The silence was deafening as they stood across each other, neither moving an inch.

Diarmuid found it harder and harder to breathe, the fresh sea air seemingly replaced by a thick poison that threatened to collapse his system from the core. All the nerves in his body screamed at him that facing Lancelot was the worst idea he'd ever had, that there would never be anything more stupid than what he was about to do, but his feet stayed rooted to the sand, his pride refusing the urge to forfeit.

Darkness pounded on the back of his head, screaming, clawing at the locked doors of his mind and demanding to be let in, but the knight barricaded his brain with all the happy thoughts he could muster. Just the sight of the irate Lancelot in front of him already began to tint his vision red, but he fought back the animalistic urges before they could take him over.

Iskandar had given the go signal an eternity past. His instincts told him to charge, to jump forward, to get the damn fight over with as quickly as he could. There just was no other way to get out of this otherwise.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Arturia, looking back and forth between him and Lancelot with crossed eyebrows, confused. Even from this distance, he could tell her mind was running a million miles a minute.

He should have told her. He should have been honest with her. He should have let her know what Lancelot had said, even if it would have caused friction between them. He owed it to her.

But it was far too late now. For better or for worse, he was facing off against a man who held a grudge against him so deeply rooted it was infectious, corrupting Diarmuid's psyche like a deadly virus. Even now he could feel it slowly seeping into his consciousness. He had to do something, and fast.

"Listen," Diarmuid pleaded, seeing the uncertainty fester in Arturia's green eyes, "Perhaps we can come to a-"

"You did not heed my words, libertine."

His words were spoken in a murmur, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing into the shore. But every single syllable was saturated with a malice so vile it could blacken the purest hearts and minds.

The pounding in his skull intensified, rattling his brain as it tried desperately to steady itself amid the chaos in his thoughts. Already, shadows seeped in through the cracks, crawling up the legs of his soul like parasites and sapping what little strength he had left to resist.

His hands clenched around the circumference of his spears, the cool metal pressing painfully on the wounds on his palms.

"On your guard," he growled, his pride no longer able to take the bastard's insults.

Lancelot inhaled, his nostrils flaring. When the breath left him, his shoulders shook like a leaf, his black armor rattling with them. But the both of them knew it wasn't fear that prompted this, no. In Lancelot's eyes there was nothing else. Nothing else but hate.

"I warned you to stay away from her, reprobate, " he spat, ignoring Diarmuid's words as he stalked toward the spearman. "And still, here you are , infecting her with your petty tricks and charms!"

What the hell was he talking about?

"The charm magic has never affected her-"

Pure instinct drove his spears forward, catching a strike that would have cleaved his head in half if he was even a millisecond late. Arondight's black blade stared at him like the obsidian eyes of death as Diarmuid fought back Lancelot's strike, casting him backwards as far as he could.

Already he could feel his shoulders quaking at the joints. Lancelot hit harder than Cú and Arturia combined, and already the sullen knight was using his bigger build to his advantage.

Diarmuid's retort was lost to his opponent as the man rushed at him again, with wilder, more aggressive strikes than the man employed in his match with Bedivere. The air was filled with the sharp clang of metal scraping on metal, with barely any silence in between. Even when Diarmuid switched his stance from dominant right to his left, Lancelot was unrelenting, unbothered by whatever cuts Diarmuid could manage with his shrouded weapons.

His feet sank into the sand as he blocked a blow that would have split him in half, both his arms shaking violently as he pushed back with all he had. He risked a glance at their surroundings, finding that Lancelot had pushed him all the way backward on his side, the mats getting further and further away from sight. Cú was looking straight at him, perhaps thinking the very same thought.

This isn't good.

The dark whispers in the corners of his mind began to act up again but he shook his head and focused on the raging swordsman who was clearly gaining the upper hand. Lancelot clearly had the advantage of strength, and if Diarmuid's ambidexterity wasn't giving him the edge it usually did then-

"Have you no shame!?" Lancelot raged, ramping up the pressure on their locked weapons. "You dare lay your filthy hands on my king when those same hands seduced your masters' queen?"

