Why do people bother with disclaimers? It's obvious I don't own shit.

"It's over Manuchehr, I have the high ground!" Indeed he had. In fact, their loss was bound to happen sooner or later. Manuchehr regretted everything that has led to this siege, but more importantly he loathed his inability to predict Afrasiab's attack.

Just a stopping point, that's all it was supposed to be. They were losing this war, slowly but steadily. It wasn't surprising truth be told, Iranian people were still weary and tired from fighting forces of both Salm and Tur, and then the constant skirmishes with descendants of the latter. His armies stationed on the Turanian border had to be reinforced, so with a contingent of a thousand men and two of his sons he was planning to gather the rest of army stationed in Tabarestan and neighboring regions, and then reinforce the main fighting force on the border, empowering not only army's numbers but also their morale. What soldier wouldn't be proud to fight the enemies of his kingdom alongside his ruler?

Now only a hundred remained, and both Frash and Nowzar were dead. He failed them.

The king didn't understand how it came to this. Have they managed to destroy all of his armies? Or perhaps they were never noticed by his scouts, hidden by the Turanian prince's sorcery? And how did Afrasiab even know he would be here? A treason, or another example of magic? He didn't know the answer to any of those questions, and it was making him furious.

They lost. The siege has been lost, and now the daeva worshipper looked upon him from the walls of his fortress, on his land, proud and arrogant. They have lost, but still…

"You are underestimating my power, Afrasiab." His tone was cold and emotionless. "Have you forgotten who slew Salm? Who did the same with your ancestor, so many years ago? I may fall in battle here, but I will take with me you and most of your army." A beginning of a plan—no, it couldn't even be called a 'plan'; what he was going to say next would be simply a desperate attempt to survive, to live another day so he could lead his people once again in the future, and take what was theirs. But at what cost?

It was working. He could see a moment of hesitation on Afrasiab face, until merely a second later it turned into an unreadable mask. It wasn't an empty boast, after all; if the Turanian prince decided to fight the khvarenah empowered Manuchehr, an army or not, he would die. The Pishdadian would give them both a way out with a farce of a 'peace treaty'. He hated it, he despised himself for even thinking about proposing this but…

He had to survive, for all Iranians.

"I propose a truce." That caught the Turanian's attention. So far so good. "Turan will retain all lands they have conquered, excluding anything the width of a bowshot, two weeks from this day."

They would gain a moment of peace, until another descendant of Tur would turn their gaze to Iran, wanting to steal their land and people. They would survive, but they have already lost too many territories to Afrasiab and his father. Manuchehr didn't care about the land itself, the people living there though…They would suffer under them, there was no doubt about this.

They remained there standing, both armies watching closely their leaders while also preparing for any sign of hostility. Minutes passed before Afrasiab started speaking again. "Let it be known that I'm not an uncaring and cruel ruler. I shall agree to those terms, so my people will not suffer any more losses from this pointless fight. In two weeks we shall meet again, and your territory shall be decided on…" Here he smiled mockingly, and Manuchehr felt dread in his heart. Whatever he says now won't be good for either him or his people. "Mount Damavand. It is fair that I decide the place where your fate shall be sealed considering my position in this predicament, is it not?"

He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Mount Damavand, both the holiest and the most accursed place in the whole of Iran. It would make regaining any of their lost territory much more difficult, condemning even more lives, but…it was perhaps fitting for this war to be concluded there.

"So be it." And with those words, he sealed the fate of thousands.

He was alone right now, in a chamber prepared specifically for him. Now, when he finally had some peace he could actually think about everything, and none of it was pleasant. The emotions he was previously trying to suppress finally came back to him, twice or thrice as strong. Anger, fear, shame, hatred, and so many other emotions none of his gods would approve of. But most of all, he was just so, so…

Tired.

Since his birth, he was the chosen successor of Fereydun, after Salm and Tur killed his grandfather. That was his purpose, to bring justice upon the two brothers, and then rule over all of Iran. And when he did, his great-grandfather soon passed away, content that he left his kingdom in good hands.

But did he really? He tried his hardest, true, but now it felt as if everything was starting to fall apart. Most of Iran's northern and some of the eastern territories fell into Turanian hands, two of his three sons died, and he was barely able to keep himself together, proposing a peace treaty that was an absurdity. Was it really the best choice he could make, to let so many of his people be essentially enslaved by their enemy?

He looked at the night sky from a window in the chamber. He kept questioning himself and his judgement, at this point he just didn't know what to do. Tomorrow he would have to send messengers to his subjects to…what? To send him their greatest archers, of course, but it still would not change anything. What else could he do?

