed in what he had been saying. She found herself breathless. 

“These few weeks, I’ve been holding on to that high,” he said, moving to rest his palm lightly on her shoulder. His eyes bore into hers. Looking at them was like staring down into the sea, deep and blue, with so many mysteries beneath the surface. “But now that you’ve given me a name, I believe I should be searching for my own meaning to life. My purpose.”

His fingers glided down from her shoulder to her arm til they finally left her to rest on his chest, right on top of his heart. 

“I take it you approve of the name I wrote down for you, Tsuda,” she said, finally finding the words to speak.

His smile was brilliant, even more so than the now rising sun. “No other name would feel just as right.”

Kojirou Tsuda joined them for breakfast at the hotel restaurant, sitting across from Arturia, but he left as soon as they finished, following some of the other Assassin personalities who had too, chosen to stay. He waved once at Arturia, and then they were all gone with the wind.

Zhavia would explain to them later on just how incredibly autonomous the remaining personalities were. Even if she, Zayd, and the large man that had aided Saber had chosen to return, the others could sustain themselves. 

The flight back was silent. Even during the hour they spent holed up in the airport of some foreign country, the Servants found themselves at a loss for what to talk about. Zhavia did choose to spend those sixty minutes beside the King of Knights though, leaning on her (for strength, Arturia thought) gently, where their shoulders touched. Medea even brought them both some assam tea. 

It was late in the evening when they finally landed in Fuyuki. Less people were roaming about and several queues were closed since only one or two people filtered through the gate at a time. That made things so much easier for the servants to dissipate, promising to meet at the Emiya’s in a few days to discuss. The three Hassans disappeared in a blink of an eye and Heracles leapt off into the night.

She and Medea stood at the entrance. Arturia was about to offer to escort her home, but a small black sedan rolled up before she could. Out of the driver’s seat, stepped the familiar figure of Soichirou Kuzuki. 

“Remember the rune I etched into your hand?” Medea said as she waved at her lover. 

Saber nodded. To be honest, she’d nearly forgotten about it. 

“If you ever need me, call for me. I will respond,” Medea said, and bid her goodbye. 

Saber watched the magus wrap her hands around Kuzuki in a brief but tender embrace. Though the man initially seemed cold, the knight saw him dip his head just a bit to kiss the top of her head.

A sad smile graced the knight king’s features. A quick glance at the phone Kay gave her told her neither he nor Shirou had read her message yet. She wrapped her arms around herself loosely and squeezed.

Around her, the world continued on in its leisurely pace. A family to her right was boarding a minivan, the kids piling into the backseat, yawning, while the mother shared a kiss with the father in the driver’s seat. A woman linked hands with a man sitting on a motorbike, and swung her leg over the side. In the background of it all she could hear the low, unmistakable hum if Fuyuki City, a few stray car horns honking in the distance. 

Taxis were scarce this time of night. The apartment wasn’t too far, if she wanted to she could walk it, but she wondered if it would fare her better to just hail a cab.

She could smell the petrichor before she heard the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the pavement, and looked up to see the dark clouds covering up the light of the moon. The signs said the rain would probably not let up any time soon. Waiting would be pointless. 

The woman sighed and checked her phone one last time. Nothing. Arturia turned in the direction of the apartment building. She braced herself for the cold wetness that she’d have to bear til she got home, but it never came. 

“Good evening, my king,” a low voice mumbled, prompting Arturia to look back at the man behind her. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Several feet away, a figure grit his teeth and disappeared undetected into the night. 

Chapter Text

“I didn’t know you stayed around these parts, Lancelot.”

Her knight draped a leather jacket over her shoulders as they walked, revealing a simple dress shirt underneath with complementing slacks. His long hair was held back by a high ponytail, reminding her of the usual style Tsuda would sport. He held the umbrella as they paced through the rain, as their luck would have it, the shower was not so strong as to drench them completely. 

“I was nearby when I sensed your presence, m’lord.”

The pair fell into a rather uncomfortable silence, both at a loss for what to say. Arturia wasn’t sure what Lancelot remembered, about the Grail War and otherwise. She knew he survived her, knew that he and Gwyn were alive and well, far beyond the borders of Britain the day of the Battle at Camlann. She knew he could be summoned as a Berserker, and that meant at least once, he was consumed by so much rage and frustration it was enough to drive him mad. She knew it was because of her, due to her. It must have been, for him to hunt her down so fervently the last time they met.

Lancelot, on the other hand, felt like he was dealing with wounds freshly reopened. What was he thinking, coming here? How unworthy he was, to stand before her after all the sins he’d committed. Love for the queen, betraying his king’s decree for the sake of his lady, leaving King Arthur’s side when she needed him most, and of course, the feelings he never had the courage to acknowledge...his sins were innumerable. Unforgivable. And yet. And yet.

Here she was again, treating him with so much kindness, it was sickening. That she would even allow him within ten feet of her was unfathomable, and here they were, standing in the rain, so close he could feel the heat emanating from her skin, the warm puffs of breath from her lips as she enunciated his name. His grip tightened on the poor umbrella handle. 

“Yes?”

A neutral, monosyllabic word executed so perfectly the King of Knights would have no clue about his mental disarray. If he could, he would applaud himself for being able to put up such a convincing farce in front of one who was simultaneously his only possible source of relief and the reason for his anguish. Someone he held in such high regard he wanted to tear her from her throne. Someone he loved so much that he resented her.

“How,” she bit her lip, stole a glance at the face of he who was her most trusted knight once upon a time, breathed, “How have you been?”

Terrible. 

“I was welcomed at my Master’s old residence. I can hardly believe I found it with the limited memories I have left of the war,” Lancelot replied, face filled with the emotional equivalent of concrete. 

“Oh? That is quite fortunate, then,” Arturia replied, with a curve of her lip so innocent and pure it was scalding for him to bear. He wasn’t worthy of her smile. He could never be worthy of it again. Please, he begged whatever higher power was out there. Please, not again.

Lancelot felt his heart skip a beat and he cursed under his breath. He should never have come here. Why couldn’t he just have stayed away? 

He nodded his head robotically, answering his king’s next question without really hearing it. His mind was much too preoccupied, remembering his King Arthur touching her sword to his shoulders, himself kneeling before her swearing fealty, and the fateful moment when they first truly locked eyes. 

No. 

He banished the thought. He couldn’t think of that. Wouldn’t. 

“Do you remember much of him? Your master?”

The question was a welcome distraction, but one that only led the knight to pain of a different kind. Of all he could remember from the Grail War, the most vivid were the tears on King Arthur’s face as they exchanged blows, her tears as she blamed herself for his pain.

“Not enough. I could barely remember his name. All I know is his feelings. Hatred, blind determination...envy, I believe.” 

Envy...Oh, envy.

It was a horrible emotion. Lancelot’s Master-- what was his name, Matou Katsuya? Kaguya?-- was so overcome with it at times. In fact, the swordsman believed that must have been one of his primary driving forces. He remembered his master was weak, practically at death’s door, he couldn’t have had much fight left in him at all save for his vile feelings. 

But who was Lancelot to judge, when he’d once felt the same, staring wistfully at his king and queen?

They were a vision together. Guinevere was...radiant. Radiant always,  as she was when he first met her and brought her back to Camelot. By just her beauty alone, Lancelot could understand why his king would want such a fair lady for his queen. 

And then there was King Arthur, always riding proudly before his forces, armor shining in the moonlight, brighter even than stars. A million times a day Lancelot would catch himself looking his king’s way, admiring the few freckles beneath his eyes, staring so intently he might have been counting the yellow strands of his hair. 

It was during moments like that when Lancelot had to stop himself and wonder, was he a homosexual? Have all those nights sleeping with barmaids been but a ruse? A distraction from the fact he sought out the company of men?

Why? Despite the growing count of women who threw themselves at him, despite being the envy of every unmarried man in the country, why did he find himself so... so...infatuated , with his king? For a while, there was no explanation. 

His sin went undetected for years. The prying knights who caught him staring concluded he was only admiring the beauty of the queen, and King Arthur was none the wiser, treating him kindly as always, sharing drink with him, laughing with him, knowing not how much Lancelot lusted for his lord. 

Years upon years he felt this anguish, til one day Guinevere caught his amorous gaze, mistook it for being directed at herself, and thinking her affections were returned, took him to her bed. An he, with unsatiated lust and a weakened mind kept him from refusing her right then and there, from pushing her away when he had the chance.

Guilt drowned him in the pleasures of Guinevere’s body, her hands in his hair, her voice moaning his name instead of Arthur’s. He spent so many nights tangled underneath her sheets he thought he could let go of his affections for the king, until one such night they lay facing each other pitifully on her pillows, she confessed it. 

The reason why Guinevere was so terribly lonely, so much so that she latched on to him the first opportunity she had.

King Arthur was female.

Lancelot finally had his answer, given to him by his--no, her queen. And by God , did he want to kill himself right then and there. Pathetic, he was, so pathetic . Wanting his king, sleeping with the queen, shutting the lights not for secrecy but so he could imagine what it would be like to have Arthu-- Arturia below him and between his legs. Fuck!

It was insanity , what they were doing. Arturia and Guinevere. Guinevere and Lancelot. Arturia and Lancelot. Arturia and Guinevere. Guinevere and Lancelot. Arturia and Lancelot. Arturia and Guinevere. Guinevere and Lancelot. Arturia and Lancelot. Arturia and Lancelot. Arturia and Lancelot. Arturia and Lancelot. ARTURIA AND LANCELOT.

He made another mistake, pounding into the queen so hard she let out one tiny little squeak. But it was more than enough. More than enough for the handmaiden to open her door. More than enough to see them in their sin. More than enough to crush Arturia’s heart into five hundred thousand little pieces and scatter them all over the floor.

And what did his beloved King Arturia do when she found out?

She smiled. She forgave. She blessed their relationship. 

“Lancelot?”

The knight snapped himself back to reality at the sound of his name. They were standing in front of what looked like a condominium tower, one which he did not recognize. He’d followed her mechanically, two steps behind on her left side as before, during their time.

“Yes, my king?” he nearly slapped himself, knowing he was unworthy of addressing her as such. Not after everything he’s done. Not after all the kindness she’d wasted on him, no.

“Won’t you come up?” she asked. Twenty three. She had Twenty-three tiny freckles under her eyes, Lancelot remembered. His favorite, the one just under the corner of her eye, in the space between her lashes and her nose. 

“For tea, in the very least. It’s awful chilly this time of night.” she pressed him. Of course she did. She was always so accommodating. Always. 

Before he knew it, they were ten paces from her door, ten paces to her new home. Unit 25 A of the Masaki Tower, Fuyuki City, he would remember. Right on the outskirts before the Mion River, he would remember. 

All he had to do was enter the door. Enter the door and all would be right again. They could share tea. Reminisce on their fiercest battles together. Talk about anything...everything. He could be her knight again. He could be…

He could…

“Is something the matter, Lance?” she asked, with concern deeply laden in those beautiful, beautiful emerald eyes. God, why that name? God why did she have to call him by that name?

He couldn’t.

“Perhaps...another time, my liege.”

A few emotions crossed Arturia’s face. First, surprise, then sorrow, then...understanding. He wondered silently what conclusion she must have arrived at in that pretty little head of hers.

Arturia raised her hand for him to take, out of habit, but withdrew it just as quickly, thinking perhaps Lancelot wasn’t ready to go back to how things used to be, nor would he want to.

He caught her fingers before they were out of reach, and pressed her knuckles to his mouth before the guilty side of his mind could tell him otherwise. Her skin, so often gloved by leather, was so sweet he was half-tempted to part his lips. But he let her go, no matter how much his hands yearned for the warmth of hers. 

Arturia slipped behind the door of her brother’s unit, but not without shooting him one last look. One so piercing and sharp he swore she could see his soul. 

And then she was gone. 

The Frenchman stepped into the elevator, more confused about his feelings than ever. 

Suddenly, the elevator jerked in midair, sending him scrambling for the sides. It had slowed in its descent, screeching to pause a few stories away above the ground between the fourteenth and fifteenth floor.

“You...You have got a lot of nerve showing up here, bastard .”

Kay didn’t seem to be home. He wasn’t in his bed, his phone was left charging in the outlet by the corner, her text to him still unread. 

The sigh that left her lips was long, drawn out by the rather taxing mission she had just finished. Shoulders slumping, she trudged the last few steps to her mattress. Arturia barely even registered the gold dust materializing in the corner, and when the oldest King stepped in the room, she wondered briefly if she even had the strength to kick him out.

“I’m disappointed in you, King of Knights.”

The lonely wall clock ticked by the seconds before Arturia could interpret what he meant. How did he know? He couldn’t have known what happened in Iraq. She thought Medea had used more than enough healing salves among other things to mask the scent of blood, but perhaps she would have expected that of Gilgamesh.

Saber turned around from her seat on the bed, briefly sending him a glare as she shrugged off Lancelot's jacket—she had forgotten to hand it back— and kicked off her shoes. 

“I am not in the mood for your insults, King of Heroes," she replied. 

Really, he couldn't wait til the morning at least? She slipped off her socks quickly and her hands gripped the top button of her shirt before remembering she had company.

“Well, don’t stop now, ” he teased, a signature smirk making its way onto his lips as Gilgamesh crossed the room. She of course, was seething as he now stood before her, the fire in her eyes stoked by every word that came from his mouth. He loved that about her. She was never easy.

“Have you come here only to mock me?” She didn’t believe it was enough to dismiss him for the night, of course. If it were that easy, she would have had less stressful days since reappearing in Fuyuki. And...she was tired. Her body was steadily healing her shoulder wound, but with her strength and mana halved as per the deal with Kiritsugu, it was taking a larger toll than anticipated. 

“None of my visits have ever been to mock you, Arturia.” 

She shied away from his touch, gripped his wrist when he insisted on touching her face. It annoyed him to no end that he couldn’t get what he wanted, but the feel of his fingers holding his arm quelled his ire. They were shaking, from exertion perhaps. Her cheeks were more hollow than when he had last seen her in this very room. Her skin was greyish, a far cry from the supple peachy undertone he was used to.

As she let him go, the sleeves of her rather modest attire passed his skin, leaving moisture where it touched. The cuffs of her slacks said as much, she was out in the rain. As if on cue, low thunder erupted from outside, wind whipping the glass window and having them quiver in their hinges. 

He took advantage of her distraction to expertly unfasten the flimsy buttons at her collar and pull the shirt to side, revealing the bloody, stitched up stab wound she sustained during the fight. It was larger than he thought it was, and far more deep. The laceration ran from her collarbone to the top of her breast, the extremes likely caused by that damned mongrel who dared tackle her. But the cut was the lesser evil. Who knew how much internal sufferring the poison must have--

His head throttled from the impact as he hit the wall. The King of Knights was snarling at him with her arms raised in front of her, her face fully red, from anger or embarrassment, he didn’t know. 

“Are you mad --nngh!”

A streak of blood ran over her collarbone and stained her clothes, an indication that Medea’s careful work had just been ruined. Damn it. Damn him. Just when her mana reserves were low, just when her body desperately needed to collapse, he was here as usual to ruin her night.

Of course, of course it had to be Gilgamesh to see her in this pitiful state, half-dead after a rather embarrassing turn on the battlefield. Why couldn’t it have been Shirou, or Merlin, or Kay, or... anyone else?  

She made for the mirror in her bathroom to see how much she could salvage, but the stitches on the surface were almost all split in half, damn him. She could only hope the deeper sutures hadn’t suffered the same fate, else she would be healing wrong. She opened up the mirror and brought out the first aid kit Kay had stashed in there and used her good arm to get the tweezers and the antiseptic out along with some cotton swabs. Thank God the wound was on her left side, for she imagined she wouldn’t have as much dexterity with her left hand. She wasn’t Diarmuid.

She pulled down the collar of her button-up, exposing the shoulders. Hopefully with some good washing, the white piece of clothing was still salvageable, but she didn’t expect much. Rather clumsily, she tipped the disinfectant over the cotton swabs. Her fingers were about to reach for the tweezers when she caught sight of Gil in the mirror, standing in her bathroom doorway, with eyes she didn’t recognize. Wordlessly, he plucked the metal tool from her fingers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she retorted, reaching for them. Curse his superior height.

He simply cocked an eyebrow, holding the pair of tweezers out of her reach. It was obvious what he was doing, he was appalled that she didn’t look the least bit grateful.

“Are you perhaps blind, King of Knights?” he asked. She must have been, since he was obviously lowering himself to the task of a nurse, just this once, for her.

“I can do it myself,” she protested, but Gilgamesh wouldn’t let her have it, tiresome as it was to keep it away from her in this cramped, sorry excuse for a bathroom. 

The servants turned around each other twice, limbs hitting the walls and sink as the smaller of them tried to steal the tool away back from the other. It would have been a bit comical if the one of them wasn’t half undressed and bleeding at the shoulder. 

“Clearly,” he retorted, grabbing her arm and examining the neatness of the remaining knots in her skin and the impossibility that these were done on her own, “you cannot.”

Saber quieted, her shoulders drooping further down as the moments went on. Her eyes were beginning to close against her will. Suddenly, she missed her days as Kiritsugu’s Servant, ridiculous as it was, but he was a competent enough mage that she hadn’t needed rest, or sleep, or food, even. In her human body, she could feel the chill of the rain seeping through her clothes, the tendrils of sleep threatening to take her with each passing moment. She felt...weak. 

A low, hollow chuckle left her lips. What a joke she was, bleeding all over the battlefield like some amateur squire forced to hold a sword. Falling unconscious in front of the other Servants, relying on Medea’s help of all things...she was more than pathetic, so utterly unworthy of her title at all. Now, she was barely able to do this one, simple task.

“I have no need of your pity, Gilgamesh. Take it elsewhere,” she uttered, finally swiping the metal object from his fingers and turning back to the mirror. She’d rather he not see her in this state of undress, but his stubbornness really wasn’t letting him leave any time soon.

“Pity?” he echoed. 

There were few individuals Gilgamesh gave a rat’s ass about. Fewer still, were the ones he was generous enough to extend pity to. He pitied Utnapishtim, the immortal half-plant, who lived forever but gave up his humanity. He pitied Kirei, for a time, when the bastard was so hell-bent on following society’s rules he couldn’t figure out for himself what he wanted was, in-fact, hell. But Arturia?

“I pity ,” he began, catching her green eyes in the mirror, “the mongrel whose carelessness caused you this pain.”

Arturia cemented her hand to his wrist before the king could even think about murdering poor Medea in her sleep. 

“I did this to myself,” she reasoned, squeezing his wrist in her fingers. His heartbeat was quick, perhaps the thought of bloodshed triggered his adrenaline. After how Gilgamesh murdered Caster because she was a mere inconvenience to him in the last war, she imagined the now irate king would be far less merciful this time. 

Arturia was aware of his...obsession with her. If she was right, and he really did see her as some sort of object, no doubt he would be angry with someone who’d “damaged” her. 

“You did this, to protect her,” Gilgamesh answered, looking pointedly at the gash by edge of her collarbone. He looked at where she was holding his arm, tight as she could, to prevent him from leaving. “And still, you protect that wretched wench.”

The king smirked. Arturia was the same, the same lonely king who sacrificed tooth and nail to save her people, who strived to make sure her country survived. Selfless, oh so incredibly selfless she’d taken even the burdens of others upon her shoulders so that they may walk their path in ease. He was a foolish one for even thinking she wouldn’t have taken that dagger for that ugly witch. Arturia would have put herself in front of a thousand knives to protect just one of her citizens. 

He hadn’t forgotten how Caster had once laid claim to what was his. He remembered how he punished her, and how merciful the punishment seemed in hindsight. He should have struck her down the moment she reappeared, and in front of that slimy mongrel she seemed to have affections for. Or perhaps the mongrel first, just so she could watch the life leave his eyes.

Still, in spite of her carelessness, the witch did try to correct her mistake. After all, Arturia was restored to him here, alive, with as much fight in her system as he remembered. Perhaps this time, she deserved to be spared. 

Arturia visibly relaxed when he no longer resisted her hold. It seemed the killing intent had left him for now. If only she had the strength left to get him to leave her this instant, but she’d used it all keeping him here. The irony. A long, drawn out exhale escaped her as she withdrew her grip on his wrist.

By the way she was fading in and out of consciousness, the king knew he was trying her limits, so as much as he wanted to stay, he had to take care of the cut, fast. Gilgamesh looped his arm around her and lifted the woman easily, setting her on the small counter so they were at more or less workable height. 

Although she looked away, embarrassed, she could no longer muster a protest as he pressed some clean gauze into the cut to stop the bleeding. The muscles of his bare forearm tensed as he squeezed the hand on her shoulder to apply pressure. Gilgamesh’s breath was warm on her skin. He smelled of...wine, she believed. Stronger than usual, as if he’d been drinking before he came. 

His grip was firm, but unharsh, and later when he cleaned the gash with the cotton swabs and antiseptic, she could hardly believe this was the same man who’d beaten her within an inch of her life for his sick pleasure in the Fifth Holy Grail War. He was still that same man, she reminded herself, but she would refrain from comment when he was treating her wound, and incidentally inches away from her jugular. 

Lingering, oddly gentle hands pushed her back against the wall, and then Gilgamesh took the tweezers from her hands to begin the process. His fingers held her right shoulder to keep her still, while his right began to extract the broken pieces of string around the gash. 

Arturia’s skin, Gilgamesh noted delightfully, was warm at the tips of his fingers. By the gods, was she distracting. He couldn’t breathe without inhaling her scent, without watching her blushing chest rise and fall as she did the same. Her dress shirt hung loosely over her torso, the damp collar pulled down, only just covering the top of her rather modest, white undergarments. As tempted as he was to remove it, he believed to do so would be rather criminal, if not to him, then to Arturia’s own values.

He cut through the few remaining stitches by the top of the laceration, and flung the cheap--what was this, tin?--scissors into the bin before resuming picking the threads from the dermis. Another round of antiseptic, and he was closing the cut with fresh sutures. Arturia’s breath wavered against his neck as the needle passed under her skin, each puff of air warm and electrifying.

How amusing. Every second with her, even being in the same room together, gave him a high he couldn’t get enough of. She, in all her ambitious dreams and ideals challenged his kingship, his very existence and he loved it. To think, someone like her would come into being, but far beyond his time. The gods must have been playing a joke on him, to place such a valuable treasure so far removed in space and time that he was not able to obtain her. 

