"You," Arturia accused, pointing her sword at her Master, not for the first time. "Had better explain yourself, Kiritsugu Emiya."

His name rolled off her tongue as smoothly as a knee on pavement. Arturia may have as well hurled curses his way with the manner in which she spoke, but she had good reason for it. It wasn't even the large scar on her chest Gilgamesh had stitched up, no.

It was the sheer, irreplaceable losses Assassin suffered. They were down more than half. Arturia couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like to lose so many alters, all of them different people with their own lives, their own experiences, their own respective personalities. How many of their system's memories did they lose? How much of their system's lives did they even remember?

The experience was traumatic enough for them that their child alter had shown herself for the first time, even if she barely came out before. Zhavia was managing the few they had left, Zayd was playing their little's caretaker as the one who usually took care of her passed away, Big Assassin was managing their new alters, training the ones who came with no skills.

It was a catastrophic mess, no matter what angle one looked at it. The Hundred Faced Hassan as a whole system was effectively on a crutch, their numbers halved, their skillset halved, everything that made Assassin themself was halved.

Kiritsugu had the gall to look surprised, or as surprised as his usually emotionless face could manage, which was a nonchalant raised eyebrow.

"I mentioned defense mechanisms—"

"You withheld information that could have aided the mission, Kiritsugu," Arturia rebuked, her voice losing its usual calm timbre. "That was a costly mistake."

The way that he answered confirmed Arturia's suspicions. Kiritsugu knew he was sending their group to war with Servant-level adversaries. Defense mechanisms her ass! Summons were defense mechanisms, traps were defense mechanisms. But Servants? Servants had strategies and tact. Servants had unpredictable, versatile skill sets that required preparation and expertise to counter.

Excalibur dug into his stubbly chin, but the magus killer only levelled a glare at his former Servant, daring her to run him through.

"Well," Kiritsugu spat, "Then forgive me for overestimating your abilities, King of Knights."

Arturia's eyes widened as she registered the implied insult. She couldn't believe the...the utter audacity this man had to spit this in her face when he was the one relying on them for help. Even if it was him who gave them all a second chance at life, they were risking those very lives—the last lives they'd ever have—just to see his mission through, and this is how he thanked them for it?

Arturia's patience was as thin as a hair that moment, every inch of her screaming to stab the magus-killer through the neck, so she found herself utterly gobsmacked when the King of Heroes was who intervened.

"Strategy is quintessential in any undertaking, mongrel," he cut in with a scoff. "Your careless omission may have not hindered Arturia from achieving your desired outcome, but she and her group suffered injury that could have been avoided had you mentioned that little detail."

His voice peaked as he spoke, and Arturia tried to ignore the burning red eyes staring at the scar peeking out of the dip in her outfit. For one reason or another, Gilgamesh was angry. Arturia lifted Kiritsugu's chin with the tip of her sword.

"It is in your best interest, cur, that you do not commit that error a second time," the King of Heroes enunciated, the threat in his voice making even Lancelot flinch. Even though this was her mindspace, the other blonde king could practically feel the surge of mana flowing out of Gilgamesh's figure, the sheer atmospheric pressure he generated sending ripples through the lake they all stood on.

The dead man's expression barely even twitched, the black void of his eyes still clashing with the emeralds in Arturia's as she slowly lowered her sword.

Honestly, the King of Knights was not sure how she felt about Gilgamesh stepping into her fight, but she couldn't have made her point better than he already did.

In the past, she might have tolerated Kiritsugu's callous attitude a little more, knowing that she was but a Servant—a tool—which he was free to use and discard. But the former Servants had lives now, they all had something to lose. Hers existed in the form of graying ginger hair, yellow eyes, and a last name she wished the magus-killer didn't share.

"I didn't tell you because I wasn't certain this was the tactic the Grail would employ," Kiritsugu explained, stuffing his hands in his trench coat pockets. He had his coat this time, thank god. "As it happens, it seems the worst has been confirmed."

