Author's note: If you read this chapter shortly after we first uploaded it, please note we've rewritten the second scene and the end of the last scene. If you're curious as to why, please see additional note at the end of the chapter. Otherwise, we hope you enjoy.
I never wanted to stand here again.
Artoria's shoulders were rigid as she kept watch over young Illyasviel, seated on the bed across from her. She had banished her armor as soon as Rin left, still grumbling about Emiya's foolishness in interrogating their enemy in her own bedroom instead of the castle dungeons. There was no need for intimidation, not when Illyasviel's shoulders were drawn in tight, her gaze buried in her lap.
The sight broke Artoria's heart. The little girl she had seen waving them off from the window so many years ago had been grinning.
I had hoped Irisviel's daughter might find happiness after our failure, or at least peace. It appears that heaven shall not grant it to any of us. Not Illyasviel, not Kiritsugu's son—
—a red banner floating above a ruined hill—
—and certainly not myself, who deserves it the least.
Sighing, Artoria let her gaze roam the room so she wouldn't need to look at the girl while she waited for her Master to arrive. It wasn't the same bedroom where she'd watched over Irisviel as the woman slept. Nor was it the living room where they'd sipped coffee and played card games on nights when her charge's enthusiasm, a mask for her loneliness, had defeated Artoria's sense of propriety. But the cold stone of the walls concealed under the drapes, and the empty forest beyond the high windows, still reminded Artoria of all her mistakes.
The silence stretched on. Artoria resisted the urge to fidget. Where was Shirou, anyway? The look on Lady Sakura's face when she'd beckoned him away had made it clear that words would be exchanged on the topic of bravery and recklessness, but surely the storm had now passed.
"Lady Illyasviel," she tried at last, "as you have conceded the battle, I shall not keep you here against your will. If you wish to take refuge with the overseer, my blade shall escort you."
Artoria braced herself for the inevitable questions. What about your alliance? How do you propose to ward off Archer's armory?
But Illyasviel didn't so much as glance up. "It's fine."
Those eyes reminded Artoria of Irisviel's on her worst days.
When they had arrived at the Einzbern castle, Illyasviel had thrown herself into the arms of the two maids that greeted them at the door, whispering apologies. Since then the girl had barely said anything, only nodding in tired resignation when Shirou suggested they talk. Nor had she raised so much as an eyebrow when Rin had insisted on an interrogation, not a friendly chat over tea and onigiri. When Artoria had taken up her guard, she thought she had spotted a flicker of recognition in Illyasviel's eyes, but they had swiftly returned to their flat crimson.
Even in her years of leading knights and armies, Artoria had rarely seen anyone look so utterly defeated. She should have been relieved to see it on the enemy.
But she isn't my enemy.
Artoria's fists clenched at her sides.
Two knocks on the door.
"Pardon the intrusion," Shirou said quietly as he opened the door.
Illyasviel didn't move an inch even as he shut it behind him and took a seat with a sigh. Artoria nodded at him, both relieved to see him and apprehensive as to what might come next. Unfortunately, the pleading look he sent her way sharpened the apprehension.
I should have expected this. He is entirely out of his depth.
She gave a slight shake of the head and deliberately looked away. He was on his own. As a tool, it wasn't her place to negotiate for him.
A few more moments passed in awkward silence. Then Shirou sighed.
"The old man never... told me about this place," he said hesitantly.
"Of course he didn't," muttered Illyasviel bitterly, her voice injected with the first bit of life since Avenger fell.
That shut the boy up once more. His eyes strayed around the room, as if searching for a distraction. They rested briefly on a stuffed kirin in the corner, and his mouth opened before he seemed to think better of it. Instead he drew in a breath and straightened in his seat.
"Hey… I know Archer was harsh, but she isn't that bad, really." He scratched his cheek, oblivious to Artoria's withering glare. "Once we've all calmed down, I'll talk to her and I'm sure we can work something out."
Illyasviel stared at him flatly.
