Saber's blue dress and armor were almost invisible under the moonlight, covered as they were in splatters of black ichor from her recent battle, but that suited her purposes. The fewer people spotted her perched on the concrete edge of the railway overpass, eyes fixed anxiously on the tracks below as they stretched towards the darkened horizon, the better. She did not need an audience for the next steps of the violent dance in which she and her Master were engaged that night. Her ears strained against the silence, hoping for the telltale whistle of the scheduled Ruthven Express. She would jump down and join Rin on the train, and together they would wrap up this nightmare of a mission.

She hated being split up like this during their operations, even if she understood the necessity. It wasn't as if they'd had much time to plan. By the time they'd learnt that Karl Ernst von Haxthausen had escaped to Inverness, they'd had to mobilize immediately. As an alchemist of sinister reputation, even by the dubious standards of the Magus Association, it was unwise to let him fortify himself in a location for any length of time.

Worse, their sources indicated that his even more infamous partner, Lucrezia Lupa, was travelling by the earliest train to join him. A Dead Apostle, as Saber had learnt to call the cursed beings that preyed on innocent blood, along with her familiars. There wouldn't be a single human left alive in the rumbling cars, their essence drained to fuel her magic, their bodies raised as ravenous beasts to swell the ranks of her army.

Thanks to the unholy contract that bound them, the closer they drew to each other, the stronger their respective powers grew. They absolutely could not be allowed to convene, especially in a city full of fresh prey. Neither would hesitate to kill, as much as they deemed necessary, to build their strength.

Saber knew that the safest solution, the one that would be favoured by any self-respecting Enforcer, would be for Rin and herself to choose one of the pair and concentrate their attacks. Eliminate one threat before moving on to the other. The trouble, yet again, was that damnable contract. Linked by their very souls, each would readily sense the loss of the other. That in turn would lead to a bloodbath, as the survivor unleashed their hordes to run wild through the populace as a means of providing cover for an escape. Or, if the worst whispers about Lucrezia held truth, for the sheer sake of entertainment.

Most Enforcers would easily accept the collateral damage and focus their efforts on covering up the incident, but Saber could not stand by and allow such carnage. Not when she had the power to stop it. And for all of Rin's claims that she was a ruthless magus, that her heart was encased in ice, she wouldn't allow it either. That left the two women little choice other than to hunt their targets separately, and deliver their finishing blows simultaneously. So Saber had found herself on a motorcycle, riding north at breakneck speed to eat up the miles to Inverness, while her Master made arrangements to catch one of the most dangerous express trains in the history of the Moonlit World.

A gust of cold wind pulled Saber from her thoughts. Still no sign of the train, and she felt her impatience grow, threatening to pull her buried feeling of dread up with it. She sighed and tapped her radio headset, not for the first time.

"Come on, Rin. Pick up."

Still no response, but she fiercely strangled the fear that threatened to bloom in her breast. There was no reason to panic. There were many reasons why Rin might not be in a position to respond. She could be hidden in shadows and maneuvering around the enemy. She could be engaged in active combat. She could, Saber thought with a fond smile, simply be fumbling with the controls. Even after years of training, the magus remained uncomfortable with technology, especially when she was under pressure.

And that was without considering that Saber was a bit ahead of their agreed schedule. For all his wicked genius, Haxthausen was a magus, and her Servant class had always been the natural enemy of spellcasters. Strong magic resistance had let her pass unscathed through cursed runes and deadly spells that would have made a human's eyes boil in their sockets, while her blade made short work of his silver golems. She could understand why her quarry had chosen to flee rather than face her in honourable duel, even if it had forced her to cut him down like a bolting hare rather than a man.

Her success showed why sending her to dispatch the alchemist had been the correct decision, mutually agreed upon by Master and Servant. If only it had not meant sending Rin alone to confront a powerful vampire and all her twisted Dead. But there had been little choice, and Saber had learned not to underestimate her comrade and lover. She was a far cry from the green girl that had fought in the Fifth War. Years fighting against the darkest corners of the Moonlit World had shaped her into a veteran magus, quick-witted and deadly. She could trust in Rin's talent and composure to see her through.

Are you so sure? The thought crept in unbidden, turning her blood to ice. Remember the last time you trusted so blindly in your comrade's abilities? That's how you lost Shirou.

She closed her eyes and braced herself as the flood of unwanted memories washed over her.

Saber barreled down the crumbling passages of the old temple, leaving Rin trailing behind in her eagerness to rejoin the battle. The Voidstone had been shattered with a single strike from Excalibur, the malignant relic now scattered in harmless fragments on the dusty floor. Now to hurry back and relieve Shirou, before the swarming beasts overwhelmed him entirely.

