In the half second that Shirou took to call the first weapon that came to mind, the alley itself attempted to skewer him and his servant. A desperate jump to his right prevented an unnaturally sharp spike formed of the alley wall from piercing his side, a small lean backwards stopped a thin garrote of rock from severing his neck, and a swipe with the weapon he had called neatly bisected the torrent of stone raging towards his position. Shirou looked to his hands and saw Treildfigen, the iron blade no worse for wear after its collision with the rock flowing as liquid. He rolled forward, escaping the walls attempting to crush him for his inattention, and Shirou took the millisecond he gained from the maneuver to glimpse his servant.

Arthur whirled in a tornado of stone, dodging made unnecessary for the king through his sublime skill. Shirou caught sight of the king slicing faster than he could blink, disenchanting the hostile locus through complete dismemberment; Excalibur seemed less a sword than a strand of golden light as it flashed through strikes near instantaneously. Shirou's awareness was stolen by the alley rising up to meet him, the only thing preventing a concussion his earlier reinforcement. The boy leapt from his crouch, narrowly avoiding a spike appearing where his head lay prior, and called forth another set of blades. Kanshou and Bakuya came to his aid, his arms moving without conscious thought to vivisect the encroaching forest of stone spines. Before he could contemplate their near-autonomy further, he was forced to twist to avoid two spiked pillars rising from the ground where last stood his legs. He began forming and hurtling nameless blades towards the mouth of the alley, the barrage crumbling the weaker rock barring its path, and tried to slide through the narrow gap he'd made. The stone stabbed him as he slid, twin gashes slicing their way through his thighs and waist, but he ignored the pain and jumped forward into the street.

What greeted him was a high wave of asphalt crashing forward towards the passage. Shirou risked a look backwards and saw a wall of rock sealing his path, but a golden swipe splintered the stone. Arthur smashed through the barrier, racing towards his master, who felt rather than saw the shadow of the road towering above him. From the magus' back came a burst of prana as another wave formed, the ground beneath Shirou's feet slipping as the asphalt tide receded. Craning his neck upwards, he saw Morgan looking on from atop one building adjacent to the alley, the enchantress directing the waves in a deadly symphony. The second wave rose between servant and master, cutting Shirou off from the king.

Damn it, I have to do this without Arthur, he thought, doing his best to balance atop the shifting street. This will probably kill me, but probably is better than definitely.

Shirou pictured Galatine, from its sharp steel cladding to its gradiated blue core, its composite hilt patterning a grey spearhead in a plane of tinted ceramic. He grasped at its perforated hilt as it formed from the aether, his stance unconsciously adjusted for Gawain's sword and its name on his lips. Shirou's circuits churned as he prepared to replicate his servant's deed, beginning to sound out the word.

"Gala-"

"Use a command seal!" Arthur yelled across their connection, the medium of communication less important than the speed thereof. "Invoking the blade will kill you!"

"How can you possibly help if we're both trapped?!" Shirou returned, the first wave crashing down.

He abandoned the dialogue as he began to vocalize the name of Gawain's blade once more, but he looked upwards and saw he had no time, shutting his mouth and concentrating inward. Shirou flew past his circuits, skirting them to focus on the markings granted by the grail.

"Save me!" he thought, directing a flow of prana to his right hand while he called for Arthur's aid.

As energy leapt from his spine to his arm, the wind spun around him, its cyclical vectors laced in magic. Louder grew the air, yet louder, and the wave's crest dropped, doming Shirou in darkness. The howling gale encircled the magus, the prana flow from seal to servant cut by the winds, and Shirou prepared for death, memories of his father's dream clouding his head. Scarlet and Amber danced across Shirou's vision while the liquid road collapsed, visions of fire searing through his mind through the din about him. In a burst of garnet a man cloaked in red appeared, the asphalt splitting around his form. He reached out a hand to the boy, who stared at it before grasping it. The street fell atop them, but the winds roared, and they vanished.

A confusing instant later, Shirou was atop the building with Morgan, watching as cyan shone through the tarmac wave buffeting Arthur. Sporadic but consistent deep blue flashes from below showed that the king was easily fighting on, the Caster-class servant's trap only a minor impediment at best to her incarnated brother. Shirou felt a surge of prana leave him as his servant fought on below, causing him to gasp and Morgan to turn. The woman scowled at the magus and made to palm the ground, but a blast of heat under her hands caused her to back away. She stared at the man who accompanied Shirou, her mouth curved into an almost petulant frown. The magus retreated slightly, angling his head to view his savior and twice-attempted killer both.