"You want to go home to…" he offered her a small smile as he looked her over, "...von Einzbern, so Germany, right? Once the War is over, I'm sure Archer won't mind."
"To the family who literally threw me to the wolves?" Illyasviel's mouth twisted. "The family that sent me to win the Grail as repayment for your father's crimes, or die trying? So that's what you're suggesting. How very merciful of you, Oniichan."
Shirou recoiled from her anger. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't… I didn't know."
"Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it?" Her voice was far colder than any girl's should have been. "I can't believe this is who I lost to."
"You don't understand! I never wanted this!" His shoulders trembled, his fists clenched in his lap. "I never wanted to hurt anybody..."
"You hurt me by your very existence," she said quietly.
Artoria coughed before Shirou could react reflexively.
"Perhaps proper introductions are in order," she stated. "Lady Illyasviel, I believe you are already familiar with my Master."
"Um, Shirou Emiya," the boy said anyway, trying to smile. "I hope we can get along."
The smile wilted under Illyasviel's icy gaze.
Artoria pressed on. "Master, this young lady is Illyasviel von Einzbern, daughter of Irisviel von Einzbern… and Kiritsugu Emiya."
Two sets of eyes snapped towards her.
"Seriously?" said a wide-eyed Shirou before turning back to Illyasviel. "Then, wait, you're really my—"
"How do you know that?" demanded Illyasviel, her hands twisting in the coverlet.
Artoria hesitated, then set her jaw. Anger was better than despair, and understanding even moreso. Even if revealing the past could pose a danger to her plans, if she could lift even a little unhappiness from Irisviel's daughter…
"I fought as your parents' Servant in the Fourth War," she said gently, "though my sword was insufficient to keep them safe. For this, I am sorry."
She could voice her grievances against the girl's father another time.
Illyasviel stared at her.
"You're lying," she stated, "Servants don't remember anything between summoning. You can't possibly remember any of that."
Artoria glanced at Shirou. The boy was watching her intently, hanging off her every word. Then she sighed. Even if what she was about to reveal was intensely personal, it concerned the boy's family too. Perhaps he had a right to know.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "Your mother Irisviel had eyes red like blood, but they held the warmth of a hearth and her smile could brighten the darkest room. She was unfailing in her optimism—even when she suffered and accepted her fate, she was still radiant."
Artoria paused, then chuckled ruefully. "And she drove like a maniac."
Illyasviel leaned a little towards her, searching her face. Artoria looked back, willing sincerity into her smile. After a moment, the girl inhaled and turned her gaze to the floor.
"No one ever told me that," she said quietly.
Another crack formed in Artoria's heart. "What do you know about her?"
"Not anywhere near enough," murmured Illyasviel, fidgeting in her seat. "It's unfair. You knew my mother less than a month, and you know so much more about her."
"So much was robbed from you..." said the Servant with a slow shake of her head.
"...warm," said the girl after a moment, softly kicking her legs against the bedside. "I remember I was warm whenever she held me. And she was beautiful, too. I wanted to grow up like her so badly, but…"
She glanced up and spotted Shirou watching her silently. Her mouth snapped shut, then she shifted so she was fully facing Artoria.
"I would like to hear more about my mother," she said, with an imperious tilt of her chin.
"Of course, Lady Illyasviel," said Artoria, leaning against the bedpost. "I only wish I had more to tell you. We were in the midst of war, and yet your mother persisted in seeing me as a person rather than a weapon."
Unlike that man.
But she intended to put Illyasviel at ease, not stoke the flames of her resentment. So Artoria shared stories of the weeks she had spent at Irisviel's side during the last War. Their mutual wonder when they boarded their flight for Japan, the woman's simple joy in the world surrounding her, evenings spent in comfortable silences. Irisviel's courage under fire, without dipping into any of the horrors of the conflict.