He kneeled, and closed his eyes. He didn't know what to do anymore, what should be his next course of action. Oh gods, what he should do so that Iranian people would not suffer under Afrasiab?

So he prayed. For the souls of his deceased sons and all of his fallen soldiers. He didn't have time to do this before, he didn't even have time to give them a proper rest; there was just so much to do.

So he prayed. For answers to his questions, for wisdom and guidance, for strength to keep going for his people. He prayed to all benevolent gods he knew, to Ahura Mazda, to Amesha Spentas, to other yazatas, begging for a miracle.

So he prayed, and he has been answered, although not by anyone he expected.

A warm feeling filled him, and for the first time since he was a child over hundred years ago, he felt…safe. Like a mother's embrace, he felt as if all his worries suddenly disappeared, that everything would be alright in the world. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking behind. That was when he met the gaze of what was probably the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She was currently sitting on a chair near his desk, graceful and fitted in clothes worthy of an empress and yet at the same time modest, with a kind and motherly smile. He knew who it was the moment he saw her, the moment he felt her presence in the room—one of the Amesha Spentas, Spenta Armaiti, the Holy Devotion.

"Not everything is yet lost, King of Iranians. Though Turanians may have won this battle, thanks to your quick thinking they shall lose the war." She tried to assuage his fears, to make him realise that his—admittedly desperate—peace proposal will, in the end, save Iran. He just needed a little push.

He didn't know this, of course, and her words simply baffled him. The initial effects of her presence faded, and he started talking in a quiet, unbelieving voice. "Quick thinking…? The only reason I proposed this absurd of a 'peace treaty', if it could even be called such, was because I knew Afrasiab would accept it. A width of a bowshot, that's all we would regain, and all Iranians living there would suffer under that damn horse fucking son of a daeva whoring bitch!" The moment he started talking about that damned bastard, his voice gained in volume. He knew it wasn't smart to shout at a goddess but at this moment he simply didn't have enough fucks to give.

To his surprise, she just snorted and rolled her eyes. "Of course it wouldn't be that useful if you were to use a normal bow and your usual archer. No, what you need is a weapon befitting a legend, as well as a hero wielding it. And that's how I'm going to help you." She smiled once again, and this time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he truly didn't condemn his people.

That brought more problems though. While it was true he had many weapons in his palace, he doubted any of his bows would be up to the task. Hell, he didn't know anyone who could have such a weapon! Which brought another point: neither Garshasp, nor Zal, nor Rostam—the three greatest Iranian heroes he knew—specialised in archery. True, they did know said art, but it wasn't their main focus.

But…perhaps there was another person. Before he had ventured with his army, he heard reports of a man, a noble and pious person, said to be the greatest archer in all of Iran. What was his name again? Something starting with an 'A'?

"Truth be told, it's quite fortunate that abominable thing requested the shot to happen on Damavand. As I said, you need a weapon worthy of a hero, and that's where you would get the materials for it. And with my help, you will create both the bow and the arrow."

His mind stopped. Spenta Armaiti wanted to help him create a weapon of legends. That…that was amazing; despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't help but start thinking about all the possibilities, designs, what he could do with…whatever she wanted to find on that mountain. Right.

He stood once again, before sitting on his bed. While he probably should stay kneeled—what with showing the deity a proper respect—he really didn't care enough about all that shit right now, they were talking about one of the few things he actually loved doing. Besides, she didn't seem like she minded."What kind of material" That was what confused him. After all, what could she hope to get from that tomb of a mountain? After Azhi Dahaka has been imprisoned there by Fereydun, the earth around the mountain simply…died. Because of the dragon's influence, all plants withered and animals fell sick. He furrowed his brows, thinking about what else he could find there. It's possible he would find an ore deposit in there, but she couldn't have wanted him to create a bow out of metal, could she?

She fell quiet as the mood turned sombre. "At the foot of the mountain, there grows a tree, the only things to truly live there." She started slow, her voice filled with sadness and what he thought was admiration. "Although under influence of Azhi Dahaka's evil, this singular tree kept growing, refusing to die by taking strength from everything it could. From what little plants remained there, from animals, from insects, and from the earth itself; it devoured everything it could to survive. A branch of this tree will be the main source of the new bow."

He could understand now the reason for those feelings behind her words. It was no wonder considering that Armaiti was Earth herself, he guessed only Haurvatat would be worse—or perhaps better—in this case; he wasn't sure if she would be terrified or proud of such a tree. Still, he had to admit that the whole 'takes strength from everything' part was kind of unsettling.