Arturia knew what he was going to say before he said it. "The Grail is using the Throne of Heroes to defend itself, corrupting the minds of the spirits recorded there to act as its foot soldiers."

She recalled the unhinged state their enemies were during the first mission, with their whited out eyes and clearly unsound minds. Some of them could barely string sentences together. But even in that condition, they were dangerous. Even now, she could feel the ghost of the poison in her veins, sapping her life force like some sort of deathly parasite. They would have to be more careful from now on, especially since they were running on their own power, without a Master to supply them with mana or healing support.

Kiritsugu sifted through his pockets, looking for a pack of cigarettes he knew he wouldn't find and sighed. His eyes traversed the small gathering of servants he summoned. Two...five...Nine. Nine Servants. A frown made its way his already serious expression. If he wasn't dead as a doorknob, he swore Taiga would be teasing him about wrinkles, not that he ever really cared about looks.

This, however—his sight traveled between the Lancer and Berserker of his war—was a problem. The two knights stood out in the odd little assembly. Both were covered head to toe in blood, and by the way they were glaring at each other both red in the face, it was likely the result of a fight.

In theory, the two of them couldn't die within Saber's mind scape, but their appearance in said mind scape was likely a reflection of either her strongest or most recent memory of them, and he highly suspected it was the latter.

Damn it all.

Resources were scarce enough as it is. He was trusting in the King of Knights to have at least kept the others in line until they had destroyed all seven seals, but already, things were falling apart. Even if neither bloodied Servant looked like they had been put out of commission, their wounds were deep enough to be a hindrance in combat.

He expected hostility between Heracles and Medea because of their history. Not from two supposedly honorable knights who had no quarrel with each other.

Still...

The magus-killer contemplated his options, his black eyes eyeing the three kings standing proudly right in the middle of the crowd. Perhaps he hadn't too much reason to worry, even with two wounded Servants and one not answering his summons.

Saber was formidable all on her own, and her Noble Phantasm was not something to sneeze at. He should know, after watching it obliterate the monstrosity that twisted Caster summoned into the Mion River. A little voice in the back of his head told him he should definitely check in on that but he tucked it into a figurative file cabinet for later.

Kiritsugu's hypothesis on the King of Heroes was correct. As long as Arturia continued to comply with his plans, the Babylonian King would follow in her footsteps. Gilgamesh may not so easily utilize his golden weapons, but Kiritsugu could at least count on the king to preserve Arturia's life if the worst happened. His obsession with the King of Knights proved advantageous in that regard.

Then there was Rider, the huge, very nearly overbearing King of Conquerors who looked at him with so much scorn he could have been the scum of the Earth. Rider's Noble Phantasm granted him numbers even the Hundred-Faced Hassan couldn't.

With just the three of them and their Noble Phantasms, Kiritsugu essentially had the power of an atomic bomb, an army, and unlimited artillery on his side. The main problem was utilizing it, he thought, locking eyes with his Saber. She served him a glare so intense he felt his head could catch fire.

"The second seal has begun to materialize," Kiritsugu stated, wanting to get his message across before anything else could occur.

"Where?" That was Arturia, the brevity of her question declaring her desire for this conversation to be over as soon as possible.

"Greece."


Heracles' mismatched eyes locked with Iskandar's as Kiritsugu explained the specifics, unaware of the miniscule frown that tugged on Medusa's lips.

It had been a while since Iskandar had shared his bed, and admittedly, the most famous Greek demigod missed his company. Not just because the former was extremely proficient under the sheets, but because Iskandar was one of the very few who could take a beating. His muscles ached for the need to spar, and the need for release, which always came in a pair when it came to the King of Conquerors.

Now, it seemed fate dictated they'd be heading to what was once what they called home. Himself, the witch, the gorgon, and Alexander of Macedonia...what an interesting party. He would have preferred if the two villainous females were not part of it. He despised the witch's existence, for she had done so many dishonorable things, even against her husband, Jason. The gorgon woman was another issue, he could never get along with someone his grandfather had once slain.

Iskandar though? He looked forward to the opportunity to spend time with the red king. Perhaps they could use his chariot to see modern Macedonia or parade around Thebes when they finished the mission.