Illyasviel leaned forward, eyes locked on the Servant as she listened. She couldn't hide the little smile for long, and after a while she forgot to try. When Artoria told her how Irisviel had avoided a traffic ticket by pretending not to speak a word of Japanese until the policeman threw up his arms in frustration, the girl even giggled into her sleeve.
Artoria stole another glance at her Master. Shirou sat silently, his eyes not on his Servant but on the girl sitting on the bed, a small smile on his lips. The boy looked unguarded, in a way she had never seen Kiritsugu express around her. Once again, Artoria couldn't see the connection between the Magus Killer and his adopted son.
"And…" The shyness in Illyasviel's voice caught her attention. "Was my mother happy?"
"Yes," said Artoria, remembering how the woman smiled even on the coldest nights. "She believed in your father's dream. If she could do anything to help him… that was all she asked for."
She couldn't help the way her jaw tensed around the words.
"My father," said Illyasviel bitterly. "His dream cost me everything."
Her brow darkened as she glared at Shirou again. Pushing down the bile in her throat, Artoria forced out her next words. "His dream was a better world for you."
No matter the cost.
"Then why has my life turned out like this?" snapped Illyasviel, even as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"I have no answer for that," sighed Artoria. "But Lady Illyasviel, whatever I may have thought of your father… please know this. There is no doubt that he loved you."
Illyasviel fiercely rubbed her eyes. "A lot of good that did me."
"I... I think he tried to help you," Shirou said uncertainly.
The girl turned a hard gaze on him. "Wasn't he too busy coddling you?"
Shirou smiled awkwardly. "He wasn't around very often for the first couple of years, actually. He tended to disappear for long months. I never knew where until I discovered an old plane ticket to Germany while cleaning the house one day."
The boy looked out the window. "I never understood why he always came back sadder than he left. I always thought a vacation was supposed to make you happy. It didn't make sense."
"Then..." Illyasviel paused and stared at something far away for a moment. When her gaze refocused, it was shining with unshed tears. "Grandfather must have..."
There was an awkward stretch of silence. Artoria exchanged a look with Shirou, and saw reflected in his eyes the same reluctance to ask more questions of the girl before she'd composed herself. Then her Master shifted in his seat to face her.
"So, uh… you were my old man's Servant," he said. "In the last war, I mean."
"That is correct, yes." Artoria nodded.
"Did he tell you his wish for the Grail?" the boy asked, leaning a little forward.
Glancing at the pensive Illyasviel, the Servant chose her next words with care. "I was... made aware of it."
"Can... would you please tell me?" he asked, fists clenched on top of his thighs.
"...A world without strife," she said at last. "A world where everyone was saved, a world of no conflict."
An impossible dream. Especially for a man with such bloodied hands.
"I see," he smiled, a spark of pride in his amber eyes.
No, you do not. And I hope you never do.
"But…" Her Master's gaze strayed to Illyasviel. "I guess he didn't win, did he?"
Anger swelled dark and bitter in Artoria's throat before she forced it down with the iron self-control she'd learned on the throne.
"He did not," she said neutrally.
"That's why, then…" he muttered, staring down at his fists. After a moment, he looked up again. "Saber… Tohsaka said that Servants have a wish of their own."
Artoria controlled her wince. "You are again correct."
"Is that why you're fighting again—"
"That's a stupid question, Oniichan," interjected Illyasviel. "Of course it is. Servants only answer the summoning if they have a wish."
Shirou nodded. "Okay. Then… Saber, if it's something you don't want to share…?"
Artoria gave a sharp nod.
"Right… then please, if there's anything I can do to help you, let me know. I'll do everything I can."
Her face grew stern. "If you mean that, Master, then cease your recklessness. By my count, you have almost died three times already this War by flinging yourself in the face of danger. Have you no faith in me?"
"It's not that!" he protested, throwing up his hands appeasingly. "It's just… if I can do something, I want to do it. I don't want to have any regrets."
"And what of the people you leave behind?" said Artoria, locking down his gaze. "The responsibilities you can no longer fulfill?" She hesitated a moment, then set her jaw. The boy needed to understand. "What about Lady Sakura?"
