Swords (Parts 1, 2, and 3 combined), by Old_Iron
Part 1 originally posted on March 27th, 2012
Part 2 originally posted on March 28th, 2012
Part 3 originally posted on April 3rd, 2012
When he had first laid eyes upon her, he knew.
This was not a woman. A mere flesh and blood construction of female persuasion.
Her tall figure of sinful curves and sharp features concealed the truth hidden deep within. Hands calloused from years upon years of harsh training were merely an illusion. Those beautiful legs which carried her into battle were naught but a lie. The long pink hair which swirled about like silken fire was mere decoration. Even the deadly length of metal in hand was a mere accessory.
As he gazed upon her form, he memorized every detail of her true nature.
The light in her crystal blue eyes was the sheen of polished steel. Her presence was a razor edge which cleaved through armor. Each scar and scratch merely added to her deadly beauty. War and battle were her mind. Everything about her was forged in fire, tempered by experience, and quenched in the loyalty to her beloved family.
To Emiya Shirou, the Blazing General was not a woman.
No, she was a sword.
A sword which surpassed the crystallization of all wishes desired by mankind.
A blade which cleaves even what cannot be cut.
As a child, he saw the most powerful weapon to walk the earth. He was awed by her.
As a youth, he saw a the most beautiful armament as she strode through battle and laid waste to all who stood against her. He desired her.
As a man, he saw all. She was a sword who was loved and did love. She was a blade who carried as many hopes and dreams as any other being. A weapon who smiled, laughed, and cried. She felt anger, sadness, pain, irritation, love, and every emotion wielded by those who held knowledge of such things.
Yet still, this being named Signum was a sword.
Just as he was.
The notion of like forces repelling is but a fallacy, for swords shall always attract one another. It is their purpose to cross paths. It is their nature to clash against one another. To draw blood and death as they arc through the air.
The sword named Emiya Shirou would always crash against the sword named Signum, each battling for dominance. Even as their friends and family looked on, myriad emotions pouring out from them, they would always fight.
They did not fight over petty arguments or disagreements. They did not fight out of anger, spite, or malice. They fought because it was in their nature to do so.
And they loved it.
They reveled in it.
The stench of sweat and exertion was the noxious vapors of vaporized metal. Their hearts blazed in the fires of the forge, demanding more and more fuel. Fuel they readily supplied one another and gobbled up endlessly. Life and death mixed in the sparks from each blow. Blood quenched their searing souls as they struggled to continue after each exchange, desiring more and more from one another.
Their battles soon reached a fevered peak and upon one autumn day in the midst of a lengthy exchange, Signum landed a blow like never before.
She lunged at him, Laevatein snaking through his guard and forcing aside the twin dao he so favored. His defenses broken absolutely, Shirou could only gaze into steel blue as she struck his helpless form. Once pink, now blooded, lips crashed against his own and they fell to the ground. His golden eyes widened as he was so utterly defeated.
He did not resist as their battle changed from death blows of steel to one of flesh and emotion fueled by passion. The weapons they wielded were cast aside almost thoughtlessly as their hands no longer needed them to fight. Metal clad hands grasped the sides of his head and pulled him further into the kiss. A kiss of fire between two swords as they drank deeply of each other.
Shirou's hands wrapped themselves around Signum's shapely figure, pulling her tightly against him as they lay upon the ruined landscape of their battlefield. He could feel every bit of her bloody and dirt covered body against his own. Their clothes were mere rags and did little to conceal. One of Signum's hands left his face and shook away the battered gauntlet encasing it, only to let it roam about Shrou's well defined chest and abdomen. He reciprocated the motions and she moaned into his mouth.
When their lips finally separated, a long trail of blood mixed with saliva remained linking them together. Steel blue met molten gold while fire danced in their eyes as their motions flew further from the realm of reason and into one of passion and deeply held emotion.
It was a look belonging to a kind of lust, of passion, of love, which could only be understood by those who were not human. An existence of warped individuals who remained in human shape only by chance.
An existence of those who were swords.
It was the little things which first granted a clue into the reasonings behind the unusual actions of the General and the Freelancer.
The brief brushing of hands as they passed on another in the corridors.
The fleeting extra seconds in their glances.
Small things, inconsequential things.
