Diarmuid swept his hair out of his eyes, but he was beginning to think it was futile considering the battle going on in front of him was slowly kicking up a storm. It hadn't been too long since he'd watched his two closest friends push each other to the edge, but damn, it was like he couldn't take his eyes off of them as they danced around each other like they were locked in a high-intensity acrobatic tango.

Sometime ago, Cú'd managed to get close enough to steal away the elastic that had been holding up her blonde locks, and they'd turned it into a mini-game, he guessed, seeing as that was the second time Arturia had swiped at the back of his head with a bare hand. They were both panting, shoulders heaving despite mere minutes in the arena together. Arturia flicked her thumb across where Cú had elbowed her on her lip and the smirk she followed with afterward made his insides feel like putty.

"You have sparred with them the most, haven't you Mr. First Knight of Fianna?" Iskandar asked, interrupting his train of thought for the better. "Which of our lovely fighters is your bet?"

Diarmuid took a swig of Guinness, contemplating the question.

"And do not even think about being a spoilsport like the King of Knights over there," Iskandar remarked, lifting his seventeenth cup of wine in the direction of the fight. "There is no harm in placing bets."

Iskandar had literally no ability to control the volume of his voice, and so Diarmuid found himself under the scrutiny of all members of the Round Table present. Which was to say, the majority of the crowd. Even Lancelot, who was isolating himself by the cliff, drink in hand, had his ears perked up to listen.

"Is it your nature that drives you to want to cause chaos wherever you go, King of Conquerors," Diarmuid replied, nursing the little tin can in his hands like he couldn't feel the immense atmospheric pressure the British knights were creating, "or was that question as innocent as you make it sound?"

They had literally just come out of a rather intense discussion regarding Arturia's kingship, which, by the way, Diarmuid wasn't entirely sure how they had managed to resolve peacefully. Plus, it wasn't like the Irish knight had forgotten the way Iskandar landed himself in the middle of his and Arturia's first fight, the first of Diarmuid's chain of interrupted battles with Saber all the way to his bitter end. Though, the spear wielder couldn't find it in himself to dislike the man, given that Iskandar's interruption was what prevented him from sullying his pride and honor in front of the King of Knights that first evening.

The redhead let out a bark of laughter that could have been amplified by a megaphone, knowing exactly what Lancer was thinking about. "The latter," he answered, running his hands through one Medusa's long hair.

"You waste your time listening to the mongrel's incessant babbling, Iskandar. The winner is obvious," Gilgamesh commented, but if the King of Conquerors noticed, he paid it no mind, something that would cost any other mongrel their life.

Gilgamesh was a mystery to Diarmuid in many ways. They were...strangers, almost. Even if he had spent a significant amount of time with the King of Heroes while they were traversing the Throne of Heroes, and again for a short while when they and the King of Knights stayed at the Emiya residence, he knew next to nothing about the guy, save for that he was a prick and he had an obsession with Arturia. Hell, they worked in the same building, yet the king seemed to have absolutely no interest in interacting with him in any manner whatsoever, unless Arturia was involved.

The gold king seemed to be amicable with Iskandar however, which was nothing short of a miracle. He wondered what it must have taken for the King of Heroes to actually remember Rider's real name. The rest of them were just 'mongrels' and dogs, though the latter was apparently more frequently applied to Cú, himself, and the knight in the corner he was trying not to think about. After that battle of wits earlier though, with Arturia's knights valiantly defending her honor, Diarmuid was half sure Kay had earned his bones with the arrogant king. Maybe.

Deciding to ignore the moniker Gilgamesh used for the majority of people, Diarmuid hummed and sipped at the dry stout in his hands, only to find his can empty. He sighed and shook the container, disappointed to hear nothing but the plastic ball rattling inside and no more of the dark liquid he had taken quite a liking to. An empty can also mean he had no excuse to delay answering the question any longer.

"Honestly?" he remarked, his sunset eyes following Arturia's lithe figure as she forced her opponent back and widened the distance between them by jumping back herself. "I do not know."

The blonde woman was panting heavily now, having been fighting for longer than the first two matches. Cú wasn't faring much better, swiping at a sweaty brow as his rat's tail hung disheveled behind his head. The two were too far away for the audience to hear their exchange of words, but Arturia seemed to be taunting the Lancer as she dangled the silver hair tie in front of her and secured it round her wrist like a trophy. Now the both of them would have to fight with their hair in the way. Cú only cracked up and resumed his fighting stance with a determination.

