Sword Dancing

A Fate/stay night fanfic written by

Joak Drysso

Boring disclaimer: I don't own Fate/stay night nor the characters therein, they are the property of Type-Moon.

SPOILER WARNING: This contains several spoilers for the True End of the Unlimited Blade Works route of Fate/stay night. If you have only seen the anime, or only played through the Fate ending of Fate/stay night, read on at your own risk.

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He lay awake, that night, unable to sleep. Not half a foot from him, his fiancée lay sleeping, her chest rising and falling evenly. He tilted his head to look at her. Long black strands of hair covered her pillow, framing her angelic, serene face. He knew from experience that upon waking, her brow would crease, whether in frustration or concentration, lightened only by an occasional smile as she continued her diligent studies.

Outside, London remained relatively peaceful and quiet. Their flat likewise, the only sounds present the steady breathing from his fiancée, and his own uneven exhales. He smiled at his fiancée, and returned his attention to the roof, deep in contemplation. He often did this, looking back to discover how he had come into his current life. Not that he had any reservations about it. He actually considered himself the luckiest man alive, to have been graced with the gifts he had, and most importantly, with her.

He couldn't have regrets about it. He had told himself, in all manners of the phrase, in that fateful showdown in the Einzbern Castle with Rin's life at stake, that he would never regret his decisions in life. Despite his misgivings about the Magic Association, despite his hesitation at leaving Japan to study in London, he honestly could not say that he regretted a single decision he had made.

His tutoring with Rin had paid off. His natural talent with strengthening and projection had been complemented well by her teachings, and after they moved in he was officially accepted into the Magic Association as a student. So far behind Rin, but he worked diligently, but not as ferociously as she did; Kiritsugu's words about wanting him to be a magic user, not a magus, still drew him elsewhere. Not away from the girl he loved, who loved him, but he was not restrained by the Association, and put his focus where he felt it should be when it called for it.

He had so many roles that he changed at the drop of a hat. He was Emiya Shirou, fiancée of Tohsaka Rin. He was Emiya Shirou, student of the Association. He was Emiya Shirou, heir of Kiritsugu's determination, stubbornness, and idealism. He was Emiya Shirou, superhero. And he was Emiya Shirou, the inheritor of heroic spirit Emiya's last wishes and wills.

Right now, he was Emiya Shirou, the sleepless. Sighing, he swung his legs out of the bed they were in and set his feet on the carpet. It was a sensation that had taken some getting used to for him; he was so used to hardwood or tiling that the feeling of carpet was bizarre, but not unwelcome. Making sure to lightly ease himself up so as not to wake up Rin, he moved himself out of the bed. Slipping into the rope and cinching it at the waist with the sash, he left the room.

Walking over to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, he slid it open and stepped out. The balcony wasn't big – barely enough room for three people to sit semi-comfortably, but enough room for him and Rin to cuddle on warmer afternoons – but it provided a magnificent view of London. Even at such an early hour, the city was a sight to behold, and Shirou constantly felt slightly breathless when he witnessed the majesty. It humbled him, and yet further solidified his notion that his beliefs were right. This was what he sought to protect. This was what he could protect.

He hung over the rail, craned his neck up at the stars. They were perhaps the second most stared-at objects for him, the first being his fiancée (who would always flush a nice shade of red whenever someone observed it, or when she noticed it herself). There was something to their far-off radiance that reminded him of that golden-haired girl who had lived with them for those ten short days. He had failed her. The Holy Grail that he couldn't obtain because it had been so tainted, a new life for her here that they had not been able to grant. She hung in the shadows of his mind, not haunting him, but always pushing him in the right direction.

"Late night, son?" Mr. Winthorpe, one of their neighbors, an elderly man whom Shirou knew and liked a lot, asked as he stepped out himself. When they had first arrived, Shirou had only a cursory knowledge of English, and through interaction with the Magic Association and the Winthorpe family's innate generosity and friendliness, Shirou had come to a near mastery of the language. Shirou smiled, and slid a chair under himself to sit.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Ah, insomnia."

"…kind of, yeah."

"Well after the ruckus you two caused earlier, I'd have thought you would have passed out."

"Eh…?" Shirou paused, and then flushed dark red. "W-wait, you heard?" He knew that there were people who could occasionally hear their bedroom activities, especially due to Rin's, er, lack of tact, but the fact that the venerable family next door had heard them in the act was especially mortifying. Shirou knew they had a family, knew they knew everything, but they seemed so clean that intruding on them with that was this side of criminal.

