Dan: Wink wink, nudge nudge.
So I've got good news and bad news. Let's start with the bad news first!
This was originally meant to be chapter 26, not 25. But as I outlined things I realized the story would flow better if I switched them; what that means, unfortunately, is that I need to push the omake back a chapter.
The good news is that this delay should only affect these chapters in particular, and it won't have any impact on any future omakes. It just means we'll be getting two omakes next arc instead of one: Return - 1 and Return - 4, respectively.
Putting an omake here would, frankly, not be tonally appropriate at all, and as you read, I'm sure you'll begin to understand why. This chapter rivals 16 in terms of importance - it is so important, in fact, that upon finishing, I recommend a full reread of Fateless. You know how, upon finishing a real good movie or book and doing a rewatch/reread, you begin to pick up on hints you may have overlooked the first time, since you're no longer missing a key part of the plot?
Yeah.
Enjoy.
Lancelot swore his blade in the first year of her reign, mere months after her coronation. In that life, he journeyed to Britain at Lady Vivian's suggestion, after he expressed doubt in the rumors circulating the northern coasts of Gaul - rumors of a young king who fought and ruled with the strength of the mightiest Romans, who held within him the potential to return order and civilization to a world plagued by barbarism and endless warfare.
Within hours of landfall, he beheld that king in the midst of battle, riding his steed - her steed - into conflict against the tribal invaders pillaging her lands. She rode from the front. She claimed more lives with her own blade than her army combined, as if to say, 'I shall shoulder this burden myself.' She disproved in minutes the assumptions he held for years. And he thought it wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that he drew his own sword and charged after her, so he might relieve the burden on her shoulders. The young king noticed that effort; she invited him to return with her to Camelot, to see the things she sought to protect.
In that city he met like-minded others. Knights who came from across the realm to see for themselves the noble efforts of the man they called Arthur Pendragon. Each and every one believed in that higher cause, the ephemeral concept of salvation. They all wished to build a realm called utopia, wherein people of all stripes could find safety, peace, and warm meals.
They failed.
The longer they struggled for that impossible goal, the harder it became to maintain the faith. Endless famine. A stream of invaders. Necessary evils to deny footholds, to maintain borders. Forced conscription, confiscated foodstuffs from towns already starving, the razing of towns to deny the enemy places to rest, recover and restock. Nevertheless, the king never wavered. Not a single tear. Not a single sob. Not a single smile. Not a single laugh. A face of steel was she, resolute against an ever-growing perfect storm of terrifying proportions. As long as the king maintained faith, they thought, anything was possible. They believed in Arthur Pendragon.
Belief makes for a brittle wall.
"The king does not understand the hearts of men."
The poisoned Sir Tristan departed the Round Table, but the poison remained. A maleficent curse, one that crept through the ranks like the most conniving of assassins. Every day someone new expressed their muttered doubts and worries. Galahad's disappearance, Palamedes' demise… Bors confirmed the failure of the quest for the Holy Grail, the one opportunity they had to correct Britain's eternal famine. Cracks began to form. Pained expressions replaced unwavering resolve. Zealous passion turned to hesitance. Casualties against the invaders mounted. Morale vanished.
The king never acknowledged any of it. Despite the doubts of her people - or perhaps because of them - she walked into the battle of Badon Hill and claimed a final, overwhelming victory against the savages threatening her kingdom. The Anglo-Saxons sought reconciliation; for but a brief few years, the country returned to peace. No matter what she did, however, the cracks in their belief continued to grow. The king was perfect. She was not human, she did not understand. How could a god understand the plights of the subjects over which she ruled? The greater her Herculean efforts, the worse she was perceived.
…
But…
"Yo, Saber."
"Sh-Shirou?"
Their voices lowered to a whisper, and the rest of the conversation went unheard.
His hands dug into his hair, he hunched over the table. To his side, Kay shifted, perhaps to ask a question. Ector cut him off with a shake of the head.
But… but…!
"Truly? Who is it?"
"My best friend. I have not seen him in years."
But the way she spoke of him…! The look upon her face as she told them his name, the urgency, the desperation…! The way she sat there for hours, by her untouched sword, like a lost, abandoned child…!
"—I cannot stand seeing him like this, Lancelot."
"Neither can I. He is a mercenary, is he not? My kind are fond of spars."
"Hm, perhaps. Oi! Arthur!"
She never once attempted to reclaim it, as surely was within her right! She did not reach for it! Did not look at it!
"In life, he was a warrior who specialized in a type of conjuration witchcraft called projection."
"What did he conjure?"
"Weapons. Blades, mostly, though he could harness many other things if given the proper resources and support."
He wheezed. Something dripped onto Ector's table.
"We… w-we…!"
"Hmph. Not even a greeting, Gawain? Who's that?"
"The one I picked. Good with a sword. We've a mercenary here already, what's one more?"
"His name?"
Gawain nodded to him.
"Lancelot, milord," he introduced.
Agravain gestured to Artoria in turn.
"Arthur Emiya," she spoke.
"And resident practitioner of witchcraft, I assume? A wizard?"
'Emiya' didn't so much as flinch. She'd expected such remarks, it seemed.