Meanwhile, Caster stood speechless, the multitude of mixed emotions she was feeling closing up her throat. What came from her lips was a weak little croak. A simple repetition of what the magus had said.

"Greece…"

The whisper was audible enough to catch Heracles' attention. By pure accident, they locked eyes and promptly looked away, similar expressions of disgust manifesting in their faces.

Arturia watched the little exchange take place, the scene dredging up notable memories from their last mission together. Heracles and Medea got along about as well as cats and dogs did. Which was to say, they didn't. She would need to help resolve that conflict if they were to work together efficiently. Even though their little spat didn't ruin the mission, Heracles and Medea were obviously at odds with each other. Perhaps from their shared experience on the Argo.

"Why have you chosen us specifically?" Arturia asked her Master, looking between the two Greek servants, "You know their legends—"

"I am not the one who chooses," Kiritsugu answered, cutting her off in his haste. "I merely know you are eligible. The criteria is beyond me."

Arturia bit her lip, her mind running a million miles a minute. This…this wasn't good news. They had just confirmed that from here on, their enemy would have Servant level mercenaries at their disposal, and now, the damn disgrace of a mage was telling them they couldn't even decide their own ranks.

It was difficult enough to work around the fact that their allies, particularly the Greeks, had given history with one another, and now, they had to make sure that they could work with any lineup. Her green eyes darted between Lancelot and Diarmuid, who were standing on opposite sides, one blocked by Iskandar, the other by Cú. They then landed on the man clad all in gold, who stood next to her with a scowl of distaste on his countenance.

Scratch that, it wouldn't be difficult, it would be downright impossible.

During the last selection, the only ones chosen were herself, Tsuda, Medea, Heracles, and the Hundred-Faced Hassan. This time, there were nine of them. It would be safe to assume that the magus had no control over the number of former Servants he could send either, meaning there was a chance they could be sent in pairs, groups, or if worst comes to worst, alone.

Kiritsugu summoned two of each class, except for Saber and Archer, which left them with a grand total of twelve. Twelve Servants total meant over four thousand different combinations, and Arturia was sure over half of those would mix about as well as a bathtub and a toaster oven.

She didn't even want to think about what disaster pairing Diarmuid up with Lancelot would bring. Or what kind of hell Gilgamesh would raise if he was grouped with anyone who wasn't herself or Iskandar. Hell, she was sure sending Medea and Heracles together would have been better a choice than either of the former.

This was not an ideal situation. Not in the slightest.

There was also that one important thing to consider, which they discussed in the Emiya Mansion post-mission. It was imperative that each group always possessed a Noble Phantasm that could obliterate the seal in one fell swoop. Theoretically, repeated attacks that destroyed faster than the seal could regenerate were also an option.

The only Servants Arturia knew that possessed the former were herself and Gilgamesh, assuming he'd agree to release Ea at all. The latter, they wouldn't be able to test until they were actually there.

Bloody hell.


The little girl looked like she was about to blow a fuse with how frustrated she was with her former Master. Anyone less experienced would think Arturia didn't believe in the other Servants' abilities, with how skeptical she was about Kiritsugu's secretive handling of these missions, but they all knew this wasn't the case.

It was precisely that she knew all of their strengths and possible weaknesses that led her to be so irate with the magus. She likely already had compatible team-ups in her head, based on their skills and chemistry, and was now basically being told none of that would matter too much. Iskandar could understand her dissatisfaction.

He had his own grudge against the dull-eyed killer after all.

"Anything else you ought to disclose, Master of Saber?" Iskandar bellowed, his patchy eyebrows knitted together so tightly there'd be two lines imprinted on his skin later on.

Assassin had sworn fealty to him, had joined his army the night they all met again in the Throne of Heroes. They even shared a roof, occupying the old house in the outskirts of the city. Even if recently, he'd spent most his nights in others' beds, he'd gotten to know many of Hassan's alters in the weeks they'd lived together. Each one was unique, every single one had different stories to tell. They had different faces, but like features. Not all of them had a name when they started, but as the days went by, they began to introduce themselves to him, rather comically all choosing names that began with Z.