"She just gave me an earful about it," he grumbled half-heartedly.
"Perhaps with the both of us, the lesson may penetrate," sighed Artoria.
"Is that why you threw yourself in front of me?" said Illyasviel suddenly.
"Of course," Shirou replied instantly.
The girl stared hard at him for a long time, her eyes roaming over his face as if searching for something. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. "Don't do that again."
"I can't promise that," he said, scratching his cheek.
"Why not?" she pressed.
"Because if you're in danger and I can get you out of it, I have to try."
Illyasviel scowled, and Artoria made to interrupt before her Master stoked the coals of her frustration into flame again.
"I see I have my work cut out for me," she said with a small smile. "Then upon my honor, I shall protect you both."
Illyasviel grinned. "You know, when Saber says it, I can actually believe it."
"Yeah, yeah… why are girls always ganging up on me like this?" he grumbled. "Maybe Issei was right after all."
"Hmm?" Illyasviel tilted her head to one side and smiled sweetly. "It sounds like this Issei might be a bad influence on my Oniichan. Maybe I should pay him a visit?"
"I would advise you to save pleasantries for another time, my young masters," said Artoria. "Remember that we are at war."
"Hold on!" Her Master raised a hand. "Illya's been knocked out, right? That means she doesn't have to fight anymore."
"There's a lot you don't understand here, Oniichan." Illyasviel lifted her head and looked out the window. The flint in her eyes in that moment reminded Artoria that she was that man's daughter too. "Until the Grail is summoned, I'm going to be involved."
Artoria's hands trembled.
I'm sorry.
"Hey, um..." Shirou scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Why don't you give me a tour of the, err, castle? We might be staying here for a while, since, uh... you know..."
"Since I burnt your house and Rin's place to ashes?" Illyasviel asked, a bit of mischief in her smile. "I suppose I should play the gracious hostess."
Artoria smiled. The shift from the mindset of a prisoner to that of a proprietress was a hopeful sign.
This time, things will be different. I swear it.
This dungeon sucks.
Too bad Jeanne would never get a chance to tell that old bastard Acht as much. If he'd expected to break the will of his captives, he needed at least a few dozen rats in filthy straw, some leering guards, and the reek of despair. She'd experienced far worse in that shitty king's prisons and come out with her head high.
No, that stupid saint did. I would have come out kicking those fuckers in the kidneys.
Not that she was doing any kicking at the moment. The iron shackles were heavy on her wrists, the stone wall cold against her back. She should have been able to tear both down like so many twigs, but the bitch's collar drained her essence as fast as she could generate it. Like this, she was no stronger than a human. Disgustingly weak.
I'll kill her for this. I'll kill her.
The hatred burned in her gut like hot oil. Blazing and scorching, but comforting too. It made everything simple.
A clack of heels echoed in the darkness. Jeanne didn't need light to see Archer's insufferable smirk as the bitch approached. Curling her fist, she pulled on the chain holding her to the wall, testing it for the merest give.
Still none.
Damn.
The stupid cow sighed and looked down on her. "What am I going to do with you, mutt? You are far too dangerous to let roam, yet too interesting to put down."
"D'you think I fucking care?" Jeanne's sneer had sent hardened soldiers sprinting away rather than face her wrath. "I'll make it easy for you. Let me go and I'll burn you to cinders. Then you'll never decide anything again."
Archer tilted her head.
"Even held at my mercy, you show no trace of fear. How very foolish of you." Her lips quirked up. "How intriguing."
"Kill me, beat me, but don't waste my time," said Avenger dismissively. "Figure out whatever the hell you wanna do and just do it."
"To ask a rushed sentence from your judge is to ask Shamash to raise the sun's disc at your command," Archer said idly, leaning on the wall next to her. "Such insolence will not end well for you."
"Heard that one before." Jeanne laughed bitterly. "In other words, you have no idea."