"And the arrow?"

"Made from the same wood for the shaft, with the arrowhead made from a metal I have…procured from Kshathra." 'Procured'? She didn't mean what he thought she did? Wait, he knew that smile. It was the same smile his wives used whenever they thought he was crossing some kind of a line, the almost beatific looking 'Don't say/ask anything if you don't want to suffer' kind of smile. While normally it didn't work on him, seeing a goddess make the same kind of expression was unnerving, to say the least. "As for the feathers, I trust you already know someone who could help with providing something worthy."

Something worthy, huh? Hmm…there were plenty of birds that could be useful here. Homa or Rukh were the first that came to his mind, although he didn't actually know anyone who could be in possession of such feathers. Something worthy of a bow for a hero…

And that was when something clicked in his mind, as he slowly nodded in realisation. Zal. Although it wouldn't be easy, he hopefully could help him get a Simurgh feather from his adoptive parent.

"What about the archer? I have heard about one tha—"

"Arash of the Swift Arrow." That was his name. Good to know that they apparently thought about the same person.

Now he knew what to do, knew that there was still a chance of his people living in the land conquered by Turanians. And all of this he owed to Spenta Armaiti. Still, there was one thing he was curious about. "While I'm obviously thankful for your help, I have to ask: why did you come to me?" There were other deities that seemed to be more 'appropriate' for the situation, like Vohu Manah, Asha Vahishta, Verethragna, or Mithra.

She lost her smile and looked at him, her voice devoid of any emotions."Because Afrasiab is a creepy fucker who I'm almost certain fantasises about raping me whenever he can."

…

Well, he didn't know about the second part, but 'a creepy fucker' definitely describes Afrasiab well.

Almost two weeks have passed, and he was currently working on the bow. Gathering materials was much harder than he initially thought; while he already had the metal, courtesy of Spenta Armaiti, and Zal agreed to come and give him Simurgh feathers—although at a cost of some favours—the only thing left was a branch from that accursed tree.

And what a tree it was. A sight to behold, over thirty metres tall with blood-red wood and leaves of a similar colour, it was the only thing living in the desolate wasteland that was the area around Mount Damavand. He couldn't tell what kind of a tree it was before, while it reminded him of an oak at first, he could also see leaves similar to that of a cypress and other kinds of flora.

It also wanted to eat him.

Not literally, of course, but he could feel his strength slowly but steadily leave him in favour of the mutated tree. The Amesha Spenta did not exaggerate about its thirst for life.

Here he was now, in a town closest to Damavand, with all his tools taken from the capital. It has been much too long since he has created anything, a bow, sword, spear, shield, or armour; it didn't matter what exactly it was, as long as he made something. This time he even had a pretext to do it, and he didn't need to to find some excuse to forget about all those worldly problems, of fighting killers of his grandfather, and ruling a whole country. But that was a long time ago, after Fereydun's death he no longer could spare any moment for what was his passion. Some of his friends told him it was a waste of his talents, but…if not him, then who?

That should be enough for now. The branch now looked like a bow, albeit with a unique design, its back now sported a brighter shade of red compared to the original, and its belly was completely black. It would be a fearsome weapon, one that would take its wielder strength and then multiply it.

It could also kill them.

The moment he started working on it, he knew it would be a possibility. He met Arash yesterday, and while he really didn't think there was any need for the young man to take off his clothes to show how his body was 'free of any wounds or sickness', the archer still seemed to be an earnest man, one that deeply cared about his fellow countrymen. He hoped with all his heart and soul that this weapon would not harm him in any way.

The arrow, on the other hand, was a much simpler matter. While its materials were exquisite, the only thing that brought any difficulty was the arrowhead, made from a still unknown to him metal. Whenever he asked Armaiti of its origin or even name, she would only say the metal came from a land far away from Iran.

"Is it done?" Speak of the daeva and she appears. Wait, that's completely inappropriate considering who it was about.

"Not yet, but it should be ready by tomorrow, just in time. But the bow…You know it could kill him, right?" He couldn't shake off that feeling. Whenever she came to him to check the progress on the weapon, she always seemed distant in a way. She still was pleasant and kind, but whenever she looked at the bow, he could see regret, as if she didn't want to see it completed.

"Yes, I know Manuchehr. Arash doesn't deserve this, but…he couldn't stand idle. So when I heard about what happened during that siege, I told him about your proposition. He would insist on my help anyway, no matter the cost to himself." Her voice was barely a whisper, barely contained from exploding with full force. If the light wasn't deceiving him, he could even see tears forming in her eyes.