But the gods were gone, and fate had brought them together, he and she. For what other purpose, if not a final chance to take her as his own? 

Arturia shivered as he ran his fingers over the scar to inspect his handiwork. If such a gentle touch could make her quiver, he wondered what else his fingers could make her do once he coaxed her to his bed. Gods, was she...intoxicating. It was vanilla--wasn’t it? Or was it honey?-- in her hair. 

A grin crawled its way onto his face as he decided, he would have a taste after all.

Her struggles beneath him were futile as he pinned her to the wall, the king could hardly believe his tongue as he took the supple flesh between his teeth. Finally, finally. Mewls and whimpers vibrated in her throat but only egged him on. My, my was she such a treat. He was dimly aware of his name escaping her lips in a scream, a warning, the thrashing legs he’d restrained between his knees and the countertop, but they all were willfully ignored as he moved to make a second mark. If he’d paused from his vice to listen, perhaps he’d have spared himself the pain.

The next thing he felt was heat on his cheek, then the dull ache of whiplash on his nape. 

A sharp cutting sound still echoed in the small space as the King of Knights quickly shoved him away, her beautiful face contorted in pure unadulterated fury.

He answered her with rage.

“You’d strike your king--”

“Get out.”

Her voice was but a low grumble, each syllable cold as the arctic, and for what seemed like forever, the King of Knights was deathly silent. Though he couldn’t see it, he could sense the walls building around her heart as she curled on herself, hand over the two marks he left. 

“Ar turia-- ”

Fine. If he wouldn’t leave, she would. The woman brushed past him, back into her bedroom, and took refuge under the sheets, holding herself the whole time as she did so. 

“ Leave , Gilgamesh.”

He wanted to scoff, he’d barely even touched her. And now having had a little taste, he was far from sated. In fact, her lying in bed almost looked like an invitation. As she was, he doubted her ability to resist him should he proceed. But would he derive satisfaction in claiming an injured Saber, while he himself was in peak condition? 

The Babylonian King’s arm hovered over the covers, where Arturia’s arm would be. For a second, she deliberated driving him out with her sword, but as soon as she turned in her bed he was gone. 

Fool, she chastised herself, pullling the covers tightly around her. She ran her fingers over Gilgamesh’s even handiwork, mind far too preoccupied with him even as he finally left her alone. Another, long, exhaustful sigh escaped her lips. She was an idiot, believing for one moment the king could be more than the prick he was. Never again. 

Iskandar shook violently as the sweet tremors racked his body. By god , it had been eons since his last conquest, and this latest one was no ordinary feat, oh no. Laid before him, chest flushed and heaving, she certainly did not disappoint. 

He let himself fall on top of her to share her heat, and, he would admit to her later, to enjoy her rather bountiful chest. Most days, he’d prefer a hardened man when he had a lot pent up, for their fortitude. He knew he was a lot to take in, and that was saying nothing of his appetite. Men were exquisite, with their broad, tight shoulders and squared jaws, but women had their own charm. They were wily, sly beings with voluptuous figures, soft to the touch rather than the opposite.

This woman in particular, however, was in whole much more than any those who have shared his bed. She was strong, dominating even, if the scratches and bite marks all over his chest and neck meant anything. And who could forget that third round with the chains? Or the fourth with the collar? Or the fifth with the--

The fingers tracing a rather ticklish path down to his member delightfully interrupted his train of thought.

“Hm? You’re not satisfied yet, woman? I’m beginning to think I don’t perform as well as you make it sound.”

Her chest bounced as she laughed. Of course she was satisfied, what with all the experience he enjoyed in his bed especially in his youth. 

“To think that I’d thought men were only good for the taste of their blood. I was clearly wrong.”

That made Rider freeze, but the jovial spark of a smile in his lover’s rather enchanting face was enough to quell his anxiety. 

“Relax, Iskandar,” she teased,” drawing circles round his crotch, “I was just appreciating my lover’s assets. There’s only so much I can do with my eyes blindfolded.”

True. Unfortunately, the one thing Iskandar was denied was watching her eyes roll back as he delivered her pleasure, much as her gasps and mewls made up for it. But even she, with her legend of turning people to stone, must appreciate a living lover. After all, stone was cold and unmoving, although he wouldn’t deny the pleasure brought about by masturbation, the warm orifices of his partners were something he would continue to crave.

The King of Conquerors dipped down to reward the woman with a kiss. She was absolutely splendid, able to match his pace and stamina. Perhaps even beat him at it, but that was to be expected from a fellow Servant. Satisfied, the Great Alexander leaned to the side, taking her with him so their positions were switched. 

“Hm?” She cocked her head in his direction from his chest. 

He imagined, if her eyes weren’t obstructed, that she’d be staring up at him. Gently, he stroked her cheek as he contemplated their situation. It had been a rather electrifying few nights here in her old master’s mansion, but each night he felt more and more curious, even though he knew he shouldn’t be.

“I want to see your eyes.”

Medusa laughed, leaning into his touch. “Ho? Getting sentimental, are we? Thought this lovely arrangement was ‘business-only’.”

Iskander chuckled as well, the low bellow echoing through the confines of the room. “Do not misinterpret. I am merely curious. Surely something so forbidden must be extremely beautiful to behold,” he explained, brushing his massive fingers over the black cloth he himself had tied. 

“Besides,” he added, “this new world has so many new wonders to see. I fear you may not be able to enjoy such sights as I have. And I do enjoy them,” he added, recounting the many sunsets he’d enjoyed from the beach, contemplating his dream of seeing the ends of the earth, though he’d never achieve that, not with the knowledge the world was round, that is. 

Medusa leaned on her elbow, her other arm stroking the wide expanse of his chest. It wasn’t like she was on a crutch just because she couldn’t see. She was rather used to using her other senses--effectively, if Iskandar’s satisfied little smirk was any indication; she could feel that too--and sight wasn’t really something she needed. Still, there was some truth to his words. 

“Alright then, king, perhaps you can use that talented tongue of yours to sway our fellow Greek? You’ll be rewarded, of course.”

Medea, huh? Iskandar smirked. There was no doubt to his charisma, he was sure he’d be able to convince her to at least keep Medusa from petrifying everyone she could see, though he’d have to come up with an excuse as to why he was asking for the gorgon woman. Well, there was no better answer than the truth, but were they ready to tell others they were sleeping together, if only casually.

Beep beep. Beep beep.

The ringing of the tiny device on the bedside table caught their attention. Rider had procured it from the empty house where he used to stay back in the Fourth Holy Grail War after seeing it gathering dust in the dresser just like everything else in that house. 

“It’s Cú,” he said, answering his lover’s unsaid question. He fumbled with the tiny buttons to open the message. Why was humanity so obsessed with shrinking things these days?

Her interest piqued, she asked, “Which of the Irishmen was he? The one in blue?”

“Yes. Not a fan of the color in the least,” he commented, reading the short string of words.

She’s back. 

Oh? He didn’t even feel her presence. How did Cú know? He pressed buttons twice at a time and tried to come up with something moderately coherent. 

“So you’re texting him, eh? Well I can’t comment on his fashion sense, but if you want to invite him to our little escapades, I wouldn’t mind.”

The King of Conquerors briefly stopped his texting struggle to look at her with uneven eyebrows. 

“We’re friends, Medusa. Not to insult the man, but he’s less bulky than I prefer. Heracles on the other hand--”

“No,” she said, mushing her hand into his face. “No Heracles. We talked about this.”

“Mwhalright. Alright . Fine,” he tried to say, dodging her hands to try and type in peace, to no avail as she snatched the device out of his hands and lifted her blindfold. She covered his eyes with her hands to protect him, but she couldn’t deny how amusing it was to see a large burly man such as himself squirm for air. 

“So you’re not into Cú, but you’re into Saber ? Really? I thought you preferred more mature looking women,” she teased, straight up sitting on his chest as he scrolled up to view the other messages. She completed the text he was trying to type and pressed send.

“Medusa--” he protested, but swiping for his phone blindly proved less effective in his case. The woman pushed his head down to the pillows as he struggled, but it was less a case of strength and more whether she could use her body to distract him or not.

A few seconds later, Cú replied. “Diarmuid told him,” Medusa read. “Whatever that means.”

Well that didn’t answer any questions. How did Diarmuid know? Was he walking around at three in the morning when he happened upon her while she was also walking around at three in the morning. Wait, were they sleeping together already? That was fast. The king retracted his statement as he felt Medusa squirm as she moved to mount him. Well, he couldn’t judge them since he was sleeping with a beautiful woman himself and they didn’t really know each other beforehand.

The tattooed woman flung the phone to the side as Iskandar’s body began to respond to her movements. 

“Your turn for the blindfold, my dear King of Conquerors,” she said, accenting the words to make him blush.

Needless to say, all thoughts of his competitors in the Fourth Holy Grail War disappeared out the window, forgotten amongst the pleasures of Medusa’s body.

Chapter Text

The unmistakable smell of sizzling back bacon wafted in the room, waking Arturia from her slumber despite the deep-set exhaustion from her little excursion in Iraq, and--she remembered, hands roaming over the two marks on her neck--the whole ordeal with Gilgamesh and his pompous, entitled arse. Her fingers slipped over the neat stitches he made, clean and even, despite how their night ended. But she wouldn’t dwell on that, she thinks. Gilgamesh was an enigma she would never understand, and she should stop trying. Best she just avoid him.

She staggered on her way to the bathroom, steadied herself on the sink. In the mirror she was completely flushed, both chest and cheeks, like she would have looked had she downed the entire barrel Iskandar brought during their little banquet. It couldn’t have been alcohol, though. The knight touched her fingers to her forehead.

Bloody hell. 

Were the water faeries upset with her? She knew she should have changed into dry clothes last night, but sleep had claimed her the moment Gilgamesh left, and now she had a fever to deal with. Arturia sighed as she turned on the shower. She was not looking forward to a cold bath, but it was necessary if she wanted to be rid of the bothersome sickness. Droplets of water cascaded down her hair as she padded across the room to the closet. 

A shirt, no, that won’t do. Then there’s--oh, this one should suffice. 

As she pulled out what looked like an old sweater of Kay’s, she briefly wondered if it was alright to walk around bare when Gilgamesh clearly had no sense of personal space, boundaries, or privacy, but then questioned herself again why she was even so self-conscious around him. And that was something she’d rather not dwell on. Arturia was still getting used to the garterized,lacy contraptions this new generation called underwear, but thankfully Merlin sent her enough pairs without underwires and she was flexible enough to hook them in the back without much fuss. 

“Good morning, Arty,” Kay said, taking his eyes off the frying pan for a second to greet his sister, who exited the room in his sweater and a pair of black leggings. He was smiling contentedly, the sight of her last night in her bed brought him much relief after the rather heated argument he had in the elevator, but it was a whole different feeling to see her in the morning, safe in their little apartment. That, and he was sure the woman would like his surprise. He couldn’t keep his grin from spreading as she walked up to the toaster, which had just popped up some hot slices. 

He wasn’t sure what Lancelot was up to while he was escorting her home. In fact, he begrudgingly admitted he was thankful to the traitor for at least seeing Arturia safe, much as he hated the idea of his sister even being close to him. Not after what he did. No. But bollocks, Kay cared about Arturia and after her mission he wanted to make sure she had...well, had a good life. Something she was robbed of all those years ago in Camelot. Which was why when Merlin had given him the call to pick up a certain someone arriving at the port, he rushed out to make sure Arturia would be the first person they’d get to meet. 

“There’s someone here to see you,” Kay said, slyly, laying sunny side-up eggs on a plate for her as he eagerly awaited her reaction.

Arturia stopped, eyes blown wide open by the vision in the window, smiling as his figure basked in the warm glow of the morning sun. He looked just like she remembered, gentle and composed, the ever-unmoving rock she leaned upon in her darkest days. And even in a casual white shirt and blue jeans, even with hair--he cut his hair!-- so short she had to look twice to verify it, she could never forget the elegant composure of her most loyal knight. 

He closed the space between them, kneeling at her feet as he came upon her. “My King,” he voiced, the low timbre like a tall drink of water on a hot summer day. He took her hands in his single hand and kissed them softly, once on each set of knuckles, and once on each palm. When their eyes met, she grasped his fingers, emotions of all shades and colors bursting forth from the contact. Her loyal knight, the one who never strayed, the one who never left her side, not even on her deathbed, was finally by her side once more. 

She drew a path up his cheek with her finger, tracing the thin streak of water to his clear, azure eyes. Eyes that were as piercing and deep as she remembered, the ones she thought truly knew her best, even more than her brother’s. 

“There is no need for tears, my dear knight,” Arturia expressed, comforting the quivering knight as best as she could.

“Oh but there is, sire,” Bedivere said, placing a final kiss on the flesh of her thumb. “For you have returned.”

Merlin told him everything, just as he did to the others as they began their second lives. King Arthur was not Arthur, but a young girl named Arturia who had laid down all her life for the sake of Britain and for nothing else. Just a young girl, surrounded by knights, and yet all alone on her throne, with nothing but her country in mind. Since the day he’d sworn fealty, he’d watched his young king. Guarded her more closely than even her first knight, admired her from what short distance was required, For years, all he wished for was her wellbeing, her health. And all those nights he prayed to the Lord and Savior culminated into one final, brief moment of peace on her deathbed and nothing more. 

And though he was happy she finally had a restful sleep, the rest of his days were tormented. She was gone. Her body was cold in his single arm as he rode back into Camelot, knights and peoples alike prostrate and weeping at the sight. He passed Gawain on the battlefield, who breathed his last seeing his king lifeless. Dead like the stones beneath him. Bedivere’s vision was blurry enough with so many unstoppable tears that he couldn’t deter Lancelot’s approach. He could barely watch as the excommunicated frenchman fell to his knees as he rode past, the once glorified knight wailing in agony til his voice was hoarse, til the wind was whipped from his lungs.

Kay would arrive to see the flags half-mast, to see their old pop, bless his soul, whispering words of love and hope into King Arthur’s unhearing ears as he stroked her hand. 

My dear Arty….My dear, dear Arty.

Sir Ector’s voice would haunt his dreams for months, more haunting even than the cries of Lancelot, who threw man after man aside as he stumbled into her chambers. Let me at least pay tribute! He begged. Let me at least say goodbye, I beg of you! The swordsman dropped to his knees in front of her body and wept, his long hair caressing her face as his tears fell onto her cheek. Kay, in all his quiet, lugubrious fury, would take it out on him, hiding tears as he dragged Lancelot out of the castle by the hair, throwing him out into the streets where he was stoned by passersby on his way back to France. Her father and brother dressed the king in a burial garment so mournfully knit by the weeping seamstresses and fae alike. 

For three days it seemed that the earth, too, weeped. Torrents of rain whipped the castle walls and seeped through the window panes, preventing all but the faeries to see to the king’s embalming. They surrounded her with medicinal herbs and lavender. Made her seem she was merely sleeping in her bed of flowers. And though Kay and his father were reluctant, Bedivere opened the chapel for the people to grieve. The days seemed as if the sun refused to rise, the nights only darkened with no moon in sight. Single file, the people paid tribute, some knowing not how much they’d lost til they’d lost their selfless king. In the crowd he saw Percival, who brought the king white lilies, her favorite flower, he remembered. And then there was Pelleas, who gave Bedivere a ‘gift from the traitor’ that he alone should decide what to do with. 

In the end, Arturia wore that gift, a fairy silver circlet around her head. Bedivere, Pelleas, Percival, and Kay carried her casket to the docks, representing the only Round Table Knights remaining in the aftermath. Sir Ector trailed behind, with an arrangement of flowers he himself had grown and gathered. All white save for a single, blue rose he’d bred just for her. She didn’t even get to see it. 

The land weeped, showering them all it’s tears, but the knights and all the people followed her coffin to the docks, even as their frocks dragged behind them in the mud and the chill made their shoulders grow weary. Kay was the last off the boat, the one who lifted its anchor and pushed it out to sea. He was supposed to shoot the arrow, for he was the best shot of them, but he blamed the rain for missing twice. Finally,  the ship burst into flames, with Kay’s arrow still nocked, his fingers still closed on the bowstring. A hooded figure disappeared into the crowd, hiding a bow before Percival and Pelleas could find him. But they didn’t need to, Tristan was dead, the orphan slain by poison in a far land. There was only one other who was a better shot. 

It didn’t matter in the end, when Kay sat by his aging father at the docks, when Bedivere fell to his knees on the beach, when the remaining knights and squires stood rooted to the spot, refusing to leave til the last of the boat disappeared in flames and sunk into the depths. It didn’t matter when Lancelot returned to Guinevere a failure, weeping into her knees as she cried herself, rubbing comforting circles into his back. It didn’t matter when Merlin’s raw, shaking fists finally stopped bashing on the tower walls to escape. 

Their king was gone. 

Camelot crumbled after that, but in its remains rooted something stronger, Something that would grow to be one of the most prosperous nations of all time. Bedivere barely got a glimpse before he, too, laid down to rest, after telling her tale to anyone who would listen. 

And that’s when he woke, washed ashore in the land they now called the United Kingdom. A foreigner in a land he once called home. Merlin was there. Kay pulled him to his feet. He’d lived day by day for six years, following whatever Merlin and Kiritsugu had laid out and finally, finally she was here. 

Bedivere felt a tug on his arm as she pulled him up, the hope inside of him growing. Because this time...this time he would make sure of it. This time, she’d finally be able to smile. 

“Alright. Alright. Enough of that, you two. Any more of that and I’d think Shakespeare’s taken over with that quill of his,” Kay interrupted, waving and pointing his spatula in the air as he talked.

Bedivere chuckled, and for the first time that day, removed his eyes from his king. “What’s this, Kay? Is that jealousy I hear?”

Kay sputtered and stammered in his reply “Wha-buh-sth! Jealousy?!? Bollocks, why don’t you come here, you piece of--”

He stopped, dropped the kitchen tool and strode around the counter til he stood in front of Saber. Wordlessly, he put his palm on her forehead and then on her neck. 

“You’ve got a fever,” Kay said, concern crossing his features. She was out in the rain last night. That plus the exhaustion. Bloody hell, he knew he should have woken her to change. 

Kay grabbed the pan off the stovetop and moved it to the dining table, together with the pieces of toast, eggs and beans, and sat down his sister and their guest. Eat, he told them as he toweled his hands and made for his bathroom cabinet. He was sure he stashed some KoolFever somewhere and there just had to be some paracetamol lying around. To think, back in their day, they’d be off to the apothecary for healing potions lest the afflicted die in their bed. Nowadays, humans had pharmacies on every corner and medicine the size of a fingernail. Crazy.

“I’ll make chicken soup for lunch, yeah?” he asked, as he pressed the KoolFever on and handed her a pill and a glass of water. 

It wasn’t that difficult to swallow. Her throat wasn’t too sore, Saber thought, so she expected to be well on the morrow. Of course, any improvement on her health would be most likely based on whether or not she’d be getting another unexpected visit from that cursed Mesopotamian today. Would Medea know how to make a ward for that? Should she use that seal on the back of her hand to summon the magus for a ward against the golden king? Hard maybe .

“So what have you been up to, Bedivere?” she asked, trying to enjoy the company she had instead of spending more energy on the puzzle that was Gilgamesh. He...he wasn’t worth it. 

“Hm? Merlin did not inform you, my king?” Bedivere replied, watching her absentmindedly stroke her neck across the table. The wizard told him of their King’s new job at RTK, so he assumed Arthu--Arturia would already know about him and the others. Arturia merely tilted her head to the side. 

Sigh. That damn wizard. He had a lot of explaining to do.

“Don’t you give me that expression, Knight of Saber. I don’t need your judgement.”

Lancelot glared at him across the table. It was Iskandar’s fault he couldn’t get any sleep last night. His and his lady housemate’s fault. Well...partially. The constant creaking and echoing moans were definitely distracting, but he couldn’t get Arturia out of his head. Try as he might. It was all just her . Her when he closed his eyes, her when he opened them. She ran through his thoughts when he gave up and stood in the shower. She filled his mind when he was trying to pull himself together in the mirror. 

He was so distracted that by the time he’d realized what he was doing, he was seated in the mansion’s dining room, with the house’s owner on his right and the gorgon woman and her sexual partner across him. Sakura Matou, he now recalled, had summoned him down from his room for breakfast as usual, as she’d done the last few weeks after welcoming him to her estate. The hollow-eyed woman was now serving him some rice, an eastern grain he found delicious, as she made sure her other guests were comfortable. 

“I have no right to deliver judgement...Rider,” he replied simply. The memory of Iskandar’s role had come to him, finally. In the very least, he remembered how it felt to be trampled by Gordius Wheel. Right after remembering how he was trying to destroy his own king in that war. God damn it. 

“Ho? So you do recall parts of our war then?” Iskandar asked, thanking Sakura when she passed him the tonkatsu and promising her payment for her kindness. 

Lancelot pinched the bridge of his nose at the memory. He couldn’t believe that after all he’d done, he’d come back in the Fourth War just to torment Arturia further. Hadn’t he done enough in his time? God. What other horrors did he put her through? 

Maybe Kay was right. Maybe he should stay away. 

“You...You have got a lot of nerve showing up here, bastard.”

Lancelot felt his skull bash into the elevator wall as his throat seized up. He opened his eyes to see Kay’s eyes burning with rage, even more threatening than Gawain’s when he’d tried to join the battle at Camlann.

“Why would you do that to her, Lance?! I trusted you!”

The elevator screeched as his head collided with the handlebar, but Kay paid it no mind, dragging Lancelot to eye-level by the collar, teeth bared. His vision went red, the blood dripping from  his forehead obstructing his vision. But after all he’d done, he felt no need to retaliate as his king’s older brother drove a fist into his cheek. When his mouth tasted like iron, Lancelot thought he deserved it. No, this was a far cry from what he deserved. Blood dripped from his lips as he took a solid knee to the abdomen, feeling his organs bruise on the inside. 

Kay finally dropped the Frenchman to the floor, hands shaking and covered in red, but Lancelot suspected it was because Arturia would notice the smell of blood if Kay did any more. 

“Her love is wasted on you, traitor,” he said, delivering a satisfying kick to crack his ribcage. The assailant flicked his hands, splattering Lancelot’s blood all over his victim, then straightened his tie and suit. Kay pressed the elevator button, reassured the operator that all was well as if he hadn’t been beating the life out of Lancelot seconds prior, and stepped out of the now functioning elevator doors. 