She sat up as straight as the shackles would allow, then gave Archer a wide smile.
"You don't belong here, Boucles d'Or. You're as much of a ghost as I am, but with even less purpose. I hate the world and everything in it. I want to burn it all down, every last writhing worm. And you hate it too, but you're too much of a pussy to wipe it away." Her smile widened to the point of pain. "Go on. Tell me I'm wrong."
Her words hung in the empty air for several heartbeats as Archer considered them.
"Perhaps, when I first set foot in this modern era," she said, a sneer flitting across her face. "When I saw its filthy air and poisoned waters, its degenerate people and the weakness of their hearts." The red eyes hardened as they strayed towards the far wall. "Then I thought to tear my garden out from the smallest root, and flood the ground before planting anew."
"You'd only end up with more weeds," jeered Jeanne. "If the seeds are rotten, you'll end up with trash no matter how good the soil. And there's nothing more rotten than humans."
She threw back her head and laughed harshly.
"Except maybe gods. Which I guess makes you pretty fucking gross."
"Indeed."
Jeanne's laughter died away, and the silence rushed in to fill it. She fixed the other woman with an inquisitive stare. "What, you just gonna take that lying down? Where'd all that pride go?"
This time, the smirk was sardonic. "Pride is but a cracked column that the insecure lean upon to affirm their self-worth. Pride is meaningless when, for all your power, you can do nothing to stop the decay of your greatest treasure."
Malicious joy rose in her chest, and for a moment the resentful blaze turned to a warm glow. So even the high and mighty suffered too. Good. More than that, fucking excellent.
She leaned forward in her shackles. "Did your favorite pet turn on you?" she said. "Decry your works, curse your name? Not so fun when the dog bites after you've gotten used to kicking it, your majesty?"
Something dimmed in Archer's eyes before she shook her head. "Have you finished barking, little pup? I have something for your dry throat."
"Poison?" Jeanne huffed out a breath as she shifted against the wall. "Finally. I've had enough of listening to your bullshit."
"Not quite."
A small golden portal opened in mid-air, about an arms' length away from Jeanne. A gust of wind carried a pitcher of shining water down to the floor. A familiar pitcher, bringing with it memory of wet hair clinging in her face.
"Oh, you connasse!" Jeanne growled. "Too good to throw it on me yourself this time? Wanna make me beg you for it? Va te faire foutre!"
Archer didn't so much as flinch, damn her. "Have you finished?"
"Not hardly, you—"
"Did you think I soaked you in this precious water for mere entertainment?"
...yes. But she only glared at the woman.
"When a parasite gnaws inside the body, do you not seek to remove it? When affliction taints the mind, do you not reach to pull it loose?"
"...the fuck are you going on about?" said Jeanne suspiciously, staring into the cold crimson of the other's eyes.
"A king must on occasion act as a healer to her people," said Archer. "I am cutting away the cancer that consumes your soul."
"I repeat: what the fuck are you going on about?"
"Tell me, little pup," the other Servant leaned on the wall, "do you enjoy holding onto your hatred?"
Jeanne couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, so you want me to just roll over and be a good girl, like the dumbass saint would? You're hilarious. Die."
To her irritation, Archer laughed merrily. "This era may be deplorable, but at least it does not lack for comedians."
"Hey, you know what'd be even funnier? My spear through your eye socket."
Her chagrin escalated as Archer only laughed harder. "Yes, yes. I could use a wolf like you."
"I bend to no one," she hissed. "No kings, no gods. No masters. If that's what you want, you may as well slit my throat now. If you dare."
Archer's fingers stroked her chin. "I would take offense at your insolence, but it is clear that you cannot help yourself. The cancer allows you nothing else." A flick of golden hair over her shoulder. "It remains a crime that merits execution, but I will look beyond it for the time being."
"Make up your mind," grumbled Jeanne. "The war won't last much longer, and I'll be pissed off if I don't get another chance to kill you before then."