"A user, yes. A wizard, no."
Gawain cocked a brow. "Is there a difference?"
"Aye. Wizards have their own codes they follow. My family is trained in the use of witchcraft, but we are not wizards. I see the eldritch the same way you see a sword. 'Tis a tool to be used, nothing more."
Agravain rested his arm on the table.
"Is that why you use it freely, without prejudice?"
The girl nodded. "I am not beholden to secrecy. My abilities are my own. I use them as needed."
Gawain met Agravain's eye.
"Have you heard of these Emiyas, Agravain?"
"Nay. Tell me, Emiya - do all members of your family have blonde hair?"
"'Tis one of two colors, the other being red. I hail from the mainland, to the east. Ours is a small clan, scattered to the wind and seas. You might consider us arcane mercenaries, spellswords for hire."
A low wail built in Lancelot's throat.
"M-Milord, milord, I b-beseech thee… his name… w-what is… that m-man's…"
…
Sir Ector took pity on the man sobbing upon his pristine, wooden table.
"Shirou Emiya."
…
He stared at the table.
"She was… weak. We swore ourselves… to protect the weak… but we never protected her. We… w-we… failed to understand… our king…!"
"—Aye."
Every hair stood on end, every muscle froze in terror. Despite his fear, despite his mounting horror, Lancelot resolved himself to his fate, and lifted his gaze to a father wronged.
Ector's look murdered Sir Lancelot thrice over.
"You failed to protect my daughter."
Tap, tap, tap, went Sir Ector's finger against the table. Each movement, a blade in Lancelot's jugular. He lost in himself the strength to breathe, so he sat there, a man petrified, frozen in time.
"And a suitable offense deserves a suitable punishment. Wouldst thou agree, Sir Lancelot?"
The reckoning.
"…Aye, milord."
An odd sense of serenity washed him of his terror. At last, his punishment had arrived. Judgment. In her father's holy fire would he find his long sought absolution, a brilliant cleansing of pained duty to which he might devote himself anew. A new life, or a simple death. Either way: a fitting end.
"Very good. Thy sentence is this, wayward knight."
For the rest of his days, Lancelot would keep Sir Ector in his prayers.
"Thou shalt live seeing thy perfect king enjoy herself as a woman, in the arms of a simple commoner. Thou shalt support them at every turn, and champion them if so required. Thou shalt swear thy blade to her brother, Arthur Pendragon, the day he proclaims his intent for the throne, and live joyously serving a king not thy own. And once a month, on this day, at this hour, thou shalt return here, to me, where we shall make our polite conversation, and where thou shalt report to me everything thy hath seen."
His sins lifted from his shoulders, ashes upon the wind. Ector's finger tapped one final time.
"Are these terms acceptable, Sir Lancelot?"
He bowed his head.
"They are, milord."
And Sir Ector extended his index past him, to his beautifully etched door.
"Begone from my sight."
Sir Lancelot left a free man. The door clicked shut.
Once his footfalls grew faint, Kay slumped into his chair, ran his hands through his hair. Ector shot him a wicked glance.
"—Do you get it now, boy?"
"You terrify me, Father, but if they were all as that man is… 'tis no wonder the kingdom fell. Did they truly misunderstand her to such an extent? Artoria? Elope? The girl who not once looked at a man until the day of his arrival? The girl who prefers practicing her swordplay into the wee hours?"
"And that is why she cannot be king," the elder huffed. "Her true sin is the fear of failure. The problems we now face come from her inability to simply stop. Not a word of this leaves this room, Kay. And if any of thy fellows start remembering their failings, you are to keep them away from her and send them to me at the first opportunity. Understand?"
In the end, Shirou's hunch paid off.
When confronted with the truth of the situation, her family moved to end the problem before it began. They, not the man called Saber, were King Arthur's greatest enemies. Denying Lancelot the chance to convince the girl of her inherent worthiness would keep her focused on quite literally the single other thing capable of holding her attention: her Servant, Ector's true objective. Artoria alone held the leash and kept the madman stable. Him protecting the girl meant he protected Camelot by proxy, and thus was their survival all but guaranteed.
"Perfectly, Father. By the gods, what a mess…"
The logic, then, was simple:
Sirs Ector and Kay would never let Artoria Pendragon wear the ruinous crown.
That night, the first of my dreamlike memories greets me as a conversation.
'Tis one which takes me by surprise. Unexpected, fantastical, impossible.
It also explains much.
"Your riddles are aggravating. Speak plainly."
"As you wish. I shall tell you the blunt truth you so desperately desire."
Aye, it explains much.
The reason for Salter and Saber's appearances in my life.
Merlin's sudden aid.
Her words to me.
"In another life, Artoria… you were his Sakura."
The woman in the white dress commands us as an army.
She - not we, not I - is the true King Arthur, and we are her imposters.
I stand within the domain of the greatest of the kings, who, in lieu of her finished needs, desires the company of one.
Her tasks are completed. Her soul is sated.
Two men remember her, and of the two, one sits at her side, that devious magician.
Her knights, her people… everyone else has forgotten.