Zhavia was the one he spent the most time with. She was the strongest of all of them, the most versatile. She was his de facto right hand outside of Ionioi Hetairoi, the ring leader. She would round up the others for bed, would lead the cooking for breakfast. She's the one who went ahead and found herself and Zayd some employment as private investigators, a legal job at that, utilizing the papers Arturia had procured.

The night they returned, Iskandar wasn't even worried. He decided to stay the night with Medusa, knowing he'd left food in the refrigerator for the Assassins when they came back. Imagine his surprise when he walked in the following morning to find the strongest alter on the roof, bloodied from head to toe, with a pile of masks on either side.

They were gone, she said, tearfully pointing at the skull masks next to her. She could form no words after that, burying her head into the arms she crossed over her knees. In one of her hands, she held a dirk with an iron grip. It took several minutes of coaxing to get her to put it down, only for Iskandar to realize what she'd been doing with it.

He carefully picked up a mask from the right pile, noting the crooked "Zahoor" etched into the corner. Another one said "Zayn", another said "Zackariya".

"Some...hadn't even decided their names yet," she said softly, her voice quivering in the wind.

Iskandar's eyes narrowed as Kiritsugu shook his head. Saber must have been cursed with some otherworldly level of bad luck to have ended up with a Master who didn't even trust her with the whole truth, who seemed to be treating her—and by extension, the other Servants—like tools. Goldie couldn't have said it better. If Kiritsugu had just told them, perhaps Assassin would still be themself. Their whole self.

But, as much as Iskandar wanted to rescind that little contract he entered in the Throne of Heroes, he realized the magus-killer had trapped him into an agreement he couldn't just break off.

Kiritsugu had kept his end of the bargain by granting him what would have been his wish upon the Holy Grail. Iskandar's pride and honor kept him from just walking away, especially since Kiritsugu had kept up his end of the deal. The King of Conquerors knew that that was the case for every single person here. Even Gilgamesh, who needed this life if he truly wanted to make Arturia his queen.

Kiritsugu didn't even look up his way, directing his answer to the King of Knights instead.

"You have six days."

Arturia's eyes widened like dinner plates. "We had seven the first time."

Kiritsugu shrugged. "You finished in three, if I recall correctly."

There was an audible crack as the sky fractured once again, black lines extending from the midpoint all the way across the dome. Kiritsugu really knew how to choose his words. Was he agitated? There really was no need to anger her when he was the one requesting their help. .

"Fine," Medea said, putting her hand on Arturia's shoulder. "You'll make the arrangements, yes?"

The mage didn't even wait for a reply, her image disappearing from Arturia's mindscape as soon as the words left her mouth.

It surprised Arturia how easily Medea agreed, but then she remembered her Master had technically kept up his end of the bargain by bringing Souichirou Kuzuki back. Come to think of it, perhaps when they meet up, Saber would ask the mage how the teacher was doing. After all, he looked exactly like he did ten years ago. Should he come in contact with people he knew, like the Ryuudou's, who've moved temples, or even Shirou, it would definitely raise some suspicions.

"It seems we will be relying on that Noble Phantasm of yours once again, archon," Heracles told her, the look in his eyes serious.

The burly man looked like he was going to say more, locking eyes with Iskandar and then shifting his vision between the king and the purple-haired woman at his side, but he didn't, and disappeared from the lake. Medusa followed shortly after, a ghost of a sigh on her lips.

What was that?

The thought occurred to ask Iskandar, but all her thoughts were thrown out the window when her eyes landed where her first knight once stood.

"Lancelot?"

Iskandar whipped around, to find the space his occasional housemate occupied completely empty. No—when did he? How? Was he so distracted that the knight's disappearance escaped his notice?

No.

The realization hit Arturia like a truck going a thousand miles per hour. She'd been so distracted with Kiritsugu she forgot the ongoing crisis the magus had interrupted. Diarmuid's name was on her tongue, but Cú beat her to it.
"Diar. don't even think about—fuck!"