The young man had been magnificent, broken phantasms exploding around him, Kanshou and Bakuya weaving deadly patterns in his hands, as he yelled that he would buy them the time they needed. Saber had been so proud of his bravery, understood his need to test himself against the foe. Rin had been less impressed, calling him a stubborn fool, but even she couldn't deny that his Reality Marble and its flight of flashing blades were their best bet to keep the summoned fiends at bay.

Now the task was complete, and she could again fight side-by-side with her lovers, stand strong against the darkness arrayed against them. But in the face of the growing stench of blood, along with the silence that had descended in the halls aside from their own hurried footsteps, she began to feel the first stirrings of dread.

"Shirou!" she called as she turned the corner, "We're h-"

Her throat constricted, strangling her words, as she took in the sight before her. The chamber was a sea of blood, littered with horrors in various states of dismemberment. The massive bulk of a scaled beast – a dragon, her mind informed her, but that was impossible, dragons had not lived in this world for centuries - was stretched out in the gore. Wounds covered it from the top of its horned head to the tips of its curved talons, serrated cuts left by the strikes of countless blades. Its flanks still heaved with dying breath, but her eyes were instead drawn to its tail, following the curve upwards to where the cruel sting was still embedded in the broken wall. And impaled along that blade of a tail –

"SHIROU!"

His body hung limply around the scaly appendage rammed through his chest, dangling in the air like a grotesque puppet. His hands trailed by his sides, their fingers rigidly curled as if still holding their missing swords. And the blood, pouring from the torn hole in his torso, his mouth, seeping through his coat to puddle below with soft plips. Saber was long familiar with the sight of death, but nothing could have prepared her to see it cruelly seize upon Shirou. The man who had captured her reluctant heart with his steadfast goodness and generosity and cold, he looked so cold hanging there.

She couldn't see the eyes, hidden by the slump of his head and the matted hair falling forward, but maybe that was a blessing because if she did see them glassy and dead she might scream and never stop screaming. Ah, she thought distantly, she was screaming anyway, before she realized the wordless cry of anguish was not her own. Distantly she saw Rin collapse on her knees, brackish red splashing up to stain her skin and clothes. In that moment, all Saber could think was that she had failed, just like she had failed Lancelot, just like she had failed her kingdom all those years ago.

It had been years now, but the memory still hurt, a jagged thing lodged in her mind. She had led enough men into battle to understand that casualties were inevitable, but it was hard not to blame herself for overestimating his abilities. For tempting fate.

For all Saber's self-recrimination, Rin had taken it even harder. The magus had blamed herself relentlessly, berated herself for indulging his need to save others despite the dangers. As she had told Saber weeks later, face streaked with tears and hand clamped on her second bottle of the night, bull-headed self-sacrifice was in his and Saber's nature. She had known better, had known she needed to put a stop to things. But saving people put that irrepressible smile on her boyfriend's face, made her girlfriend's shoulders straighten with renewed pride, and Rin had let herself be swept along. She had failed Saber and Shirou alike, and irrevocably broken her promise to Archer.

The magus would have fallen entirely to pieces if Saber had not been there to catch her. In turn, being strong for Rin had given Saber a purpose to fulfill even in the wake of another unspeakable failure. And although the former king was entirely too used to bearing up under grief in the name of duty, it had come as a vast relief to have someone to share that grief with this time. Someone whose shoulder she could cry against, without fear of showing weakness.

They had understood each other, clung to each other, needed each other. That connection had held fast and grown in the following years. Shirou's absence from their lives, from their bed, left a cold reminder of what they had lost. But there were still warm arms, loving embraces and devoted companionship. They easily forgave each other and, over time, they managed to forgive themselves as well.

For all Rin's prickly ways, Saber knew without a doubt that the magus loved her. It was for the sake of that love, and Shirou's memory, that Rin continued taking on these missions, threw herself into danger again and again in defense of others. Even if, in the girl's own words, it was all stupid and naïve idealism. Saber smiled fondly. Rin could complain all she wanted, but she always had a good heart, an honourable heart, whatever Tohsaka Tokiomi had tried to teach her. Saber was proud to have her as a master, a partner, a lover.

She tried the radio headset again. Still no response, but she told herself that she was not worried. Rin would not die on this mission, for Saber would not allow it. She was here ahead of schedule, ready to leap down and join her Master on the cursed train whenever it finally deigned to show itself. And if the mana flow that connected them suddenly felt weaker, well, that was to be expected, wasn't it? Rin was fighting a powerful enemy. It made sense that she would be using up a lot of mana. It didn't mean that she was (dead) struggling. Saber had to have faith.