The man retracted his weapon and came back with a strike with even more force than before, making Diarmuid's biceps scream in retaliation to the continuous strain. He wanted to speak, but Lancelot was merciless in the barrage of slashes that followed.

"Grainné," Diarmuid cringed, ducking beneath a lateral slash, " forced my hand-"

He could barely get the words out before he lunged into a roll to the side for some relief. He could practically feel his friends' worried eyes on his figure and longed to reassure them but-

"Avert your squalid eyes!" Lancelot interrupted, cutting off his vision with a shock of charcoal black metal in his face. "You are not worthy to look upon her, you cur! "

Arturia sucked in a breath as Diarmuid's back hit the sand, pausing on the elaborate braid she had woven in Cú's dark hair. Despite the sand cloud blocking her vision, she knew Diarmuid didn't stay down for long, rolling backwards into a crouch and jumping far out of Lancelot's range.

Something's wrong.

She had already worried when the two knights had spent the first few minutes in what seemed like a serious conversation, but now...Lancelot was standing, looking down at Diarmuid's crouching figure like a predator ready to strike. Arondight glistened menacingly, with drops of Diarmuid's blood staining its central ridge.

Lancelot took notice, grimaced, and flicked his sword like he was trying to cleanse it of impurities, splattering red stains across the sand. The action made Arturia flinch like she'd been hit, because that had been a provocation, and Arturia never knew her knight to be the type to anger his opponent on purpose.

Everything about Lancelot's figure gave her flashbacks of burning parking lots, of smoke stinging her eyes and filling her lungs, of the stench of gasoline and desperate strikes under the spray of emergency sprinklers. His long hair was now disheveled, lopsided on a slouching frame that dragged his blade on the ground as he stalked toward his opponent. He looked so much like how he did in their war, she swore if she squinted she could see black particles shrouding his figure in shadows like before.

"Arturia."

Cú's fingers lightly brushed against hers where they rested on his shoulder, startling her from her thoughts. She looped Cú's silver hair tie around the finished braid so she could focus on the fight, finding the two competitors staring each other down.

"Was he always...that aggressive?" Cú asked, seeing the familiar slump in Diarmuid's shoulders. He was beginning to tire. It didn't help that Diarmuid's first match was with a greatsword-wielding heavy hitter, but this was insane. He'd never seen anyone wear Diarmuid out that fast. Neither he nor Arturia had ever managed that.

Cú could sense her shaking her head and then rising from her kneeling position.

"Arturia?"

He looked back at her to see her eyebrows crossed, the large windows to her soul betraying the anxiety festering within. He followed her eyes to Diarmuid, who was pressing a palm to his forehead to stop the blood from marring his vision. But it wasn't the cut that worried her, no.

It was the look of bloody murder that had completely overtaken his gentle eyes.

Cú's fingers closed around open air, just a second too late to catch her wrist.


"Isn't a bit rude to interrupt what little entertainment there is in this poor excuse for a feast, King of Knights?"

Arturia's pace slowed to a stop as Gilgamesh's rude comment pulled her out of her trance. She blinked and the two knights on the battlefield were going at it again, just as furiously as they had been.

Had she imagined it?

"Furthermore, isn't it all the more impolite for the host to not entertain a guest she has invited?" Gil asked, utilizing his noble phantasm just to procure the envelope and wave it in the air smugly.

The King of Heroes watched, amused, as Arturia let out a long sigh of resignation, her shoulders drooping under the mongrel's jacket like a wilted plant. His queen shook her head, a few stray droplets of seawater falling from her hair like morning dew from grass, as she folded her arms and finally turned around to face him.

Pride is a funny thing. Difficult to gain, easy to lose, and far easier to be used against a person, especially one so esteemed as the King of Knights. Come hell or high water, she would not let it be told that the feasts she hosts are subpar, even if such feasts had lost their social impact in the modern ages

"You will join me."