His hand clasped around empty air, the spearman gone from the mindscape. Not a second later, he followed together with Iskandar, yelling at Arturia to hurry.

She should go. She should go now. There was no telling what those two would do. She prepared to release herself from the summon, her mind running through a million different scenarios for when she woke up. She had to stop them somehow. Lancelot could still put a stop to their duel to the death if he rescinds the challenge. She just had to get him calm enough to do that. She could—

Red staining the lake beneath her feet shocked her out of her train of thought. She almost gave herself whiplash with how fast she turned, and it was to a sight she never thought she'd see.

Gilgamesh held Kirtisugu's neck in a crushing grip, stifling the mongrel's low grunts of pain as he pushed the golden trident further into his body.

"I...am already...dead, Archer," he coughed, barely able to speak over the blood gurgling in his throat.

The first king dropped the bloodied magus and flicked his hands free of the red that stained them with disgust. "Fortunately, mongrel, Arturia still remembers you with a bag of flesh, and so you manifest with one. Isn't that right?"

It was an inference if anything, but one easily made. Those two dogs appeared here bleeding from head to toe. Gilgamesh manifested fully armored, but with his hair down, just like he looked when he'd bid her goodbye at the end of the Holy Grail War. This place was a reflection of her thoughts, wasn't it?

The King of Heroes heard a sound akin to the shattering of glass. He didn't have to look up to know the sky was fracturing. Arturia was in turmoil.

Gilgamesh stomped on Kiritsugu's head, forcing his face into the lake's surface. "Your omission nearly cost the King of Knights her life," he snarled, his rage so great the spike in his voice made Arturia freeze. Even in this space, a space that was entirely hers, she found herself rendered powerless...reduced to a mere audience to Gilgamesh's temper.

Kiritsugu thrashed under the weight, clawing at the king's feet for air, but Gilgamesh showed no mercy, not even sympathy to the groveling mongrel beneath him. Her body flinched against her will when the king kicked Kiritsugu on to his back, the latter sputtering and gasping for air only to be rewarded by a sword to the thigh.

How...how was he even? This was her mind scape. Was he just so powerful he could influence even her thoughts?

"She,"Gilgamesh continued, unrelenting in his path of vengeance, "Is far too considerate to even the likes of you, who deserve naught but scorn and ridicule."

Gilgamesh's fist closed around the staff of another weapon, his ire winning over his desire to preserve his treasures. "I am not so."

He would teach this mongrel what it meant to cross him, to cross his queen. The other extras sure had taken their time to leave, but they were all alone now. It truly was a shame this man had died a few years before; Gilgamesh would have taken immense pleasure in stealing his life away.

The King of Heroes slashed the weapon on Kiritsugu's chest, reveling in the guttural scream he'd finally coaxed out of the magus. So, he had a tongue. One that he held when she should have used it to reveal to Arturia the true nature of this mission.

Suddenly the mongrel's whines were less entertaining and more of an annoyance. Fortunately, he already had the tools at his disposal to remedy that, he thought, switching his grip to stab the mongrel straight through the tongue.

He didn't get that far.

Kiritsugu breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the King of Heroes dissipated into the air, revealing a less obnoxious blonde king looking down at him. She didn't extend her hand to help him up, just stood there with green eyes filled to the brim with emotion.

The wounds on his torso and leg began to close, likely Arturia's doing. This was still her mindscape, and he was but a ghostly visitor.

"I would appreciate it...if you no longer keep such vital information to yourself, Kiritsugu."

He nodded. Like a liar would.


Arturia awoke to ruby-colored eyes, burning embers that were once aflame with a fiery rage. His name left her mouth in the form of a whispered question, a question he answered with a quiet "Yes."

Even in the single, short syllable she could read his disappointment, mixed in with the lingering anger from the torture he had just leveled on her Master's ghost. She spent a second in his arms, trying to decipher him and all his mysteries. However much she searched, tracing his clenched jawline with her eyes and then his tight lip, she felt the answers evading her as she came upon them.