A shock of cold on his cheek released Diarmuid from his analysis for him to look up and find Bedivere holding out another can of Guinness for him to take. He accepted it with thanks and moved closer to the two Riders to allow the knight to sit next to him.

"I've never fought Ireland's Child of Light. I grew up listening to the bards of old singing his songs. Now I know why they described him as a 'beast'," the short-haired blonde responded to Iskandar's question on Bedivere's opinion.

As if on cue, Cú rocketed across the field to a waiting Arturia, twirling his lance round himself at a speed impossible to follow by the untrained eye. Arturia dodged right, left, she parried, jumped, ducked, blocked, the slimmer shape of her current armor build already paying off. The ear-shattering clang that followed as Gae Bolg slammed into Excalibur sent shivers up the onlookers' spines.

"Come to think of it, they also sang your songs, though the majority were love ballads," he added, to which Diarmuid groaned and rolled his eyes. Iskandar chuckled, but gestured for the blonde knight to continue.

"However, my bet still lies with my king," Bedivere reasoned, swiftly cracking his own beer can and tipping the drink to his mouth. "She, like her brother, is even more effective than usual against foes she knows. Frankly, I am surprised she has not utilized the less orthodox methods she used against us back in the day."

That caught Diarmuid's attention, making him raise an eyebrow. The serious man did not elaborate anymore though, only turned his attention to the field in time to hear a very discombobulated Cú exclaim:

"What the flying feck, Arturia?! You dint tell me you were bloody Jesus! What the feck! "

Cú must have thought he had her when he'd backed her into the water with the uninterrupted string of slashes he performed, only to go completely slack-jawed when she skidded across the surface of the ocean instead of splashing into it.

Frustrated, he flung his lance at her only for it to be smacked into the sea foam. Not the smartest move.

Iskandar whipped his head to his fellow Fourth Holy Grail War participant, who was now chuckling awkwardly at his friends' antics. "Did you not tell Cú she had that?" the burly man asked, very aware that Arturia's court wizard was rolling around on the mats behind him, clutching his stomach from laughing too hard. Even Gilgamesh had a slight curl in his lip.

"Truthfully...it never came up in conversation," Diarmuid replied.

Just then, Cú's lance zipped back toward him, nicking Saber's shoulder in the process. She mumbled something that might have been "You did not inform me you could do that, either" and they were rushing at each other again with as much vigor as they had at the start of the match.

Arturia's skin was glistening from the seawater, her hair clinging to her cheeks and shoulders as she sidestepped and successfully delivered a push kick directly into Cú's abdomen, sending him careening across the sand like a ragdoll til he flipped into a crouch, planting his feet and dragging his free hand in the sand until he came to a stop right in front of the audience.

He turned around for just a second to glare at both Iskandar and Diarmuid. "You knew, dint ya?"

They both shrugged, feigning innocence, a gesture Cú answered by flipping them off over his shoulder as he launched himself into a sprint like a cheetah would. If the front row now had sand in their food, drink, and faces, it wasn't his problem.

Diarmuid had just coughed up a mouthful of grains, when he saw Arturia drop her usual stance and turn sideways, her left side to her opponent. She was now holding Excalibur only in her right hand, her grip uncharacteristically loose and her index finger lined up against the hilt.

What's she...doing?

Confused, he snuck a look at the King of Conquerors, but the man had his hands on his chin and eyebrows crossed. Unsatisfied, he turned his gaze to Bedivere, who gave him a knowing smile. Diarmuid whipped his head back to the arena, feeling deep in his heart that this was not a moment he would like to miss.

It was so out-of-character for Arturia to just stand so relaxed, letting Cú come to her instead of rushing in. He was almost upon her, tearing across the field like a bull on a rampage. Arturia needed to do something fast, whether it be to block or move out of the way, but something about the way she was holding her precious sword nagged at the back of Diarmuid's mind. If he didn't know better it looked like she was going to-

Arturia suddenly raised her hand behind her and swung it forward in a sideways arc, letting go when it had reached peak speed.

-throw it.

The non-British audience went slack-jawed. Even Cú pulled the brakes on his advance from his surprise.

"Nice try, Arturia, projectiles don' work on-"

Red eyes zipped around, confused, the blonde nowhere in sight, only a cloud of dust where she once stood. He whirled around, but found nothing.

What?

The slight clink of metal was his only warning, his instincts urging him to block from above before his eyes could catch up. Red orbs locked with green ones as she snatched her sword out of the air and flipped. He backed up, a clear mistake in judgement, and felt her boots collide with his chest.