She could finally see the train's pale headlights cutting through the night, the distant roar of its engine and the rumble of wheels furiously beating against steel tracks. She glared at it, as if she could force the dark bulk to approach faster through sheer force of will. Despite her impatience, it would still be a few minutes before it arrived -

The headset gave a sharp buzz, and she almost jumped in her surprise. Quickly she reached up to flick the button. "Rin?"

"Hey Saber? I got the bitch…" It was her lover's voice, but it sounded distressingly weak and oddly thick, as if she were speaking through a mouthful of liquid.

"Rin, what's wrong?" she said, struggling to keep calm, to ignore the hammering of her heart.

"The Dead aren't disappearing like they should. Some kind of enchantment. Wasn't expecting that." A wet cough. "… you can't let them off the train. I need you to destroy them all, okay? And... I'm sorry."

"Hold on, Rin!" She barked it like an order, like she would have done for one of her knights. "I'm almost there!"

The train was getting closer now, approaching at breakneck speed but still not fast enough for Saber. She ground her gauntleted fist in helpless rage.

There was a long moment of silence. Saber was about to yell again, to demand a response, when the magus spoke again. "Yeah, okay… I… I'll wait for you."

"Just hold on!"

Saber hurled herself over the far side railing as the locomotive passed under the bridge. Her hair and dress whipped wildly around her, buffeted by chilling wind, before she landed heavily on the rounded roof. She looked down the line of train cars rattling before her and cursed. Rin had to be in one of them, but something was interfering with her ability to pinpoint the magus despite the mana flow that connected them. There was little time for hesitation – the longer she stood on the roof, the more likely she might be knocked off by an untimely tunnel or overhead cables. Best to drop down into the train and start her search.

Ignoring the rattling of the train and the air pressure that threatened to blow her off, she plunged Excalibur through the roof. Reinforced metal parted open like tissue paper to her invisible blade as she carved an impromptu door. A sharp kick to dislodge the metal, and the way was open. Darkness below – the lights must have been out – but she did not hesitate to slip down into the train car.

Finely tuned battle instincts warned her before she even hit the ground. She leapt hard to her left as teeth snapped the air where she'd been standing only moments before. It was almost pitch black in the car, but the Servant could still make out her foe. Her gaze met corpse-pale skin and stiff limbs, empty red eyes, a mouth twisted in mindless aggression – all remembered from previous encounters with the Dead. But his face was oddly warped, the bones of his nose and jaw elongated in the suggestion of a canine snout.

She had scarcely registered this when a fierce growl pulled her eyes downward. His arm, she thought numbly as she recoiled in disgust. Instead of the taloned fingers she expected, there was a wolf's head emerging from the tattered sleeve. It was grotesque, disproportionately large to the shuddering body from which it grew, a horror from a fever dream. But still savage eyes bored into her, lips quivered in a snarl. She could see movement in the shadows behind it, glimpses of twisted forms with shaggy hides, glinting fangs and malformed ears and maws.

The snarl became a roar as the wolf's head lunged. It was deadly fast, even as it dragged its host body behind it, stiff feet stumbling. Still, its speed was no match for Saber's Instinct. She neatly sidestepped the charge, then swung down to behead the monstrous appendage at the elbow. She pressed forward into a follow through that cut the body entirely in half, twisted flesh giving way to invisible steel. There was very little blood spray, but the stench of spilled and rotting guts was more than enough to turn her stomach.

She barely had time to look up before the next Dead was upon her, murderous claws spread wide. She parried its attack and kicked it violently in the stomach. It stumbled backwards, giving her the opening she needed to bring her sword around to cut its head clean from its neck. Moments later, clawed hands grabbed at her from every direction, tearing at her dress, digging into her armor, burying her under the press of the vile bodies. The reek of decaying flesh and blood-matted fur threatened to clog her nostrils.

She desperately slashed at them, pushing them back with Invisible Air as she forced her way towards the back of the train. While the Dead were not individually a threat to a Servant of her calibre, their sheer number made it difficult to muscle her way through. She was reminded of Caster's dragontooth warriors; but while such familiars were a mere annoyance when she had her Master fighting with her side-by-side, it was entirely different when they were blocking her from her Master. A Master whose mana flow was getting weaker by the moment. The thought galvanized her fury, her desperation. She pressed forward with renewed strength, cutting her way through the horde, body by malformed body.

She forced her way down through the next car, fighting the whole way, until she abruptly reached a rough stone wall instead of the compartment door. She allowed herself a brief smile as she recognized Rin's spellwork. The wall was scored with numerous claw marks, but it had held fast. It was almost a shame to tear it down with a blast of wind pressure, but down it went. She pushed through, followed by the horde of Dead still howling for her blood.