“Don’t make the mistake of showing up here again.”

Lancelot glanced up to the expectant King of Conquerors, who looked patiently at him as he slung his arm around Medusa. He contemplated asking him what exactly he was up to while under Mad Enhancement, even though he knew he wouldn’t like the results. Especially if all he could remember was Arturia’s agonized expressions as she clashed swords with him. 

“Not enough.”

“Haven’t we been over this, Cú?”

The Irishman smirked, poured Diarmuid a coffee, and after waving to his employer at the counter got permission to sit down with his similarly Celtic friend. He set down the coffee pot and plopped onto his elbow and leaned in close. 

“Oh, you mean, over the fact that you were out at three in the morning with the woman you fancy, and you’re telling me that you weren’t fucking?” he asked playfully.

The lancer spat out his coffee when he registered the man’s words. “We were not-- why would we be--The King of Knights is my friend , Cú!” Diarmuid retorted, grasping for the closest table napkin he could find. Cú smiled, and shrugged. It was just too easy to tease the man, he couldn’t help it. Especially since it seemed Diarmuid didn’t quite know how easy it is for others to make such assumptions.

After all, they were always together, he and Arturia. Practically joined at the hip, if Diarmuid’s constant rambling about the “sunlight in her hair” or the “freckles on her nose” or the “rather adorable way she says the word ‘quite’” was any indication. 

“Well, if you weren’t making love under the moonlight, the only explanation would be that you were stalking her,” Cú reasoned, with such a snarky expression on his face that Diarmuid honestly wanted to sock him in the jaw. It had been an hour of this. A full hour of his jibber-jabber. And while Cú was proving to be a good friend, Diarmuid was honestly reconsidering taking that delegation back. Sure, he would lose a sparring partner but he was confident he could ask Rider, perhaps. Or...well, there was Lancelot. He and Arturia seemed...civil. 

“You texted me at the witching hour, D,” he teased, shoving the timestamp in the younger man’s face so excitedly, one would think he’d won the lottery. Curse the new age technologies. At this point Diarmuid’s eyebrows were twitching uncontrollably, but Cú was far from done, especially if the man insisted on not admitting the truth.

An exasperated sigh finally exited the man’s mouth, followed by a long, drawn out gulp of coffee. 

“Fine,” Diarmuid admitted. “Sleep wouldn’t come to me last night either, I took a walk, and then I sensed her, alright?” 

Cú smiled gleefully, plopping his chin on his palms Oh this should be good, this should be good. 

“My search led me to the airport. I had but a glimpse of her, but she was already with her knight,” he said, just a tinge of dejection slipping past his defenses.

When Cú tilted his head, Diarmuid sighed again. “The one with the long mane. Sullen fellow,” he described. 

A spark of recognition crossed Cú’s face. Oh. Him. Cú considered reporting this to that pompous, red buffoon, if the Fourth War Servant didn’t know already. It seemed their little bet had gotten more complicated, as if it wasn’t already. No matter, they were meeting up again sometime this week for a spar, and hopefully the bastard had some coin this time. He was racking up quite the tab here at Ahnenerbe. 

In the meantime, Cú thought he should at least try to lift his new friend’s spirits. The little pout he was sporting really didn’t work with the rest of Diarmuid’s handsome face. 

“Well, D, it’s great drying out. Sun’s up and all. Don’t be sullying it with that face,” he attempted, but it was only met with a half-hearted glare. Cú took it as a challenge. The lancer strode over to the counter, picked up a pack of biscuits and tore it open. 

“On my tab, George,” he told the manager, who only nodded once he saw the look on Diarmuid’s face. 

“Oh no, I’m quite full--”

“Ah, you’ll have one,” Cú smiled, emptying its contents into the saucer that used to hold Diarmuid’s cup of coffee. The man wisely chose to take a biscuit, sensing the slightly threatening aura. It was crisp and sweet without being saccharine, baked to perfection. It was only a few moments before the dual-wielder took another. His waiter and friend gave him a small smile, he knew he would like it, and likely, so would the little swordswoman occupying their thoughts. And just like that, Ireland’s Child of Light had an idea. 

“Why not take her here? For dinner? We serve excellent curry in the evening,” Cú reasoned. Behind the counter, George nodded in agreement, excited to see the woman these troublesome foreigners were always gushing about. Maybe seeing a new, pretty face would let him extend Cú’s credit even just a bit. The guy was, after all, accepting some of his payment in meals. 

Diarmuid considered it for a moment. He’d gotten his first paycheck already, handed to him together with an ATM card and Merlin’s stern warning to not buy clothes on his own since he didn’t trust his judgement. Since Arturia did return looking quite exhausted, perhaps he could lift her spirits if he treated her here. The food was mouth-watering, and despite the exquisite taste, the restaurant was far from crowded. It couldn’t hurt.  

“I’ll ask if she’d join us,” he stated, the gleam in his eyes coming back, “Though I doubt she’d be too enthusiastic about seeing your sorry mug,” he teased, the proud Diarmuid smirk crawling its way back into his face. Cú smiled triumphantly, perhaps he didn’t have anything to worry about after all. He’d be winning the bet. 

Wait a second...

“ Hey! ”

“I’m talking to you, Shirou! Don’t you walk away from me!”

Hoseki sat alone at the table, chasing a roll of tuna maki around her plate with a pair of chopsticks as her parents paced across the Emiya kitchen, her mother’s hands flying as she expressed herself. This was the second fight this month. Ever since her daddy had been going on these missions without her mother, she’d wake up to them arguing. There were evenings where she’d hear them whispering outside her room, not knowing she could hear their skirmish. 

Daddy promised her they would go to the park today, but she guessed that would no longer be the case. She could smell it, the smell that smelled too clean. Kind of like the clinic mom would take her to when she was sick. Daddy would always smell like that whenever he came home late. He would always be wearing sweaters and pants too, even if it was hot outside. Days like this, her mom would say the pool was too crowded to go to, even if it wasn’t a weekend. Dad would pat her head, smiling through a wince, the kind of smile she would put on in front of others when she fell. The kind of smile she made when there were other kids around. The kind of smile she used when she didn’t want others to see her cry.

“I told you already, you were asleep when they called,” Shirou retorted, pulling away from the woman gently as he could, mindful of the little girl by the table. Even if their daughter pretended otherwise, he knew she could hear them. “Rin-”

The woman gripped him tightly and dragged him around the corner, finally realizing there were two very curious amber eyes-Shirou’s color in her eye shape- that could be watching them. 

“Where did they send you?” she interrogated, peeking around the wall to see her daughter slumped over her plate, her cup teetering on a saucer as she poked it with her fingers. 

“You don’t need to know-”

“Where , Shirou,” she demanded, interrupting him with a finger to his chest. His hair was graying, it was even more obvious than before, the white strands standing out against his usual rich red. He was exerting himself again, right after she told him it wasn’t healthy to abuse his magic circuits like that. How could he? 

When he didn’t reply, she pushed him into the room and slammed the door behind them. She wrestled his sweater off his shoulders. And Shirou, with his muscles weary as they were, could do nothing to stop her.

No.

Bullet wounds. Three in his chest. Two on his abdomen. One in his left shoulder, the other on his right hip. All of them were in different stages of healing. The one on his hip was even starting to bleed again. Was that from when he tried to resist her? Stupid...Stupid Shirou. Rin met his eyes with tearful, pleading blue orbs.

“1955. Heh, you’d think back then the bullets would have been slower.”

Rin dragged her husband to their bed, tears flowing down her cheeks. Several gems rolled out when she opened the drawer of the nightstand, but she didn’t seem to care as she plucked three palm sized emeralds from the mix. 

“I’m fine, Tohsaka,” he insisted, knowing he was spending her precious jewels. Again. Who even knew how much of her precious magical energy she’d used on him at this point. 

“You married me , baka,” she retorted, quieting him down as she began the magic circle on his abdomen. “At least call me by my real name.”  

What was the point? What was the point of the rings on their fingers if he was still sneaking out at night, going who knows where. Or when, in this case. What did it even mean to have a daughter, a husband she loved more than life itself if she couldn’t spend that life with the two of them? Yes, they wouldn’t lead normal lives, for the magic within each of them didn’t permit it, but...they could at the very least be together. Even if her father wasn’t around for very long, he was around enough. For the first few years of her life, he was there for her and Sakura. Rin honestly didn’t know whether to say the same was true for Shirou and Hoseki.

Perhaps she was the idiot, for ever supporting Shirou’s dream to be a hero. If she knew just how many nights he’d stumble home half-dead, perhaps she wouldn’t have been so enthusiastic, she thought, brushing her fingers over the white strands of hair that composed his sideburns. His bangs were graying too. It was like his hair was being drained of color every single time the World called upon him. 

“Rin…” he said, as his eyes began to close and the healing spell took effect. She shushed him as she stroked his hair. 

“You could have at least let me come with you,” she reasoned, as Shirou drifted off to sleep. She pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead, promising to be back to check on the spell in a few hours.  The magus looked to the floor and the remaining emeralds she had with her. Even though there were dozens, to Rin, they were far too few. If Shirou kept coming home like this, she would need to get some more very soon. 

The familiar pitter-patter of her daughter’s footsteps raced across the hallway. Had she been listening in? The woman left the bedroom for the dining table to find two unused plates and a half-eaten meal, the tuna maki left out unfinished. 

“Mama?”

Her daughter padded back into the dining room cautiously, seeing remains of the streaks of tears down her mother's cheeks.

“Yes, what is it, dear?”

The mini-her took out her palm and procured a tiny little topaz, barely bigger than Rin’s thumbnail. She pressed it into her mother’s hand and closed her fingers over it. 

“I want to help daddy too,” she said, as her mother looped her arms around their precious little daughter. Hoseki was so good , she really was. She was everything Rin could ever hope her to be. So strong, and kind. Earnest in everything she did, just like her father. Shame on her, for ever having to rely on her daughter’s strength this early. 

“Come on now,” Rin cooed, leading her little one to the table. She would be stronger for her. She could at least manage that much. “How about I take you to the park instead, okay? We’ll get ice cream. It’ll be a girl’s day out for you and me,” Rin suggested happily, already wondering what kind of things they could be up to today.

Hoseki smiled. The kind of smile she made when she didn’t want others to see her cry.

Chapter Text

Bedivere left sooner than Arturia would have liked, promising he'd be back for dinner. He told her that he had much business to take care of, that he was going to check in with someone too while he was here. Between Kay going to work and Bedivere taking off some time after lunch, she was left with, well, nothing to do. 

The King of Knights picked up the tiny, curious device-- she was still amazed on how much humanity had progressed since her time--on the coffee table and opened her messages. Still no reply from Shirou. She wondered if he’d even seen the notification. 

Arturia had been distracted of late, she realized, thumbing the two marks on her neck. Between the first seal, the visitors that had come by, and catching up with Bedivere, there was barely any time for herself. And now, with Kay having gone to court to represent a client, the once warm and homey condominium felt...empty. And although she enjoyed the quiet, silence always had a way to bring out the worst thoughts. She kicked off the couch and paced in front of the window, a rare bout of insecurity suddenly overtaking her as she read and reread the text message on her phone. 

I have returned safely, Shirou.

Had she come off as rude? No, that couldn't be it. It was a neutral statement, how could Shirou have taken it the wrong way? Besides, she did text in the middle of the night, perhaps it had just escaped his notice or he'd left his phone charging like Kay had.

I hope you have a pleasant day—

No, no. She backtracked, erasing the text. It sounded a little eager. Should she wait for him to reply instead? Oh, but it was noon. Surely he’d have some free time around lunch, she told herself, but really she didn’t know what to think. Even if it had been ten years, she thought Shirou would be ecstatic-- happy, at least-- to be reunited with her. Of course, there would have to be a readjustment period, especially on his part, but afterward, she was positive they could return to normal and eventually progress their relationship into proper courtship. 

Her fingers brushed over her lips as she relived the memory of his pressed onto hers. At that time, she would resist, prioritizing winning the Grail over anything else. But now, those precious memories, feeling Shirou’s warmth and kindness, were all things she wished to experience for as long as she lived. His love, most of all, in return for all of hers. 

Love.

When she was younger, before Guinevere, Arturia wondered if she loved Merlin. He was more than just a teacher, a friend. He’d watched over her with a face ever unchanging as she grew from a child to a teen, and eventually the king that she became. He chuckled back then, knowing an unfeeling king and a half-incubus could never really know what it meant to love. But now…

Arturia put a hand over her heart, soothing the quiet yearning she’d been suppressing the moment she re-entered the world of the living. Just the thought of holding Shirou’s hand made her head swim, turned her into the flushed mess she saw reflected on the glass window. She thought of their kisses, the tiny calluses in his palms brought about by their many hours in the dojo, the way his eyes shone in moonlight. She thought about how mature he looked now, a hardened version of the young adult she met in the Fifth Holy Grail War. 

Her heartbeat quickened. Maybe it was impossible for her to love as Camelot’s ruler, but being summoned into present day made the abstract concept far less farfetched. 

It’s just…

The King of Knights looked down at her phone and the single, unread message on her screen. He was so... distant . It was already a rare occasion to see him when they lived under the same roof for two weeks. Even rarer to get him alone, and during those times, they would talk, but the conversations were never any deeper than the usual how do you do’s and what have you been up to’s. 

Perhaps he only needed encouragement. Was a bouquet of flowers still suitable as a gift during courtship? She wasn’t sure. Shirou’s pressure cooker had given out during their stay at the japanese manor, should she get him a replacement as a gift? 

Her phone dinged twice, signalling a new message. She stifled the tiny pang of disappointment when it wasn’t from the man in her mind, but opened it nonetheless.

“ King of Knights, would you like to go out to dinner? ” it read, ending with a semicolon and parentheses followed by the sender’s name. 

“ I would, but i’m afraid I won’t be the best company tonight ,” she typed clumsily, as soon as she finished adding the raven-haired knight to her contacts. 

His reply came barely a moment later in a string of three messages, one after the other, and ended in a colon and an open parenthesis. “ Oh? You would leave a poor knight to dine alone? How cruel, ” it read, the text in white within a blue bubble. She chuckled. He could be quite silly, couldn’t he?

“ You are hardly that and you know it ,” she typed, a playful tilt on her lips as she mouthed the words. “ Kay refuses to let me out of the building. ”

Back at Ahnenerbe, Diarmuid stifled a smile as his friend leaned over his shoulder to read the exchange of messages. Of course, he batted Cú away but the damned waiter was quite persistent. 

“ And why’s that? ” he managed to type, despite using his other hand to push the prying fellow Lancer away, the gowl. Diarmuid swore Cú could be a fierce annoyance when he wanted to be. Feck off man, he mouthed, trying and failing to keep the fellow Irishman away as his phone dinged. 

“ Alas, it seems I have been felled by a cold, ” was her reply. Was that sarcasm? From the King of Knights? Ha! What a treat! Even Cú let out a tiny huff of laughter, reading the messages as he slung an arm over his new buddy. 

“ A tragedy, indeed ,” he replied, a little disheartened since the fact meant they couldn’t go through with the plan. Reading that, Cú went over to the counter and seemed to be conversing with his boss about something. He returned with a menu, smaller than the one he was given before breakfast, with the words “TAKE-OUT” written in cursive script along the top. 

Arturia was already writing a reply when his next message came. “ Well… if you can’t leave. Perhaps a visit is in order. What say you? ” she read. Did Diarmuid perhaps miss her the few days she was away? She deleted the ‘ My sincerest apologies, can I take a rain check?’ that she had just typed.  Well, they did use to spar almost every day, she could understand that. And it would be...nice to have some company. Welcome company, she corrected herself, thinking of the unprecedented visitor she had last night. She wrote and sent her reply. Neither Kay nor Bedivere would mind the extra company, she was sure. 

Somewhere in a restaurant near Fuyuki Bridge, Cú raised a smug high-five to someone he would probably end up calling his best friend while the latter gave him a look and shook his head. 

…

Cú ended up tagging along later that night, with a bundle of fresh, delicately spiced curry in one hand and some fancy garlic knots his boss had thrown in for fun in the other. It wasn’t a large distance, so the two were able to stop by Diarmuid’s place before heading out, where he lent the guy a blue linen shirt. (Honestly, Diarmuid didn’t know much about fashion these days but really, that particular tie-dye top with those black pants was a crime .) He changed into a similar mint green one, the outfits courtesy of RTK of course. 

This would be presentable enough for Sir Kay, right? He asked himself in the mirror, straightening his collar as soon as he rang the doorbell, ready to meet with Arturia’s brother. He could hear footsteps of a wider stride than Arturia’s. It was Kay answering the door then, he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat that had formed without his permission. The door clicked open and then--

Blonde?

Standing in the doorway was a man even taller than he, with his single arm holding the doorknob. He looked at him with equally surprised and unfamiliar eyes. 

“Terribly sorry, I must have the wrong address--” he began, rechecking the apartment number. What was it, 25A, wasn’t it? He backed away to look at the other doors in the hallway.

“Is that Diarmuid I hear?” asked a familiar melodic voice, soon followed by the King of Knights ducking her head into the doorway. She, Diarmuid noted for reasons he still did not understand, was wearing the exact same linen shirt as he was, the oversized garment hanging off of her shoulders quite loosely. With the way he was freezing up despite the summer heat, it was all he could do to manage a friendly smile. 

Arturia didn’t seem to notice as her green eyes darted between him and his blue-haired companion.

“Cú Chulainn. It’s an honor to have you,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake. 

“Hey, little knight. What’s the craic?” He took her hand and shook it once, making a mental note of the woman’s iron grip. Heck, she really did act like a king, did she? 

A soft, almost fond expression crossed her face. Arturia remembered all too well what good Cú had done for her and her former master, as well as his strength in combat of course. She still had to pay him back for that, she told herself. 

“Well, come on in then,” she said, pulling Diarmuid inside by the wrist with the two other men following closely. Arturia reintroduced her brother at the dining table for Cú’s sake, and then the other man, another Round Table Knight apparently. Bedivere was his name. 

“Diarmuid O’Dyna. Cú Chulainn,” the blonde man repeated, looking at each respective hero as he did so. “My, my, Art. You didn’t tell me you had friends of such renown.”

The compliment was definitely the right way to kick off dinner, as the Servants immediately erupted into conversation. Talking about different quests, adventures with their lords. At some point, the two Round Knights even resorted to teasing their own king about her rather ridiculous talent at gambling. Between the delicious take-out curry and the hearty meal Kay had prepared for them that night, it was a good time. Especially when the host pulled out two six-packs of Guinness, chilled to perfection. And then gin, and then whiskey after that.

Bedivere was the first to go, slumping over the couch armrest after his eleventh shot. Cú and Kay were laughing with their arms slung over each other, turning the alcoholic beverages into some sort of odd competition. It was a miracle that their neighbors hadn’t come knocking on their door yet. 

Diarmuid closed the glass door behind him and made the three steps it took to come up beside Arturia on their modest balcony. She was leaning on the railing, looking up at a clear summer sky. In the moonlight, the Englishwoman looked like a work of art. Her skin, far paler than his, was nearly glowing like candlelight, the two emeralds that were her eyes, twinkling like the stars.

“What?” she asked, meeting his hazel eyes with obvious mirth. He wasn’t sure if the blush on her cheeks and collarbones was from her fever or from the alcohol or something else, but gods was it lovely. Still, as much as he wanted to keep her happy, he had questions to ask else he burst from the pressure. 

He noticed, even if she’d done well to hide it. The softer tone of voice, the slump in her shoulders. The almost imperceptible wince as she passed around the drinks. Diarmuid watched her expression change, the pleasant turn of lip slowly disappearing as the atmosphere turned serious.

“You could tell?” she asked, unconsciously rubbing her left arm under his piercing stare. It was embarrassing really, having him look so... concerned  like that. What was  she, a helpless maiden?

“Merlin showed me.”

That old codger! Arturia sunk into the crook of her elbow, cursing the old wizard just because she knew his clairvoyance would allow him to see it happening. 

Diarmuid set down his beer can on the railing, and with a stroke of courage used his liberated fingers to steer her gaze back to himself when she looked away. Now, he was sure the blush was from shame, even if she shouldn’t feel that way. 

“Come now, Saber,” he reprimanded, catching her line of sight, “Is it so awful for me to want to look after my friend?”

She found it difficult to break eye contact, especially when there was nothing but warmth and genuine care in his orange eyes. There was nowhere she could hide from eyes like that, so sharp, that at times she felt them cut down each and every one of her defenses til it was just her truest self before him. Only one other man had ever done that, and he was almost never around. 

“It is not something to concern yourself over,” she reasoned, pulling out of the tender fingers ever so lightly cupping her chin. If Diarmuid felt hurt, he didn’t show it. Instead, he picked up his can of Guinness and took a swig, contemplating what to say. He looked down at the black can, as if he could find the words in between the lines of the ingredients. 

Diarmuid thought himself brave. He was always on the frontlines, leading the charge for his lord. He’d slain whole platoons of men alone, when the odds were so unfairly stacked against him. He’d even go so far as to say he wasn’t afraid of death itself.

But when he saw that image of her in Merlin’s projection, bleeding out so much that even now he could see the grayish circles under her eyes? For the first time in his life, nay , lives, he felt his blood run cold. He felt bitter chills running up his spine, the hoarse cries of hopelessness and despair ringing in his ears. It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen to his knees. 

It terrified him, the thought of losing her so fast. So much so that if he didn’t see her breathing in the illusion he would have lost himself. 

He still didn’t know what exactly meant. Nor did he dare try to find out. All he was sure of was that he needed Arturia.

“Will you show me?” his voice was barely a murmur, but he knew she could hear. He could feel Arturia moving at the point where their elbows touched, even if it was just a slight nod. They turned, facing each other fully.

She hesitated a moment at the top button, prompting Diarmuid to tell her it was okay if she didn’t, but she shushed him as she continued, unbuttoning the shirt down to her chest. For a second, she wondered how it had come to be that she was essentially undressed in front of two men in the last twenty-four hours, but told herself this was different. He was different, she repeated, as she pulled down her top to expose her shoulder. 

“See?” she said, proving her point, “‘Tis but a scratch.”

Diarmuid gave her a look and a scoff that honestly would have put Kay’s sarcastic antics to shame. 