The arena exploded into a flurry of sand, obstructing the view of the onlookers who whined in anticipation to see the results.

"Your mouths are hanging open," Bedivere remarked, similarly waiting for the dust to clear with bated breath.

There was an audible click as both Iskandar and Diarmuid picked their jaws from the floor, but who could blame them? For Cú, Diarmuid imagined, the disappearing act Arturia pulled was a simple case of misdirection. A feint , if you wanted to get technical.

But the audience had a much wider view, and could see the maneuver from start to finish. The moment Excalibur left her fingers, Arturia broke into a sprint, raised both her hands and threw herself forward head over heels. She used the first flip's inertia to launch herself into the air as soon as her feet touched the ground into not one, but two layouts before snatching her sword from midair and using both the laws of force and gravity to slam her heels into Cú's ribs.

"Bloody...hell," Diarmuid said, finally, barely aware that the female Rider was practically strangling Iskandar for not elaborating on what had just gone on. He pitied her for not being able to see it.

He knew Arturia was flexible. She was agile. Whenever they sparred, she could slip out of his grasp like water through his fingers. She was more annoying to try and hit in open environments than Cú, and Cú was a beast. Despite that, her sword style remained rather orthodox, most of the adjustments were to compensate for her small stature. He knew that.

He didn't know she was a bloody gymnast, showing off the way she did.

The sand finally subsided, revealing Arturia straddling her opponent, one hand on his chest, the other holding Excalibur so its tip was at Cú's throat.

"You..." she voiced between breaths, smiling as she shook her head, "have got ...to be kidding me."

Her smile evolved into a chuckle as Cú mirrored her expression, full-on laughing as he retracted Gae Bolg's tip from where it rested on the skin of her jugular. Arturia let her blade sink into the sand beside Cú's head and finally relaxed her posture.

"Ya had me," the bluish-haired man admitted. "The least I could do was steal a draw."

Arturia shook her head and rolled her eyes at the man splayed out on the sand before her. "You never...make it easy."

The spearman propped himself up on his elbows to meet her gaze, sweat running down from his forehead as he panted through his reply. "Ya wouldn't...enjoy it if I did...shorty."

The blonde nodded in agreement, too winded from what might have been a half-hour's worth of fighting to form any more words. She was rising and falling slightly as Cú's chest heaved, but if he was bothered by her weight, he didn't show it. Exhaustion finally caught up with the two legends, weighing down their muscles as they came down from an adrenaline high.

They were both thinking the same thing, that perhaps all this time they hadn't sparred as seriously as they should have been, considering the unforgettable, high-intensity match they'd just finished. Hell, between the two of them, they probably had more bumps and bruises than they could count, but it was bloody exhilarating.

Arturia couldn't believe Gae Bolg was apparently a boomerang. Cú was still trying to wrap his head around how she managed to do that last move and whether or not the woman had walked on water. Regardless, the two of them had all the confirmation they needed that they would never tire of fighting the other. Not when they could still manage to catch each other off-guard.

"Oi," Cú said, finally catching his breath. "I don' mind a pretty woman on top of me, Arturia, but you're fecking drenched."

Right then, a salty droplet fell from her hair and onto the tip of his nose, as if illustrating his point. She rolled her eyes again, both at his flirtatious nature and the comment as she got up.

"And who is to blame for that, exactly?" she retorted, shivering slightly as the ocean breeze kissed her skin. In the next second, she'd dismissed her magic metal armor and was pulling Cú to his feet for the second time that night. Cú did the same, his blue suit now replaced by a light jacket and jeans Arturia recognized as from an outfit Diarmuid modeled a while back. They wouldn't need their armor now that they were out of the game.

"OI! WHO WON?" Iskandar bellowed, beckoning the two back to the mats where all the other Servants were giving them a big hand. Except for Gilgamesh, save for the little nod he gave in Arturia's direction.

" We did, ya damn plonker!" Cú yelled back as he finished inspecting the little gash he made on Saber's now bare arm and draped his jacket over her shoulders to help with the chill. "Also, feck you for not telling me she could walk on water, asshole!"

The two contenders were welcomed back to the mats with pats on the back and Iskandar's overenthusiastic re-enactments of his favorite parts of the show. Kay shoved a beer into Cú's hands, Bedivere smiled at his king as he gripped her uninjured shoulder, and Merlin, well...Merlin took pictures, but it was more for advertising how good the sports garments Arturia was wearing looked when wet, Diarmuid guessed. Plus, technically the jacket Cú gave her was from RTK too.