The man was of vaguely average proportions, but would otherwise look entirely alien to contemporary Japan. His dark brown hair fell to the nape of his neck, paralleled by the full and unkempt beard on his face jutting to a similar position in front. His eyes were a light brown, the deeply tanned skin around them unblemished, but Shirou saw a wariness present in his gaze, one indicating much greater age than his unwrinkled face. He wore plain brown robes, tied at the waist by a leather belt, and above them lay a sleeveless red cloak wrapping about his form, its hood down for the moment.

Below the three came an azure shine, and the road split above Arthur, separating neatly in two. As Shirou watched, his servant looked upward and jumped, blade outstretched. In the same moment, Morgan folded in on herself, her form shrinking and reappearing as an entire aviary, birds of every color and size erupting from her prior position. The animals scattered as Arthur leapt, a wave of air leaving his sword – Arondight, divine sword of Lancelot du Lac, Shirou knew – and splitting twenty birds to pieces. Again and again the servant sent arcs of power towards the flock, his blade pulsing cerulean with restrained prana, but it made no dent in the illusory avifauna, each wave formed anew once destroyed.

The king scowled, an expression of intense concentration crossing his features for the shortest of moments. Arondight fell back into his arsenal and an invisible blade appeared in its place, currents of air swirling about the sword. Shirou felt another drain, greater than before, and Excalibur exited its invisible sheath, the king seemingly ready to use it despite the public nature of the locale. The magus grimaced as the blade lit in sequence, each of the diamond patterns on its surface clicking in turn before bursting into white light.

I have a very bad feeling about my chances of survival if Excalibur is used here and now, Shirou pondered. I don't think the mere possibility of slaying Morgan is worth the lives of Arthur and myself, murderer or not, but he knows her better than I do.

"Arthur, are you certain–," the magus began, but the king spun around, re-sheathing his blade in wind as its glow died down.

"Shirou?" asked Arthur, wide-eyed. "You still live?"

Shirou looked towards his servant, confused at the king's query. "Why would you think I was dead? Don't you feel a connection to me through the master-servant bond?"

"The connection vanished as the wave of concrete fell over you, and I flew into a bit of a rage," Arthur transmitted back, a small, sheepish smile on his face. He paused for a moment, then continued his thought. "It appears to have returned. I am glad to see that you remain among the living, regardless."

The Saber-class servant gestured at Shirou's silent savior. "I presume the unidentified servant standing at your side was responsible for your rescue?"

"Yeah, he was," Shirou confirmed out loud, "though I'm not sure why."

Arthur turned to the cloaked man, his stance guarded but nonthreatening.

"Would you be willing to introduce yourself?" the king asked. "I wish to properly thank you for aiding my companion, and that is not an easy task if I do not know your name."

The red-and-brown-clad man nodded. "I am servant Rider," he said. His speech contained a mild accent that Shirou couldn't place, though the man's Japanese was crisp and fluent.

"Why did you save me?" Shirou asked, getting to the point as quickly as possible. "I don't think I know you, and while I appreciate what you did, I'm a bit confused."

Rider kept a neutral facade as he replied. "My master commanded it."

"Who is your master? Were you commanded to save me in particular?"

Rider's response was a forceful stare, implicitly questioning the magus' intellect for thinking the servant would answer either question.

I probably should have expected that, Shirou thought, giving a sigh. Maybe I should take a different tack...

"Questions aside, I really do want to thank you. I was about to use a command seal, and I'm not certain that even my servant–" the magus pointed at Arthur, "would have been able to save me in the split-second between his summoning and the street falling on my head."

Rider looked on impassively, a shallow incline of his head serving as acknowledgement.

Shirou took a deep breath. "Which is why I'd like to invite you and your master over for lunch, as thanks."

The two servants reacted very differently to the offer. Rider's eyes widened, and one corner of his mouth turned upwards.

"I would be honored," the servant said, "though my master will be unable to attend."

Arthur, in contrast, initiated a mental discourse.

"I suppose this tactic found success with Ms. Tohsaka, but I question whether it will do so once again. Judging by your question, you do not know who Rider's master is, and, moreover, he or she will not be attending," Arthur cautioned. "While it is too late to retract the offer, we must both be on our utmost guard."

"Oh, I'm definitely aware that this is a risk: for all I know, Rider will attack the both of us when we arrive," responded Shirou. "That said, he saved my life, and I owe him some degree of trust for that."

"No, Shirou, you do not," Arthur replied in turn, his face grave. "We will talk more of this later, but I do not think you are treating the grail war with the solemnity it requires. You have almost perished three times thus far, and while I will not stop you from taking risks, you cannot rely on luck or goodwill when faced with those who wish for your death. That Rider has not yet raised weapon against you means little for his future intentions."

"I know that," Shirou rejoindered, "but it's not as though I'm offering out of naiveté or optimism. I believe our best chance at gleaning information from Rider is with a friendly approach, and if we gain another ally for it, so much the better. It's a calculated risk, first and foremost, though I might have offered even without the intelligence aspect."