"I shall remain far past that," said Archer with the cool arrogance Jeanne so hated in kings, as if her words were truth the moment she'd spoken them. "You are interesting enough to be worth offering the same to—though only if you shed the blind hatred of a beast."
"Fuck off, cunt," Jeanne spat. "Here's what I think of your offer."
Viciously she lashed out with her foot and kicked the pitcher over. Dark satisfaction filled her as she watched the dusty floor swallow up the water.
Archer looked entirely unperturbed. "All the waters of the Tigris will not help you if you insist on reigniting your hatred every time it is quenched. I suppose you truly are an exemplar of humanity, the way you insist on hurting yourself."
Jeanne snarled and lunged against her restraints. "I'll fucking burn you alive!"
Archer watched the chains groan under the force of the assault for a moment, then sauntered towards the stairs. "We can continue later. The king is rarely hurried."
The careless wave of her hand made Jeanne's heart constrict with rage. "Get back here, you bitch! I'll destroy you! Don't you walk away from me!"
But soon, all the company she had left was an empty pitcher, some slowly-drying water, and her own thoughts.
At least the kitchen is well-organized.
Rin blinked through a pounding headache as she filled the kettle with water. The clean-yet-homely space took some sting out of the fact that she was making tea herself while the two maids watched her with flat red eyes. She'd been really tempted to just collapse her aching body into an armchair and ask them to bring the tea, but she was a magus. Trust only extended so far, especially with recently enlisted enemies-turned-allies.
Then again, nothing else has gone right when I tried to do it the magus way, so...
"Did you want some too?" she asked, glancing at the maids over her shoulder. "I need to know how much water to boil."
The two looked at each other, an entire conversation in the blink of an eye, and then the one on the right spoke to her.
"I am incapable of taste, so it is not necessary." Her tone was flat, near-lifeless. Rin couldn't tell if it was out of hostility or the maid's natural state of being.
"There is no need to show consideration to us," said the other. Though her expression was carefully neutral, a hint of worry shaded her voice. "We were created to serve Lady Illyasviel... and now you."
Rin sighed. As much as she might have fantasized about having her own (friend) butler, she had always imagined a cheerful back and forth, a little banter. Not this… service out of obligation.
I don't need them to like me so long as things get done, said the slate voice in her mind, the voice of her father. And I don't care if they're comfortable or not. It doesn't matter.
She filled the whole kettle anyway.
"Well, we're going to be stuck together for a little while," she huffed, tossing her hair over one shoulder as she walked to the stove. "Might as well make the best of it."
The stove was the old-fashioned gas kind. Rin couldn't help but flinch when the bluish-purple flame caught on the burner.
Stop it. A deep breath filled her lungs. Elegant. Dignified.
A discreet cough from behind caught her attention.
"Sorry?" she asked.
"If you will forgive my impertinence," said the maid on the left, the one wearing blue under the white dress now that Rin was paying closer attention, "By what name should we address you, my lady?"
She considered for a moment, then shrugged. "Rin is fine, thank you."
"Lady Rin, then."
I do like the sound of that. Maybe the Einzbern castle has some good points after all.
"Good." She hunted among the cupboards for a teaset. "I didn't catch your names, though. If you'd indulge me…?"
"Of course." The 'blue' maid did a quick bow. "My name is Sella. This is my sister Leysritt."
"Charmed, I'm sure… dammit, I give up. Do you think you could…?"
Without a word, the 'black' maid—Leysritt, Rin mentally repeated to herself—produced cups and trays from the exact opposite side of the kitchen.
"Right, thanks," muttered Rin as they laid things out.
"If I may," said Sella after a moment, then paused while Rin stared at her. It took the magus an embarrassingly long time to realize she was waiting for permission to continue, and finally nod. "If you intend to use this castle as a base of operations…"
"We are."
Sella nodded in turn. "Then do you have the identities of the other Masters and Servants? That would aid Leysritt and I in planning our defenses."