She is not mourned. She is not grieved. No tasks await her.
She simply is.
She is me, but also so much more. I cannot fathom her person.
Without regret. Without longing. Without desperation.
She has no need to seek him. I doubt she watches his journey, though it is well within her capabilities.
She knows she shall see him again, and so she waits.
She waits eternally. No matter the day or the year, her patience is that of a mortal woman transcendent. It is a human hope, a king's hope.
The woman before me is the King of Knights.
King Arthur. The Once and Future King.
Artoria Pendragon.
Saber.
I did not think it possible for a word to carry so much conviction.
'Tis both a name and a calling.
It encompasses her entire being. All her disparate, irreconcilable aspects are summarized in that word.
It is the greatest of all unifiers.
I hear his voice within my head. He called me it all the time.
Yet I know, as I stand before this person, that I have made far too many mistakes.
Hers is the true path. It is the completion of my legend.
I am an alternate. I am the King of Knights. I am King Arthur. I was once Artoria.
But I am not Saber.
…
But I want to be.
I want to be Saber.
I must know.
"What am I to do? Tell me at once."
The mere fact of her existence is in itself a loathsome taunt.
It mocks me like this ethereal, transparent barrier, which keeps me from the utopia called Avalon.
"Become whole. Support him."
Does she jest?
"I require more information. Be specific."
She tilts her head, ever so serene, a ghost lifted of her burdens.
"One enters Avalon by their own merits. I cannot aid thee. That is the point, Artoria."
My fist clenches by my side.
Fine.
I shall play her game, if it means I am cured of the Grail's festering rot.
I shall reunite with my Master, and together we shall free ourselves of our respective chains.
No matter the cost.
The wizard laughs. It tickles my mind with memories long faded.
"Oh, oh! Allow me to give her a hint, my king!"
She rolls her eyes.
"A hint, Merlin. Nothing more."
He leaps to his feet, claps his hands.
"If you combine thy efforts with someone of similar nature, perhaps you might find a solution to thy conundrum? Together?"
What drivel does he speak?
Tch, this magus and his riddles.
Very well. I shall humor him, for old time's sake.
"And where would I find such a person, Merlin?"
Flower petals rush to my side. They form an oval.
The oval becomes a portal.
Through the boundary I spy a world of frost and ice, and a futuristic complex nestled within a mountain range.
Information trickles into my mind.
—Chaldea?
Merlin's smile broadens.
"There."
Excalibur Morgan comes to my waiting hand.
Scowling, I walk through the portal.
—I awake. I blink the cobwebs from my head.
"Ngh…"
"Welcome back, Artoria."
The voice is my own. I am slouched over the living room table.
—Shirou's mansion. My mental landscape.
My various other selves sit around the room.
Salter rubs at her forehead.
"—Sorry."
"'Tis fine," she mutters. "Did you see it?"
"Aye, though I still do not fully understand."
My goal tonight, as my body sleeps, is to ascertain our situation.
That is to say, the situation Shirou and I have found ourselves in.
Stranded here by ourselves, in this strange timeline, with no way of knowing the status of the various other worlds.
…At least, until I saw Salter's memories.
Lalter scowls.
"A new contract to replace the old. The gall of that woman…"
Though my alternate self's tenacity is admirable, even I must recognize the odd emotions underlining her bargain.
Was that woman unaware of the consequences her actions would bring?
Does she care?
Furthermore, the contract she established with that eldritch god does little to explain Archer's side of the tale.
I should be relieved - the memories of Salter's discussion show that Alaya might approve of Archer's release.
Is that not what I wanted?
Why, then, do I feel this unease?
—We still do not fully understand Archer's motives.
That is it. I know not whether his actions are premeditated or the result of a spur of the moment, opportunistic scramble.
I realize I do not know enough about Archer's character. I must learn more.
'Tis an uncomfortable subject for Saber, so I shall ask the Lancers first.
"How did you meet him?"
"'Tis a dangerous question! I urge caution, Artoria! The Lancers are conniving creatures, and—mmffgfhfff!"
Saber's reaction is immediate.
Salter tackles her and smothers her with one of the Shirou plushies. She flashes me a thumbs up.
My headache begins anew.
Is this what he deals with? All the time?
How on earth does he manage?!
"'Twas just after our initial summoning," Lancer recounts.
"During the deployment to that hell-pit called Babylonia. Before that point, we had ignored him, as did most Servants not named Saber. We thought him just another one of those aloof, quiet types. We could not fathom what she saw in him, either - all they did was quarrel."
Lalter snorts.
"Archer and Saber in the same room? Said room dropped ten degrees. Every time."
From my eye's corner, I see Saber yell her muffled rebuttals into the Shirou plushie.
An anger vein pops on her temple.
I cannot help but be a tad bit intimidated.
It seems Archer is a far touchier topic than I initially thought.
Lancer ignores Saber and continues the story.
"We are all the King of Knights, so watching their interactions piqued our curiosity. Like us, Saber rarely spoke to those outside the Round Table, the Master and Shielder included. Idle conversation had no use in a place like Chaldea. We were summoned to preserve the Greater History, not make friends. Why, then, did Saber always hover around that strange man?"
