Existence.

Abrupt and more importantly, unexpected.

The existence of a Heroic Spirit is a twisted and ironic one. At times even funny, in a morbid-but-sort-of-amusing way where you involuntarily laugh yet think to yourself that the whole matter is detestable. Being a Counter Guardian, well... It really exacerbates those points beyond the average. Hell, the fact that you need to talk about an average of such lofty existences as Heroic Spirits really drives home the standards I've come to acquire.

See, being deployed is always a new experience. Regardless of how many times it has happened; will happen; could, should and would have happened, it's always a first time. The information of having been deployed thousands of times exists, but the experience isn't memory per se. Each unique existence simply scatters at the end, the recording being all that is returned to the Throne of Heroes. You walk a thousand miles a thousand times, always jumping off the cliff at the end of the road and every instance you will be aware of even if you don't remember it at all. Not memories, but raw information, you see.

And once more, I step onto that road I've tread a thousand thousand times before.

The sensation of being a hundred thousand dust particles being scattered in the wind for moment before snapping into a single form, motion sickness like the worst amusement park ride imaginable, the flexing of muscle and coalescing of bone, head abuzz with new information and mission parameters and objectives...

Or rather lack thereof.

Actually, that's what tells me there's something funny going on. The lack of my head being split in two by a headache is something I know is strange. The amount of times I recall the absence occurring is so infinitesimally vanishing as to be nothing more than a statistical error, if one can even talk of numbers anymore at this point. Secondly, I realize that I realized that. Which is a sign in an of itself, I'm sure. Being aware that you're aware is always a bit confusing for the first few seconds.

Deployed Heroic Spirits generally aren't sentient, much less intelligent enough to think. Deployed Counter Guardians never are. No need for it really, they're just killing machines. Cleaners, cosmic janitors, the final solution, fire and steel, oblivion and dust and all that jazz.

So, a summoning, I surmise in a heartbeat as I repress any undue excitement, taking in my first breath with relishing slowness. Another war perhaps? I sense a great number of living beings around me, though not a single sign of an ongoing struggle or fight. Not even an ounce of killing intent, which usually permeates every battlefield so thickly as to make one almost gag, stains the surroundings. The quantity and quality life force varies greatly from being to being. Humans and others standing astride to the one side, all gawking at the spectacle my arrival has created.

And that's three; good enough for a judgement call. I now am certain I'm not being deployed. There's always smoke, blood and screams whenever I get to do my "job". Despite sensing that the moment is very much like the eye of a passing-by hurricane and that I am in no way "home safe", I take the moment in. It's relaxing; simply standing still for a moment without immediately springing into motion. Not bearing down a storm of steel and death upon everything around me at every instant of my existence has become so rare as to be a novelty...

I open my eyes, less than a handful of seconds have passed since I came into existence and I notice that my arrival seems to have kicked up a cloud of dust. As my eyes finally pierce the settling dirt, I blink.

Green grass, windswept fields, rolling hills, verdant forests and calm as far as the eye can see. The kiss of the sun on my brow and the touch of the gentle wind on my cheek.

And then I see her.

Short and pink.

I almost mistake her for a fire hydrant of some sort. I recall seeing some of similar stature and coloring before... Singapore? I can't seem to remember when I actively try to get ahold of that train of thoughts.

Her confused expression—complete with gaping mouth and eyes wide open— tells me that she expected this about as much as I had, though her surprise, awe and... relief? Clue me in on who my summoner most likely is.

I snort and my visage naturally curls into a smirk. She realizes I've noticed, weighed and judged her already and found her to be less than impressive. Her face, unblemished and still quite child-like, twists into a scowl as natural as mine. Not a happy camper, this one.

A crowd behind her jeers and laughs at her in a language I don't understand- No, wait. French of some sort. I do speak it, I think. Advantages of being a representative of the Will of All of Humanity, I figure. Probably. Maybe.

It—or perhaps "they" or even "we"— could probably put that on the employment ad: Travel around the world, meet people of every race, culture and ethnicity to ever exist, learn to speak languages you never knew existed without realizing it.

Then again, the terms of employment are murder, so only idiots would apply.