Ah, he understood now. Love. Considering who Spenta Armaiti is, it most likely was a parental love, but it could as well be romantical or even both. Truth be told he didn't expect her to just tell him this, maybe she simply wanted to speak to someone?

If that was the case, then she chose a bad person for this. He wasn't good with emotions.

He looked at the bow he was making, this time with disgust. A holy bow, created for a holy purpose of saving thousands from a cruel rule of Iranians, made from a tree that survived all the evil of Azhi Dahaka.

This holy bow would kill one of the most pious, selfless, and righteous men he has ever met.

There was no possibility anymore, with Armaiti's confirmation he knew that Arash would give his all. It pained him, but what else could he do? He was a ruler first and foremost, after all, and now that he had a chance he simply couldn't back away. He had to finish it so that his people would live free and happy lives.

He just hoped he would never have to see this bow ever again.

They all were on the peak of Mount Damavand, freezing cold and feeling of wrongness permeating the air. But none of them cared, not Manuchehr, nor Zal, nor his other vassals; neither did care Afrasiab, nor his supporters. All looked at Arash, clad in armour and armed with a yet-to-be-named bow and a singular arrow.

He knew Armaiti didn't want him to come here—she was vocal in that matter—but he couldn't leave his fellow Iranians to Afrasiab's mercy, could he? It would be contradictory to who he was and what he believed in, after all. How could he be a hero if he wasn't willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of innocent?

"O Holy Lord." He lifted the bow and nocked the arrow, loosely aiming in the eastern direction.

The truth was, it wasn't entirely her idea to create this bow. From what he knew of her, she would never suggest using that tree, in fact. But he knew of its potential power, and so he insisted. Heh, he could be quite convincing when he wanted.

"O radiant Lord who grants wisdom, majesty, and strength." The arrow was drawn, and he could slowly feel the bow devouring his strength. He would give it all he could.

He may not know them personally, but both Manuchehr and Zal were good people, good rulers. He could see that they cared deeply about their people, his own king in particular. The Iranian king even bowed to him, presenting him the bow in shame, and asking for forgiveness. He didn't mind his death, it was his idea after all.

"My heart, my thoughts, and all that I can see." The bow was growing stronger than he expected. He quickly corrected his aim, so the arrow would fly as far as possible. If everything would go well, they could even grab some Turanian land.

Huh, only now he realised he didn't even grant the bow a name yet. Well, this one sounds nice and it's not like it would really matter anyway.

"Come, servants of the moon and the stars! My actions, my last moments, my Holy Devotion, witness it all!" He heard shouting from the sides, as everyone could feel the power behind this shot. He could barely see, but it didn't matter at this point—his arms still hold strong, not moving even an inch. It would fly straight and true.

Armaiti. A name that was dear to him. Without her, he would never be the man he was today. He would never be a hero.

"With all my might, I shall release this one arrow and let my body be crushed upon this place!" This was it. A deep breath, and—

Thank you. For everything.

"STELLAAAAAAA!"

As he was falling to the ground, he could still see it. A shot like not anything any of them have ever seen, it was more akin a meteor than a bowshot. He was dying, but he could still see that much, and he smiled at the sight. It was beautiful.

And yet, there was more, although the hero could no longer see it. Six more lights split from the Lone Meteor, each of different colour. Seven lights filled the morning sky, each one symbolising one of the Amesha Spentas, and Ahura Mazda as the original light—because no matter what, they still watched and protected Iranians from any threats.

This morning people of Iran celebrated not the victory over Turan, but the sacrifice of a true Hero that made this victory possible—Arash of the Swift Arrow.

AN: Press F to pay respect.

Because Arash is a hero, and he deserves recognition.

Truth be told, orginally I didn't write it for FFN; it was written as an omake/sidestory for Iliad Quest on Spacebattles, in fact. That is a part why you probably didn't find many elements from Fate, though not the main reason—the bulk of the stuff here is from my research about Iranian legends and Zoroastrianism, and my own imaginations, with only some parts coming from the quest—like the tree.

The rest? My own take on Arash's legends. Because let me tell you, just like with most myths, there are many versions. As such, the only things from Fate were Stella's name (as it wasn't named in the myths) and the chant at the end. Well, that one scene made me want to write this thing, to be honest, so that's a given. Hell, it actually was my first serious try at writing something decent. Dunno if I succeeded, but people liked it so I have that going for me.

Also, though it's unrelated, let me tell you something: fuck fanon. Seriously. Things like 'Troll Zeltretch' or 'Shirou's got alien mindset' are a fucking cancer of Fate fics.