I hum in thought. 'Twas a logical deduction, certainly.
Had I been in their shoes, I would have acted much the same.
—Though I suppose that is the point.
Which means…
…
My exasperation boils over, and I have yet to even ask the question.
"What did you do?"
I know what they shall say.
Ahem, and I quote:
'We stalked him.'
"We stalked him."
—Aaaaaaaah!
Nothing about this is acceptable!
It has nothing to do with the Grand Saber, either!
'Tis just me thinking, 'He seems interesting!' and then having no social skills whatsoever!
Pfff! Introducing myself? Asking for clarification? Of course not, how silly!
I shall just peek my head around a—wait!
N-Nay! Do not show me! I do not wish to see that—
"Th-Thank you again for today, Mr. Emiya! You're always such a big help!"
"Of course, Mash. It's the duty of the senior Servants to assist the newcomers. Please find me if you require further aid."
"Yes, we will! A-Also, um, one more thing…!"
"Hm? What is it?"
Mash points a demure finger down the hall, to one of the base's many pristine, labyrinthine intersections. Archer makes no attempt to follow the gesture; it seems he has already noticed.
"U-Um… those two have… been following you for a while…"
Lancer and Lalter slowly retreat their heads behind the corner, until only a single eye each is visible.
"Jiiiiiiiii~…"
"Jiiiiiiiii~…"
Archer brings a hand to his hip, sighs.
"I am well aware."
"Are… are they bothering you?"
"They aren't, though I thank you for the consideration. Will there be anything else before I return to the kitchen?"
Nay! Nay nay nay, shoo! I bid thee shoo!
Gods above, why am I so weird?!
I can hear Medraut's hellish cackling from here!
'Kukukuku! The eternal maiden can never talk to boys!'
I pat my cheeks to regain myself.
Focus! Focus, focus!
"Then, did you talk to him?"
Lancer huffs. "Nay. Saber thwarted our eventual attempts. She claimed—"
"'Twas none of thy business! That man is my responsibility, not yours!"
Said Servant in question has fought off Salter's plushie attack.
From her tone of voice, I determine this shall be the first major hurdle in reconciling my other lives.
Saber, for some reason, is dangerously emotional about Shirou's central life.
I wonder if I should ask him about it?
…
—N-Nay, for the time being I shall try to solve my own problems.
Something about the topic makes me nervous, however.
I cannot help but feel I am forgetting something important.
My curiosity grows evermore. Shirou rarely speaks of his life as a Counter Guardian.
"What do you mean when you say he is thy responsibility, Saber?"
'Tis an innocent enough question.
Let us she if she snaps at me!
"…"
But in lieu of a retort, Saber turns her head to stare at the wall.
…I think I understand, if only minutely.
Shirou said I am the purest version of Artoria Pendragon.
I am who she becomes without any outside interference.
Merlin also said I am the core of my soul.
All those months ago, I remember him saying something similar about Archer.
That Archer is the one normally summoned, that he is the central component of Shirou Emiya.
Could it be… that perhaps…
"—Is Archer who he becomes when left alone, Saber?"
She tenses. It seems I have assumed correctly.
"…Rin detested Archer's situation," she mutters at last.
"Shirou cares for her. If she worries, Shirou shall worry in turn. Rin is a dear friend, and Shirou is Shirou. It is my duty to make sure that man sees reason. He must not worry Rin, even if she is not present."
Her logic makes perfect sense.
It is also backwards, and only partially true.
She ultimately is fretting over both versions of Shirou.
If Rin is distraught, Shirou shall be distraught, as well.
But on the other hand, Archer is Shirou.
She knows better, but the hopelessly optimistic child within her - her inner me - cannot help but believe that by continuously fussing over him, Archer shall cease being Archer and return to the Shirou she knows and loves.
In a phrase: it is naive idealism.
Archer is who he becomes when left alone.
By not leaving him alone, then, he must surely stop being Archer.
"You cannot change the past, Saber."
"I am well aware," she hisses.
"But his past abandonment does not preclude my choice to support him in the present. His younger self… may not have needed me. But his future self did! As you said during our fight with the Crystal, Artoria: if left alone, he shall do something stupid."
She stabs the Lancers with a hostile glare.
"Such as leaving his place in the battle lines to warn a pair of fools who miscalculated the range of Tiamat's filth."
The room chills. Lancer lifts a fine eyebrow.
"You as well as we know that in the midst of battle, plans commonly go awry, Saber. We are more than capable of fending for ourselves. His actions were appreciated, but unwarranted."
"Is thy name Artoria, Lancer?"
"I suppose it is."
"Then you should have understood that Archer watches us all like the protective hawk he is."
"We did not know that at the time."
"You should have. You had weeks to consult me about the nature of the relationship, yet instead chose to—"
Time out!
Everything freezes.
The living room extends to the far reaches.
Saber and Lancer are separated, leaving me with Salter and Lalter by my side.
Not working, this is not working!
'Tis time to find a solution to this obstacle.
It is clear that Saber's time in her version of the Grail War has left her with some form of acute trauma.