"A bit, yes sir." The old man chuckled, a pleasant sound. The young man managed an embarrassed grin, his hand behind his head. "That's okay though. It's good to know that you two are getting along. When you first got here, I think the fighting was more wearisome than that."

Shirou had to laugh himself. Though their relationship's first year had passed, when they'd gotten to London things took a stark turn for the worse. Rin's studies often seemed to supercede her time with Shirou. He had felt neglected, and one bad day had called her on it. The resulting fight had nearly ended everything, and Shirou had slept at a friend's house for a week after. The time apart had a drastic effect on both of them, and with the additional mediation by their close friends, including of all people Sakura and Fuji-nee who had flown out upon hearing the news, had finally made up with each other.

Not to say that their relationship was by any means a cakewalk. They argued, a lot, but it never escalated, never got out of hand anymore. They had had time to get to know each other, so the misunderstandings were few and far between. And even a lot of that died down when he had gathered enough money to propose to her.

"Yeah, I think I prefer it myself." He grinned with a certain look in his eye, and the elderly man laughed outright.

"Good, good. How is your education going, son?" The elderly man had assumed from many overheard discussions that the two were students; he had never inquired where they were studying or what they were studying, although Shirou occasionally suspected that he knew or had an idea.

"It's going better than I expected. The teachers say I've come a long way since I got here, which helps a lot. I'm still not doing anything compared to what Rin is."

"Ah, patience, patience. Enjoy the easy stuff while you can, Shirou, because you'll miss it when you start into the harder things." He smiled, and Shirou smiled back. There was never someone Shirou trusted more for conventional wisdom than this man right here.

"I'll keep that in mind." He finally stood up and stretched.

"Going to bed?" The man inquired.

"I might. I think I'll try and exercise myself to exhaustion." Although Shirou knew that idea would fall flat as soon as he proposed it. With all of his training, his endurance was nearing the inhuman. He could strain himself physically for nearly straight hours before needing to take a break. He wouldn't be able to exhaust himself in time to sleep.

"Hehe. Sure. Just don't make too much noise, Shirou. Us old folk need our rest too." Mr. Winthorpe nodded, and then began to head inside, when he suddenly stopped, and turned to look at Shirou. "My memory must be slipping. When did you say that you were planning your wedding?"

Actually, Shirou thought, they hadn't planned it yet. Between school and alerting everyone and just generally enjoying each other they hadn't gotten around to thinking out when and where they were going to hold the ceremony. But even as he started to open his mouth to clarify, a thought occurred to him. He rolled it around in his head once, twice, and then nodded. "We'll be holding it in February." It was April. They'd have time to get affairs in order.

"February? I see. Could you ask Rin to come over and visit when she has some free time. The wife has something she wants to talk to her about."

"Sure." Shirou nodded. "I'll tell her when she gets up."

"Very good. See you tomorrow, Shirou. Get some sleep." The elderly gentleman slid open his own patio door and stepped back inside, closing it, leaving Shirou alone outside.

"February, huh?" Shirou looked into the sky again. "Yeah. I think she'd like that."

He turned and walked inside.

But he did not go to bed. He knew that the tension in his body would not allow him to sleep. He needed a way to bleed it out. So he closed the door to their bedroom, and then adopted a familiar stance. "Trace, on."

An eerie green glow lit the room as he activated his magic circuits. In each hand, a short-sword appeared. In his right hand, the black Yang-sword, Kanshou, appeared; in his left, the white Yin-sword, Bakuya. He smiled at the fond memories they brought back to him, his hours of training, improving his swordsmanship and projection abilities. They were, now, as beautiful as those that Archer had projected. It was a source of pride for Shirou, knowing that he could manifest something so beautiful.

And just as he had crafted them, he cut the flow of energy, and the swords disappeared. He needed them there just to get himself in the mindset for what he was about to do. Using his swords would wake Rin.

Shirou was not well-versed in traditional Japanese swordsmanship. He had learned kendo a while back, but had quit that. He had never gotten into the art of kenbu, sword-dancing, until he had seen a demonstration of it from another group of students abroad. The idea of telling a story through a dance with swords appealed to him so much, that he started studying it. Of course, he didn't dance the stories of ancient generals. No, he danced the story of something much more intimate – his own self.