Relief washed over Rin as she set the sugar bowl on the tray. Oh thank god. Someone else is finally taking this seriously. She huffed. At least until Archer does something else completely ridiculous, and I'm never able to look these two in the eyes again—
She shook her head. Come on, Rin. Focus, dammit.
"Ah yes. Good question." Clearing her throat, she took a seat at the kitchen table. "With Avenger out of the way…"
She winced when she remembered who she was talking to, but to her surprise, the maids didn't seem upset. Even a little relieved, though Rin couldn't understand why.
"That leaves the black knight that came after Emiya." Her fingers tapped on the table. "I would have guessed Saber, but that's obviously out now. He didn't look like a Lancer—too heavyset. Berserker, maybe, although I've never heard of one talking. Then again, I've got an Archer who uses everything but arrows…"
The lavender tea was nice and soothing. Glancing up to ensure she still had her audience, she took a second sip and continued.
"Whatever he is, he's got living chains—fast enough to knock away a volley of blades from Archer. And he's strong enough to carry Emiya around like he was a stray puppy."
A small sound from one of them made her turn to the two maids. Sella's neutral expression had clouded some, and when their gazes met she looked aside. Leysritt was staring at a point on the table.
"What?" Rin asked. "I don't know what he did to your mistress, but—"
"We do not take issue with... the young master," Sella said after a few moments. "His... father is another matter."
"Emiya? Why?" She frowned. "Did your mistress know him?"
The two exchanged another long look, long enough to make Rin bristle.
"Well?"
"The name of Emiya Kiritsugu was... unwelcome among the Einzbern."
"Oh," said Rin, wrapping her hands around her cup in thought. Then she stiffened. "Wait—that Emiya? 'Magus Killer' Emiya?"
How could I have never made this connection before?! She felt like tearing her hair out. This is Shirou's fault. If he wasn't always so… so…
"That is correct," said Leysritt. The clipped tone was the closest she'd come to emotion since she'd first spoken. "We would prefer not to speak of this further without Lady Illyasviel present."
Curiosity gnawed at Rin, but she managed to swallow it down. Pressing these women for answers wasn't a great way of trying to make friends, however strong the temptation.
Instead, she glanced down at the untouched cup in front of Leysritt. "Should I have offered coffee instead...?"
Leysritt shook her head. "No, that would not be any better. I lack the necessary function entirely."
"You can't even feel the warmth...?" Rin asked with some surprise.
Another shake of the head. "I can register temperatures as you would read a thermometer. But in the sense that you mean, no."
Rin pursed her lips and looked into her cup, nearly empty of tea. She didn't have any response that could make it better. Not even an apology would do much.
"So who else do you know of?" Thankfully, Sella broke the silence.
"Well... I know there is a Caster... and that Archer's met her." Rin growled. "But that infernal woman didn't say a word about her. It just slipped out during another conversation. Another boast, no less."
She drained the last of her cup and sighed. "Rider is out there somewhere. I don't know how it worked—if I could just get my hands on that book—but she managed to switch Masters to a classmate of mine. Mitsuzuri Ayako."
Rin licked her lips again. "She's got a good heart. I don't think we're in much danger from her. But she's been dragged into this..."
I completely forgot about her... what kind of friend am I?
Magi don't have friends, said the voice of her father.
"Rider has a blindfold and wields two daggers on long chains," she made herself continue. "She's very fast. I don't know how high her Magic Resistance is, but it might be worth setting up snare traps of some kind..."
Sella nodded. "We'll take that into account."
"And there's got to be a Lancer or Assassin out there somewhere..." After considering it for a moment, Rin gave an irritated shrug. "Or maybe not. Who knows what's going on with this war—Avenger showing up and Archer wrecking everything..."
"I see," said the maid. "Then we shall draw up plans—"
A low growling noise interrupted her. Pink rose to Rin's cheeks when she realized it came from her own stomach.