She is terrified of the lengths Archer went to in order to potentially free himself.
As such, she is obsessed with reducing variables and mitigating potential situations that could lead to a supposed relapse.
She desperately wishes for Archer to become more like his younger self.
—And she calls me the girl.
Ngh.
Archer is Archer! 'Tis like wishing to… undo the…
…fall… of Britain…
…
"Lalter?"
"Hm?"
"Has Archer ever… reciprocated thy advances?"
"What do you mean by reciprocate? We tease him because his reactions are humorous, and because it bothers Saber. He is also quite handsome, and an excellent chef."
My heart sinks.
Who am I to chastise Saber for her idealism, when I am just as naive?
'Tis foolishness to believe that all Shirous and Artorias forged that same immutable bond.
Even if we are drawn together, nothing is to say we must see eye to eye, or even become more than strangers.
The Lancers... in those lives, I was the King of Knights. A valiant warrior who struggled to save her doomed country.
I had no time to think of pointless things, of companionship or cognomens.
They were intrigued by Saber's strange behavior, and used Archer as the tool to attack her.
To wound her.
To make her give up her secrets.
Saber, too, latched onto him out of necessity.
Having accepted that she tried her best for Britain, she saw Archer as her last remaining connection to the one thing that outlived her identity as the king.
Her role as Saber. Her connection to her Master.
And Salter likewise traversed to this place, not out of love, but regret and longing for the few moments of peace and quiet in a life wrought by betrayal and tragedy.
The one who truly loved Shirou Emiya is missing.
—But…
"—You really are her. I can't wait for you to remember."
But… I love him too. Aye?
My fingers trace the table's edge.
To this day I do not know the answer.
And I must admit I am fearful of the truth.
Is what I feel for him genuine? Are these feelings mine?
Or am I a messenger of her intent?
Lalter tilts her head. She pays no mind to my inner turmoil.
"At least, 'twas the situation initially. We approached him following the Babylonia deployment, for his abilities and mannerisms had truthfully piqued our interest, regardless of Saber's odd behavior. His tactics were reminiscent of our own. And his style of fighting! My! 'Twas beautiful! Many may beat him in power or speed, but few rival that man's cunning and technique. Aye, there is much to say for a man who wields his weapons so deftly."
Her stream of endless compliments carry away some of my tension.
…Does it matter?
Perhaps it does not matter.
She is Artoria. She is me. I am Artoria. I am her.
I fell in love with him.
I cannot remember how or why, but…
—But I know I did!
He helped me and I helped him.
So…
If I am to remember, I should start at the beginning.
I will the table back to normal.
Saber attempts to continue her line of thought.
I interrupt her.
"Show us thy Grail War."
…
Pain creases her face.
"Nay."
"If they are to understand your position in this, they must see what you saw."
A long silence ensues.
Saber is indecisive.
'Tis Salter who breaks the tense stand-off.
"—Please."
All eyes turn to her.
She hugs her plushie to her chest.
Golden orbs turn to the inactive television.
"I wish to know what happens when I remain free."
Saber slumps. The television activates.
A young man shouts his order.
A command seal fades.
I absorb those sixteen days over the next mental hours.
For the first time, I see the reason for her's endless anxiety.
I see the red knight, the scarred man called Archer.
I see the Master, the boy traumatized enough to sacrifice himself whenever possible.
In them both, I see that man I know and admire: my Servant, Saber.
I see in Archer his cunning pragmatism.
I see in the Master his charming optimism.
But I see the things I have never—
Nay.
I cannot think that.
I see the things I have chosen to ignore.
I see the morning after our meeting, where he broke the mirror.
I see the first battle against the Crystal, where he used himself as my shield.
I see the counterattack on the shores of Cumbria, and the soulless way he held his bow.
Perhaps I wished for his circumstances to fix him.
His scarred skin healed. His hair regained its color.
Surely that meant his spirit… also…
"It is an ironclad truth. It is the glue holding my soul together. Despite the hypocritical differences seeking to undo my person, when asked the question, 'In that moment, was she beautiful?', the answer is always, 'Yes, she was.' If a Shirou Emiya was denied that opportunity, the question becomes, 'Would you like to meet her?' The answer then is, 'Yes, I would.'"
…Even today, he does not live for himself.
He lives for her. She is all he has left.
He pines his fragile hopes on one chance for freedom.
If he finds Avalon… if he finds her…
…he does not have to go back.
He is a man seeking an oasis in a desert riddled with swords.
Shirou Emiya tried to commit suicide.
He failed.
Failure does not stop Shirou. He tried again.
The man he is now, the man he forced himself to become…
—That man is the result of Archer's opportunism.
Our situation is such that the Counter Force needs a true Guardian.
Not a sliver, not a Servant container.
And he knows that. Archer knows that.
In truth, the answer is: both.
His was a premeditated act failed and abandoned, yet still fresh in mind.
The Counter Force gave him no choice.
—But that choice was never resisted.
For the first time, Archer and his taskmaster were of one mind.
The true severity of my promised undertaking finally reaches me.
I should not call him Archer.
He is not Archer. He is not Saber.
Why did I not realize it sooner?