Gilgamesh would always be the last person on Earth she would want to be vulnerable around, because she could never truly read him. Around others, he was practically transparent, a massive crystallization of ego and charisma, but around her… How should she describe it? He was the same, but different, like a photograph versus a portrait of the same subject.

The spell was broken by a clang of weapons from the beach, the sound making the King of Knights practically tear herself away from the other blonde king as she snapped her head to the shore.

Iskandar had his short sword in the air after successfully disarming Lancelot, who was now facefirst in the sand, struggling to rip his arms free of Kay's grip. Bedivere was assisting her brother, hurling curse after curse as he tried to pin Lancelot's legs before he threw Kay off.

On the other end of the arena, Cú had both his arms wrapped around Diarmuid, his feet dragging on the sand as the latter kept trying to surge forward. It was like trying to wrangle a wild beast with a leash, and Cú was miserably failing.

"Enough, both of you!"

Her words didn't deter them from trying to break free of their bonds, their struggle giving their captors split lips and nosebleeds. And then she was torn, her feet skidding to a stop in the middle of the arena.

She warred with herself, her position forcing her to choose. Her knight, who rode beside her for many years, who dedicated his life to her service, who she finally reconciled with after eons passed, or Diarmuid O'Dyna, her friend, who'd never done her any wrong, who could make her smile at the snap of a finger?

Seconds ticked by as she snapped her head from left to right, both Cú and Kay yelling for her to do something, anything. But how could she, when her mind and her heart pulled her in different directions? How could she move, when the storm brewing in her mind threatened to tear her apart?

She took one step forward, then one back, the frustration at her own indecision eating up her insides like acid. She could sense Iskandar's eyes on her figure, challenging her to move, pushing her to choose until finally—

Petals swarmed all across the arena, heralding Merlin's arrival. The white-haired man rushed past his king's frozen figure, zipping to Lancelot and placing five fingers on his forehead. The man struggled, cursing the wizard's name, but his eyes rolled into his head and he went limp.

Kay and Bedivere both sighed in relief, but Merlin barely even heard their thanks before he crossed the arena, touched his hands to Diarmuid's raging figure, and the Irishman slumped backward into his friend's waiting arms.

"What...what did you do?" Cú asked the almost stranger, as Arturia came up beside him.

"I'm a sleep demon of sorts," he winked, then patted Diarmuid's cheek. The anguished expression he had been wearing was absent from his face, replaced by a peaceful one. It made the wizard wonder what the man could possibly be dreaming about, for all his worries to cease so quickly.

"Merlin." His king breathed his name with such obvious relief. "Thank you."

The sand shifted under her weight as she sank to her knees, looking so defeated with her hung shoulders and slouched back. Her green eyes studied Diarmuid's figure, taking in his various bleeding flesh wounds til she reached his face.

Gently, she stroked her thumb across his cheek, just beneath his right eye, wiping away the blood dripping from his brow. She heard Merlin complain about scars, but Arturia couldn't care less, mumbling quiet apologies under her breath. It didn't take a genius to know she blamed herself. Cú could read it in her eyes.

A small sigh left Diarmuid's lips as he unconsciously chased her touch, but she gingerly pulled away to look back at her knights. Bedivere had Lancelot slung over his shoulder, Kay was on his phone, probably booking a cab.

"We have to get them bandaged," she decided, getting back on her feet as she sensed Alexander's heavy footsteps approaching. "Perhaps...separating them would be wise."

Iskandar offered to take Diarmuid, a rather awkward look on his face. He said he would have taken Lancelot back to the Matou's along with Medusa, but the woman had already left after declining the offer.

With one smooth move, Cú hoisted the unconscious spearman onto his shoulders. "Where to?" he asked, nodding to Iskandar. It would be a tight fit on the Gordius Wheel, but they didn't have many options.

A crack of thunder echoed in the hidden cove as the bulls descended from the sky, and in mere seconds the two Lancers were safely within. Arturia's heart ached, seeing Diarmuid in this state, and knowing she could have done something to stop it. She knew he was strong, and that in no time, his wounds would heal, but...still...