“A scratch? ” Diarmuid couldn’t believe his ears. The scar ran all the way from her collarbone to the top of her breast!

“Your arm’s off!” he retorted, pointing at the rather obvious proof.

“No it isn’t!” 

The woman glared up at him defensively, which he answered with a rather menacing glare himself. One second passed. Another one. Then another. 

Diarmuid was the first to break, a little snort setting off a string of lighthearted laughter between the two that ended only when their foreheads knocked together.

Still...he wasn’t kidding. The gash looked like it was deep enough that if someone continued the slash upwards, Arturia would be down an arm.

“May I?” he asked. Arturia nodded, and with her consent he slipped a gentle finger under the garterized strap and pulled it aside to better inspect the wound. It was stitched up rather neatly, but the tiny red dots between the strings suggested that the stitches had been redone at least once. He was amazed at her restorative powers, although it looked terrifying in Merlin’s vision, right now it was basically about to scab over completely. He suspected it would be but a pink scar in the next few days. Maybe even by tomorrow. 

Her breath hitched in her throat when his knuckles accidentally brushed the sutures. All too suddenly, Diarmuid was aware of just how intimate they were, him leaning over her with her back pressed against the railing, her half undressed and warm to the touch. 

It surprised Diarmuid just how much he wanted to kiss her, to feel what it was like to have her mouth on his. It would be so easy to lean forward and take her lips, they were close enough that they shared breaths, close enough the heat of her skin seeped through his clothes. 

But he didn’t.   

The knight fixed her bra strap and re-buttoned the shirt, careful not to touch anything he wasn’t supposed to. He silently hoped the alcohol was enough of an excuse for the heat in his cheeks and ears, or at least hoped Cú was drunk enough for it to slip his notice, lest the other Lancer tease him on his impure thoughts and other such nonsense. 

A crash, followed by the piercing sound of glass breaking drew the knights’ attention to the other three men back in the apartment. Bedivere was still knocked out, Cú and Kay were on the ground on opposite sides of the room, each surrounded with more bottles of alcohol Arturia was sure they hadn’t brought out earlier. 

The two remaining conscious knights looked at each other and shared a quiet snicker before reentering the apartment. After unceremoniously dumping Kay into his mattress and securing Bedivere on the couch, Diarmuid slung an absolutely plastered Cú over his shoulder and made for the door.

“Good night, Arturia,” Diarmuid said fondly. Managing a clumsy salute on his way out. 

“Good night.”

The door clicked shut as Arturia ran her hands through her hair, her mind struggling to process all the rather exciting things that happened this night. My, it must have been all the alcohol. Still, it was a good night. A memorable one. The first of many, she hoped, as she slinked into her bed. 

When he was sure she was asleep, Bedivere rose from the couch, the tears flooding his eyes no longer permitted him to lie down. The knight sobbed into his palm, hoping the little whimpers he made would not wake her. He would look terrible tomorrow, he’d look like a bloody wreck, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else did. For the first time in all the years as her knight...For the first time in all his years on this Earth...Finally. Finally. Finally , he saw her smile. 

Chapter Text

Zayd dropped in sometime during the week, scaring the bloody hell out of Sir Kay. So much so, that he grabbed him by the back of his shirt and nearly threw him out the balcony. Arturia was certain the acrobatic assassin would have survived, but it was twenty-five stories, anything could happen.

“Don't worry that pretty blonde head of yours! We're...recovering! That, I believe, is the right word for it, King of Knights,” the assassin said oddly cheerfully, taking a long sip of earl grey. He was one of the few personalities who enjoyed tea leaves, as he told Arturia. 

There were sixty-one of them now. A newcomer had sprung into existence a few days after their return, here in Fuyuki together with Zhavia and Zinaq, the large assassin Saber met on the field. And then there was this little one, Arturia noted, as she passed the small girl a few slices of watermelon. The child couldn’t have been more than ten, and she was yet to tell either of the servants her name. 

“Are you amenable to meeting during the weekend then?” she asked. 

It was a bit ridiculous, to now be sharing tea with arguably the most versatile stealth killer in all history, or, at least, one part of them. Zayd told her all about themself , the greater whole that was the Hundred-Faced Hassan, and how every single manifestation had their own purpose and expertise. Zayd's personal talent was accomplishing feats that required extreme acrobatic skill and flexibility, as he so generously demonstrated by dislocating all his bones and contorting himself into a human cube small enough Saber could stuff him in a duffel. 

If they were a dictionary, he explained as he picked up the pocket book from the coffee table, losing one of them was like pulling out an entire section of pages. One would still be left with a lot of knowledge, but, like having section A through B missing, there was a definite gap. 

They were different and the same all at once, according to their own understanding. Although they were all linked, it was as if each had a mind of their own, making it possible for Hundred-Faced to converse with themself and learn new things. Arturia would describe them most closely as cousins, for after seeing some of their faces, she could infer they looked similar enough to be related, but not too closely. If there was a feature they shared, it would be those rather ethereal looking eyes. Looking at Zayd and the little girl with him right now, they were definitely the same orbs.

"Reasonable, anisa~, " he replied. "More likely than not, it'll just be me anyway. Just good old Zayd."

"Arty, Merlin called. Said he was expecting you today?" Kay called from the other room, poking his head out into the doorway. 

Arturia looked up to the trusty wall clock, finding a mere thirty minutes before ten. She'd best be on her way soon.

The other servant also took that as his cue to take off. He thanked his hosts, pressed his palms together in apology to the still irritated Kay and made for the door. Zayd knelt in front of the little girl and let her onto his back as he bid the knight farewell. 

"Oh, and before I forget—"

"No pork," she interrupted, much to Zayd's surprise. "Worry not," Arturia said, already on her way back to her room to change. 

Zayd looked at the innocent child personality on his shoulder, and flexibly reached back over his head to pat hers. 

"This woman's a good one, no?"

A playfully butchered and prolonged calling of her name echoed throughout RTK's entire floor, in the sickly sweet intonation that could only belong to Merlin. That was Arturia's single warning before the mage of flowers crashed into her a mere foot out of the elevator.

"M-Merlin!" she chastised, struggling to absolve of the rather bone-crushing embrace she was given to no avail. A blink, and she was seated in front of a mirror, her perfect braided bun lopsided and her pressed shirt ruined. 

The wizard didn't seem to care much of her protests as he removed her ribbon and combed her blonde locks. He, of course, had a hand in making them as smooth and soft as they were. Merlin was never a fan of her mother's chestnut hair, nor was he of Uther's inky black tresses. So he was quite pleased when the prana he infused Arturia with gave her this light color. Of course, it also turned her once blue eyes a messy green, but all was well.

Looping her hair and side bangs into a ponytail he moved to inspect his handiwork. Arturia was rather pink in the cheeks— adorable!— so he lightly took her face in his palms and gave her a kiss on the nose. Oh, he was so excited, he could feel his incubus blood practically quaking! It took him barely five minutes on a neutral make-up (she didn't need much, of course, he would know,) and an extra one on a perfect peachy pink lip and she was ready. 

What should they do first? The swimsuits? Oh , wouldn't that be nice? But then— no, they had to do summer casual. It was so hot these day, curse humanity and global warming—WAIT. 

The wizard finally ceased his flurry midstep, oblivious to the bewildered and slightly annoyed Arturia who had been calling his attention for the last five minutes. Thanks to his clairvoyance, he knew the king of knights was close to storming out of the tower if he didn’t respond to her soon but ah, there was just too much to think about. At her current skill level, Arturia probably wouldn’t be very good at showing off swimsuits now would she. Bah, well, they could do swimsuits with her next year. And also, their current line for summer casual was a bit too frilly and girly for Arturia’s taste. They were coming up with a new one to release a bit later on before the season ended, but for the meantime…

“Yes, princess?”

Arturia glared at him, knowing his special eyes knew her discomfort and decided to ignore her anyway, but she looked back at herself in the mirror, unsure. Whatever magic Merlin had done to her face was almost unbelievable. Her skin looked so smooth, like porcelain, and the little lines beneath her eyes were near invisible. Although she was still quite pale-looking, the added blush to her cheeks made her feel just a little bit like Guinevere, when the latter would pinch her cheeks and bite her lips to give them some added color. 

“You’re certain this is alright, wizard?” she asked, mindful of the alluring women she’d seen on this time’s plentiful media. Arturia was so sure she wasn’t like them, with their long legs and tanned skin, their beautiful pearly whites and luscious locks. She would never be like that.

All was quiet as Merlin stopped, the usual playful smirk that was ever-present on his face flickering away for a somber second. He couldn’t believe he forgot. The wizard walked back to his king, the only one really worthy of all his service, especially after all he’d done to her. Arturia…

He placed his palms on her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers, smiling as he made eye contact. “If only you could see what I do, my king,” he said softly, with as much love as his incubus heart could muster. Just as quickly, the wizard pulled away, and came back with a beautiful beige suit. A tanned woman was with him, carrying a black shoe box. 

“That room will be your dressing room alright? Maria here will bring the rest of the outfits while we shoot this one. We need to get you used to the camera,” Merlin said, exiting the room quietly. He did say that this was another private shoot, so it would be just the wizard and her today.

The suit fit her to a T. Almost too perfectly, in fact, something Arturia knew had to be Merlin’s doing. She wondered why a suit would be a good idea to advertise in the summer, but upon slipping it on she understood. Unlike the outfit that was provided for her by Irisviel, in fine italian fashion, this jacket was made of linen and was light to the touch. What she thought was an undershirt was in fact a simple white camisole made of silk. The trousers were more closely fitted to her skin, and the bottoms ended above her ankle, which she wasn’t used to.

Oh, and there was…

Arturia clapped a palm to her forehead as she lifted those odd contraptions humanity dared call shoes out of their box. How was she supposed to walk in these? The question was repeated to the old wizard when she stepped in front of the white background. 

“Well, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Merlin chided, slipping on the lovely pair of black pointed-toe slingbacks he had specially made for her. “As if I didn’t have you wear heels to help with my illusions before. You’ll get used to it.”

Arturia was pulled onto wobbly feet, then the wizard walked her around for a bit til she could at least move around comfortably. These shoes were hardly functional, she’d never worn a pair that hurt the balls of her feet quite this much. Frankly, it was ridiculous. Still, a part of her did admit she liked the added height in the mirror, even if it was a dishonest trick of fashion. A few rounds of nearly falling over later, and Arturia was finally uncomfortably in front of the camera.

Merlin snapped photo after photo. Even if he could sense his king’s awkwardness, he tutored her well on posture and the art of carrying oneself back when she was but a child, lessons she took with her all her life. Of course, he never imagined she’d be using that particular skill set to model all the newest fashion trends, but he supposed it mattered not as long as it was working. 

He posed himself and signalled for her to copy, which she did perfectly, angling herself in such a manner that was definitely better than what he had in mind.

Wait...did they actually?

He drew back, viewed the image in the setup of monitors next to him. Huh.

“Arturia, we...we got it,” he said, surprised. The photo was bloody perfect. The light! The shadows! Her face! He was right about starting with suits. Her strong silhouette and the fact that she’d worn them before as a Servant gave her the easy grace and sophistication needed to pull them off. That, and her slightly broader shoulders definitely added to the outfit. Holy hell, if it was this easy every day he wouldn’t have hired all those photographers. 

He touched his forehead with his palm. Merlin originally planned to do just one outfit with Arturia(whichever one they’d get the best shot from) and give the rest to some of his more experienced contacts, just like he was going to do with Diarmuid. But now, he felt it was a crime not to give her the whole collection. Oh, the models’ agents were going to flat out murder him. Oh, no. Did that mean he’d have to do the masculine set with just one male as well? Oh, bother.

He nibbled his lip in contemplation. They were going to do an editorial soon, weren’t they? Perhaps if he could get Arturia comfortable enough with modelling before that time, she could be the main face. 

“Come see,” he beckoned the new recruit. 

She crossed over to behind the monitors, where multiple images of herself were on display, the latest one on the top right screen. It was a little crazy, how what would have been hours upon hours standing still in front of a painter was now reduced to minutes. The product being an exact likeness of her instead of spiced with the painter’s interpretation of how her face looked. Still, compared to the usual look of the models in magazines…

Merlin’s serene face fell when he realized his king’s thoughts, but he sent her off to the dressing room with a cool face. He probably shouldn’t have expected her view of herself to improve on the very first day, but it was a start. Humans took longer to process things after all, and even longer to change. 

That was partially the reason he enlisted the help of the King of Heroes. Yes, he was a proper asshole and a prick, but someone such as him, with an ego so massive and overbearing, was the perfect candidate to help Merlin with Arturia. Probably.

Merlin sighed as Arturia came back out in another of his designs. He hoped she wouldn’t be too cross with him. 

“What’s this?” he called, “Is ignoring my presence any way for a king to act, Arturia?”

She glared in his direction and collected her things. Merlin had Maria put items that she liked from the collection into paper bags marked with the company logo for her to take home and to use. She was having a good day, she really was, despite all Merlin’s fussing around with her hair and her collar, and who else knew what. She would not have Gilgamesh ruin that. 

Besides, she still hasn’t forgiven him for..for that.

She resisted the urge to touch her neck and went to snatch her phone from the vanity. Except it wasn’t where she left it. Instead, it was in the sneaky clutches of the man she most certainly wished to be away from.

“Ah, at last, I have your attention I see,” he smirked triumphantly, the kind of expression that never failed to make Arturia fume. If he believed this would go like last time did, he was wrong. Her wound had healed up completely, she hadn’t a fever, and her magic circuits were just about ready for a fight if he dared touch her again. 

“What do you want, King of Heroes?”

She sighed. It seemed it was too late to hope her day was saved. It was bound to go sour the moment she saw him. She crossed her arms as he approached, wondering just how long she would have to deal with him...with this. Kiritsugu had not contacted her since the first seal, and if there were long intervals between them then she had to expect to be around the King of Heroes for even longer.  

“I believe I have made myself abundantly clear on that matter, King of Knights.”

Arturia backed away from his fingers just before they cupped her chin. She had enough of that. Who did he take her for? She was a king, she would not allow him that. Not anymore. Arturia was convinced now, stronger than ever, that those gentle eyes he’d shown her glimpses of were just a fluke. Just a trick of the light and nothing more. 

Gilgamesh didn’t care . Perhaps he was born without the ability to do so. Really, it was such a waste. With dexterity Zayd would be proud of, she wrestled the communication device out of Gilgamesh’s hands and made for the door.

“Arturia--”

She stopped then, looked back at him with eyes that were forever etched into his memory. And then all was still, like the world had forgotten to turn, like the clock just ceased its ticking. The king took one step forward. She took one back, and another. And the next thing he knew, he was alone, the hollow echoes of a slammed door resonating in his ears. 

His fingers dug into his skin as he clenched his fist. Why didn’t she understand? How hard was it to accept that she was his? He had decided that a long time ago, that she was worthy of being his queen, that she was the only woman who would ever be worthy of that title. Was this the work of the Grail? Of her mongrel of a Master? Surely there had to have been a reason for this stubborn madness she insisted on. 

Madness, yes. That must be it.

There was no other reason for his chest to feel so crushed. 

“You have to remember, Arturia lives in the present, unlike you, King of Heroes,” Merlin would tell him later, as he was taking different shots of the king in the more expensive lines of clothing

RTK was going to roll out. Gilgamesh honestly wouldn’t put on anything without a luxury price tag.

“Those are private moments between your king and I, mongrel,” Gilgamesh scolded, “I have half a mind to remove those troublesome eyes of yours should you use them for such purposes.”

Merlin photographed him despite the new model’s irritation. In fact, the added expression actually accented his features and made him suitable for the kind of image he wanted Gilgamesh to go for anyway. Diarmuid’s main role was to be a ‘good’ guy. A gentleman of sorts. Gilgamesh, the arrogant bad boy. Arturia, strong and independent. 

“It’s good advice, King of Heroes,” he said, mumbling into his Nikon. “Take it.”

Of course, it wasn’t like he wasn’t...irked by how Gilgamesh had been treating Arturia as of late. Or, at all, considering what he was like in the Fifth Holy Grail War. And the Fourth. Bloody shite, was it a bad idea to let him into the company? 

"Normally, I wouldn't stand for such callous requests. As king, I do not take orders from anyone, and certainly not a little half-demon such as yourself." he declared, shifting to another angle to better present himself. 

Gilgamesh seemed to be contemplating something. Perhaps he was looking back on his actions? Oh who was he kidding, this man was not one to regret his decisions was he?

"But, as you were her counsel, I shall allow it. Be grateful for my consideration, Arturia's wizard," the oldest king said, looking directly at the camera for the first time. They got the shot. 

Merlin kept himself composed and soothed the itch to roll his eyes. Gilgamesh was insufferable , but undoubtedly a good model, besting Arturia's being photogenic due to her royal tutoring and Diarmuid's god-given looks. It was probably the king's massive ego working for him here. 

Merlin recalled what working with his first Servant model outside of the Round Table was like, and he, though much more tanned, acted so similarly to Gilgamesh it was uncanny. That guy was a king too, though he much preferred being called something else.

"You see the future, don't you? With those eyes," Merlin asked, as Gilgamesh came back with the next set of clothes on. He was answered with a raised brow.

The king moved, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning his head. Merlin honestly wanted to strangle himself, the goddamn talent this man had, it was almost unfair.

"My king does not. It's that simple," Merlin said, looked once more through the lens only to see Gilgamesh had stopped posing, and now stood straight, glaring at the camera. He had his arms folded in front of him, ruining all chances of getting any good shots of the clothes.

"Oh? And your point, mongrel?" 

Merlin sighed. He forgets from time to time that not everyone had the same eyes that he did, and thus not everyone could understand what he meant. Even Gilgamesh, who had similar eyes with different enough powers wouldn't understand.

"Look," Merlin started, "Arturia thinks of you, even now. Even after everything you've put her through." 

Gilgamesh looked away to the side, and to Merlin's dismay he couldn't capture the split second emotion that crossed the king's face, even if the camera flashing told him he did try.

“Is it so unnatural for a queen to think of her king? It would be much more scandalous if it was another man on her mind, now would it not?” Gilgamesh replied, and after another pose went back into the dressing room for another outfit. Oh, if only he knew who else had been dancing around Arturia’s brain these days. Honestly, Merlin wasn’t sure if the man was convincing himself Arturia wasn’t losing faith in him, or if his ego really just made him blind to the facts. 

“She’s thinking ,” Merlin enunciated, “That you might be a lost cause.” That was the truth. Merlin honestly couldn’t blame her after all Gilgamesh had done. Even if he was the spectator kind, the old wizard was honestly thinking about giving the king a piece of his mind, especially regarding the two marks Gilgamesh left on her neck a few nights ago. If anything, he was surprised Arturia didn’t act out more, considering how devastated she was to be taken advantage of by her own sibling back in--no, that might have actually been a prime reason. Merlin reminded himself he had to help his king get over that particular trauma at some point. 

“Oh?” Gilgamesh voiced, then erupted into a fit of laughter to ostentatious Merlin honestly wondered if it was practiced to be that way. 

The wizard put the camera aside and leveled his gaze at the first true king. “I see what I see, King Gilgamesh.” He wisely used his title to appease the ancient one, even if he would only ever be loyal to one king. He took a final shot, and signalled for the Mesopotamian to get behind the screen to inspect his work. He got Gilgamesh at a lot of good angles, but honestly it was because the King didn’t really have any bad ones. Not really.

Gilgamesh seemed to approve of all the shots though, as is to be expected, so it would really be up to Merlin which ones to use. He found the king instead sifting through some portraits he took earlier that day for a magazine feature. He was supposed to use them in case the editors asked to include Arturia as a new face, but...well.

Merlin pulled the corner of a tiny 4 x 6 from the pile and handed it to the King of Heroes. “This one. Take this one.”

Arturia was wearing a white suit with a fitting skirt, accented by subtle gold accessories on her wrists and neck. It was the only outfit where Merlin had her wear her hair loose and swept over one shoulder. It was one of the shots he was on the fence about using because on the one hand, she wasn’t looking at the camera, but on the other…

Arturia was breathtaking. Her eyes were just set alight, shining bright as emeralds struck by the sun. Her lips, so very rarely pulled into a grin, formed a serene little smile that erased all his worries and soothed all his pains. For one reason or the other, the fan finally worked right, and tossed her golden strands in such a way it framed her face so magically, he wanted to take credit for it.

Wordlessly, Gilgamesh plucked the photo from his hands. The wizard wasn’t sure how to describe what expression the king was wearing, but it wasn’t the default arrogant bastard one he had suffered a long hour with. It was different.

Chapter Text

“Oi. You’re killing my wallet here,” Cú reprimanded, watching Ahnenerbe’s most frequent customer wolf down yet another plate of George's penne pasta and quickly add it to the stack of dishes on his right. His boss had actually gotten used to the big man’s appetite, and was already having a platter of shrimp prepped for delivery. 

“Oh, come on, Child of Light, won’t you treat a big fella this time?” his voice boomed. The low laughter that followed was positively earthshaking. The Irishman swore he saw the tableware move just from the pure vibration. 

Cú sighed as he set down the fresh platter in front of the bulky king and relented. It wasn’t like he had anyone else to treat, now that Diarmuid had a job and wouldn’t eat a meal he didn’t pay for (he tipped well too, even if Cú insisted he didn’t need it. George took care of his employees. They had healthcare and everything.). Besides, he could tell Iskandar was getting just a little bit guilty from emptying the Matou pantry every few days. 

He resignedly slinked into the booth. “Fine. But you owe me another sparring match. I need a little non-lancer variety.”

Iskandar let out a big whoop and continued to gulp down the buttered shrimp. As he watched his buddy wolf down another plate, the Irishman’s mind began to drift off. Of course, he was liking his new life. It was simple, but it was...relaxing. Playing Cú Chulainn in life was a lot more fast paced, every day he woke up to the possibility that he may not return safe to his bed. It was a thrill, and a life he was proud of, but the security of being able to go home every night was very welcome, even if his “bed” was an old mattress in the abandoned flat his Master bought in the Fifth War. No one else would rent it after her body was discovered there, so as far as he was concerned, it was free real estate, as morbid as that thought was. 