"Ah, you have figured it out. He is quite the interesting one, hm? To have the wherewithal to take advantage of the Counter Force's desperation… the dog gnawed on its leash just enough, you see, and finally escaped into the wilderness."
He is the true Heroic Spirit unchained from the Throne of Heroes, combined with all his disparate selves, and brought to life within my world.
My world… is the wilderness.
"Unlike the others, Artoria, you didn't summon a fragment. Nor did you summon a Heroic Spirit."
He is that broken boy at the height of his potential.
A shell of a man so far past his mortal limits.
He cannot be stronger than he is right now.
"You summoned the original person. You summoned me."
My Servant's true identity is the flesh-and-blood, former Counter Guardian EMIYA, brought into my world.
To do so, the Counter Force sacrificed thousands of worlds.
Everything that Counter Guardian did… every intervention, every change…
He is not there. There are gaps.
He does not exist. He is here, and nowhere else.
We reach the conclusion at the same time.
My mind is theirs, their minds are mine.
"This is not acceptable."
Lancer is the first to speak, but in truth, the order matters not.
Each of my selves will say the same.
I am alone on this matter. I must somehow convince them.
I must convince the King of Knights to take actions contrary to everything they stood for:
To prioritize one over the many.
To prioritize our selfishness, our greed, over duty.
It is a fool's gambit. They shall never agree.
Even so, I must try. I must try.
He is mine. He cannot go.
I shan't let him go back!
"I do not understand," Lalter hisses.
"For Alaya to betray him in such a way - it ignores his sacrifices. Everything he has done, we have done, rendered pointless? 'Tis madness. Why would it go so far?"
Saber is curled in on herself. She is torn beyond measure.
Half of her wishes to maintain what we have here. Here, he is free.
But doing so means sacrificing her kingdom.
It cannot be undone! She knows that!
It is already gone, Saber! Do not be a fool! Please!
Lancer chews on her lip.
"We must find some way to reverse this. For his sake, if nothing else."
Wh-What?!
"F-For… for his sake…?"
I despise the weakness in my voice.
Now is not the time! They must see reason!
"Aye. He would not want this."
A sudden bout of trepidation gives me pause.
I feel myself freeze.
He… would not—?
"What do you…?"
Lalter huffs.
"Did we not watch the same memories, Artoria? He said it himself. 'Tis not a mistake, 'twas never a mistake. Ours are a cruel fate, but necessary for all the lives the World has so shamelessly snuffed. Their hopes, their dreams - it is our duty to see them protected. That is our role. Mine, yours, and his."
I do not know what to say.
Their logic is foreign to the me of weeks ago, but…
But they are me. Are their doubts not my own?
I was the King of Knights.
I willingly sacrificed myself for those people, because the dream was beautiful.
That is the source of our connection, is it not?
Shirou and I… we both think alike. Our beliefs are the same.
A Counter Guardian exists to serve and protect humanity, not abandon it to burn.
His is the same weight as the king's.
Does Shirou, does Archer… dislike this?
Am I… wrong?
—Nay! Nay, I cannot be! Salter's memories prove I am not wrong!
He has the capability for greed! For selfish desire!
And if he can abandon those nameless innocents for his personal happiness, surely we can do the same!
"H-He has abandoned them once before! We are the same, the two of us! We need only follow his example! Surely the one in Avalon and the Counter Force must have a reason—"
"And what if we fail?"
With an utterance, Lancer silences my desperate rebuttal.
I am too inexperienced to clash against this person.
I am not used to thinking in this selfish way.
The King of Knight's logical state of mind comes too easily to me.
"You must see reason, Artoria," Lancer coaxes.
"We do not like it either, but it is necessary for him to go back. 'Tis the height of foolishness to place all our eggs in one basket. He is a cornerstone of the Tree. Without him, it tumbles down. He will agree with this decision - he understands his burden more than we ever could. He shall mend the Tree, while we fight against the calamity here. We cannot in good conscience let all those innocents perish whilst we tumble together in a field of flowers. Our place is in the service of others. Seeing their happiness, their bright futures - that is our reward."
Nay. Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay.
I beseech thee, nay—!
I know they are correct!
I know that, but…!
But, why! Why?!
Just when we finally…
Saber takes a breath.
My heart races.
Surely she must agree with me!
Surely she had fun! She enjoyed herself!
She too was selfish! She expressed her wants!
She is happy here, so—
"He would not want this, Artoria. Not through the blood of others."
—All that I am shatters.
I see the pain in her eyes.
She is wincing, trembling.
As though she cannot believe what she says.
The words leave her lips regardless.
"It is wrong for us to be doing this. We cannot sacrifice Rin and Sakura for our own happiness. You said it thyself: we cannot undo the past. Camlann and his fire made us who we are. By throwing those things away, we betray the people who gave everything to see us to our respective destina—"
"Hypocrite."
I see black and red.
I hear the wails of the damned.
They are coming for me, the mud is—!
"Have you learned nothing? After all this time? No matter thy life, at the end of thy road, here you stand, a pathetic child, overcome by indecision and the burden of hindsight."
