I don't own any part of the Fate franchise.
I forgot why I do this long ago, lost beneath sprinklings of fairy dust.
I had forgotten the goal, or rather the goal was so far divorced from reasonable reality that I couldn't believe I would ever reach it. The means was what mattered not the ends, because the ends was unreachable. This dedication is meaningless because our goal is impossible.
Not impossible, rather so unlikely, so improbable that it bordered upon impossibility. Even so we diligently work toward that impossibility as if it was feasible. We worked so that someone who had not yet been born, that someone somewhere could continue our work and reach that goal. So we worked not for ourselves, but rather for future generations. Altruistic was it not?
Hardly, it was simply that no one sane had the arrogance to believe that they would be the one that could reach it. Within the vast expanse of rough, would it not be pathetically self-centered to think that you could be that diamond? That was why I was a terrible magus, I was sane. Perhaps that curse normalcy reduced any chance I could reach that lofty goal to nothingness, even if nothingness and that chance were close enough to be the same thing.
If you didn't have the arrogance to believe, then you could still wish it. In your heart you could believe it.
That was why I was doing this, it was a foolish way to circumvent reality.
To wish upon the Holy Grail, and to see it made so.
To reach the Root. So I clutch this feather, the feather of an albatross, clinging to an echo of tale I had heard, forgotten, and longed to remember.
So I gave forth my desperate plea, to remember, and to be able to blindly seek an impossible goal.
The king stirred, but did not deign to wake.
He smiled, but no mirth rose in his soul.
He waited, void of anticipation.
He thought, mind void of indecision.
To do something for someone else was beautiful right?
Was it still beautiful if I did it for myself?
Was it still beautiful if I never wanted to be it?
Was it still beautiful?
I felt the blade whisper into her heart, I felt her pain the bleed way. I heard the gasp, and to me it was exultant. As her soul poured forth I felt close to her and I understood that she was grateful. I understood that I had done a good deed.
Should I be so drunk with joy over doing good, that which is expected?
Does that make me a bad person? Where do I sit on that border of selfish and selflessness?
She would have known, as soon as I drop her lifeless corpse I realize that. I rush to her side and look down at her. Was this the feeling of regret? I ran the tip of my knife over her lips, wondering. Tracing the question into her flesh, I prayed. I prayed that she would hear me, even if her gratitude should be enough. Her death had been my gift to her. All you should expect from a gift is thanks.
Plunging the tip into her throat, sprinkles of scarlet flew over my body already stained crimson. I vented my frustration thinking somehow the blade that had taken her life away could give it back. I begged her to open those eyes one more time, to let sound escape from those lips one more time. I needed the answer to the question, so I prayed.
Am I selfish? I asked that question, begging for an answer.
He reached, not subordinate to light.
He wondered, not for lack of knowledge.
He sought, though he realized the answer.
Running my finger along the edge of many month's meticulous planning, my body hummed with pent up excitement. Soon, that was always the word that was given to me. Soon, soon you will reach your potential. Soon, soon you will have the opportunity to prove your worth.
It wasn't soon any longer, it was now. Months upon months upon months, I had waited for that long. I had watched my life tick by, all while I waited with bated breath. My patience was stretched thinner, and thinner. Then I was at last told it was time. My fingers trace the edges of the pattern once again, caress them lovingly. This was my work.
It was mine and mine alone, just like this glory would be mine and mine alone. Circumstances had aligned, plans have come to fruition. If only glory could be a low hanging fruit, if only recognition could come easily.
I stand up and walk to the center of my grand design. It would come, the Grail was within my reach. I would have that glory, I would have that greatness. Binary, if that was what I had to become to reach that goal then I would do it. I would devote myself to the chase for glory, and here I will pour forth my soul to summon one who had achieved my ideal.
Who better to ask than one who had already reached it?
He seized, but had no need to conquer.
He mourned, acknowledging an old existence.
"Do it."
I didn't want to, I didn't want to. I heard his voice though, insistent in my head. Constant and nagging, I had to, even if I didn't want to. Or his voice would never stop, he was always there. I'm not insane, or maybe I am? Is he even here anymore or is he just a wraith swirling in my mind? No, he was here, I had seen him before.
I run my hands through my hair, feeling the coarse strands. Right, this was my hair. How long had it been since I washed it?