Things which add up rapidly. Things which others began to tally. A tally of some concern to certain individuals. Particularly one so distorted and warped as Fate Testarossa.
Her distortion ran deeply, down to the very core of her being. She was forged in the fires of pain and loss brought on by her mother. A mother she loved so dearly with her whole heart. A mother who returned such love with hateful words, cruel apathy, and the crack of a whip. Fate was broken then, yet she did not know the depths of how broken she truly was.
To her, Emiya Shirou was not something so simple sword.
No, he was a blacksmith. A master craftsman. One who forged great things with all his being.
His skill was unfathomable. His materials were endless. Wood. Iron. Steel. Ceramic. Glass. Mythical. Alien. Demonic and divine. He could craft any sword from any source.
Even damaged things. Things like broken blades.
When he had saved her, he had saved a shattered core.
When he had befriended her, he had put the core into the fire.
Every word, every action, his entire being, had put the hammer to her core. He had shaped her, rebuilt her, and created something wondrous. Emiya Shirou had forged perhaps one of the most beautiful and deadly weapons to ever exist.
It was a sword.
A distorted sword.
Fate was a warped and twisted blade. One whose entire being was devoted to love. A great love for her family and friends. A kind love for others who she would protect and save. A searing love which burned hotter than any furnace, brighter than any star, all for the one who forged her. It was a love only for him, only for her Shirou.
To the end of her days, Fate would only ever carry such a passionate fire for Shirou.
Yet when she laid eyes upon the fleeting looks and brief touches between Shirou and Signum. The smiles exchanged between two swords. Heard of the ever more frequent and long battles between them. And conjured images of fantasy as sword warred against sword in protracted lengths of passionate combat.
Her heart burned, ached, and grieved. It was a twisting pain in her soul. A violent pressure upon her chest.
She would be broken once more. And there would be no gentle blacksmith to put her back together.
Upon one wintry eve, she very nearly shattered.
For there, bathed in the bright moonlight stood her beloved blacksmith. The mighty sword who forged swords. Who forged her. He stood not alone, but alongside another sword. A sword of fire and honor. A blade of loyalty so powerful it stood peerless amongst others with such an origin.
Truly, Signum was a weapon beautiful and deadly like no other.
They were breathless and battered. Beaten and bloody. But still they smiled at one another in the afterglow of vigorous battle and passionate warfare. Their clothes in ruins as they stood amongst the ravaged field. She watched with watery ruby eyes as Shirou withdrew a small item from a pocket spared the wrath of combat.
It was a ribbon.
A simple red length of shimmering silk.
Words she could not hear were exchanged and Signum shook her head with a smile and turned around, allowing Shirou to do as he wished. Fate watched with a agonized feeling in her breast as the man gathered up the General's long pink locks with calloused and gentle hands. Signum's once messy and strewn about hair was once more arranged in her favored ponytail.
Tied off with a ribbon of red silk.
A sob wracked Fate's body as she saw Signum turn back to Shirou with a smile reserved only for him.
As the tears bean to fall, she could not bear it any longer. She ran. She ran like the wind. But she did not flee from the pair of swords. No, she ran to them.
Their surprise was audible as she entered the clearing, her long golden hair flowing behind her as her feet pounded against the ground. She cleared the distance and leapt into Shirou's arms without words, forcing them to crash down to earth. General and Freelancer were struck speechless at Fate's action, more so upon her next.
Fate pressed her lips against Shirou's in a desperate and wanting embrace. She didn't care how, she wanted to love him. She needed to love him.
Her first kiss tasted of him. It tasted of tears, dirt, and blood. To her, it was the most wondrous taste ever.
Silence continued to reign as she broke the kiss and looked into the utterly confused Shirou's eyes. Gold met ruby and she asked in a pleading, desperate voice, filled with longing and love so deep it threatened to crush all three weapons present...
"Aren't I your sword, too?"
She had met them when they were merely children.
Some might say they were fledglings, stumbling about as they attempted to leave their nest. Others would comment on how those pups should stay at their mothers' teat and leave the affairs of adults and strangers alone. Yet more considered them fools who cared not for their own well being regardless of time, place, and reason.
She saw them differently. So very differently.
The boy. Rough. Unwieldy.
The girl. Dull. Broken.
Both lacking in history and filled with imperfections. Distorted beyond measure.