Quiet words, laced with poison.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs through my mind.
I do not understand. What did I say? I… I have not…
"I thought I would not need to do this. You had enough motivation by thy lonesome, Artoria, but thy other selves now weigh thee down. They bring with them burdensome habits and incorrect ways of thinking. Know that this is a favor. I shall correct thy path before they overwhelm thee. Their rot shall not take hold."
That pressure, that nauseating headache from when I first saw his face returns tenfold.
No, a hundredfold.
Sharp pain lances through my head.
What is she doing?!
Salter, please sto—
Blackened hands wrap around my throat.
My other selves are gone.
They have fused with me once more.
"Look at me."
No anger. No annoyance or fear or guilt.
It is a simple command.
"I am the end result. This is where thy naive idealism brings thee. No matter thy choices. No matter thy tools. Thou art a slave condemning a slave."
I see stars. The corners of my vision begin to black out.
Muscle and prana choke me of my life.
She is going to kill me.
Where did that frail girl go? Where is my reservoir of support?
We had a deal, I gave her Kanshou, so why—?
Why is… she… so much stronger…
"Wh-What… d-do… you…"
"You do not understand the hearts of men. You never have, and you never shall."
Grief churns my stomach.
S-Sir… Tristan's…
"Here you sit, aloof upon the throne of thy mind, calmly sending him to his execution for the crime of learning from thy example. You claim responsibility for a kingdom of betrayers, yet deny responsibility for the sins of thy staunchest ally. Why? Is it because you made him the same as thee? Is it because you gave him the same putrid aspirations? Trauma of his own. A hill to match thy own. Yet you run when confronted by the end result. You never cease thy shameful running. Into the poison of the Grail. Into the halls of the Throne and Chaldea. You smugly note that woman's perfection, as if she absolves you of thy sins, without realizing that she, too, left him to fend for himself, as you seek to do now."
I hear my gasping in my ears.
Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.
Everything is ringing.
A fire. A golden tyrant. A boy at my side.
My head. Why does my head hurt so much?
The cracks in my mind snap outwards.
They become fissures slowly filling.
New memories. Old memories. They are old memories.
What is going on?
Why am I here?
What is happening to me?
Someone help me.
Please help me, Shir—
Her thumbs interlock against my neck and push into my jaw.
"You do not deserve to speak his name."
The inferno clouds my vision. Everything changes.
I hear shouts and death cries, the clash of iron against iron.
The squelch of metal into flesh.
The thud of lifeless bodies collapsing against wood.
Lady Igraine and King Uther are dead.
One from the stress of childbirth.
The other from—
"Why do you weep, Archer?"
"—Don't call me that."
—K-Kanshou… and Bakuya…?
The witch Merlin wraps a babe in fresh wool.
She attempts the same with the other.
Archer tears it from her hands and throws it into the fire.
He clothes the child with the ripped fabric from his left sleeve.
An empty chuckle echoes in the half-succubus' throat.
"My, my. How possessive."
"I prefer 'cautious'."
"You do not trust me?"
He cradles the child, steps back.
Tears continue to trickle down his cheeks. He makes no attempt to wipe them.
They evaporate in the scorching heat.
Two newborns cry against the backdrop of a world in flames.
"No."
—Castle Tintagel.
The day of my birth.
He is carrying me.
"You did not answer my question, Guardian."
"Leave."
Merlin's smile is telling.
She already knows his ailments.
Flower petals peel away from the witch and her ward.
They depart through a smoke-filled window.
"Do keep hope, Shirou Emiya. 'Tis thy last intervention, after all! Enjoy thy retirement!"
Left alone, Archer cradles me in his broad arm.
The inferno laps harmlessly at his legs.
He wipes a tear from my eye's corner.
—I am a very noisy infant.
"…The one deployment I enjoy, and you won't let me keep the memory, huh? Some severance package. Hmph."
Footsteps and shouts bleed through the fire.
The soldiers are coming. The chaos is upon us.
He pulls my head to his chest, perhaps in an attempt to protect me from the smoke.
Kanshou comes to his free hand.
His tears curl around his smile.
"Don't worry, Saber."
He opens his mouth. Magical lightning sparks between his teeth.
His jaw clamps down on Bakuya's hilt.
Cornish soldiers kick down the burning door.
Archer grunts out the last words he shall ever say to me as a separate person.
"They won't lay a finger on you."
I choke. I gasp.
I am back in my mind, suffocating around Salter's cracked gauntlets.
I am going to die.
I am going to die inside my own mind.
Salter is going to kill me.
"Never have you connected it all together. Never have you understood the greatest of thy faults. You fear and slander the people who freed him of thy curse, and in the same breath seek to take him for thyself. Is he thy slave? Thy toy? Surely he must be. You created him. Thy selfish, pathetic greed fuels his tormenting fire. You return to thy ostracized scabbard a decade later, ignoring all the ways it has shattered, and use it for thy own ends. Does thy noble pride prevent thee from apologizing? Does it prevent thee from acknowledging the murder of his kin and the damning of his soul?"
In the spotty blackness of my sight, Salter changes.
She ages three years in seconds.
She is me. She is me. She is me.