Effortlessly slipping into a language I'm certain never to have spoken in life or in after-life before—shrugging aside any hesitations regarding the proper tense to use in my existence as a time traveling immortal cosmic custodian— I seek out the short girls' gaze. But the jeers pull her attention away from me, which we can't have.

"I ask of you..." Her attention snaps back to me, having been drawn to the noisy crowd to our side. "Are you my Master?"

She blinks twice, her mouth opening ever so slightly as wonder seeps through her eyes. I note that the crowd has heard me as well. They've quieted down, not expecting whatever my presence and acquiescence here signifies. And the one adult mage with the scent of blood thick on him relaxes just enough to pass off as a civilian again.

No one says anything for a few seconds and I sigh.

"It's just my luck to be summoned by another strange Master." I shrug with a scoff, but she does not react. Annoying, is she or isn't she my Master? I don't have time to test her mettle and character right now, my first priority is finding my summoner.

"I have arrived in accordance to your summons, thus I ask of you: Are you my Master?"

She finally realizes and understands the situation, her scowl coming back with force of a hammer blow as she musters her spirit and takes a step forward to meet me. Matching my gaze with her own, she answers me loudly with an upright posture and a hand placed on her chest.

"Yes...! I-I am Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière! I have summoned you!" This silences the crowd, though not for long.

She stutters a bit at the start, but her resolve seems good enough. I think I can fight with her, though throwing her into a basement for safety isn't out of the picture. I smirk and give an amused huff as I cross my arms but return her acknowledgement with a nod.

Now that that's been taken care of, I need to unscrew my head, rifle through my memories and try to get them into some semblance of order and then get my bearings. Counter Guardians never get to have sapience because of the way they're constantly deployed really messes with your head. Humans are beings that think in narratives, in timelines and in beginnings and endings. The existence of a Counter Guardian is anathema to any sane man.

All that knowledge, spanning hundreds and thousands and millions of hours of combat from all over, crammed into the brain of a meager human being. Or a spiritual core based facsimile of one, anyhow. This is why Classes were created, I'm absolutely sure. It's a pity Counter Guardians weren't really what the designers had in mind and it doesn't quite work properly, but the thought is appreciated. So for now, I'll have to bluff my way through until I get a handle on things. But I'll manage, I more or less used to this.

I must confirm whether or not my objective is achievable right now, first. I have endured too long as it is. My thoughts are cut short, when I realize the adult mage is approaching us.

How naive of me, dismissing the spectators as harmless and woolgathering on the battlefield. The war might already be in full swing, for all I know, the silence upon my summoning is but a mere lull in an all out war. I take a step toward my master as my eyes remain glued on the battlemage, a sword already in mind for his neck.

"Miss Vallière, well done! Now hurry, you must finish the contract." He says and I furrow my brows and turn to face the young girl now before me.

She realizes I'm staring at her and nearly flinches as she cranes her neck to look up at me towering over her. I realize that I am by far the tallest of everyone in this clearing, only surpassed by the blue dragon to the side of the crowd.

I'm not sure if I've ever killed a dragon before, but now seems as a good a time as any to learn; my mind runs through a list of names and events, stories and myths half recalled and a few ideas spring to mind. I turn to look at my Master to gauge her thoughts regarding the dragon.

I realize my master is trying to say something, but seems to be struggling with her words. Finally after a few seconds of awkward silence and shifting her eyes between my head and my knees, I realize that perhaps she needs me to kneel but cannot ask it for seeming inferior before her peers.

I kneel with a flourish, half for ceremony and half to keep my cape from getting under my feet.

Her eyes flash with relief but the accusatory look that screams "why are you so freakishly tall?" quickly returns as she eyes me, leaning forward.

Which amuses me, pleasantly curbing that height complex I'd once had a long time ago. Of all the things to remember after all this time, why would that be so prominent? I huff under my breath and shake that thought away, noting how her downy pink hair sways at the movement of air.

I kneel with my back straight and my jaw set high, even in the act of stepping down refusing to bow to her, but it is enough for her to come to an equal plane and stand face to face with me. We are roughly eye to eye, her pink orbs refusing to look away from my own steel grey.