Yet, she could see the truth behind them. For no matter how broken and damaged an armament may be; if the core is still good, it can be reforged. rebuilt, renewed.
She described, not children, much less people. Rather, it was weapons she described. Two entities so very different from the company they kept, the foes they fought, and the families who loved them. Even when they first stood against one another, she could tell. The maiden in white with hair of brown knew not what she kept close to her heart. Nor did the icy youth clad in black, the red wolf, or the boy who was far more ancient than any child ought to be.
Even her own Mistress and closest companions knew not. Steeped in ignorance was the Lady of the Lake, a person who knew far more of the workings behind a person than she let on. The Guardian Beast of the Shield cared not for such musings. A foe was a foe, regardless of who or what it may be. Even the Knight of the Iron Hammer could not discern the deeper workings of the two children, try as she might.
There was one exception.
Herself. The General of Blazing Fire.
Signum knew all too well what they were. For they were identical to herself.
Swords.
Each time she drew steel against them, she could feel it resonating within her. These children were weapons of the highest caliber. Unrefined, but still carrying such a potential. A potential which made her blood run hot, searing like the fires of a forge.
Time passed and she watched those two blades grow into the form of youths.
Their edges became more keen. Their strength greater. Accumulated history and gathered experience forged further these armaments. However she knew not how deep their distortions ran. How truly aligned they were with their shared composition.
Even as a sword herself, she could not divine such things.
The day she discovered the young man's truth was a day which was burned into her memory. Into her heart.
Signum breathed in heavily the scent of fire, oil, and of steel. Her eyes gazed with emotion unknown at the wasteland of red, filled with countless weapons. A hill of swords rose in the distance, like a monument to a being or ideal yet to be known or realized.
There, she knew.
To use swords. To be used as a sword.
This young man was a sword in the truest sense. Perhaps far more than even she.
It was then when a great fire had been lit. A fire she guarded more secretly and with more devotion than any could ever think possible. For the first time in her existence, Signum knew her heart had been set ablaze. Set aflame by such a warped world. The manifestation of a soul belonging to a sword more distorted and perfect than any other.
The soul of Emiya Shirou.
The Sword of Swords.
When he became a blade in the form of a man, she could not check herself any longer. Tempered by experience, quenched in time, and sharpened by those who wielded him.
A sword in the shape of a woman of lightning watched on.
Shirou was a sword she desired for herself. A desire she felt searing her heart more than anything ever felt before. A desire which was reflected in the gold of his eyes.
Signum could feel it. Two swords whose purpose was to cross against one another. They were drawn to one another. Whether by their existence or something else, it mattered not. When she struck him down with her lips, she luxuriated in the fires of their desires, their lusts, their long checked love.
The kiss tasted of blood, dirt, and metal.
It was the most wondrous taste she had ever experienced.
She tasted more and more of him upon the eve of her attack. And he tasted her just as fiercely. As they explored the steel of their bodies more fully than ever thought, the fire in their blood ran like a raging torrent. Loss and gain mattered not, there was only each other.
Even standing upon the soil of another world, the third sword felt a tremor in her breast, weeping in her heart of glass, as two blades of fire and swords did battle.
Battle of blood and steel. Of passion and kindness. Of flesh and longing. They loved each other as only swords could. Signum could not be more fulfilled.
Their hidden touches as they passed one another in the corridors. Brief glances and kind gestures. Secret meetings to spend time in one another's presence without the interruption of others. Whether for the purpose of battles of blades, of flesh, or of rest between such exchanges mattered only to them.
Signum knew within Emiya Shirou's soul, atop a hill of swords, stood three weapons.
A pair of dao. One black and one white, forever wed.
A longsword. Bearing a single edge, wreathed in fire.
Yet as she stood in shock and bore witness to the forgotten third sword upon the first, embracing him and loving him with all her being under the moonlight as though she may die unless she did so, Signum could not help but wonder.
The voice of Fate Testarossa Harlaown, it was the same as her own. The gaze in her ruby eyes, it was the same as her own. The presence of her desire, her lust, her longing, her forever undying love was the same as her own.
It was the same as Emiya Shirou's.
It was the same as a sword's.
As Signum drank in the scene with myriad emotions coursing through her, she wondered what she would see the next time she gazed into her loved one's soul.