After thinking on the subject, Shirou had come to the conclusion that the subject of his dance would be that fateful duel against the heroic spirit Emiya. It seemed a little conceited at first, and Rin, with a smirk, had told him so. When he responded, flustered, that he hadn't intended anything of that, she had broken into laughter before telling him that something like that really suited him.

So Shirou had, over an intense period of six months, had composed it. The key piece of it all was showing the desperation of the conflict, something that Shirou hadn't hit on for a while. It was when, during one of his training sessions, Kanshou rang against Bakuya due to his feet slipping that he discovered it. That clanging sound, of steel on steel, sword against sword, was what he needed.

Shirou inhaled, and began the dance. The first few beats were slow, precise steps, his swords at his side – Archer's descent. A gesture with Kanshou at some figure at the side, his address to Saber when she tries to intervene, tries to diffuse the situation. A measure's pause, as Shirou himself watches Emiya descend those steps. Then, slowly, the tempo builds.

There is no music to accompany it. The only rhythm to be found is the pace that Shirou keeps. He brings his hands overhead, and brush them past each other – were he actually performing it with his swords, a loud clang would have resulted from the two swords meeting. That first exchange of blows. In that moment, Shirou had discovered more about fear than he had ever known before. It was a clash of ideals; Shirou, with his desire to help everyone before him, and Archer, who, after seeing humanity tear itself apart constantly, being called in to clean up these messes, desired nothing more than to erase his existence from the memory of the world.

And nothing terrified Shirou more than questioning that ideal by which he lived by.

He danced through the living room, his pace now furious. He kept his footsteps light as possible, but knew he could not do it silently. There was too much passion in this dance for him to restrain it.

The dominant cuts of the dance were diagonal cuts, left to right, right to left, upper to lower, lower to upper, bringing the swords close enough to clash on occasion, more metal on metal as the two living swords crashed into each other. The diagonal cuts were designed to show the crossing of two ideals; and then the separation of them. The clashes were when they truly fought.

Shirou began to slow, his cuts now drawing more strength. His exhaustion here, but also his unwillingness to give up. How his idealism, his naiveté, drives him on. And then the final piece, the only way Shirou could ever have ended this dance. Unconsciously, his magic circuits ignite, and his final thrust is with the blade Kanshou, his stance low, his shoulder drawn forward to drive open his invisible opponent's guard. The puncture in Archer's chest, the end of the fight, here in this last move. Shirou's ideal is proven, and he fears no more.

A soft clapping knocked Shirou of his focus, and his head snapped around to find Rin standing against the doorframe of their bedroom, an amused, if sleepy, smile on her face. "I've never seen the ending until now. Not bad, Shirou. Not bad at all."

He flushed slightly, and then let Kanshou go, the sword disintegrating into nothingness. "I never had the opportunity to show it to you before." He approached her, enfolded her in his arms, pulled her to him. "Did I wake you?"

"Kind of. You not being there woke me, dummy." She lightly smacked his shoulder, smiling, and he returned it, before leaning down and kissing her.

When they broke, he finally explained himself. "I couldn't sleep, so I went outside, and then came back in and did that. Still don't think I can sleep."

"Is it something to do with the War?" She tilted her head and frowned.

"No, no, I just can't sleep. I'm tense, I just don't know about what." He confessed, threading fingers through her silky hair.

"Then come back to bed and we'll see if I can ease some of that tension from you." She smiled sleepily, and Shirou didn't think she quite understood what she had just said, but he flushed regardless.

"I think the neighbors would protest if we started doing that again at this hour, Rin."

She paused for a moment, and then her own face turned a light red, and she smacked his shoulder again, rougher. "Emiya, you idiot! I didn't mean it like that!"

He laughed, and caught her arm when she tried to hit him again for laughing, and instead kissed her. "Lead the way, my future wife, and ease my tensions as you see fit."

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Short, sweet, just how I wanted it. The Rin/Shirou dynamic is a weird one to write for me. Like most writers of the modern age, I'm firmly ensconced in certain ideas of how a couple should be, and Shirou/Sakura or Shirou/Saber more closely model that kind of relationship. Shirou/Rin is more full of irony, a joking kind of relationship that makes actually writing them out to be something of a pain. Not unenjoyable, not in the least, but it's a relationship that takes some getting used to writing, and I may or may not gain that experience.

In the meanwhile, this should hopefully get me back on a writing kick. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.