He was considering moving somewhere else. One more week and it would have been a month since he arrived and started working in Ahnenerbe. His deal with George was that he’d be paid in a combination of food and money, but the man paid him enough that even after all the times he’d brought Diarmuid and Iskandar in, he should be able to afford rent somewhere cheap and nearby. Anywhere would be better than Bazzett’s flat. He couldn’t bear to wake up every day reminded of one of his worst failures. Curse that Kirei. Was that bastard still alive? Perhaps he could change that.

For a while, Cú actually thought of moving in with Iskandar. He was living in an abandoned house in the rural area, one that he explained he used to live in during his war, but between the mass of muscle and the multiple iterations of Hassan-i-Sabbah’s, he believed they wouldn’t really have space, even considering Alexander the Great’s many amorous escapades both with his fellow Rider and the other greek muscle-head. Besides, he wasn’t sure if the brawny hero was romantically engaged with the assassins. If he was, he’d hate to have to sleep through a harem every now and then. 

Cú looked up to see the King of Conquerors waving a large hand in front of his face, the shrimp platter scraped clean of food.

“Nah, sorry what was that?”

“I asked if you’ve seen goldie around,” Iskandar repeated, the large, satisfied smile on his face so bright it was almost blinding. 

Cú instantly made a face, prompting boisterous laughter from the man in the too-tight t-shirt. 

“HO~!? Seems like this proud hero never got over his own defeat, eh?” he teased, but Lancer was never one to back down right away. With one eye closed and his head cocked to the side, the Irishman brandished a smirk that made most women swoon.

“ If I recall correctly, you told me you got your ass handed to you by the same bastard, Iskandar,” he retorted, itching to summon Gae Bolg while he riled up his opponent. It was three minutes to one o’clock, in just a few moments he’d be on break.

“Tread carefully, Cú, it is none other than Alexander the Great you are speaking to.” His voice was almost a warning. Almost. The rather electrifying glint of a challenge was in his right eye, and Lancer instantly knew that spar he was owed was to be paid very very soon.

Bedivere sighed as he entered the familiar, western-style apartment. Greeting him were take-out boxes from last week, empty beer cans lying scattered, and general filth everywhere he turned. Some doll was talking through the day’s news on the telly, which looked like it had been left on all night. Lying still and wasted right in the middle of all of it was the flat’s owner, just as much a mess as the rest of the place. In his right hand, the remote, in his left, the orange stub of his eighth cigarette. 

Fiddlesticks.

The most loyal knight set down the packs of lunch he brought with him and began to pick up the piles of rubbish before someone else knocked them over. They were expecting a visit later on, after all, and that was probably going to be tedious enough to deal with without the mountain of paper takeaway boxes strewn all over the place.

Well...at least he has been eating.

Even at this distance the knight could tell his friend had lost a considerable amount of weight. He was already of the slimmer build too. The smell hit him like a truck when the stray gale blew his way. Bloody hell , when was the last time the bloke had a shower? Were...were those ants on the counter? Christ.

The single-armed knight picked up a rag and wiped up what looked like the remains of a rum spill. Judging from the amount of glass bottles littered around, it was probably more than that. Honestly, Bedivere was just thankful the man hadn’t yet found drugs. Not that the stack of empty cigarette boxes wasn’t alarming. He didn’t mind the smoke but..there were near thirty empty cartons in the bin, not even counting the ones on the couch. Bedivere was positive they weren’t there when he came to visit after seeing Arturia for the first time. 

Another puff of breath left his lips as he leaned on the granite counter, his tidying finished. The steady rise and fall of the messy mop of red hair on the couch was a bit reassuring. At least the guy hadn’t poisoned himself with all the alcohol.

But…

He couldn’t continue living like this. It just wasn’t right. Yes, the monthly paycheck had taken care of the bills, and yes, he was churning out enough licensed music to support himself, but this? This was no way to live. 

Bedivere took note of the rough red stubble on the man’s gaunt face, patchy on each side and cut in various haphazard strokes. Deep, dark lines ran under the man’s eyes, ruining what once would have been a handsome face. Cracked lips laced with alcohol dripped spittle onto a graying old pillow supporting his head. 

The knight was just supposed to pick up the new backing track for Diarmuid’s promo and whatever he had finished for Arturia’s debut for Merlin and come back for dinner, but judging from the sheet music that was strewn about when he got here and the open session of Melodyne on Tristan’s PC, they’d probably have to give him a few days.

“Bedi...vere?” a familiar voice croaked as the leather couch screeched with the shift in weight. His name was spoken far too hoarsely, perhaps brought about by the alcohol. Or maybe the cigarettes. 

“Oh! For fuck’s sake!” the redhead groaned as the hangover caught up with him, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose as if the motion would stop the headache. Bedivere passed the guy an Advil and a glass of water. 

“You didn’t take them again, did you, Sir Tristan?”

“Just Tristan .”

He was talking about the pill bottles on the counter. All were still sealed, forgotten in their paper bag with a doctor’s prescription. Tristan looked at him as he swallowed the little Advil and gave him an indignant groan. 

“Can’t drink if I take’m.”

“Then forget the drinks--” Bedivere reasoned.

“Can’t forget if I don’t drink,” he interrupted, finally getting the strength to walk to the refrigerator and sift through its contents. The scarred man eventually settled on a coke and poured himself a cup only to down it and pour himself a second. The blonde refused the offer for a glass, causing Tristan to curse and down the one he was pouring once again.

Bedivere watched the mess of a man amble his way to the takeout and slouch back in front of the television to have his lunch, even with initial complaints of it being tonkatsu. God , he was so thin his clothes were beginning to slip off his bony shoulders. Honestly, the knight doubted Tristan could still lift his sword with the amount of muscle mass he’d lost over the three years he’d been here.

Ah, yes. It had already been three years since Tristan materialized. And for three years...he’s been like this, living like a shell of a man. Waking up to dark nights and shutting himself inside when the sun was up. Merlin put Tristan’s talents to work, selling all the compositions he could squeeze out of the man to ad agencies and other companies, but other than that, the former knight was scarce. 

Kay was cold to the redhead, as cold as one would be to the man who ignited the doubts that plagued the Round Table with his desertion. The others, too, those who had stuck til the bitter end, kept their distance. Save for Bedivere and Merlin, Tristan barely ever had company. The man liked to claim he preferred it that way. Obviously, that was a lie, crafted to delude himself from the truth that the others avoided him like the plague. 

Bedivere honestly couldn’t blame them, but...Arthu-Arturia wouldn’t want them to treat him like this would she? If he knew her, and he did, she’d at least try to repair their relationship. Somehow. Maybe. 

“What is it this time, you damn plonker?”

Bedivere opened his mouth, then closed it. Perhaps it might be better to not push the man further, after what happened the last time he was here, when he’d delivered news of Arturia’s return. Tristan already knew apparently, and it sent him in such a downward spiral that he’d thrown him out within the same hour. 

“Merlin told me to pick up the arrangement for the promo. He said something about it being a bit solemn this time?”

Tristan looked at him through slitted eyes as he took a long drag from his smoke. The thought crossed Bedivere’s mind that maybe he wouldn’t be as cooperative, but the redhead eventually moved to his computer, plugged in a rather expensive-looking sound system and hit the spacebar. The sound of Tristan’s signature harp filled the room, a beautiful, yet haunting melody resounding throughout the small apartment. To Bedivere’s surprise, Tristan himself tossed away his cigarette and picked an instrument from its box, a stringed one made of spruce and willow. He pressed his jaw to the rest and lifted the horsehair bow, and with a stroke of his arm, a crisp, mellow set of notes erupted from the violin’s sound box.

As the music played, the scent of grass filled the air, and all too suddenly it felt like sunlight was caressing his skin. Blonde hair filled his vision, thick golden strands gleaming in the light as they were tossed in the wind. Emerald eyes stared deeply into his, solemn and lonely, but all the more alluring. He yearned to brush her hair away all the more as she smiled up at him. It was a smile he knew that was solely for himself, and gods how he desired to bring her genuine joy, by whatever means. But just as he reached out, the woman slipped through his fingers and sat on the throne, expression steeled, not a thing out of place. 

Tristan himself had closed his eyes. He’d played this back so many times the notes were no longer a stranger to him. Pure muscle memory moved his fingers across the black fingerboard, executing every shift and vibrato like he’d been playing the violin his whole life. 

This way...this way he could truly see her. 

The same vision flooded his mind, of a head of hay, held high at all times. Of eyes that were far more colorful than the plains, far more depressing than the sea that brought him black sails. He felt he’d gazed into those orbs a thousand times and never knew the person behind them much as he tried. But honestly, he’d rendered the judgement too early, he knew now. She was never cold, nay, Arthur only appeared so. He was too blind to notice she had the most love for her people than anyone. She had more love for her country than most kings ever did.

But it was far too late now. 

The last note came too soon. The music faded to quiet around the two, and sighing, Bedivere looked up to Tristan. The violin was quietly slipped back into its case and put away, as if it hadn’t just made such enchanting intonations just moments before.

“That was...her. Wasn’t it, Tristan?”

The redhead found himself nodding as he plucked the flash drive from his PC and tossed it to the single-armed man by the counter. A pained expression crossed his face, and he swept up another bottle of beer before the platinum blonde could stop him and took a long swig. 

“The other guy’s is there too. Out with you now, blondie,” Tristan uttered, slamming the door of his bedroom behind him. 

A frown settled on Bedivere’s lips, but he found himself unable to say more, the melody of her song still playing in his head. He looked down to the tiny device in his fingers. At the very least, Merlin would get what he wanted right? 

Still…

The knight’s lips were in a thin line as his eyes landed on the untouched bag of prescription medicine. But, Bedivere left. He would come by tomorrow to check on him, and maybe the day after that, but there was nothing more that he could do today. As Bedivere exited, he pretended he didn’t hear the soft whimpers echoing through the hall as he closed the front door. 

Merlin watched quietly as his two models conversed, one apologetic, the other soothing her worries. Arturia was heading over to Lancelot’s, as his clairvoyance told him. He had no opinion on that matter, really, she was free to do what she liked, but Diarmuid here seemed just a little in lower spirits.

He gave the standard goodbye to his princess, and just like that he was left alone with the Irishman. Diarmuid had a hand rubbing his nape, a gesture Merlin registered as...disappointment? Well of course, it was. If Merlin was deprived of a chance to spend the rest of the day with Arturia, he would probably feel the same way, especially if she was trading him off for another. 

“Do you not have somewhere to be?” the mage asked as he carefully cleaned his lens with a special brush and cleaner. Soon, he wouldn’t have to do it himself, when the former Servants were more comfortable. This took too much time. He’d really much rather be doing Kiritsugu’s task, but Bedivere’s being here instead of in Europe left that part of the world open. He was sure his clairvoyance could cover for the knight but it was always better to have someone on ground in case the situation ever ended in violence. Oh, he hadn’t told Arturia yet, had he? Damn.

“Not particularly,” Diarmuid answered, slipping out of the button-up he had been wearing. The shirt snagged on the dog tags he was wearing so he ended up looking quite silly. Merlin was more than tempted to snap a picture but he didn’t. The mage told him to keep the accessories. They looked quite fitting for him.

Diarmuid had planned to ask Arturia if she wanted dinner at Ahnenerbe now that she felt better. He knew the manager would appreciate seeing a new face. Cú would probably challenge her to a spar too, so they could have a three-way fight if she wanted. But she wanted...well, she wanted to spend the rest of the night with Lancelot. And that was fine, really. Absolutely. There was nothing wrong with that.

“Maybe you should consider finding a hobby, First Knight of Fianna,” the old wizard advised as he ejected the SD card. The night was young, plenty of time for a young’un to be up and about. What did the kids do these days? Karaoke?

“Arturia isn’t always going to be as free,” he told him with a knowing look and a wink, and right then evaporated into thin air, leaving a swirling wisp of smoke where he was. 

Diarmuid looked down at his hands, at the crescent shaped indents left there when the wizard brought up his old title. Maybe it was best he wasn’t spending tonight with the King of Knights. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt such a strong urge to lash out. But every mention of Fionn, every reminder of what his previous master was, triggered something in him he had yet to understand. 

But perhaps now wouldn’t be a good time to dwell on those things, he thought, as the sky outside turned navy.

A hobby huh?

The short knocks rapped on Lancelot’s bedroom door followed by a quiet calling of his name. He could hear the door open just a crack, and he watched from the mirror who it could be.

“Mr. Lancelot?”

It was Sakura Matou, the generous young woman who’d welcomed him into her home nearly a month ago though he was to her, a complete stranger. It was odd, definitely, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything after she asked if he was a friend of Saber’s. She must have taken his silence as a yes, because she sat him down at her table that very night and presented him with a hearty meal that put the cooks in Camelot to shame.

The knight couldn’t remember much of the mansion from his time in the Fourth Holy Grail War, or even of Kariya Matou, who the girl had mentioned used to be her uncle. She didn’t elaborate much of the man’s fate, but by the lack of evidence Kariya was even here, Lancelot could take a guess.  

“Yes, milady?”

The woman waved her hand in the air and insisted he just call her by name. She looked at his outfit approvingly and handed him the simple black elastic she had been keeping around her wrist.

“Saber-san has just arrived for dinner. Would you like to greet her?”

The knight lost himself in his thoughts as he tied his hair into a simple ponytail. It wasn’t Lancelot that had invited the blonde woman. It wasn’t even Iskandar, though the Frenchman had a feeling that he had something to do with it. No, it was entirely Sakura Matou’s idea to invite her over, because she did mention they were friends. Medusa too, had wanted to invite the swordswoman over, explaining that rather than despairing over her early defeat, she was grateful for the battle they had.

In fact, if he had a say in the matter, he would much rather they didn’t speak for the time being. She reminded him too much of the past, and he’d already lived a lifetime of torment with an equally suffering Lady Guinevere in France. He couldn’t stop his feet from taking him to her in the airport a few nights ago, nor did he have the strength to leave her on her way home, but he at least thought that if he could avoid her he would.

He wasn’t ready to face how his heart hammered in his chest when she gave him a smile, how it skipped beats when she said his nickname. God , even just the thought of her face now made his chest painfully tight. Even if it shouldn’t.

Every step towards the front hall was excruciating. He could feel the all-too-familiar mana signature in the air, it was always particularly windy when she was around. Many a time, standing behind her small figure, he would close his eyes and feel the breeze carry the scent of her hair his way. She always smelled like lilies. She still did.

His lips lingered on the back of her hand. The shame settled in once he pulled away, but she didn’t seem to notice as she stepped close into his space and brushed his ponytail off his shoulder.

“It pleases me to not see you hiding behind your locks today, Lance,” she said, her voice warm and soothing, like a salve on a burn. But his countenance remained stoic, it was all he could do to avoid breaking right then and there. Somehow, her gentle smile was more disarming than ever, and that was a danger he could not afford to fall to. 

Dinner went smoothly enough, started off by Sakura looping her arms around the shorter woman like one would do to an old friend. To Lancelot’s surprise, Arturia returned it, then brought up the cake she had taken with her for dessert. Of course, Medusa and her Master were delighted. Watching the three of them quietly was like watching flowers bloom. It seemed to him that they had merely reignited bonds that had already formed ten years ago. 

As it was nearly every night, Sakura would insist very stubbornly to do the dishes. Rider would stay to help, and so that left Lancelot and his King to stroll through the Matou Estate with only the moon and each other as company.

“It’s surreal, isn’t it?” she asked him, leaning back to look at the full moon. The celestial body cast a dim white light over her fair figure. Bathed in moonlight with the white dress from the day’s photoshoot, Lancelot couldn’t help thinking she looked heavenly, like she was crafted in the sky and sent down just for him. Just to heal his soul. 

“What is, my liege?”

 Her eyes traveled up his black yukata til they met his own orbs, causing his breath to catch.

“This. You and I. Here,” she said, the words like a rhythmic staccato of breaths. He winced when she broke eye contact to look to the sky, not from the loss, but because he realized he wanted her gaze on him once more. 

Bastard.

He tore his gaze away from her as phantom hands began to crush his throat. He had to get out. He couldn’t do this. Not after all he’s done. The strain eventually reached his chest, he couldn’t help himself but breathe deeper. Every minute he could feel her heat he felt his soul cry, damned to the fires of hell. This was getting out of control, he couldn’t do this to her, to Kay?! How many times would he have betrayed her trust by now? Thrice?!

“I- I must apologize. I didn’t mean anything by that, Lance--Sir Lancelot. Do forgive me,” she pleaded, noticing the anguish in his brow. Somehow the gentle hands that cupped his fists seemed to hurt more than comfort. Half of him begged him to pull away, the other half urged him to lean closer, to snake his fingers into her hair and embrace the one he was sure he loved more than anyone.

His indecision led to Arturia’s small hands leaving his. He hesitated to catch them, fearing he would never let her go if he did. And he had to let her go. She was better off with someone else, someone who would never leave her side. 

“I just...It brought me joy to see you again,” she started, with such a sorrowful expression overtaking her face. She shouldn’t have expected this meeting to fare any better than last time. He really wasn’t ready to forgive her, was he? Maybe he’d never be. After all, she was the reason he’d gone mad. If perhaps she was a better king...if perhaps she was never the king... 

Lancelot looked back at her silently as she reached into the fountain behind her, the ripples from her fingers breaking the moon’s reflection on the water. The knight had never seen her like this, emotions laid bare so obviously for him to see.

He’d only seen her sad once, when--

Why, my friend?

Red. Red filled his vision as his senses cried from the heat and the smoke burned in his lungs. The air tasted like gasoline, the little artificial raindrops did nothing to wash away the horror. 

You were once First among the Knights of the Round Table. So why?

Lancelot paled as the memory returned to him, the sheer terror in her eyes, the blood, sweat, tears that flowed down her cheeks as she begged him for answers he could simply not give. 

What made you into Berserker? Lancelot?

Her shoulders slumped, the usual confident aura around her wavered and dissipated, as if seeing him in such a state shook her to her very core. How could the world be so cruel? Why reunite them at all if it was to cause her more pain? 

My ideals...My kingship...Did they reduce you to this?

“If...if you think it best we part ways, my knight, I will respect your decision,” Arturia declared, drawing circles in the disturbed water. She didn’t meet his eyes, Lancelot knew she meant it. Arthur never went back on his word even once if it was possible. Arturia wouldn’t either. 

It was for the best, wasn’t it? Surely, if they tried to repair their bond it would only lead to ruin, just like how his affair set the stage for Camelot’s downfall, for Arturia’s downfall. She didn’t deserve another heartbreak, not when finally, she was surrounded by people who loved her. Not when she finally had a shot at living for herself.

So when he looped his fingers around hers in the water, he couldn’t understand why.

…

Chapter Text

“I...” Iskandar started, savoring the strong bouquet of the generous helping of wine he was given. It was again, some of the finest drink he’d ever had, but perhaps he should continue to expect that from the selection of the King of Heroes. This wine wasn’t of the blonde’s treasury, strangely, but a cabernet he had sourced from the far west.

“I will never understand your obsession with that little girl,” he said, and took a small sip of the alcohol to swirl in his mouth and appreciate. 

The King of Heroes cracked a smug smirk over his own glass of wine and reclined on his leather Poltrona Frau Kennedee. Like a true king, he took his time to enjoy his drink before gracing the big fellow with an answer. After all, Iskandar was a guest here, he would abide by the rules.

“Then perhaps it would do you well to not struggle, King of Conquerors,” he responded leisurely, kicking up his legs to rest on a soft cushion. “Merely accept that I do desire her for myself and advise me as I have requested.”

Iskandar was silent for a moment, and although the burly man was across the room and by the window, the space was large enough for the echoes of his sighs to reach the host’s ears. He was debating within himself whether or not giving out love advice was the best idea. On the one hand, Iskandar would have preferred changing Arturia’s mindset on kingship before he could get the little girl started on courtship. On the other, there was the bet with Cú Chulainn, and Iskandar had somehow believed putting his money on the King of Heroes was the way to go. 

“Do you not feel honored that I trust you to be my counsel? Few have ever been granted the privilege,” Gilgamesh prodded, bribing the King of Macedon with a rather generous refill.

Iskandar wisely chose not to cackle as he delivered his next line. “Yes, well, it isn’t every day the wise king Gilgamesh seeks advice on courtship of all things.”

The room quivered just a little as the sinewy ginger took a seat across the first king. “From the beginning then, recount your actions, King of Heroes.”

Normally, the demigod didn’t care for mongrels who dared take that kind of imperative tone with him, but Alexander was a rare exception. Plus, the man did accept the gracious invitation into his home, unlike another certain blonde monarch who had yet to come to visit. So, Gilgamesh reported all their interactions, from the battle after Iskandar’s defeat, his resurrection and corruption by the Grail Mud, her summoning, to their final battle in the Fifth War. He then told him of their meeting in the Throne of Heroes, their new names, and every day he’d had the chance to see her since her Master put them back in the world. 

Iskandar was almost jealous, really, considering he was the only one of the kings who truly wished to be reborn and yet Gilgamesh was given a body post-war and the King of Knights was summoned twice in succession. What luck. To think the result of both wars was decided by the same two Servants also put a little dent in his pride, since one of those Servants was the dreaming little girl he no longer truly recognized as an equal. And she killed Gilgamesh too, he reminded himself. 

At the same time, knowing that the Grail wasn’t an omnipotent wish-granting device as he and Waver had guessed, made him feel...relieved. He wouldn’t have had his wish granted even if his last Ionioi Hetairoi had survived Gilgamesh’s Ea. 

Back to what he was here for. In all honesty, Iskandar wasn’t too well versed in courtship, considering most of his plethora of lovers were women and men alike who’d come to him and not the other way around. Nevertheless, he would try his best, especially when the one he was giving advice to had a... unique style of courtship. Even with Iskandar’s inexperience he at least knew that was the wrong way to go about things, especially when the woman he was after was such a proud heroic spirit, her ideals aside. On what universe was it acceptable to strike a lady you fancy with swords and spears instead of gifting her flowers and gold? 

Well, Medusa might be into knife play, but that was beside the point. 

“You mentioned you were reborn in Grail Mud?”

Gilgamesh nodded and twirled his wine glass. “Rebirth...a scant term for describing that existence,” he explained, remembering his struggles with maintaining that body, both in terms of collecting mana and preserving his mental state. 

Gilgamesh wasn’t an evil person. He was cruel when necessary, callous for he believed adopting such an attitude fit his role, especially since being two-thirds god, he was literally built superior. And since Kirei’s methods of sustaining him were convenient, since they gave use to mongrel orphans who had no further purpose, why would he refuse? 