"My name is Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière." She intones raising her foci, an elegant wand of richly varnished mahogany. Her eyes are closed and she is standing a half-pace away from me. I take the moment to eye around and take stock of our surroundings to gauge the mood. "Pentagon of the five elemental powers; bless this humble being, and make him my familiar."

Wait, Louise Vallière? As in the mistress of Louis the Great, the Sun King? When the hell am I? Or was he the Universal Spider? High school history, don't fail me now!

My confusion is blown away by her taking a step forward and placing her hands on my cheeks, cupping my face as she leans forward to meet me.

It is a chaste kiss, a mere touching of lips, but the surprise of the moment almost makes me reel back. At one time, I would be beet red and sputtering at this moment, I'm sure.

I'm half-tempted to snip at her that if she wanted to kiss, all she need was ask but repress it with fire. Coincidentally the heat of my will is matched by the burning sensation of something being carved into the back of my hand; like a soldering iron being used to sign a name in blood on the skin to seal the contract. Spreading from my spiritual core to my left hand and finally with agonizing slowness, the feeling recedes.

But my expression doesn't waver for a moment. I've burned my insides enough times to not mind such pain. I inflicted agony of this mere level on myself willingly and quite often as a child. Literally every day, to be specific.

I only note that I have now been branded with an unknown mark, which doesn't fit any style of summoning that comes to immediate mind, which is slightly alarming but no cause for panic. My forearm guard and long sleeves cover the brand that now mars the back of my left hand. The battlemage seems to be looking for any signs of my branding, though he hides it well behind his facade of bumbling harmlessness. Do you think I wouldn't notice the way you shifted your grip on the staff? My master has already stepped back, hiding her displeasure and embarrassment at the close contact contract and avoiding my gaze with an arrogant huff and turn of head.

A scene pops into my mind; something that I've never forgotten no matter how hellish my surroundings became. Even now, it remains as vivid in my mind as the day it occurred and the words, mirroring hers pop into my mind and flow out of my mouth like water down a stream.

"My sword will henceforth be at your side and your fate shall be my fate— Our contract is complete."

I intone with her voice, not sure why, but accepting the gravitas it brings without question. It seems to have affected her as well, as her gaze wavers and seeks the reactions of others for guidance.

I am well aware that none of the current circumstances fit with any of the wars or memories I can make sense of, but I keep my cool and I will forge on with stoic resolve. As soon as I have time to make sense of my head, I'll plan further ahead.

I meet my Master's gaze as she finally masters herself enough to look at me again. I nod ever so slightly, making her blink in hesitation, unable to match my overflowing spirit. Hah, so inexperienced. This time is certain to be rough.

AN:

I've read quite a bit of fanfiction. Certainly more than I've read original fiction. This is one of those stories that I've kind of wanted to see written for ages, yet has never seemed to pop up. Well until now, when I saw that one posted a few hours ago and read it only to remember I'd made my own scribbles for it.

I still remember seeing that one comic of Louise summoning a certain sarcastic champion of butlers back in 2007 on a certain anime imageboard that shall remain nameless.

This isn't really going to be like Hill of Swords or the half dozen Archer-ko fics that seem to exist, I hope. People tend to see Archer as a slightly cooler Shirou or a complete anathema to whatever they think Shirou is, so I'm hoping to do something a little different here.

Rather than the cuddly-fluffy-hero-of-justice-Shirou, I'm trying to go for more of the PTSD-shellshocked-God-I-hate-myself-True-Neutral-complete-asshole-Archer that we only really got to see glimpses of in UBW. You know, the guy who set up Rin to be nearly raped by Shinji to lure off Saber so he could kill Shirou. Yeah, HIM.

Rather than being surrounded by people he really can't fight against or an innocent and adorable master like in Fate/Extra, I'm putting him in a situation he doesn't understand with a person he doesn't really like.

Expect the TSUNTSUN. It took Hakuno two fucking games to get to the deredere with Archer, Louise is in for a rough ride. I might even try to squeeze it into a romance because of how deliciously awkward it would be.

Oh yeah and I totally know there is already a FSN/FoZ fic with this name, but it's so good so I'm using it anyway claiming dibs by the fact that someone had already thought of this fics premise back in 2007 on an unnamed imageboard. Totally a valid claim.

Also, I am a fucking necromancer, fear my ability to revive the dead.