"Do it." The bile rose up at the back of my throat, hot stomach acid burning my esophagus. I wanted to throw up. Doubling over, I clutched my abdomen as I collapsed in the middle of the circle. The circle he had made me draw.
"Do it." Insistent, ever present. He was always there, was he alive or was he dead? I couldn't remember anymore, his voice took up too much of the space in my head. It drowned things out. All I could think of was-
"Do it." Was the voice, the voice and my thoughts about the voice and the owner of the voice. I couldn't anything else.
"Do it." The voice sounded, it sounded in a way that made me think if only I did what it wanted the voice would finally stop.
"Okay." I said it out loud, something tickled at the edge of my memory. A realization, I wanted that, if I could wish on the Grail at that moment to reach that revelation would be my wish. Putting strength in my body, I raised myself up. All I had to do was stand and pull the trigger, his preparations had been comprehensive. I ignored the nausea, I ignored the acid burning at the back of my throat, I ignored the silence in my head as the voice was satisfied.
The image of my own neck snapping flashed before my eyes, and the magic surged forth. The warm, comforting, familiar flow was morphed and transformed into a destructive tide.
It burned. It chewed like lava through my veins.
It hurt.
He breathed, yet he could not fill his lungs.
"Fight for yourself, and you'll always be happy."
I remembered those words, they played on the edges of my consciousness. I remembered those words but I couldn't put a face to them. They blazed, like fire, in the landscape of my mind but I chose to ignore them. Was the continuation of someone else's dream without merit?
Straightening, I struggled to remember. Memory was such an inconvenient thing, I wish I could store what I saw and what I heard, the faces to the names and to the words, somewhere else. Somewhere where they could never degrade, never fall apart. Somewhere else, to create a record in permanence. Somewhere else so I didn't feel this sensation of going mad when I tried desperately to remember.
Memory was such an inconvenient thing.
Chasing someone else's ideal was such an inconvenient thing. If you reached it you would still stay in someone else's shadow, if you failed you would be wiped from the memory of the world forever. That's why memory was such an inconvenient thing.
What do I want to wish for? I didn't know, I only know his wish. His wish and my promise, my happiness and my useless sense of honor and duty. There was something inside me that couldn't let it go.
My wish was to tear that part of me out. In achieving my wish, in obtaining the Grail to calm my selfish soul, would that not being achieving his goal as well? What, then, was the point of all of this? The image of my ribs cracking and stabbing into my lungs played before my eyes as I allowed magic to flow forth.
It really was an inconvenient thing.
He murmured, without an audience.
He sipped, taking sin into his soul.
"Hughes?"
He tilted his head toward me, then broke into a soft smile.
"Yeah?"
"We're only chasing a dream, right?"
"Yeah." He said it like it wasn't anything to be worried about, like this would just be a leisurely walk down the street or something. That this wasn't supposed to be a death sentence. Whether we won or not it played into their hands. Catch-22 right?
A chance was better than nothing though.
He considers, though the choice is clear
He contemplated, without empathy.
He wept, over but a single loss.
My knees were too sharp.
Jammed under my chin, they hurt a bit too much. I looked up at my Papa, I loved him, but I didn't like him very much anymore. He hurt me, he said that everything would work out in the end. But he hurt me, I didn't really get it.
"It'll all be over soon, don't worry."
That was what he would say, I didn't really get it. He said things like how he was a genius, how he had "beat the system". I don't really understand. He grabbed my hand again. And he cut me again.
It hurt, and my blood dripped into the bowl.
"It'll all be over soon, don't worry."
He said it again, but I didn't understand why. I didn't like being hurt, I didn't like being cut. But Papa kept doing it, so there must be a reason right. He stood in the center of a circle, he'd been drawing it for a while. He'd been drawing it since he started cutting me.
Lights flashed before my eyes, maybe he was done now.
Maybe now he'd finally stop.
He listened, but did not hear their plea.
He was angered, but showed no hatred.
He remembered what should be forgot.
The king rises, only of his own accord.
Hey, what's up? As I said in the summary, this is a story independent of most parts of Fate, with the exception of Gilgamesh, who is fabulous and I thought his arrogance would make him a nice and distinctive anchor. Anyways, to anyone taking the time to read this, any criticism and reviews are highly appreciated, thanks!