As for himself, Diarmuid couldn't have been happier to have such skilled warriors for his friends. They certainly lived up to their legends. Hell, considering what information he knew from the Throne of Heroes before meeting them personally, he'd say the legends didn't do them justice.

Cú socked him in the arm for not telling him about Arturia's apparent "Jesus feet", but the punch lost its usual strength thanks to the fight the woman gave him. Speaking of her, Arturia performed admirably, and in such a manner neither he nor Cú would have expected after sparring with her for so long. Maybe he could ask her for a few tips to add more acrobatics to his style.

Diarmuid turned to find where she'd gone, only to see Lancelot handing her a drink of water.

His world came to a screeching halt as the realization finally came to him.

Both Cú and Arturia were out of the game.

Iskandar shouted Diarmuid's name but he couldn't hear him, not with the ringing in his ears drowning out everything else.

There was only one other match-up left.

Dread filled his system as Arturia's knight met his stare, the same realization shining in his onyx-colored eyes.


Cú's smile dropped when he followed Diarmuid's line of sight.

"I'm sorry, D," he whispered, knowing now that perhaps he should have tried harder to win, if only to prevent the two knights from ever getting matched up. Diarmuid turned to his roommate and shook his head. He would not let Cú feel guilty, not after the incredible round he had with the King of Knights.

"'Twas inevitable the moment he showed up," he said truthfully, knowing the real fault was with himself. "I should have told Arturia we were not on good terms."

Arturia looked up at her knight, wrapping Cú's borrowed jacket tighter around her figure. Her clothes were still damp from her fight, and she was glowing red from the exertion, but Lancelot honestly thought this was the happiest he'd seen her since her wedding day.

His eyebrow twitched, the rather unpleasant reminder of his affair once again re-entering his frame of mind like a triggered trauma. Maybe that was exactly what it was: trauma. But he shouldn't focus on that, no. Not when arguably the most important person in his life was standing in front of him, wishing him luck with a little squeeze of his hand.

The tenderness of the gesture made his heart ache. He knew he didn't deserve such pure kindness from her, as Kay's heated glare told him. But for just a second longer, he let himself enjoy it.

And then his eyes locked with his opponent's.

"Diarmuid's a force of nature," Arturia said, figuring Lancelot wouldn't remember much about the dual-wielder from their time in the Fourth Holy Grail War. "I've never met a knight like him."

Lancelot was sure she didn't know, but Arturia looked at Diarmuid with an expression he knew so well, full of so much admiration and shared camaraderie that it made Lancelot feel like he'd been crushed by a thousand-ton landslide.

Once upon a time, that look belonged to him and him alone. And like a fool, instead of being satisfied with just that, he'd gone to ruin the life of the one person he loved more than anyone or anything.

Lancelot wasn't blind, the way Arturia acted around Diarmuid was indication enough. He'd seen it on this very beach, the way she smiled, the way she laughed. The bastard had wormed his way into her heart like the disease-carrying pestilence his kind was.

He wanted to hold his king, to tell her. Stay away from him, Arturia. Stay far enough away that he can't hurt you.

Because once upon a time, it was Lancelot in Diarmuid's shoes, it was him by Arturia's side, it was him that she shared drink with, that she sparred with, that she relied on.

And the whole world knew how that story ended.

"That so?" he replied, returning Diarmuid's glare with one of his own. "Then I'll be glad to secure a victory for you, my king."

If that womanizer thought he was being slick, stealing a few moments with Arturia while Lancelot was out on the battlefield, he had a lot coming for him. Maybe Lancelot would have dreaded this fight, knowing Arturia considered that bastard a friend. But after said prick had ignored his warnings and had sat beside her, had touched his unworthy shoulder to hers, had dared to meet her green eyes with his sinful ones, Lancelot was pissed.

He stalked toward the sand without sparing the spearman another glance.

Cú put his hand on Diarmuid's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly as the latter followed Lancelot's figure with his eyes.

"Gonna be alright, mate?" he asked, worry uncharacteristically showing in his voice.

Before walking toward the arena, the wavy-haired man stole one last look at the short blonde behind him, who mouthed a breathy "good luck" as she hugged his jacket tighter around her body.

"Yeah." he affirmed, drawing both his shrouded spears. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

Cú didn't look convinced. Of course not. Diarmuid had a hard time convincing himself of the same.