["I do not fight alone," said the Hero. "No, but you shall die alone," replied the Demon Lord. — Codex Orchestral, Libero 13:16]
The bags under his eyes were still firmly in place when Kiritsugu stared into the mirror. It didn't matter how spry his limbs were, how many years of tar had vanished from his lungs. Even without the wasting curse of the Grail, he still looked his age. Felt his age. If not even older—
"May I, Yuusha-sama?"
A curt nod of his head, then the powder brush ducked under his eyelids and covered up the black in fine powder. Slim fingers rubbed it in gently until he looked good as… well, not exactly new. Refurbished, maybe.
Repressing a sigh, he tried to relax as a half-dozen attendants worked him over. Combing and arranging his hair, shaving off his persistent stubble with a straight edge razor, even buffing his nails. He had never been this touched up in his life, not even when she had personally tucked in his collar for their first family photo.
A snicker carried across the room. Kiritsugu turned his head to look, only to have one of the maids firmly catch his neck and ease it back forward. Another sigh caught in his mouth, then he glanced as best he could to the side. The princess was comfortably seated in a chair, watching every moment of his suffering and barely bothering to muffle her laughter.
"Ah, princess." That was the witch seated next to her. "I'm almost certain he can hear us."
"Really." The redhead's smirk turned a little meaner. "Let me laugh harder, then."
Closing his eyes, he slowly released his sigh. Just as well he had sent the warrior to scout out the grounds of the coronation, or she and the princess would be fighting like cats and dogs by now. Reconnaissance was more than a savior for his nerves, however. The gold-threaded tunic and long cape they insisted he wear offered little protection from any projectile or spell. Cutting down the King and Hero as he was crowned would be a sizable feather in the cap of any assassin.
The princess' laugh petered out, and she leaned back in her chair. Maybe she was as bored as he was under her mockery. The attendants put on the finishing touches and circled him with mirrors and questions, which he answered with nods and the occasional grunt. Finally, with a few last bows and well wishes, they mercifully cleared out.
No such luck for the princess and witch. The former stretched in her chair, then sneered at him. "You look ridiculous."
"That makes two of us," he agreed quietly.
She jolted up in her seat. "Excuse me?"
The witch's hand fell appeasingly on the princess' shoulder, but her eyes turned to him. "Thank you for your patience, Yuusha-sama. I know the clothes aren't to your, ah, liking." Her mouth twisted apologetically. "But the garb fits the job, as my mentor always said. Solaire used to be quite vocal about her distaste for ball dresses—"
"Elana!" the princess hissed, then glared at him. "Not. A. Word."
He didn't even bother meeting her gaze. Instead, he checked himself over in the mirror, and decided he wanted this circus over with as soon as possible. The necessity wasn't lost on him, but this wasn't anywhere close to his area of expertise. It was beyond uncomfortable to make himself such a target.
"Am I expected to give a speech?" he asked.
The princess snorted. "If you were, we'd have you working on it all night. All you have to worry about is standing there and—" She choked down another laugh. "Well, maybe you can pull off 'cute'?"
"I think you look very dignified, Yuusha-sama," said the witch encouragingly. Somehow, that was even worse. "Don't you worry, everything will be alright."
The steadiness she injected into her voice didn't hide the anxiety in her eyes. She wasn't speaking to him as much as to herself.
An icy finger on his chest again. He gave her the smallest of nods, and it seemed that was enough. A bright smile stretched across her face.
Fuck.
"I'll go make sure your honor guard is ready, then." Still smiling, she swiftly vanished through the double doors. Once again, it was just him and the princess. An uncomfortable silence reigned in the space she left behind.
"She hasn't left Sonata since her mentor died," the princess said at last, staring at the doorway. "That'd be the previous court mage, to you."
Kiritsugu waited.
"And before then, she was always a bit of a homebody." The hint of a smile drifted over the princess' lips. "Happier curled up with a book and tea than hunting down herbs in the mountains. Or climbing trees." The princess idly tugged on a lock of her hair. "She's great at magical theory and casting, whatever she thinks of herself. But she's pretty clumsy on anything rugged, you understand?"
"Mm." And waited.
Irritation flashed across her brow, before she huffed and continued. "So we're going to keep a close eye on her when we set out for the Wastes, got it?"
"We?"
"It's a bit too late not to take responsibility." Her eyes flashed darkly. "She latched onto you because she's scared. She needs an anchor. So you'd better—"
"I am not an anchor," he interrupted, gripping the armrests. "I can't be that for anyone. I work alone."
"Of course you do," she snarled. "Wanna hide your head in the sand? Maybe tell all the people screaming for you outside that they should just give up, since you'll be a corpse soon anyway? Fuck off."
"That's different."
"Sure it is." The princess threw a look of dark contempt at him before getting up. "Now get out there already. We'll finish this later, but right now, your adoring public awaits."
He sighed one last time. How much am I going to have to deal with before I can just fix the damn problem?
Taking a deep breath, he strolled out the doors, and started the slow walk down the hallway. He found the warrior waiting for him just before the terrace, slouched against the wall. She grinned and fell into step behind him.
Outside, the late morning sun and the roar of the crowds awaited. He forced his shoulders back and straightened his spine.
Once more into the breach.