"Almost there, almost there…!"

The floor on the other side was covered in glittering glass from broken windows that crunched underfoot as she hurried through, picking her way through dozens of fallen bodies. The air stunk of smoke and burnt corpse-flesh, made bearable only by rushing air. Scorch marks and puddles of melted water bore testament to the elemental fury that had happened here.

Saber rushed through to the other end, where a gilded door had been roughly kicked in. She found herself in a richly ornamented compartment. She quickly took in her surroundings - carved panels, polished floors, red velvet and silk, though much of it had been burnt or trodden underfoot. There were many holes in the walls and furnishings, so deep they could only have been caused by concentrated force – a telltale sign of Gandr.

Pulling aside a half-burned curtain, she took in the charred corpse laying at her feet. Despite the damage, she could make out hulking muscles and features that were downright lycanthropic – lupine head, singed wisps of fur, warped talons. Its savagery was in marked contrast to the remnants of its aristocratic attire, half-melted jewelry and bits of crimson silk. Lucrezia Lupa, most likely. Then where was her Master?

She spotted scuffed footprints in the ash. Footprints, and splashes of red.

"Rin? … Rin!"

She followed crimson droplets to the far corner, where a Dead corpse lay awkwardly sprawled, its talons covered in blood. Fresh blood. When she pulled it aside, she finally found her Master.

The woman was slumped over, black hair hanging like a disheveled curtain around her face and shoulders. Saber rushed forward to grab Rin by the shoulders, shaking her roughly in her panic.

"Rin, wake up!"

The body was limp and heavy. When she drew her hands away, she found them covered in blood. She looked down to hideous wounds where talons had deeply rent her love's back.

Saber's hands instinctively reached towards her belt, to draw forth Avalon and draw upon the sheath's healing powers. The body still held a hint of warmth, almost enough to make her hope she had not arrived too late. But when she tilted Rin's chin up, begging to see something in those aquamarine eyes, she found them glazed over in death.

Whatever miracles Avalon could bring forth, it could not bring back the dead. Saber knew through bitter experience.

She felt hot tears flow down her cheeks as she lightly passed her fingers to close Rin's eyelids, as she had done for Shirou. And just like the young man, when she bent down to press one last kiss against cold lips, she tasted blood.

Saber wanted to break down and sob, pour out the flood of grief that threatened to fill her up and overwhelm her. But she didn't have that even that dubious luxury. The shuffling and creaking of wooden floors behind her made it clear that the remaining Dead had caught up with her. She rose to her feet, unsteadily at first, then with renewed determination as she faced the oncoming horde.

She could still feel mana in her reserves, enough to last a few hours. Britain was a land of magi, even in these modern times. In her remaining time, she might be able to find a new master to anchor her to this world.

Saber dismissed the thought immediately. It was not only her duty, but her will, to follow through on the path of her Master – no, both her Masters.

Saber held her sword aloft as the Dead surged forward, fangs bared and eyes gleaming with unnatural hunger. The blade glowed a shining gold and air swirled around it, lifting up small bits of ash with it, as the Servant gathered all her remaining power. Radiant force built up, the light intensifying until it was so bright it could blind the angels. She raised it overhead and yelled its sacred name.

"EXCALIBUR!"

An overwhelming wave of light burst forth from the sword to engulf everything before her. Enemies, furnishings, the very walls and floor of the train, all dissolved in the face of that fearsome radiance.

Saber took in the sight of the obliteration with a sense of fierce satisfaction, even as she felt her body begin to fade. Her head was spinning, her vision blurred, as her consciousness began to slip away. From the frigid fog settling over her, she was being pulled somewhere far colder than the Blessed Isle. The Throne of Heroes, then.

It was an abominable place to her now. Once it had promised her a chance to win the Grail, to save her country and redeem herself from her mistakes. Now with the Grail first corrupted, then dismantled entirely, the Throne was just a prison. One that was worse for her than the other spirits it housed, because at least they had only a single lifetime to look back on. Saber had several incarnations now to haunt her, each filled with failure and regret.

As she felt her mind fall into the Throne's cold grasp, she hoped that she would never be called back from it.

Author's Note: Gift fic for the fabulous Gladiara Alata. I'm sorry it took so long to post, but I've come to accept that it's pretty much par for the course for me, sigh.

For those concerned about lore, Saber is wrong here. She's definitely going to Avalon, even if the start of her journey is plunged in an unexpected cold. Unfortunately the same can't be said for her copy, newly inducted as a Heroic Spirit in the Throne of Heroes. Hurrah for the Nasuverse's unrelenting cruelty.