"I trust he will be in your care, Cú?"

Cú snorted confidently, more to alleviate her worries than anything else. "Please, King of Knights. I've been taking care of this eejit's arse for forever."

They both knew the opposite was true, but Cú succeeded in his quest, and not too long after, a small half-smile made its way into Arturia's face. With one last look at her wavy-haired fellow knight, she took a few steps back to send them off.

"Text me where we'll meet, aight, shortie?"

She felt a little disgruntled at his new apparent nickname for her, but she nodded, and then they were gone. A long exhale left her lips. Time for business.

"Merlin," she called, as the wizard fell into step beside her with an oddly placed grin.

"Nine tickets to Athens, got it," he predicted, and started typing up her request into his white iPhone. The next flight was in the morning, and it would take maybe twenty hours to get there, even with the shortest transfer times. Great. They only had six days and they were spending the first entirely on the plane.

Thing is, they had no choice. Assuming the Gordius Wheel could fit all nine of them, the trip there would exhaust Rider to the point he is unable to fight.

"If you expect me to ride in those infernal mongrel carriages, you are, frankly, deranged."

The familiar holier-than-thou voice echoed through the cove. She'd honestly forgotten he hadn't left yet.

"Then deranged, I will be," she stated sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Merlin, one of those business class, alright?"

The mage nodded enthusiastically, as if Lancelot wasn't quietly bleeding out on Bedivere's shoulder. Either the gravity of the situation was lost to him, or he was very entertained by it. Arturia was far too tired to tell.

Gilgamesh still detested the fact that he was going to have to ride one of those infernal flying machines like the common folk, but he was subtly pleased Arturia was willing to try and accommodate him at all, albeit reluctantly.

She was learning. Perhaps he should reward her with his compliance.

Then again, her attention always seemed to be elsewhere. First with that dog with his little double-wielding parlor trick, and now, the mangy mutt with the mop for a head.

"You squander your time caring for those beneath you, Arturia."

T'was something he couldn't fathom doing if he was in her shoes, but it was her nature. It became her, even. Arturia wouldn't be as desirable if she was exactly like himself, after all, no. Which was why it pleased him immensely that she was his exact opposite.

But, oh, how he'd relish being the sole focus of the love in those green eyes.

All that in time. For now, the heated glare she was sending him was more than satisfactory.

"I expect dinner as recompense for this lackluster feast, woman," he declared, letting himself disappear into gold dust. "I will not be disappointed again."

Arturia was beginning to tire of the ever-present imperative tone Gilgamesh's voice had, but she couldn't even bring herself to go on another verbal bout with him. She just nodded and watched him go, thinking that at the very least, tomorrow would give her about a day's worth of hours away from him as they'd be sitting in different airplane cabins.

For now, Lancelot.

She ran up to Bedivere just as their cab came around the corner. Merlin went straight to work with his illusions, causing the driver to think Lancelot was just a passed out drunk and not bleeding all over his clothes.

"Where to?" the driver asked the group, oblivious.

Bedivere gave the man an address Arturia was not familiar with. It wasn't Kay's or Merlin's, that was for sure. She made to get in the cab with them, but her knight was quick to stop her.

"I need to speak with him, Bedi," she stated. She had to convince him to rescind the interrupted death match somehow. It was unavoidable that he'd see Diarmuid tomorrow. They couldn't afford to have another bout.

Bedivere's small smile was soothing. It was so familiar to her, that she could almost imagine him giving her that same smile in the fields of Camelot, with two braids of long hair instead of the short cut he sported in this era.

"Rest, my king," he requested. Even though his voice carried a command, it lacked the bite Gilgamesh's imperative tone often had. T'was refreshing to hear, even.

"I will make sure he is ready by dawn," he assured her, closing the car door to prevent her from pushing the subject anymore.

And then she was left with the first two members of her Round Table, looking up at a starry sky, wondering how such a beautiful night could turn out so wrong.