It was less a request than a command of imperative nature, as it always was with him. Arturia's eyebrow twitched, but even she was beginning to think that it just wasn't Gilgamesh to have manners. And, even she was finding it difficult to resist the freshly poured wine goblet he was holding out to her. Arturia recognized the aroma. It was the same one he shared with them at the Banquet of Kings all those years ago.

Green eyes took one final look at the battlefield, seeing two of her precious friends exchanging blows with one another, each looking determined to defeat the other. Against her better judgement, she turned, casting her eyes upon Gilgamesh's calculating scarlet orbs.

In the light of the moon, she noted, their color was the same as wine held up to candlelight, with an iridescence that reminded the little king that he was not entirely of this world. At times, she feared looking into them too deeply.

Why?

Because, just like now, when his eyes held something other than egotism, they were difficult to read. She would get close, keep her hands outstretched, but deep inside she knew those russet eyes held an answer she'd never reach. Trying to decipher Gilgamesh's mysteries felt like she'd been given a thousand-piece puzzle with no edges, painstakingly putting it together only to realize at the end that a single piece was missing.

And also, she was certain Gilgamesh thought the opposite of hers. When their gazes met, she felt he could read her like an open book.

Kay told her once, when they were children, that she shouldn't bother to lie when he could tell what she was feeling from the look in her eyes alone. Until she met Gilgamesh, she had thought that only her brother would ever be able to discern the truth from her green orbs.

But the King of Heroes…

Every time she looked him in the eye, she swore he could see straight through to her soul, her purest self.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted his offer, and just like that the moment was broken, replaced by a smirk on his face and a mask of indifference on hers.

It was unintentional, how she sunk into his rug with less grace than usual, but maybe her fight with Cú had taken more out of her than she thought it did. Tonight was different from their usual sparring. If not for the crowd, she could have believed they were the same Servants in another iteration of a Holy Grail War, with how fierce their match went.

She almost swatted away the hand near her thigh, but stopped as he pressed the red cloth to her palm. It was a blanket of sorts, one thick enough to repel the sea breeze yet thin enough to not be suffocating in a summer evening such as this.

"Your attempts to dissuade me will not be heeded, woman, you are shaking like a leaf," he insisted, dropping the cloth on her lap when she wouldn't take it. He went on to say that she should be grateful he was being so considerate, putting her health above his enjoyment of what the modern mongrels called the "wet look", which made Arturia seriously consider spilling her wine on his white shirt.

But she only got as far as looking at her reflection in the burgundy alcohol as she swirled the golden goblet in her hand.

"You are cross with me, woman?"

Was she cross with him?

She should be. Even if the marks on her neck had completely disappeared, she still felt the ghost of Gilgamesh's lips kissing her skin, the slick heat of his tongue, the little nibbles from his teeth. She had trusted him and he took advantage of it in the worst way, making her feel powerless in his grasp. She hated that feeling. It brought up...too many unpleasant memories. She shook her head of thoughts of stone walls and heavy doors before it could overtake her and focused on the King of Heroes, who looked at her expectantly.

It should have been obvious that Gilgamesh did not respect her. She knew that, it just...it wasn't certain.

The vision of him in his final moments in the Grail War, in her bathroom, while he was redoing her stitches, in the building lobby after he'd saved them from the lift...they haunted her, because Gilgamesh wasn't being the inconsiderate arse she thought him to be.

Even in her thoughts, it could no longer sit right with her to call Gilgamesh that. How could she, when he'd pressed a cloth to her head to stop her bleeding? When he'd held her, shielding her from the debris? When she'd been rendered dumbstruck because for the first time in her life she saw Gilgamesh's arrogant facade crack and saw it morph into panic.

Her mind took her back to the tiled floors of RTK, reluctantly enveloped in the King of Heroes' arms.