Kings, as he and Iskandar have agreed, do not regret their decisions. However, that was only the case if that king was in his right mind. After that cursed black mud bath, Gilgamesh would begrudgingly admit he might not have been himself. Not entirely. Even if he had survived being faced with all the evils of the world, he might not have come out unscathed. What he allowed to happen in the basement of the Kotomine Church was necessary, but it wasn’t a method Arturia would have approved of. If she knew, perhaps she would never truly turn his way again.

“This Merlin, King Arthur’s father figure, what do you suppose he meant?” Iskandar asked, with a hand on his chin. Ah, yes, he had forgotten to mention that little detail, hadn’t he.

“A gift from my mother,” he said, and directed the other king’s attention to his snake-like irises. They flashed with red luminescence that was entirely not human, reminding Iskandar how much ‘god’ Gilgamesh really was. “They can see all the way to humanity’s end, should that sight be one I wish to behold. The half-blooded mongrel has similar abilities, though all that is clear to him is the present. Apparently, even that is not to be underestimated.”

Iskandar took a long sip of wine. Clairvoyance...that was certainly a formidable quality to have, on top of the strength Gilgamesh possessed already. This Merlin seemed like a worthy man to recruit, if only he could get the King of Knights on board. 

“And so you’ve seen a future, then? One where that girl falls into your arms?” Iskandar asked, his curiosity piqued.

Gilgamesh only shrugged. He knew it was a possibility, and that fact was reason enough to believe it would come true. After all, clearly he was the superior-- nay, the only viable candidate for her heart. He had decided she was his, and so it will be. 

Iskandar took one look at the King’s face and sighed. He believed he now knew what Arturia’s court wizard had meant. 

“Very well, then I believe I have come up with a suggestion.”

The King of Heroes smirked, pleased. He set down his wine glass for the first time that day and leaned forward to listen. Iskandar mirrored him, trying to figure out how best to bring up the topic without insulting the king, not that he couldn’t take it.

“Well, come now, no more dilly-dallying,” Gilgamesh encouraged. “I only have so much patience.”

The King of Conquerors sighed. 

“Knock.”

The look Gilgamesh gave him was priceless. It seemed his little statement had rendered the first King utterly speechless, with one eyebrow raised and mouth slightly agape. A few seconds passed in silence, and Gilgamesh’s frozen expression prompted Iskandar to at least try to explain. 

“You have visited her several times, yes?” Iskandar queried, and continued as Gilgamesh gave him a slight nod. “When of those times have you actually been invited in?”

There was an almost imperceptible widening of eyes. Iskandar would have missed it, had he not been watching Gilgamesh closely. Ha, just as he guessed. Arturia hadn’t ever let him in willingly. But, the King of Heroes only scoffed and poured himself and his guest another glass. 

“You would have me march to her door and,” Gilgamesh looked like he was sorting through a couple of terms, “ ask to be let in? You think me a pet?” The last word was spoken with as much disgust as he could muster. How dare this mongrel even suggest such a thing? Clawing like a dog at the knob. Ridiculous. 

Right, Iskandar had forgotten that Gilgamesh possessed not a single shred of humility, the pompous ass. Come on, even he groveled at Medusa’s windowsill every now and then. The woman was a bloody sex goddess. If Gilgamesh never learned to take a bruise to the ego every now again, he feared the king would never advance with the little girl. Especially not when nearly every day that passed, it seemed Arturia drew that much closer to their fellow competitor in the Fourth War, if Cú was to be believed. 

“You asked for my advice, Goldie. Take it or leave it, it is what it is.”

The oldest king looked over to the side, the memory of Arturia’s eyes the day he came to her dressing room overtaking his mind. He wanted her, he wanted those eyes to look only at him, but somehow the dauntless hatred in her orbs that day had taken him off guard, when so many times before he’d relished in that heated gaze.

The nights that passed since then, he contemplated what about them bothered him so much. She wasn’t supposed to vex him by any means. She was only to be his wife after all, devoted to him at night, at his side during the day. She was his to proudly put on display, with that exotic beauty of hers he’d never before seen on any of his conquests. Her qualities made Arturia the only one ever fit to be his queen. She was a marvel so great mongrels who dared lay eyes on her could only seeth quietly in jealousy, knowing they could never have a woman better than she. 

But her reaction the night when he’d so generously cared for her wounds…it was disconcerting. He had half a mind to punish her for striking him like she did, but all thought of doing so disappeared once he’d seen her expression. 

He’d seen despair on Arturia once, when her Master ordered her to destroy the Grail. He’d seen rage the night of their final battle in Ryuudou Temple. But the fear and anguish on her distressed countenance that was enough to disarm him. The tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, the way she shuddered as she held herself...it was the kind of quiet horror that Gilgamesh only associated with trauma. That was never an expression that belonged on Arturia’s face. 

Ever since then, she’d been avoiding him, he could tell. When he’d grown tired of it, he visited her in her dressing room, and all he received was cold fury from those emerald eyes of hers. Even after it all, he was of the opinion he didn’t deserve to be scorned like so. 

“But,” Iskandar added, momentarily pulling the King of Heroes from his thoughts, “it may be wise to leave her be for now, to not aggravate her ire, goldie.”

The king crossed his eyebrows. Leave her be? It almost seemed out of the question. Then again, Gilgamesh was getting nowhere with her these days so perhaps it was worth a try.

“I’ll consider it.”

Satisfied, the burly men clapped his hands to his knees and stood up, making for Gilgamesh’s balcony. He supposed that piece of advice was more than enough, and he had some other very exciting matters to attend to.

“Leaving so soon? And here I was feeling generous enough to reward you,” Gilgamesh said, beckoning the butler in the corner forward. “What’s your pleasure? Women, men, both? It would be no trouble to send for a few.”

Iskandar shook his head, which made Gilgamesh’s eyes go up in disbelief.

“The wine will suffice for today. As I’ve told you, the Servants that dismantled the First Seal are convening. Assassin has invited me to join,” Iskandar said, already raising his sword to the heavens to summon his chariot. 

Gilgamesh’s laugh echoed through the hall as the familiar thunderclap heralded the summoning of the Gordius Wheel just beyond the balcony. 

“It seems that long-haired wench has been keeping even you satiated then?” Gilgamesh phrased, dismissing the butler with a flick of his wrist. Interesting, very interesting.

“Her and Heracles,” Iskandar confirmed, winking at the blonde king. After another bout of amused chuckles, Gilgamesh sent the beastly general off with a wave. A crack of a whip and Iskandar was on his way, flying above the clouds to keep hidden from the humans of this age. 

The king, now alone, savored the last sip of wine in his cup. It was a flavor he would like to share with his queen one day, he thought. A puff of breath escaped his lips as he now realized he would have to find some other form of amusement to relieve his boredom, now that he wasn’t dropping into Arturia’s apartment later that night. What a bother.

Sunlight cast a warm, afternoon glow on the Emiya Mansion, making the ancient house feel all the more historic to those walking by. One average joe would merely appreciate the oriental house for its beauty and leave, but to those aware of the magicks and those fascinated with world history, what was going on inside would be far more valuable.

After all, it was a gathering with a rather stellar guest list. Who would have ever thought to dine with the former members of the Argo, or one(many?) of the legendary holders worthy to be called the Old Man of the Mountain? They may have been missing the japanese legend, Sasaki, but they were graced by the presence of Alexander the Great, which had more than made up for it.

However, for one King of Knights, it was precisely this stellar guest list that kept her on edge. Iskandar’s piercing eyes for one, she suspected would be quite critical of how their little excursion went. She was not looking forward to explaining the general lack of Assassins or the scar that peeked out of her sleeveless top.

Arturia tilted her head in shame as she described how the mission went to Shirou and Rin, who’d offered to host, and to Rider, who’d come with Assassin to hear about the Seals. She omitted no details, and told them about the ambush, the poison, the high amount of losses Hassan-i-Sabbah suffered. She tells them about the wounds she sustained, about the loss of the ability to summon her normal armor, the barrier that trapped them within a hemisphere spanning a few miles. 

“There were enough Servant-level adversaries within the boundary to be called an army. They were all distinct, most of them seemed to be under the influence of some spell. Even fewer were the ones who could speak,” she finished, looking up at her former master, who had been holding his chin in contemplation. The mere memory of their enemies’ whited out eyes was jarring, to say the least. She was similarly horrified when faced with Lancelot’s madness in the Fourth War. 

“This seal, King of Knights, can you please elaborate?” Iskandar asked, in a similar pose. It was...disturbing to say the least, knowing that what Saber’s former master had crudely described as a defense mechanism was in fact a horde of Servants. If they had at least known, perhaps they wouldn’t have suffered so many losses from being caught unaware.

“It was several meters in diameter, fashioned in the style of an elaborate magic circle. It had to be destroyed in one fell swoop, so the little archon here ended up using her Noble Phantasm. The strikes from my sword were barely effective,” answered Heracles. 

“If we are to strategize on what best action to take on the next summoning,” he continued, “in order to destroy the seal, it is imperative to have someone with a large enough attack on the team, lest we risk trapping ourselves within the barrier.” 

The Servants all nodded. The barrier was another problem. It was seemingly impenetrable, trapping them all inside like it was a cage match. From it’s behavior, one could infer it was powered by the Seal, since it disappeared once the magic circle was destroyed. 

Medea huffed, calling the attention of the others to herself. She was just a little bit satisfied that the two former Masters in the room flinched, but she wasn’t here to terrorize them today, after all. 

“That would be the case, if the selection was up to us,” She explained, remembering their rather colorful mess of a lineup. “Who’s to say what kind of criteria Saber’s former Master had in choosing?” 

The Servants all nodded. They were perhaps the most incompatible group Kiritsugu could have sent, combining hostile personalities such as Medea and Heracles, and straight-forward combatants like Saber and Sasaki with Servants that relied on the shadows like Hassan-i-Sabbah. If Kiritsugu were being rational he would have used Assassin and Caster while forgoing Heracles and Arturia altogether. Furthermore, with the exception of the King of Knights, their Noble Phantasms would have been more effective against single opponents rather than the waves of people they had to thin in order to reach the Seal.  

“Nonetheless, I believe it is safe to say we were taken by surprise this time. Now that we know to be ready for Servant-level attacks as soon as we are within the barrier, we can be ready to defend ourselves,” Zhavia commented. Hassan-i-Sabbah had suffered the most losses during this ordeal, one of them being the alter best suited for strategy. It would have been him here today if he still existed, but as the protector, Zhavia had to take his place. 

She took a glance at their little, who was now sleeping on Iskandar’s lap as she and Zayd joined the other Servants at the table. This one was almost never out, but she was oddly grateful to her child alter for taking the time to be outside. She had inspired hope in Zhavia that things were going to sort themselves out soon.

One thing nagged at the back of Zhavia’s mind no matter how hard she tried to quiet it. Medea mentioned criteria during the selection, and she was so sure that she knew the answer. It was just that the fact that Arturia was chosen as well didn’t add up. She’d have to wait for the next selection to be sure. 

“I’m beginning to think attrition might not even have been the best strategy, though it was what we fell to due to our lack of planning,” Arturia mentioned, recalling how they had spent hours, nay, days on the battlefield taking down those that stood in their way.

“Ho? I’m intrigued to know why, little king,” Iskandar said, patting the head of the sleeping child.

“Destroying the seal was our only objective,” she explained. “That raises the question--What would have happened had we disregarded those who challenged us in favor of a swift conclusion?” 

It did seem to the Servants that their foes were under some influence, and it was highly possible that was the seal’s doing. The Servatns had responded to their instincts and fought back when challenged to survive, but if they had worked together to destroy the offensive magic stigma on the first night, it might have churned out a different, lossless result. Arturia couldn’t help but stare at the innocent sleeping child on the King of Conquerors’ lap. She didn’t want her to lose any more Hassans, if it was possible.

The Servants filtered out of the mansion quickly after some more discussion, but it was clear to everyone present that Kiritsugu had hidden a lot more about their mission than they’d realized. HIs omission was costly, and even if some of the others didn’t show it, it was obvious to the King of Knights that they were beginning to regret their deal with the magus-killer. When she saw him next, they were going to have words.

But that was a matter to be dealt with later on. With the meeting finished, she’d taken it upon herself to collect the few things she’d left at Shirou’s house. It dampened her spirits, as the action held with it a sense of finality, like she was leaving his life in some way. But she was living with Kay now. It made no sense to leave these things here. 

She carefully folded the simple blue and white outfit Rin gave her back then. It still fit perfectly, just like it did ten years ago. There were a few ribbons (one of which was a new gift from the magus in her signature crimson red), and a pair of fancy chopsticks, before her hands landed on the silver circlet she had in the Throne of Heroes. She was wearing it when she materialized in the temple, so she supposed it was brought into existence together with her. The last item was of course, the black rose from Gilles de Rais’. She quickly put it in the paper bag and made to leave.

“You forgot this.”

His warm voice echoed through the room, deeper than she remembered, but still as wonderful. She could barely keep the heat from her face.

“Shirou.” 

The man passed her a small lion plush, the same one from their date, she remembered. She couldn’t believe he kept that all these years, it was merely something she’d found cute, he didn’t have to buy it. Yet, as she looked at it, she found herself fond of her master all the more. 

“It’s a bit far, but can I walk you home? I have something to tell you.” 

Saber felt her heart rate increase at the idea. Perhaps she was wrong to suspect they were growing distant. 

This is it, Shirou. You’re going to tell her what you feel. It’s been ten years, you knew this could happen ever since Merlin showed up. You have to tell her. Saber deserves this.

They were nearing the Fuyuki Bridge now, just by the bank of the Mion River. If he said he wasn’t hit by a slap of nostalgia he’d be lying. Everything was the same, the orange sunset, the gulls flying in the breeze, even that shipwreck Saber mentioned was her fault was still there in the distance. A bit more deteriorated, but still there. A few more moments of walking and they’d be right in the middle of the bridge, where they’d had that little clash of philosophies. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, Shirou,” Saber said, her hands clasped in front of her, blushing like a maiden given flowers. 

“Neither did I.”

It took Shirou an entire year before he could get Saber out of his head. It was a grueling process, having to wake up every day and tell himself she wasn’t with them anymore. Even if she had just been around for a few days, he couldn’t help the impact Saber made on his life. The first few months were a series of distractions, resuming training kendo with Fuji-nee, taking up magecraft with Tohsaka, spending time out of the house with Sakura and Illya.

It was during this time that Illya admitted to him the truth. She was his older sister, the biological daughter of Kiritsugu Emiya and Irisviel von Einzbern. A half-homunculus, half-human being that Kiritsugu abandoned as he adopted him into his life. He cried with her that day, calling himself a fool for never realizing the true meaning behind her calling him his brother. He couldn’t believe his old man had hidden such a secret away for as long as he did, cursed him even, for leaving Illya like that. 

So, Shirou did what he could for his new family. He renovated one of the rooms for Illya, had Sakura and Rin move in. It was mutually beneficial. They were the only people in the world who could understand the trauma of participating in the Grail War. At least, they believed they were the only ones. 

He told himself he could live his dream if he kept on going, but every inch of his body told him it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to be up at five, mechanically grinding through weighted sets. It wasn’t enough to read through every single book in the Tohsaka library, struggling to improve his magecraft. His volunteer work at the fire department wasn’t enough. Helping rehabilitate the orphans at the Kotomine Church wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t be a hero if he stayed like that.

So, when Rin mentioned she’d been invited to the Clock Tower in Europe upon graduation, he’d dropped everything and left, believing he had to polish his magecraft if he ever wanted to be a true hero of justice. He devoted himself to his studies, practiced day and night til he could project Archer’s swords with a thought, and snuck into classes by the great Lord El-Melloi II to improve his skills. The mage, he would later learn, was in fact, a survivor of the Fourth Holy Grail War, which was more than enough a reason for them to develop a bond.

Before he knew it, he was making a real impact, tagging along with the professor as he helped members of the Mage Association.  It was on one of those excursions that he and Rin found Merlin, the first of many Servants that began popping up, one after the other, in all areas of the world. Merlin came bearing a mission, and soon Rin, El-Melloi II and Shirou had found themselves living for a much greater purpose.

That purpose forced the two young mages together more often than he realized. There were days they’d slump back to the dorms, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. There were nights they’d collapse into the same bed, far too exhausted to bother with embarrassment. Eventually, he’d gotten so used to sharing the bed that when she crawled into the covers next to him one night, his first instinct was to pull her closer to share his warmth. 

The kiss happened not long after, when a run-in with a violent servant left him bleeding from head to toe. She was scolding him for protecting her, crying as she patched up his wounds. He could remember that night like it was yesterday. The delicate salt of her tears, the strawberry lip gloss he’d finally gotten to taste, the warmth of her breath traveling his skin, all were details he could never forget. 

It was then that he realized how much of her life Tohsaka had given him, from becoming his greatest ally in the Grail War, to taking him with her to the Clock Tower so he could realize his dream. He gained more than he gave her. Half of him told him it wasn’t right, that he should be the one doing things for her. It was the least he could do after Kiritsugu pulled him out of the flames. But the other half? His other half told him that he loved her.

It was an accident when he toppled her jewelry box from her dresser, dozens of accessories spilling out of the impossibly small container. She scolded him again as she picked up the numerous priceless pieces she inherited, and then he saw it. Without missing a beat, he pulled it out of his pocket, the same triangular ruby pendant his saviour had left.

The weight of the realization that Shirou was Archer hit them like a truck, but to the former, heavier still was the fact that Tohsaka saved him. She didn’t just forgo her chances to win the Grail for his benefit, he owed her his life, literally. All the life-changing things he had gone through, with Saber, with Illya, they were all the result of her bringing him back from the dead. Tohsaka had been there for him from the start, and even now he continued to be in her care.

He didn’t stop at kisses that night. Their clothes hit the floor softly, her blouse first and then his shirt. Save for the pops when he left marks on her collarbone and her soft moans of pleasure, the night was quiet. Intimate. When his amber orbs met her sapphires, it was like the world seemed to disappear. Suddenly there was no magecraft, no Grail War, nothing. Just a man and a woman, with hearts so close they beat in sync. 

It had been a few years since then. They were married and they had a kid, a little wonder the both of them loved to bits. Shirou had a family now, and he was older, much much older. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror and observed the streaks of white hair that were beginning to overtake his natural ginger locks, he looked more and more like Archer. He was around the same height now, towering over Rin like the man once did. 

After everything he had been through, honestly, loving Saber seemed like a faraway dream. 

“Will you be available tomorrow? I haven’t been around town and I was hoping you could take me,” she said, obvious mirth filling her once eternally serious eyes. 

The magus’ heart dropped about a mile, knowing full well he was about to break her heart. He was never good at this. He thanked the gods Sakura was so understanding that she moved out on her own, but he never loved Sakura. Saber may have well been the first woman he’d ever had feelings for. Words collected on his lips to deliver his rejection, but--

“Maybe next time,”

God Shirou, just say no. It’s just one syllable.

Her curved lips twitched, but she maintained that same serene smile he must have loved a decade ago. If he were the same person he was, Shirou would have kissed her like he should have back then. Here, basking in the sunset, looking over the river as they leaned on the bridge railing, the passersby must have thought they were a loving couple. 

Maybe they would have been if she stayed, if they had just a little more time together. Maybe, in another time, in another place, another Shirou was taking another Saber through the motions of their happily ever after. Maybe they lived under the same roof, maybe they had kids. 

But that wasn’t him. 

“Are you perhaps avoiding me?” she asked, her emerald eyes straying from his figure to look in the distance. Her voice wavered even if she tried to keep it steady, and Shirou knew that voice far too well. 

“No!” he interjected, the sudden spike in volume causing her to jump. “No, I’ve just...I have a lot on my plate,” he explained carefully, concealing the fact he was supposed to take his daughter out into the city the next day. Damn, should he move that too? Or should they go to the next city over? It would be painfully awkward to run into Saber. 

Abrupt ringing cut into the prolonged silence. 

“Listen Saber, we’ll spend time together to catch up if that’s what you want. Just not tomorrow, alright?” he soothed, scrambling as he shoved his hands into every pocket he had looking for his phone. There was a string of texts from Rin telling him to hurry home and pick up a few ingredients for dinner and a bar of chocolate for Hoseki. He tried not to smile as Rin signed off her text with an I love you , but that happy thought disappeared into oblivion when he remembered who he was with right now. 

“You really do have a lot on your plate,” Saber said as she saw his expression fall, misinterpreting the text for being something related to work. Shirou felt a pang in his chest as she put on another smile, one so painfully fake it took all his self restraint not to correct her. 

What happened next was so unexpected he couldn’t wrap his head around it til it was over.

“I’ll see you soon then. Don’t worry, I can go on my own from here.” That was her last sentence before she turned around and traveled the other half of the bridge, leaving Shirou speechlessly waving a goodbye. 

He let his arm drop to his side and staggered backwards. Confused fingers brushed over his cheek as he cursed his inaction, the feel of her soft lips burning through his dermis like hot coals on butter.

Shit.

Shirou slinked away from the bridge, thinking through a million different ways to tell Rin he’d failed. Maybe even aggravated the situation. It would only be more difficult to let Saber down from this point, and he knew it. He’d been putting this off for too long, they had to settle this soon. The sooner, the better.

Meanwhile, Servants from two different wars watched the Counter Guardian retreat back across the bridge, both of their mouths hanging open. The sound of Iskandar’s fork dropping brought Cú’s attention back to the Rider, who’d paused in his retelling of the meeting when he’d spotted the King of Knights. Ahnenerbe was silent as their eyes met, the weight of what they had just witnessed settling in like a blanket draped over their shoulders.

Shit. 

Chapter Text

The smell of tomatoes and onions wafted in the air as Arturia stepped into her brother’s apartment. It seems she was a bit early for dinner, but she couldn’t help but hurry home after that courageous little stunt she pulled. It was quite embarrassing, really, to have been so bold, but the burning yearn to steal one little peck on the cheek was difficult to ignore. She only hoped she wasn’t so red in the face that Kay’d tease her about it. Even now she found it hard to quell the quick beating of her heart. The organ throbbed against her ribcage like a drum, and she knew it wasn’t from all the running.

“Hey Arty,” he greeted, not even looking up from his soup as he greeted her. She responded as she came up next to him, eager to see what he was making. The fragrant scent of cooked rice was in the air too, she could only guess it was something Asian.