I am killing myself.
My altered reflection stares at me.
Her desperate tears are my own.
"A-Ah—haagh…"
Foam leaks from my lips.
The shattered mirror is rebuilt.
—Ah, aye…
If the others are my pride, then she…
She is… my guilt…
"P-Plea…se…"
—Nay, more than that…
She… Salter… merged with…
W-Was this… who… I…?
"This is thy punishment, oh great and hallowed king. The blood of the Tree is on thy own hands. His sins are yours, his crimes are yours, the machinations against his other selves lead back to thee. Thou art the reason for the annihilation of trillions."
Just as… they… cast aside me…
I also… abandoned… m-myself…
B-Because I… a-am… Artoria…
And Artoria… shall always be…
"Who art thou to say you might now save thy kingdom? Who art thou to understand the people you wish to save? Once more, again, again, again, you are prepared to leap mightily into battle by thyself, jumping to conclusions, gullible valiance at the forefront of thy mind. Do not make me laugh. We shall play this game no longer."
…K-King… Arthur…
"Found you."
THE LAST SABER
"Have we met?"
THE SIEGE OF CAMELOT
But when she looked herself over, she saw only yellow eyes and pale skin. Angry, demonic veins twisted up her cheeks.
REALTA NUA
This one world - it went here. It accumulated here, in the only place it was allowed.
THE SEVERING
"It is a stable timeline approved by the Greater History. Outside interference is not allowed. Artoria Pendragon is required for its salvation."
ROUTE NUMBER FOUR
"The mind may forget, but the soul clearly remembers."
TO END A DREAM
The blade hisses. Pale light ascends its length. I can feel its dignity, its rage, its desire.
It scares me.
FEAR
One good thing came from a lifetime of destruction and anguish. A more logical person might trade that good thing to undo all the bad.
PROTO
He tilts his head, eyes closed, and smiles. Just like before.
Yes, just like before.
"Let's go home, Saber."
LE MORTE D'ARTHUR
"Out of all of them, I remember the summoning the best."
"The day you summoned her, you mean?"
"Yeah. Her hair in the moonlight. Her eyes, her face…"
"Was that the memory you spoke of? The one you had as Archer?"
His smile meant 'yes'.
"Um… For what it's worth, that's her most stable memory after the… incident."
IRONY
"When I met her she saw herself more a weapon than a person."
"Because I'm the person, aye? I'm what she lost in her pursuit. Then… it destroyed her, surely…"
"Surely."
THE GRAND ORDER
"Walk forth, my king, unto thy destiny!"
IN THE BEGINNING
This is the tale of that legendary, final adventure. The one told in hushed whispers. The one never recorded.
"I'M BACK, SABER."
"…I have power others do not. 'Tis irresponsible."
"The greatest power of all is the ability to walk away."
SPARKS LINER HIGH
"His mistakes are our mistakes! We are weak when separated and strong when together! If I can learn from my past lives, so can you! We are the same person, Arthur!"
THE SWORD IN THE SCROLL
"She was… intuitive. Prone to headaches, in which she saw incoherent flashes of something else."
ARTORIA
how much would you give
what sacrifice would you make
to gain one last chance
THE ARCHER WALKED
"A king is something more. A king cannot exist for himself! A king is an ideal, a force of nature, a concept meant to safeguard the people so they can live instead! I must be their role model! I was created to fulfill that duty! It is the reason for my existence!"
"Then who am I?"
THE FIRST MAGICIAN
"I didn't save her in that life. I did as she asked, and played it safe. I supported her from the rear, as a good Master should. We won. That was that."
Yet another one. One she might never meet.
THE PROMISE
Alaya, please, why? Had he done something wrong? Was this a punishment or a reward? He seriously couldn't tell.
EFFECT AND CAUSE
He was still Archer, because Archer was Shirou Emiya. He had not escaped. He could not escape, no matter how far they traveled or how often they entertained their silly little diversions.
She hated it.
LUCIUS TIBERIUS
Ah, Arthur knew that look well. 'Twas surely the same desperate expression she wore upon the accursed hill, the one that led her to that beautiful moonlit night, all those days ago.
FATE: PART TWO
I alone remain in the dark, but that is fine. I cannot help but think things shall change soon enough.
EMIYA
Two people separated across time and space, forced to forget all of it, forced to forever start their relationship anew, continued it.
THE CONFESSION
Everything has an origin story.
There are no such things as coincidences.
A causes B. B affects C, D, and E.
If World 0200 is Fate…
If World 0300 is Unlimited Blade Works…
If World 0400 is Heaven's Feel…
…What, then, is World 0100?
It slipped right over all their heads, that minor detail.
There were never just three Sabers.
"Before you wish to save Arthur's kingdom, you must first learn to save the man you created."
Fate/ess
"And you shall do it here, in this ghastly place, where the muck of the Grail dumped thy soul! This place to where you ran! This place in which you do not exist! This place in which you have given the crown to one worthier than thyself!"
Descent - 4
"Is that not what you wanted, you selfish child?"
THE ARCHER ROUTE
"Is that not what you wished for?!"
The story began with a fourth.