Sword and Sheath

"I'm here, Saber."

An aged Emiya Shirō stood before the marker, his warm amber-brown eyes observing the small children at play as his shoes soaked the mud of the spring grass. In his old hands, he held the gift he had meant to give to the girl he loved – a stuffed lion that the former king had found adorable. His younger self had laughed, seeing the stuffed animal similar to Saber. His Servant had not found his laughter to be mocking, and so he had not had the chance to tell her his feelings. It's been…sixty years, Saber, Shirō thought as he stared at the marker that marked the grave of a king. More than half a century, and yet…I still long for you. It had been very hard during the two weeks shortly after the Fifth Holy Grail War for Shirō. Although no one knew it, the auburn-haired man was grieving. He was grieving for someone who was not there, someone who had sacrificed her own happiness for the happiness of her own people. There were times when Shirō thought of Saber late into the night, thinking of the short time they had together. I miss you… I had selfishly thought. It was only a year later did Shirō not have a sharp stab in his chest at the thought of the beautiful Heroic Spirit. Decades passed, and the auburn-haired mage had watched the Holy Grail War rendered obsolete, and had seen the children and grandchildren of his two closest friends, Tohsaka Rin and Matou Sakura, grow and became mages in their own right. Many times Tohsaka would come over to his house and visit the old man, talking quietly and reminiscing about the past and the Fifth Holy Grail War that had tied them together.

"Do you still think of her?" Shirō had looked over and smiled lightly at his friend. Although Tohsaka's once dark-brown hair was now gray and her young face heavy with wrinkles, the mage could still see the fire in her eyes that reminded Shirō of her seventeen year old self. "All the time," he replied.

It was true. The white-haired old man often thought of Saber, especially now that his memories of her were fading. He found it hard now in his old age to remember her face, her features blurred. The old man couldn't remember what they had said to each other during the time he had given back her Excalibur. The old man, watching the cherry blossoms bloom as they pelted onto the ground in his estate, could still remember the night when she had been summoned. "I ask of you…are you my Master?" Her voice, clear and beautiful, always remained in his mind. It was one of the only clear memories he had of her in his mind. Even the kiss that they shared was shattered by gaps of memory. Did they speak after? Did he truly sleep with her by his side or did he not? He couldn't remember.

"Shirō," she said without regret, "anata o aishiteru."

"I still remember of how you said those words without regret," the aged mage said as he stared at the marker. "As if you did not regret the time we had spent together, and that the two weeks were a dream to you." He smiled softly, and stared at the aged building on his right. It had been Tohsaka's idea to visit Saber's grave. "You have enough money, Shirō," the Tohsaka matriarch stated without compromise as she stared at the reluctant old man wearing a yukata. "Just go and visit her. You haven't been smiling lately." Shirō had smiled more in his adult and old years than he had as a child or teenager, believing that he only deserved to be happy if he gave himself completely. Saber had taught him that she and the boy she loved were mere images of each other. "Think about myself? Shirō –"

The old man halted the memory, squeezing the stuffed lion with his hands as he pushed the memory of their argument away. Although there was the actual grave to visit in the place surrounded by trees, the old mage found himself content here. Saber would be happy to know that her people are happy, Shirō thought as he watched two teenagers sit by the tree where he was, talking in high voices and smiling as a family of three started walking towards the grave of King Arthur.

"Your people still admire you, Saber. They still love you…more than the people you sacrificed for did," Shirō whispered softly as he remembered reading a book by the lamp of the legend that Saber had illuminated. "I studied abroad in England before, so I know of how your people think of you." A wide grin appeared on his wrinkled face. "I have met many Arthurs…but no Arturias."

He had known Saber's true name for a long time, but had not called her by that name. He had wondered in his haze of grief why he had not. Then he came to realize that Saber would always know that he loved her, whether calling her by her Class name or her human name. Even as King Arthur, the king who was betrayed by his own kin, would know the truth.

"I could never forgot that you were a king, Saber. I could never." Shirō swallowed heavily, and stared at the bright blue sky. "The same way of how you were my sword, and I was your sheath. I could never…" Suddenly, tears started to come from his eyes. They flowed onto his cheeks and onto the ground. His body, old and worn, started to shake. "I could never forget you…Saber." A harsh sob choked in his throat, and the aged mage held the stuffed lion to his chest, suddenly overwhelmed by memories. No one harmed the old man who was too overcome with emotion to know that his entire shirt was soaked in tears.

"You were my sword, Saber." Shirō found himself alone as the darkness gathered in the sky. It was nearing nighttime, and the old man lied his exhausted body onto Saber's marker. "And I was your sheath." He smiled, remembering of how she held him in his arms. "My sheath…" he whispered, his limbs and eyes suddenly heavy, blinking at the stars. So beautiful… he thought.

"My Saber…" Emiya Shirō murmured as he closed his eyes.

A young caretaker came to the site of where the famous King Arthur was buried. His blond hair was short and somewhat cropped, and his hazel eyes looked upon the property fondly. He always had loved the legend of King Arthur, and had always begged his parents to take him there whenever they had the time. Now he was working as the caretaker of one of his childhood heroes, and the young man looked fondly at the trees and the wet grass as he suddenly saw a figure by the marker by King Arthur's grave. The young man ran, his shoes slipping against the grass as he stood at the figure before his feet. It was an old man. A loose blue coat was around his shoulders, and he wore light brown pants. A stuffed lion lay in his lap, its beady eyes almost bright in the sunlight. The old man appeared to be Asian, his face wrinkled, and his hair was white and slightly wavy. The young man, hesitating slightly as he continued to stare at the old man, pressed his finger against the old man's neck.

There was no pulse.

The young man swallowed heavily and was about to reach into his pocket when he realized that the old man was smiling.

A faint smile echoed across his lips.