The CPA lawyer added slices of meat to the pot and then a pinch of salt, then covered the soup as he moved to cut the vegetables he had cleaned. There was okra, radish, eggplant, a root vegetable that resembled a sweet potato, and a bowl of something she registered as water spinach. 

“It’s something Maria taught me. I know I’m butchering the pronunciation but I believe it’s “see-knee-gang”, or something like that,” Kay explained, muttering a quiet bollocks as one of the okras rolled off the cutting board. “It’s a bit sour and strange. But trust me, it’s good.”

Arturia was quiet for a moment, but she reached for the knife, much to Kay’s surprise. 

“What?” she asked, challenging his gaping expression with a raised eyebrow.

Kay chose his words carefully, but he couldn’t resist a teasing smirk. “You were never really good at preparing food.”

Arturia scoffed and wrestled the kitchen tool out of his grip. He backed away with his hands in the air, a smart move. To his surprise, the way she gripped the handle was near perfect, and the evenly spaced clacks as the knife hit the board were indicative of similarly sized pieces. When had she learned that? 

“A...friend taught me,” she explained. She could see her brother shrug and return to an open laptop on the dining table, trusting her to finish. Before long, he was typing away on his computer, fully absorbed in one of his client’s accounts. She let herself relax as the nostalgia hit her, remembering the warmth of Shirou’s chest on her back as he guided her hands like a true expert would, and the feel of his warm breath on her cheek. A part of her told her that moments just like that would come sooner rather than later, now that they’ve been reunited.

Neat piles of nearly even vegetables sat in their own section of the cutting board. Arturia admitted to herself that she was a bit proud of her handiwork. Some of the cuts were still clumsy, but she was relieved she learned something from that rather...amorous exchange in the Emiya kitchen. Well, now that she had finished...

“By the way, Arty,” Kay said, looking up from his station as she brought him some evening tea. “Could you give this a look and see if it’s alright?”

Arturia gave him a curious look as he slid her a legal-sized folder.

DEED OF ABSOLUTE SALE  

KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS: This DEED OF ABSOLUTE SALE is made, executed and entered into by: Merritt Wiltemris, of legal age, single, British, and with residence and postal address at 5th Fuyui Building, Mahou no Machi Street, Shinto, Fuyuki City, hereinafter referred to as the SELLER

  -AND- 

ARIA DRAGON, of legal age, single, and with residence and postal address at 25A Masaki Tower, Mushi Street, Fuyuki City, hereinafter referred to as the BUYER . 

WITNESSETH;  

WHEREAS, the SELLER is the registered owner of Masaki Tower Penthouse Condominium Unit located at Mushi Street, Fuyuki City and covered by Transfer Certificate of Title No. 09104000 containing a total area of two hundred fifty four (254) SQUARE METERS, more or less, and more particularly described as follows…

Arturia’s eyes traveled down the documents, immediately recognizing her ‘name’ and hypothesizing this “Merritt” was probably the old wizard. There were several blanks above their names at the end of the document, and Kay’s alias, Caleb Ector, was written down as a witness. Attached were several more important files, such as both their birth certificates to serve as IDs, the title for the condominium, and multiple copies of an Acknowledgement for the notary. 

However, what was slightly alarming was the seven figure price tag attached to the exchange. She had just gotten her first salary and used it to pay off Rin for the first mission. There was no way she could possibly scrape up that kind of money overnight.

“Relax,” Kay said, smiling at his little sister. “This is mostly a formality. The wizard did say he was giving it to you, more or less. I’m only processing this for RTK’s books. Even if it’s under his name, it was always technically company property,” he explained, standing up from his chair to look at the documents over her shoulder. 

He pointed at her biodata. “I meant this. Do these seem right to you? Born in the UK, April 16, 1993. What does that make you, twenty-two? Bollocks, I’m a full ten years older than you according to this,” he rambled, a contemplative finger tapping his chin.

Arturia reviewed the document again, it seemed by some stroke of luck she, Shirou and Rin had gotten it right the first time, not that these documents did anything more than secure their place in society. It did, however, dampen her spirits to know that she was soon to move out of Kay’s condo when all this time she’d been enjoying his company.

The persistent beeping of a kitchen timer prompted the siblings to look up from their work. Kay ruffled her hair as he moved to the kitchen, laughing as she shrugged him off. He emptied nearly all the vegetables into the stew and covered the pot again, promising only a few more minutes left. He then picked dishes off of the rack by the sink and set the table, knowing with the way his sister was beginning to get a little antsy that she was excited to eat.

It was so...normal.

This was everything Kay wished for all those years ago, as he sat across Arturia on the Round Table, watching her once expressive eyes lose color with every day spent in her court. 

He found a sad smile creeping its way up his face as Arturia turned off the stove and brought the pot to the modest dining area. The residual steam wafting into her face made the young woman salivate. She always had a crazy appetite, no matter the time of day. 

His sister’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he lifted the pot’s lid, the fragrant smell of tamarind filling the room. She served him first, which was something of a remnant from when they were little. He was the older brother after all. Arty commented on how it was a little bit odd to eat soup with rice, but upon trying it, she looked like she had just been handed the answer to the life equation.

Kay laughed. Really laughed. The kind of laugh one would have when one was completely carefree, if every worry in the world just suddenly ceased to exist. The expression on her face was priceless. He’d remember it in the years to come. Ah yes, they had years to come. What a strange, but beautiful thought.

The knight looked to the head of the table in silence as his sister dug in, singing Kay praises for the delicious meal. He imagined the proud face of the one man he longed to be in the company of once again, and how he’d smile with tears in his wise, old, eyes. 

We’re home now, Dad.

We had some weird sour soup for dinner tonight. 

It was an absolute delight. I hope you’ve been eating well.

Yeah? Sounds interesting. I’d like to try it sometime. :)  

Come over for dinner this Thursday then. 

How’s Merlin been treating you? 

He can be quite enthusiastic at times.

I’ll be there?

Ha! That’s the understatement of the century!

Worry not, he’s been treating me fine

Diarmuid deleted the sad little I miss he had started to write in favor of another invitation to spar. He fed himself a spoon of what was supposed to be a curry into his mouth with his free hand and pressed send. It felt like ages since the last time he’d sparred with Arturia, and oh how he missed those two weeks at the Emiya’s. 

Of course, it wasn’t really just the spars that he missed. In truth, he knew he loved her company. The wind was cooler, the sun brighter, the world was alive with color. They had yet to have a match at the beach, but he figured it would be nice. They could pass by Ahnenerbe for refreshments and snacks. 

He felt his heart skip a beat as he read her reply. Tomorrow. He knew she meant dawn, as it was the regular for them. Oh well, they could get breakfast at Ahnenerbe afterward then. Cú would be ecstatic and so would the manager. He smiled, he couldn’t help himself. The fluttering butterflies in his stomach were too much-

CRASH!

The knight was on his feet immediately, spears in hand. Trained eyes swept his room, but found no sign of trespassers, nor any foreign presence. His eyes landed on the overturned bowl of curry he had been helping himself to and sighed. It seemed an awful waste...but then again it wasn’t all that good. He must’ve screwed up the recipe somehow. Was it the ginger?

Diarmuid put his weapons away and let his armor dissipate as he investigated the hall. One of the doors was ajar, light spilling out into the corridor. He was about to go back inside when he heard a soft groan. Fearing someone had injured himself, he cautiously came upon the open doorway.

Inside was a quaint apartment styled in a cozy western fashion. Most of the furniture looked lived in, as if the owners had been using them for a long time. The edges of the wooden tables were scuffed, products of hurt shins and injured knees, he could only guess. A muttered curse from the corner of the room caught Diarmuid’s attention.

It was a man. Old, he looked like he’d lived a century. He was standing over a toppled bookcase, leaning on a cane that reached up to his waist. Thankfully, he seemed unharmed. Diarmuid rapped his knuckles against the wooden door frame.

“Excuse me?”

The man looked up, just a little bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, young man, but would you lend me a hand?”

He smiled and made his way inside.

Diarmuid learned the man’s name was Glen. Glen Mackenzie. He was trying to push the bookcase a little further to the right when one of it’s legs gave out and the whole thing came crashing down. The old man hadn’t meant to leave the door open, but it was a stroke of luck that it alerted Diarmuid and brought him to the apartment. 

It took a little sweeping to get rid of a few shards of glass and a few minutes of thank you’s and you’re welcome’s, but Diarmuid eventually put the last book on a stack and neatly tucked it away into the corner. They couldn’t save the bookcase, it was no longer structurally sound, so the knight went ahead and brought it outside to dispose of it. 

“Why don’t you join me for dinner, mister…?”

“Diarmuid,” he answered instinctively, before realizing his mistake. Oh, well. It was far too late to say he was  ‘Drake’ now, wasn’t it?

“Irish? Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed. Good to meet you, mate. Hope you don’t mind a nice Aussie steak.”

Glen made it difficult to refuse, especially when he heard Diarmuid’s stomach rumble. The few bites of the curry abomination he had left him wanting more. The minute the knight sank his teeth into the meat, however, he was incredibly grateful he had relented. It was absolutely heaven sent, tender in all the right places. This might have been the best slab of meat he’d ever had. Paired with the mashed potatoes Glen brought out, it was beyond delectable.

Glen seemed to be pleased at his reaction, and quickly began getting to know his new neighbor. 

“Why were you trying to move something so heavy by yourself?” Diarmuid asked, when he was finished washing the dishes. He insisted, saying Glen had to rest after all the pushing he’d been doing. 

“I needed to move it to get the piano out,” the man explained, directing Diarmuid’s attention to the dusty instrument in the corner. 

Diarmuid ran his hands over the old piano. It was the first time he’d ever seen such a thing, an instrument about as high as his sternum. It was maple wood, he believed. It must have shone brightly once from the polish, he thought, as he swept away some dust bunnies. He lifted what looked like a lid, revealing eighty-eight keys in black and white, the width of each around the same as his long fingers. 

“You’re selling it?” Diarmuid asked, seeing the little post-it on the top with a price. 

Glen nodded. “My wife, Martha...she used to play such wonderful songs. Some were even tunes she just made up,” he said, a low chuckle leaving his lips as the sentence came to a close.

“Oh, I must apologize--”

“Oh, none of that lad! It’s been ten years now. She died a happy, fulfilled woman. I’m sure she’d be glad to see this baby see the light, appreciated by a different owner. I never learned how to play, see?” Glen stated, pressing down a few keys to the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” .

“No one’s played it for a while.” Even though the old man was smiling, he looked quite...sad. When he looked in his eyes it seemed he was lost in his memories. He must have really loved his wife. The deep laugh lines and crinkles in the man’s eyes were indicative a long life of happiness. 

“Still, to sell this? It seems an awful waste,” Diarmuid commented, marvelling at the still crisp sounds of the playful tune Glen had played. He couldn’t believe how much humanity had changed to bring something such as this into the world. In his time, it was mostly just one’s voice that carried song.

“My grandson still supports me, the kind boy. But he has his own family now. I think this might lighten the load,” Glen said, pointing to one picture frame with him, Martha, a tall, familiar-looking white man with hair that reached his waist, a lovely japanese woman in a striped shirt with brown eyes, a child who had the mother’s features, but his father’s dark, straight locks, and another with the opposite.

Diarmuid couldn’t help but crack a smile. Although the young father looked so serious, the pink in his cheeks and his hand on the little boy’s head told him the man was happy. So were Glen and Martha, both wearing the widest smiles he’d ever seen. 

“Tell you what,” Diarmuid started, the decision coming to him almost immediately. “I’ll take it off your hands.”

Glen’s eyes widened til they were dinner plates, and he quickly tried to formulate a refusal. “Young man, you’ve already done this much for me, I couldn’t ask--”

“It’s no bother. I’d love to have it,” Diarmuid said. There was still a lot of space in the apartment. If he dusted and polished it, the piano would definitely complement the furniture that came with the flat. 

“Do you even know how to play?” Glen asked, still trying to dissuade the irishman.

“I don-” Diarmuid suddenly stopped, shook his head as some previously non-existent puzzle pieces clicked into place. “I...do.”

As if his muscles were moving on his own, he put his right pinky over the E key and played the first nine notes of a song he hadn’t even heard til he’d played it.

“Für Elise,” Glen said, eyes sparking in recognition.

Diarmuid knew Glen was right, even the song was one he didn’t know. So this is what Kay meant by talents, back when the Round Table Knight had driven him home for the first time. Still, it was pretty shocking to discover he could play an instrument that hadn’t even existed during his time, let alone be gifted with the talent for it. The Grail was a strange thing. 

Sheepishly, the ninety-two year old geezer said, “Well, I suppose if you really want it.”

“I do,” Diarmuid stated. Part of him wanted to go ahead and text Merlin that he’d found a new hobby, but the guy was a clairvoyant, he probably knew already. 

“Then let me at least throw this in as a bonus,” Glen said, using his cane to drag out a box from under the piano stool. It was filled to the brim with pages upon pages of sheet music, all in various stages of use. Some were new, most of them from a composer named Yiruma, others yellowed and cracking at the edges. 

Though the guy was old, the stern look in his face dared Diarmuid to refuse. What a feisty man. The smile that split Diarmuid’s face was one of pure joy. He shook Glen’s outstretched hand.

“Deal.”

Medea rolled over in their bed, a small, soft sigh escaping her lips as she took in her precious Master’s sleeping face. Nearly all the time, Soichirou had the expressive qualities of a brick wall, but during the night, when they were both tucked under the covers, she would see his stiff countenance relax. The deep creases in his eyebrows would loosen, the permanent thin line that was his mouth would turn into a pale, kissable pair. 

It warmed her heart to know, that she was the only person alive who had ever seen him like this, vulnerable and trusting. Caster leaned to place a lasting kiss on his forehead, and then on his cheek. Though she tried to be gentle, she felt the man stir. Apologies were already on the tip of her tongue, but she was silent as he gave her a kiss of his own, pressing his chapped lips against her soft ones. 

He looped an arm around her back and pulled her closer til he could rest his chin on the top of her head. She blushed as all maidens do, burying her head into his toned chest as she felt him sigh contentedly. It was mere moments before his breathing once again evened out, as if all he needed for a restful sleep was to breathe in her scent.

Caster smiled to herself, the giddiness of the day still keeping her up. She knew Soichirou wasn’t ever one for romance. He was a man of logic, efficiency, those who didn’t know any better might have even called him a machine. And though there was truth to that, there was so much more about this man that was often overlooked. Like his past, his kindness. 

Caster touched her forehead to his chest, sharing in his warmth. It seemed despite what he said at dinner, he was indeed quite tired. He’d dealt with an extra class that day, after all. Yet, after all that, Soichirou still found the time and energy to take her to the old temple courtyard. He’d brought them dinner and candlelight, neatly put together in a picnic basket.

The place had been lit up with hundreds of paper lanterns, all in different shapes and sizes. In the center of it all, a large mat with pillows, perfect for stargazing. The night was quiet, save for the voices of the night creatures and the singing of the wind. By some miracle, even the noises from the city could not disturb the peace. 

They had talked, leaned on each other as they looked at the sky. Conversations about wishes, how they met, what would become of their future came up one after the other, hushed secrets that would only ever be spoken between them. 

She said it first, the three words spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. At first, it was silence, and she began to feel her heart fall. But when he shifted and pulled a tiny velvet box out of his pocket, the tears that spilled from her eyes were those of joy.

He apologized for taking so long. It had taken nearly the whole month to sort his bank accounts since he was no longer MIA. She shook her head as she clasped her hands to her mouth, telling him she didn’t wait long. 

The jewel itself was tiny, a small diamond embedded within a gold ring. It was smaller than the ones she had once been gifted, smaller than what her would-be suitors would have given to win her favor if she’d stayed in Colchis, but to Caster, it was everything . No one could have possibly handed her something of more value. 

She kissed him before he could even slip the ring on her finger, their first kiss as each other’s fiance. When she looked him in the eyes, she swore she could see forever, and family, and love. She saw love , and nothing else in the world mattered. 

Caster shed a lone, happy tear as she looped her hand around her lover, her fiance, and at last fell asleep knowing she had finally found her home.

Chapter Text

Gloomy wine-colored eyes flitted open, greeted by a dreary ceiling that must have been white once. But it had been a long time since then. Now, little cobwebs peeked out of its corners, more than a few spots of plywood were stained yellow and brown from water damage, and the flickering fluorescent lights looked like they too, were about to kick the bucket.

His gray sheets crumpled to the floor as the man slinked out of bed, avoided the too dark patch of carpet. A clumsy hand brushed bluish-black hair out of his face before he reached for his convenience store toothbrush. He would need a new one soon. 

As he squeezed the toothpaste, Cú met eyes with his reflection, taking note of the lines underneath his eyes and the too-dark color of the bags beneath them. 

Another nightmare. 

A frustrated huff of breath echoed in the humble bathroom as he realized he couldn’t keep this up. This had been the twelfth time he would be waking with a lack of sleep. Sure, Chikagi, one of the waitresses, had been helping him by lending him some concealer at work from time to time, but this couldn’t be healthy. Even he, who had once slain thousands upon thousands during long-running wars, was beginning to tire. 

If Diarmuid decided to come by to spar, he would be entirely overwhelmed. Well, maybe not, but he knew his friend would definitely notice the weakness behind his usual strikes. 

Warm, heavenly droplets peppered his skin as he stepped into the shower and turned the knobs. He dared not close his eyes, even as he washed his long hair, knowing the vision in his dream would come back to haunt him in the darkness behind his eyelids. 

He had to move out. For his sanity’s sake, he should do it soon. He had enough saved up for the average month’s rent, even if he didn’t get the same figures as the other Lancer, plus he didn’t have to worry about meals thanks to his job. All he needed was a place. One that was far away from here, and if possible, even further from that cursed church.

Reaching for the soap, he wondered briefly if that was enough to keep the damned dreams away. He couldn’t continue seeing Bazett like that, broken, bloody...no. He willed himself to tuck the memory into the back of his mind and think of happier times. He was glad for his new friends, Iskandar, Diarmuid, even Arturia and her family, he supposed, remembering that drunken night at her place. Damn, he hadn’t gotten a rematch with her yet, had he?

Lancer leaned his head back to the tiled bathroom wall, the little thump resonating amidst the steam in the cramped shower. Not too long ago, his true master would have scolded him for taking so long. She would complain he used up all the hot water. They would have been a good team if he’d protected her properly. He swore he could have beat Gilgamesh with the ridiculous talent Bazett had for magecraft. He would have definitely beaten Saber, put an end to that pitiful Master of hers before she could blink. 

But it was useless to mull over things like that now, wasn’t it? 

Lancer swept his hands over his sculpted torso, rubbing over the multitude of faded scars across his body as if doing so would wash away his sins. It wouldn’t, he knew, but somehow it made him feel just a little bit better. And that feeling was all he needed. 

The flip phone beeping in the other room told him it was his day off, and thus the perfect day to begin house-hunting. The man stepped out of the shower and pulled his one towel off the rack, water droplets falling from his hair to the floor as he crossed the room to the tiny dresser. He still had that cool shirt Diarmuid had lent him, so he slipped that on with some pants, grabbed his phone and wallet, slung a small backpack over his shoulder and closed the door behind him. For a minute, he stood still, the permanent stain on the carpet floor of the apartment flashing in his mind. 

He hoped with all his heart, that after today he wouldn’t have to come back. 

Pencils flew off the wizard’s desk as he bashed his forehead onto the table for the fifth time that day. 

“Whyyyyyy!?!?” he whined, flinging frantic sketches across his office in frustration. No, no, nonononononono! It wasn’t right! None of it was right! The lines they jus-- and the skirt??? Why did he think frills were a good idea?! On what universe do you put frills and glitter in the same-- bloodyshite! 

The old wizard gripped his lopsided ponytail and pulled at his white locks. This line was impossible. Improbable. An absolute clusterfuck. Oh, manufacturing was going to kill him, gonna kill him. His poor little princess Arty would find him in a ditch on the morrow. Oh, this was bad, this was very bad. 

Breathe, Merlin. You’ve seen fashion go from frocks to corsets to neon leotards. If you survived watching the 70s and their hairspray, you can create a gown. 

He put a pencil to his temple, connected it to his brain and--

Broke the lead against the paper because he could not do this!

“M-Merlin?”

The wizard finally looked up from the piles of papers to find his glass walled office in a state of disarray one would more accurately describe as a a dumpster, what with the multitude of pencil shavings fluttering off of his desk into the pile of crumpled sketches strewn across the floor. It finally registered to him that the smell of coffee in the air was not in fact a particularly strong brew, but from a spilled cup dripping onto a previously pristine white carpet. 

“ Poppycock ,” Merlin huffed, clapping a hand to his head and slinking back into his chair. 

Arturia cautiously stepped into the room, wearing one of his designs. One of the better ones, another summer suit. Bah! Now, why couldn’t he just design suits forever? They were a hit with Japan’s working population now, and abroad, the sales were doing more than well. Look at Arturia, so cute and beautiful in this little paste pink piece, wasn’t she precious ? Oh if Uther knew how beautiful Arturia would end up maybe he would have thought twice about dismissing her and raised a pretty princess. 

She walked behind his chair to look over his shoulder as he continued to sulk and whine into his hands. Arturia sifted through the rat’s nest that was his table. Merlin had always been one with the rather...eccentric taste, though it pulled off at times, especially with her battle gown. However, she could understand his frustration when she took in those particular color combinations of green and red. That was not the way to go.

“You alright, Merlin?”

The wizard let out a huge groan and reached behind himself to bury his head into Arturia’s stomach. 

“ Artyyyyyyyy~ I’m never going to make the deadline, I’ll never get it ready for print. No one’s gonna buy from the collection, RTK is going to dieeeee!” he moaned, mashing his face into her chest like a little child would do to his mother as she struggled to push him away. 

“Now, now, wizard, this isn’t the behavior expected of a court magician,” she scolded, carefully extracting herself from his iron grip. “That said, I believe you are in need of a short respite,” she said, tiptoeing over a clutter of colored pieces of fabric that looked like they were randomly put together. What was he making...gowns?

“Certainly not your best work, mongrel.”

That was Gilgamesh, standing in the doorway, the usual scowl and cocky eyebrow on his exotic features. Merlin accurately predicted they would be a hit with the ladies (they were MORE of a hit than he had intended, a good many luxury brands scrambled to stock the suit jackets. He couldn’t let those massive prices go by much as it pained him to not release them under RTK’s brand instead). The old king chucked the crumpled sketch into the corner with a slight flick of his hand. 