"-after dinner, of course," said Sella smoothly. "Leysritt and I did not prepare for so many guests, but if we can beg your patience—"
"No, no," Rin hurriedly interrupted. "We've all had a long day. I think we've earned the right to take-out. Archer can deal with one meal fit only for mere mortals."
Sella crinkled her nose. "Certainly not. I shall permit only the healthiest foods to grace Lady Illyasviel's table."
"I want udon," Leysritt stated, still staring at the table. "The cheap, fatty kind."
To Rin's amusement, Sella elbowed her sister in the side. "Don't indulge Lady Illyasviel's whims! Wasn't the kirin from the airport enough?"
"I wanted the matching dragon..." Leysritt mumbled almost petulantly.
"Leysritt!"
"If that's what you're in the mood for, let's do it," Rin said, smiling.
Doesn't hurt that it's friendly on my wallet too. Especially after most of it went up in smoke.
Sella coughed into her hand as she turned back to Rin. "We will be happy to fetch it. However, it might be best if you remain here, as we may not be sufficient to protect you if a Servant attacks."
Rin frowned. She isn't wrong. Saber is busy supervising Shirou and the brat upstairs, and Archer's busy doing… whatever it is she feels like. There's no one to escort us. And I don't want to get caught unprotected again.
Her fingers still ached with phantom pain. It didn't stop them from tightening around the handle of her empty cup.
But I don't want to just stay here doing nothing, either.
The silence stretched as Rin debated. She opened her mouth for a decision, she wasn't sure which, when Archer strode in. The charcoal suit was expertly cut and beautifully contrasted the rich gold of her mane, while the red dress shirt brought out the bright crimson of her eyes and…
Wait, another outfit? I shouldn't be surprised, but come on!
And did they all have to look that good on her?
"Idling away, I see," said her Servant—no, her king, Rin snarled to herself. "Do you plan to be a layabout for the rest of the day, or should I send you off on errands?"
"You're not sending me anywhere," Rin growled, and sat up so quickly that she banged her knees on the edge of the table. "Ow!"
"Indeed, it seems like you have enough trouble as it is," the Servant said with a smirk.
Nursing her bruised ego, Rin stepped away from the table and motioned to the maids. "I've decided. I'm coming with you two. Let's go already."
She would show this infuriating woman that Tohsaka Rin was not to be taken lightly, whatever oaths she might have sworn. She had guards, and her gems, and this time she would be alert to danger. And, yes, she had the last two command seals if things truly went wrong.
Unwise, perhaps. But far better than the condescension that dripped from every word that came out of Archer's mouth.
"As you wish, Lady Rin," Sella bowed and moved to leave, her sister close behind her.
"Do not tarry," said Archer casually. "The king only has so much patience to spare."
Rin spun around to face her Servant again. "Oh, you are not coming too."
A single golden eyebrow arched. "Have you so quickly forgotten the course of events when I last left you some independence?"
She ignored the sneer in her ear that her memories dug out unbidden. "I'm not a burden for you to carry around! Don't coddle me!"
"The moment you swore yourself to me, you became my responsibility," Archer uttered, and Rin stopped as those red eyes pinned her in place. "Our enemies were more ambitious than I had expected, and you suffered for it, little mage. I will not have that happen again."
Rin didn't like the wave of relief that washed over her at that. She didn't. She hated the idea that this stupidly gorgeous woman would care for her in that way. It was infuriating.
"...fine," she grudgingly said after a few more moments, turning to the door again. "I don't care. Do what you want."
She could feel the smirk pointed at her.
"As is the king's right. You would do well to remember it."
Author's additional note: Why the revision? After we received some feedback from readers, we realized we made a pretty bad misstep in the original draft of this chapter. The tone and implications were wildly off from what we had intended, and an attempt to fix things in the next chapter only made the cracks deeper. Rather than contort ourselves further (and risk justifying things that really shouldn't be), we decided to rehaul large sections of this one to bring the story back in line with what we intended. Thank you for your patience, and things should be back on track now.