The shock of the situation had taken away all her words. Her head was spinning, she could smell rust as blood trailed their way down from her forehead. Arturia could barely make sentences as the blonde king's hands-hands which once were used to overpower her-gently searched her figure for any more wounds before settling on her cheeks.

Gilgamesh breathed her name so softly she might've imagined it, but she soothed his worries anyway. The buzzing in her system prevented her from saying any more than a few words back, but she got the answer to her question when drops of red trickled from Gilgamesh's temple.

It occurred to Arturia that she hadn't been the one to transport them out of the lift. She hadn't the ability. She didn't know how Gilgamesh managed it, but he had saved them one way or another, if the shimmering golden dust around them was any indication.

In moments, she was grabbing her handkerchief, pressing it to the little cut. Inside, she knew such a wound was immaterial to someone as strong as the world's first king, but it wasn't so much to ease his pain as to thank him for saving her life. When he looked into her eyes and leaned into her palm, she knew he understood.

A million different expressions flooded through Gilgamesh's scarlet orbs before they finally settled on one: anger.

"That was a fool's act, woman."

The Mesopotamian king's words echoed in the chambers of her mind as Arturia struggled to process what he meant. And then it hit her.

"It was either you took the brunt of the fall or I did, I just reacted-"

He cut her off as she defended her actions, grabbing hold of her wrist before she could pull away.

"And you'd offer your life in exchange for mine like some petty, disposable slave?!"

She tried to dodge as he pressed a cloth to her bleeding temple. "Better one of us than the both of us," she started, only for the king to force her to sit still and face him.

Arturia could not describe the look in Gilgamesh's eyes that moment, but they had a magnetism to them that prevented her from looking away. His voice was stern, the low baritone making her quiver as he held her in place.

"You will not do that again. Not for me, not for anyone else. You are forbidden from it," he ordered, his voice dripping with a tone so saturated with command that if she were any less than she was she'd have followed in an instant.

But Arturia was a king, and with those words, with that tone, Gilgamesh may have as well taken her crown and spat on it. Did he think she was a child? One to be given directions, instructed because she didn't know any better?

God, why? Why did she always have to be made to feel so small, so tiny, in front of him? Maybe he was right, maybe she was a fool. She was certainly acting foolish, falling for the elaborate ruse that was the hand that caressed her cheek, that wiped away the blood from her face.

"You have no authority over me," she spat, fighting her way out of his grip. "You are not my king, Gilgamesh, you will never be-"

His eyes widened for just a millisecond before he grabbed both her wrists and forced her to look at him.

"I forbid it, Arturia."

Arturia had enough, ripping herself free of his arms and fleeing the building before Gilgamesh could even think of following.


She should be cross with him, Arturia contemplated, blinking and seeing Gilgamesh's waiting red orbs. She should be flat out furious.

She wasn't.

"I am not," she stated, partaking of the wine the King of Heroes offered. "I do not know how you did it, but you saved me. It is difficult to hold a grudge knowing that."

She thought he was stewing in smug silence, like he always was. The truth of the matter was that Gilgamesh didn't know how they got out of that damned lift either.

No, that wasn't right. He did know. He just...had yet to decide what to do with that information. So, he chose to focus on the first half of that sentence instead.

"Hence the invitation," Gilgamesh added, procuring a specially prepared woven gold bowl filled to the brim with fruit. She nodded, watched curiously as he set the bowl down between them.

Grapes.

The memory of her first night in Kay's apartment came back to her. It had been a month or so since then. They shared a bowl of grapes then too. Odd that Gilgamesh remembered. Honestly, Arturia didn't think the King was the type to like sweets, but she supposed if there was a fruit out there that he would like, it would have to be the one that produced his drink of choice.

"I do not suppose you are too keen on feeding me this time either, King of Knights," he said, plucking a grape from between his fingers with his tongue.