Arturia’s slender fingers tensed on his shoulders as Gilgamesh’s eyes met hers. It seems she was still cross with him. Well, of course she was, after being manhandled in her own bathroom by another king.

“You’re harboring a grudge now, King of Knights?” Gilgamesh asked, the little scowl on his face shifting into a lopsided smirk. Maybe it was practiced, maybe Arturia was too agitated to notice, but nothing ever escaped Merlin’s eyes. It had been more than a week since they’d last spoken, August had brought terrible, almost unbearable humidity that everyone but the Mesopotamian King seemed affected by. A long time had passed, and to the king’s credit, he was patient. But Gilgamesh was beginning to crack. 

Arturia was at least nodding in his direction whenever they crossed paths in RTK, but that was it. She avoided eye contact, walked in the opposite direction when they would have crossed paths, and Gilgamesh, of course, would not damage his pride by chasing after her. He’d seen the King of Heroes waver, once, heard the little scuffling of expensive leather shoes as he shifted forward in her direction. But he hesitated, and once again she was out of his reach.

The wizard was beginning to suspect she always would be, if Gilgamesh did not close the distance growing between them, but the wizard honestly didn’t know how the king would do that. It had to be Gilgamesh that made amends. Arturia wouldn’t. She certainly hadn’t thought about it even once, Merlin would know.

“I might know someone who can help you, wizard,” she finally answered, breaking eye contact with the other king. She seemed to whisper into the back of her hand, and then he felt her warm presence leave his back as a new one materialized into existence. First, lilac hair and knife-shaped ears, and then Medea, clad in simple, womanly clothes of this age.

“Ha! You summoned that wit--”

“E nough , Gilgamesh.” 

Arturia’s voice brought in silence from the entire floor. It was even enough for both the two magi to flinch, Medea more surprised than Camelot’s wizard. 

“Medea, this is Merlin. He was my court magus, my counsel...and now the owner of this establishment. I feel you may be of assistance to him,” she said curtly, gesturing at the remaining pile of sketches on Merlin’s table.

The greek mage nodded speechlessly, a bit shaken to be standing in the same room as her murderer and to have the King of Knights provoke that same murderer over him calling her a witch. She...remembered Medea hated it. But at what cost?

Gilgamesh looked like he was at his limit, like a boiling pot about to spill over into the fire, and all Arturia looked like she was doing was fanning the flames. 

“Merlin, she’s a talented seamstress. I leave the rest of these matters to you,” she stated, and made the few strides to the door. When she passed Gilgamesh, she pulled on his sleeve with just enough force for him to follow. To everyone’s surprise, he was quick to comply, and both kings disappeared out the door without another word.

Suddenly, two of the most powerful magicians that had ever stepped foot on Earth were alone. Both, utterly at a loss about what to say. 

“So,” Merlin began, awkward as a newborn duckling, “you’re a seamstress?”

“Those are the first words you’ve said to me in weeks, and all you’ve done is bark orders,” the king complained, ire apparent as the little model led him through the office til they stood in the hallway. She stopped, released him, and didn’t even spare a glance as she made for the elevator. They had ended early in the afternoon despite the multiple outfits they had to shoot. She could make it to the grocery and back in time for dinner if she left now,  but the fingers holding the elevator door open told her that Gilgamesh had other plans. 

His eye began to twitch as she gave no reaction, only pressed the button for the ground floor soon as he’d stepped inside. 

“You try my patience , Arturia,” Gilgamesh warned, the numbered floors blinking one after the other above the metal doors. She offered no reply, avoiding his eyes as she stared at the numbered elevator buttons. One could cut the tension in the air with a knife, or a sword, judging by how Arturia was flexing her fingers as if feeling the hilt of Excalibur. Yet the woman still remained silent, though her brow creased and her mouth pulled into a thin line. 

“Ar tu ria,” he repeated, the veins of his neck popping as he dampened the urge to raise his voice. They were halfway down now, it was only a few moments before she was out the door, and he was out of her hair for the day. She knew that he would never follow, never pursue if she walked out of his reach fast enough lest his pride suffer. All she had to do was wait.

But Gilgamesh knew that too. He tired of waiting, Iskandar’s advice be damned. All he’d seen of her were glimpses of her hair, if he blinked, he’d have missed it. They’d never exchanged words, not even simple greetings. He’d only ever passed her in the in-betweens of outfit changes, of breaks, of shoots, but there were never any words. She never stayed in his presence long enough for him to call her name, to touch her...to tell her how tempting she looked in red lipstick.

The light blinked 20, in a few moments they’d be at the bottom floor and she’d be gone once again. How pitiful, wasn’t it? That these meager seconds in this blasted metal box was the longest he’d been in the same room with her? And she wouldn’t even look in his direction, she looked disgusted to be breathing the same air! 

Gods be damned. 

Gilgamesh slammed his hand into the emergency stop button. He steadied himself as the box staggered to a stop, tossing its contents lightly as it braked. But screech as it did, it did nothing to drown out Arturia’s furious words.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?!” she shouted, smacking his arm away from the controls just in time for the lights to flicker out. She looked up as the emergency lamps came on and groaned. They barely lit up the lift. The crackling voice that resounded told her of her fears, that the elevator’s abrupt stop had caused it to malfunction and it would be a while before help would come.

“Damn it!” she cursed, slamming both fists into the shut doors. She had half a mind to summon Excalibur to tear this tin cage apart if the bill didn’t have to be footed by RTK. She contemplated texting her brother that she couldn’t pick up the ingredients he requested, but felt her spirits fall upon seeing the signal bar. 

“ Why did you do that?” she asked over her shoulder. She could just see the other King out of the corner of her eye as he leaned on the back wall. Strangely, his usual amused smirk was absent, replaced with a terrible scowl. Arturia did not know what to make of it. When he wasn’t being arrogant, he was filled with rage. If he wasn’t that either...

“Do you hate me so much?” Gilgamesh answered her question with one of his own, his wine red eyes seeming to glow in the dim light as he spoke. There was something in his voice that she could not place, but whatever it was, it bothered her to no end. 

In her shock, she hadn’t even noticed she didn’t reply. “What?”

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head to the side. “You no longer even look at me, Arturia,” he muttered, stepping forward in the small space til she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. Her skin prickled with every word he spoke, and eventually she did face him, if only to stop the sensation from overcoming her. 

For the first time in weeks, he fully met those beautiful emerald eyes, iridescent in the dark lift, almost brighter than the little light they had. Only now, he realized how much he had yearned to gaze upon them again, when she’d so cruelly deprived him of doing so for this long. He reached for her, but she retreated from his fingers as he brushed her cheek.

Her heels clanged against the metal doors and she cursed the small cage she was trapped in. And with the one person she didn’t want to be around, as well. For a split second she tensed, expecting his anger at her rejection, but he stood confused, speechless, his hand still lingering where her face had been. A million different emotions filled his eyes until finally he settled with acceptance.

“So you do despise me then.”

Very well. He had decided long ago she was his. He’d believed there was a better approach since they’d been cast into the world together but he couldn’t bear rejection much more. If she refused to be his...if she felt this much hatred for him, then maybe he should have gone back to his old methods. In time, surely, she’d learn--

“I’ve never hated you, Gilgamesh,” she said, her eyes extinguishing whatever flames had begun to burn within him. Both her palms were on his chest, stopping his advance. Slowly, gingerly, he removed his hands from the wall behind her.

“Then why do you deny me?”

Arturia scoffed and shook her head. She was honestly beginning to think that the bastard was willfully ignorant of how uncomfortable he had been making her feel. Even now, it seemed he hadn’t learnt his lesson. Constricted in this tiny lift, anyone decent would at least maintain personal space. Who was she kidding? Gilgamesh had never known the meaning of those words.

“Perhaps if you actually showed me some respect ,” she chastised, folding her arms over her chest, “I’d be more inclined to show you the same.”

Even in the dim light, she could see him raise a skeptical eyebrow. “And I haven’t?”

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as her fingers combed through her hair. So he wasn’t being willfully ignorant, then. He simply saw no error in his actions. A quiet thump echoed as she leaned her head back. Honestly, Arturia wasn’t sure why they were even having this conversation, when a few weeks ago she thought she decided she didn’t want him in her life. 

“Gilgamesh...you touch me without permission, you barge into my home without warning, without my consent,” she listed, her voice quivering as she was reminded of the two faded marks hidden under her collar.

“Arturia.”

She silenced him with a wave of her hand, challenging his sharp eyes with a cutting look from her own. 

“Every time I see you, you act like I’m your plaything, calling me all these silly things as if you mock my title!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air to vent her feelings.

“Arturia.”

She whipped her head to him as if daring him to say another word. 

“I understand you and the King of Conquerors have different views, but I am a king in my own right,” she reasoned, her stance firm. “I feel I at least deserve your respect--”

All at once she could feel her stomach leap into her throat as the floor slipped from beneath her. 

“Maria...who was in there?”

The lobby looked as if a hurricane had stormed its corridors, with rubble of all shapes and sizes strewn across the floor. Sirens blared in the background as uniforms rushed past Diarmuid, barking startled orders for him to stand aside. He resisted the urge to cough from the dust as he pulled Merlin’s sputtering personal assistant out of the way.

Several men were frantically putting up yellow tape, with CAUTION written in bold and all caps, but every nerve in his body only urged him closer to the debris. His chest felt like the inside of a battered drum, heart pounding a thousand beats per minute as he took in the scene. Glass crunched under his shoes, but he paid it no mind as he pushed forward past the bits of concrete scattered on the marble. 

What once would have been the entrance to the lift was completely blown out. To his right were the frayed remains of metal cables. Cables that should have been strong enough to hold two tonnes. They should have been more than enough for twenty people, why were they on the floor? Electricity crackled as some poor staff member urged him away, but there was no way he could leave. Not until he made sure there was no sign of fair skin and yellow hair in the wreckage. He couldn’t leave. No. Not until he knew she was safe. He couldn’t leave. 

“ Maria, who was in there?” he repeated, desperately, jostling the frightened Maria back into reality. But she hadn’t the strength to reply. Merlin was a seer, he would have seen everything, he would have seen them fall. She had to get everyone out of the building if Merlin was to perform magic to save his king. Surely they were still alive. They had to be.

“ Maria ,” Diarmuid urged one last time. 

The woman looked back at him, her brown eyes flashing bright gold. Suddenly, Maria’s suit was replaced with a white so pure it was nearly blinding. Her hair was loose from her bun, her feet free of her heels. Fog exploded from her toes, rolled across the polished floor til there was nothing in the lobby but dense cloud. 

“W-what?”

She was a Servant?

“The ones in the elevator. The King of Heroes and...Merlin’s daughter. You must get them out, I’m sure Merlin will be here soon,” she explained, catching the head of one of the women who’d fallen asleep after inhaling the fog. 

No sooner had she spoken, the lancer practically dove into the pile of distorted metal. Arturia was alive, she had to be alive. She couldn’t fall to an accident such as this, she was strong . He dreaded finding her broken body, dreaded seeing blood scattered over shattered bones, but if she did survive--she did, she had to have survived--he had to find her.

“That’s enough, Diarmuid, Maria. They’re fine.” Merlin’s voice echoed in the hall as he stepped over the sleeping personnel strewn across the floor due to Maria’s magic. 

As soon as he finished speaking, golden dust materialized in the far corner of the lobby, followed shortly by the lift’s passengers, both bleeding from the side of the head. 

Diarmuid felt his heartbeat finally ease at the sight of Arturia. He wanted to run to her, but it seemed she hadn’t even noticed him yet, when she’d been so busy pressing her handkerchief to the King of Heroes’ forehead.

Gilgamesh’s hair had fallen from his usual updo, and he was curved protectively over Arturia as both kings sat on the floor. Diarmuid could see Arturia’s lips moving as she and the King of Heroes exchanged words, but he couldn’t hear a thing, he could only infer they were arguing from how angry she looked. The Mesopotamian tyrant pushed her hands away and held her chin. Using his free hand he carefully brushed hair from her temple, where small traces of blood had begun to drip. She wasn’t making it easy, squirming out of his hands, but he said just one word and she stopped, her irate expression turning to one of shock. 

For a few moments, Arturia stared at Gilgamesh dumbly, before she spoke again, more calmly this time, and let him tend to the cut on her head with a cloth he’d pulled from his treasury. Diarmuid could not have known what conversation they were having, but for one reason or another, he couldn’t bring himself to keep looking.

Merlin smiled, knowingly. Even if he were a clairvoyant, he wouldn’t need his eyes to see how Diarmuid really felt. 

“Maria, lower the mist please. The poor common people won’t wake up for another hour if this goes on any longer--”

Merlin was cut off by a loud groan coming from the pair of kings, and the three looked up to see Arturia storming away from a wholly pissed off King of Heroes.

Well…

Merlin sighed as Maria undid her spell, patting his suit down as the ordinary mortals began to wake. Soon his lovely assistant was back in her usual suit, her olive skin tucked under a gray jacket, and brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses. The wizard quietly watched as Gilgamesh stared after his king and then at the white handkerchief she left. He seemed to think a moment before turning a corner and vanishing into the air. 

Merlin smiled, pleased despite how the rather eventful day ended with Arturia storming out the door. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about Gilgamesh that much. He let out a little chuckle. 

Watching the two kings was like waiting for a flower to bloom when one had just planted its seed. It would take a lot of time and perhaps even more patience, but already Merlin could see a little sprout.

But he could mull about that later. The wizard turned to his assistant. “Ma riaaaaaaaaaaa! Won’t you stay in your anito dress more often, pleeeaase~?”

It was nearly midnight by the time Diarmuid was off the clock, but Merlin had sent him out with a promise for overtime pay, so that was...good? Honestly, he was surprised the shoot went well at all, given how occupied his mind was at the time. He barely recalled the shots being for a release later that year, but the rest was a blur. 

No, he was far too busy sorting out the rather extended period of panic during the elevator crash, the relief when he’d finally found out Arturia was alright, and the gaping hole in his chest that resulted from seeing her in the arms of...of…

His eye twitched. He shouldn’t even be thinking these things. Why was he thinking--nevermind. Never . Mind. It was perfectly normal to be concerned for Arturia’s welfare. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, he was very aware of her abilities. He was loathe to admit his bones still quaked from the last time she’d slammed Excalibur’s broad side into his chest, but damn if that fight wasn’t exciting. 

He frowned. Was...was he becoming a masochist? Gods, what would his father think of this--Diarmuid, son of Donn the death god, gets his kicks from cuts and bruises, now that was a story. Still, he couldn’t deny he itched for yet another match with the King of Knights if she would allow it. His heart quickened at the thought of spending time with her again. Now, how should he ask her? Should he sent a text message? Call? Come over? No, no he couldn’t do that, he was just over at their place last Thursday, surely Sir Kay would be a bit bother--

Diarmuid flailed as he recovered from the collision with an equally hardened mass of man.

“Oi! Watch where you’re...D?”

“Cú?”

Goodness, was he so distracted he couldn’t sense the presence of a brother? Hold on, it was the middle of the night. If he knew Cú and he did, he’d be ready to retire. The man loved sleep, he’d only sacrifice it every now and then for a spar. Well, he would sometimes catch Cú napping during the day, but…

“What are you doing out late?” he asked, finally noticing Cú’s appearance. He recognized the shirt he lent him, but what was curious was the little bag slung over the man’s shoulder and a familiar-looking folder in his hands. He looked like he was supposed to be dressed to impress. His hair had been gelled, but the lopsided rat’s tail told Diarmuid it had been a long, long day for Cú. He’d never seen the man look quite so tired, what with the dark circles on his eyes and his smile barely pulling up at the corners.

“Ha! I’m a grown man, Diarmuid. You don’t need to look after me,” he teased, a huge grin erupting in his face. “Got a few drinks. Enjoyed myself, you know.”

Strange, he didn’t smell of alcohol. 

“Try again. I am not so easily fooled, friend,” he replied.

Diarmuid meant it jokingly, he really did, but Cú’s face crumpled so quickly it alarmed him. It was quite frightening, to see the proud countenance of a knight recede and be replaced by that of a man defeated. Especially on Cú, who even Diarmuid had heard songs and stories about. 

“Diarmuid...did I ever tell you what happened to me in the Fifth Holy Grail War?”

Diarmuid stared into his empty bottle, throat dry. He wondered briefly if he should have another, but a single look at Cú and he'd tossed the man the last Guiness. Cú needed it more.

He couldn’t have imagined the other lancer would have equally terrible luck with Masters. God, at least he didn’t need to watch his prick of a lord die. To think Cú had no choice but to serve his true Master’s killer was bloody unthinkable. 

Now, Diarmuid was proud. He knew he was a skilled spearman, but in many ways, Cú had been a legend. Famous enough to inspire the bards’ tales and bedtime stories told to the little ones as they were tucked into bed. Diarmuid never got the chance to face Gilgamesh in combat, not really, but if Cú were defeated by him, surely the King of Heroes was indeed powerful. 

And an arsehole , Cú had said. Well, Diarmuid could agree with him on that point.

They were drinking beer on Diarmuid’s balcony, taking in the cool city air as one by one the lights on the neighboring buildings began to flicker out. His fellow demigod wouldn’t have turned down a spar, he was sure...but the dual-wielder knew Cú wasn’t in the mood. He looked so sullen, staring out into the city like that. 

“What were you doing out tonight? The truth this time,” Diarmuid urged. 

Cú looked at him, sighed, hung his head. Man, the guy was stubborn. Still, he owed it to Diarmuid for his hospitality.

“I’ve been living in Bazett’s apartment since we got here. I thought it would be fine, but it isn’t,” he confessed. “I searched the whole day for some other place to live, but there was nowhere affordable enough on such short notice.”

Suddenly, Diarmuid understood why Cú was so adamant about not letting him inside his apartment when he carried him back from Kay’s condo. Gods, Cú had been living in his own personal hell for more than a month. 

The man turned away when he saw Diarmuid’s expression, knowing the latter was much too kind. He’d pity him, and out of everything in this world that was the last thing he needed. This was the whole point of him saving up all that money for a month, for putting in overtime hours. 

“Why did you never say anything?” 

Ireland’s Child of Light couldn’t meet his eyes. “Because you’d try to do something about it. You’d likely tell the King of Knights too, then she’d do something about it. I feel you’ve both done enough for me. I mean, you two had that made,” he said, pointing to the folder on the table containing files for a certain Corin Connell , 26, Irish . “You’re the reason I’m an actual living citizen.”

Well, that was true. During the few days following their arrival he and Arturia had been handing out such legal files. It was less efficient to personalise each one, so apart from those of Gilgamesh, Arturia, and himself, the other Servants were just given names and biodata he and the King of Knights invented. 

“Well, of course, we’d do something,” Diarmuid said, as a matter of fact. “You’re our friend.”

The Knight of Fianna snatched up Cú’s bag and his files and hurried inside, ignoring the frantic oioioioioi and his friend’s drunken scrambling to retrieve it. Despite Cú’s shouting, he managed to throw his stuff into the second bedroom in his rent-to-own condo, courtesy of RTK. Kay did mention he could have a roommate. The place was certainly big enough. 

“You’re staying,” Diarmuid said, rather imperatively, silencing the beastly man who was sputtering a protest. Red eyes met droopy orange ones with defiance, but truthfully, the older knight couldn’t muster the strength to disobey. He couldn’t go back to his master’s old place tonight. He promised himself he wouldn’t. 

When he let out a breath of surrender, Diarmuid shoved the guy in the room and made to get him some bed covers. And a change of clothes. And maybe some pillows. He threw them all at Cú before the man could even think about leaving. Luckily they were of identical size and height, although Diarmuid knew Cú was lighter than he was. He later came back with a set of toiletries, which he set on the bed as Cú installed the fitted sheet.

“There’s a bathroom outside to your right. That’ll be yours from now on, brother. Good night,” the Lancer whispered, closing the door on his way back to his room.

A bit stunned, the spear-wielder stared at the various bottles and tiny boxes Diarmuid had brought, deciding maybe he'd shower. He went to scoop the stuff out when he noticed. Right in the middle of the pile was a blue toothbrush, unopened and still in its box. 

Chapter Text

“Does it fit right?” asked Sakura, welcoming Lancelot home. Despite supposedly having trained with Taiga at their dojo for a few hours, the knight didn’t even look like he’d broken a sweat. The man quietly slipped off his shoes and leaned the wooden practice sword on the wall to his right. He’d heard from the young, adopted Matou that Master Taiga was extremely talented at kendo and archery, and that her skills hadn’t dulled despite her juggling being a mother, an English teacher and dojo owner.

“Like a glove. Perhaps another day of training with Master Taiga and I’ll be confident enough in the art to teach,” he reported, thanking Sakura for the two uniforms she provided him with. 

Upon learning of his king’s new job, he had been searching for some form of work to sustain himself and at least contribute to the expenses that the Matou household incurred on his behalf. Taiga would pay well, especially since having a second Master at the dojo meant she could spend a little more time with her little boy, Alexei. 

“I got the paints you requested. They’re in your room, next to your easel,” the woman said, and made for the kitchen to prepare dinner. She was looking forward to making a feast today, since Iskandar was coming over. If she was lucky, he’d have a couple of Hassans in tow. They were always lovely.

Like the Matou had said, he found a small paper bag with the tubes of acrylic he wanted. He lay them out before him on his mattress, an entire spectrum of green from deep forest to mint plus a few blues. Perhaps to any other artist, these twenty or so shades would seem wasteful, but even with all these he felt his supplies to be lacking. 

He looked down on the old leather-strapped watch the mansion owner gifted him and concluded he had enough time to work on the canvas before the woman would call him down for dinner. His battle-hardened fingers snatched up his palette and prepared a dozen swatches of his new paint. As he sat down in front of his unfinished piece, he hoped to the heavens he had all the shades he needed. 

It was terribly difficult to paint her eyes, when looking into them was like staring into whole universes, galaxies upon galaxies stretching out into infinity, simultaneously bursting forth into existence. When she met his eyes, he was ever breathless, a proud knight rendered completely without defense, vulnerable before her . 

Lancelot wondered if there ever was a time he didn’t feel this way, a time when he was free from her captivating spell. If there was, he couldn’t remember-- no.