Arturia scoffed and rolled her eyes, choosing instead to savor the rich wine she had been given. She would let him be for now, she decided, believing she had spent more than enough time trying to crack his code.

"Your knights."

Arturia's ears perked up, ready to respond to whatever insult the man would say with an energy that rivaled Iskandar's. Noticing this, the King of Heroes couldn't help but release a small chuckle.

"Ease your worries, Arturia," he drawled, nudging the bowl toward his queen so that she may take her pick. "I merely desired to commend their loyalty."

Arturia raised an eyebrow and parroted his last three words in question form. At his insistence, she picked a solitary grape.

"Your warriors are more fiercely devoted than I initially believed," Gilgamesh commented nonchalantly, his lips hovering over his cup of wine. "Perhaps I should have expected that of you, King of Knights."

The smaller blonde looked away, took a minute to swirl the wine in her mouth and swallowed. "Was that a compliment?" she asked, half-believing she had just imagined the whole thing.

Gilgamesh gave her a non-committal shrug, and waved his hand to have a golden jug appear directly over her cup to refill it. "Credit is given where credit is due."

Gilgamesh was already convinced Arturia was a treasure worthy of his attention back in the Fourth Holy Grail War. Tonight, the way her knights had so valiantly defended her honor had only made Arturia seem all the more valuable in his eyes. It took him by surprise, seeing as he was convinced he couldn't want her more and had proven himself wrong.

"I must ask, what prompted this?"

Gilgamesh nodded his head in the direction of their fellow ruler. "The dullard was, I believe, making moves to convince them to join his army. You and I have both turned him down. Perhaps he thought your subjects would be less resistant."

Arturia's eyes landed on Iskandar, and then on the trio that comprised the very first members of the Round Table. On the furthest corner of Gilgamesh's mat, Kay was leaning on a much less intoxicated Bedivere while Merlin lay on top of velvet red pillows. Upon meeting her gaze, the scar-faced man raised his glass to her, an action she mirrored, and the both of them tipped their cups to their lips.

"Your brother, Kay, especially," Gilgamesh elaborated, "defended you admirably."

Arturia couldn't lie, it warmed her heart to hear that. Kay wasn't always the most supportive when it came to the way she ruled, but he really did act like an older brother at times.

Hold on...did Gilgamesh just…?

He raised an eyebrow at her and the question died on her tongue, but she heard what she heard. Whatever Kay said during the time she and Cú had their match must have really been something, if Gilgamesh bothered to use his name.

A few moments passed in silence as Arturia stared down at the alcoholic drinks in her hands. She was acutely aware of Gilgamesh eyeing what remained of the cuts on her forehead. One of them was barely visible, the other reduced to a line of scabbing so thin it couldn't be seen under her bangs.

This behavior-although at times, it made her feel like an exotic animal at the zoo-was typical of him. It wasn't of their nature to be talkative like Iskandar, Gilgamesh reasoning it was a waste to bother conversing with the mongrels. But a lot of the time, she'd find him observing her photoshoots during his off-hours, studying her. Anyone else would curl into themselves under such intense scrutiny, but she was the King of Knights. She was used to being gazed upon.

Instead of meeting his stare, she tried to tune back into the fight between the two knights.

"The match should have been yours, Arturia," Gilgamesh started, drinking from his goblet. The annoyance in his face was evident when she wasn't bothering to make conversation despite her supposedly joining him for his entertainment.

He was met with silence, and the dull sound of cloth hitting the ground. He looked to his left, to find her standing, one hand clenched over her chest as she slowly shook her head.

"Lance, no...don't."

Gilgamesh knew that face. It was the same one she wore when her mongrel master used his blasted command seals to force her to destroy the Grail. Her voice was shaking, barely a murmur as her expression morphed from shock to terror-stricken.

Gilgamesh breathed her name, but she couldn't hear over the sirens blaring in her head because she should have seen this coming, she knew something was wrong, she should have ceased this match before it began.

"Lancelot, stop!"