"I cannot fault your reasoning overmuch," Arthur concluded. "Nevertheless, there is a fair amount to discuss on the topic, but it is perhaps a discussion best served for later."

Shirou turned to Rider, who was staring at the dialogists with irritation clear on his face.

"Sorry for the delay. Anyway, follow me and I'll take you to my house," the magus said. "Do you need to tell your master that you'll be missing for a bit?"

Rider shook his head. "I can be at my master's side in an instant, should I so desire. It may be faster to demonstrate than to explain. Where is your house located?"

Judging by how he saved me from Morgan's trap, he likely has some form of instant movement, Shirou grasped, the seeming non-sequitur of a question quickly understood. But to only need a location...that's dangerous.

"What sort of information do you need?" Shirou asked. His eyes narrowed as he considered the ramifications of a servant capable of teleportation. "Does a description of the outside of the house work?"

"Oh, you've already given me what I needed," Rider said, a sharp smile adorning his face. "You are a very interesting person, Shirou Emiya."

I never told him my name, the magus instantly realized, which means I need to tread even more carefully.

"In that case, what do my servant and I have to do?" asked Shirou, avoiding the issue of Rider's knowledge for the moment.

"Stand still."

Rider's answer came with a rush of heat, corkscrewing with cold air as it ringed the three who stood on the rooftop. A low hum filled the air as the strands of wind comprising the circle began to spin faster, and in a burst of nothing, they were gone.


Negligibly later, Shirou found himself in front of his house, Arthur to his left and Rider to his right. They were stood adjacent to the shed in which the boy had summoned Arthur, the first place he'd almost died at Morgan's hand. To the magus' concern, no one else was present. He scanned the length of the road, but there was no sign of Rin or Archer. He swiveled around again, hoping that he'd somehow missed them upon arrival.

They couldn't have lost, right? Shirou thought, resisting the urge to ask Rider to transport the group to Rin's house. Damn it!

Arthur clasped a hand to his master's shoulder.

"I presume you are searching for your classmate and her servant?" Arthur half-stated, half-asked, a note of sympathy apparent in his voice. "I do not think working yourself into an anxiety-fueled frenzy is liable to aid them. I understand your fear, but you would do well to have faith in our allies."

"I know that, but I just hate the thought of being unable to save my friend from danger," Shirou said, a deep breath preceding his next words. "There's definitely some fear involved, but it's more anger and self-hatred at my inability to help. If Rin ends up dead because we focused on Lancer, I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive myself."

The king gave a sad smile and a nod, but didn't respond further. The three passed the next couple of minutes in silence before Arthur stiffened and Rider vanished, a swirl of wind the only indication of his departure. Shirou flinched at the gust, but any further contemplation was put on hold by Arthur's contact.

"Shirou, I am rather certain that Rin is nearing our location. However, she is accompanied by not one but two servants–" the king concentrated, a look of unease passing over his features, "and as I speak, a third has joined the advancing company."

We've met all the servants, and with the probable exception of Berserker thanks to Illya, any of the other 5 could reasonably team up to kill Arthur and I. If Rin really has betrayed us – a thrill of disquiet shot through Shirou at the possibility – I really hope I can stop her without anyone dying. There's also the possibility of a hostage situation, which might be even worse. Ugh.

As he considered the possibilities of the situation further, Shirou frowned, but slowly let go of the expression and emotion, forcing calm on himself.

"I guess it's time to put that trust in Rin to the test, then," he said, resisting the urge to charge in his fellow magus' direction. "Any idea of when they'll get here?"

"I would estimate that they will arrive in no more than 15 seconds," Arthur said, the tenseness in his stance betraying his own anxiety. "Shirou, if we have both misjudged your classmate's character, I suspect I will have to use one of my more prana intensive techniques just to survive the encounter. Are you prepared for such a possibility?"

An affirmative grunt came from the preoccupied magus, who recognized that preparation in this case meant finding shelter for both servant and master.

I really, really hope she hasn't betrayed us. I don't actually think she would, but– his train of thought was cut off by the sound of an argument in the distance, a deep-voiced man clashing strongly with a teenage girl.

"I'm pretty sure that's Rin and Berserker," Shirou said, relieved. "It's good to stay on guard, but I think we were worried over nothing."

Arthur relaxed as he heard the debate, a small smile breaking out on his features. "I agree."

The sounds of verbal sparring grew louder as the group of three servants and one magus turned to enter Shirou's block.

"–I said, for the last time, it's not okay! I'm not okay with it!" came Rin's voice. Her face was tomato red, and her lips were turned to a frightening scowl. She was carrying two books under her arm, one bound in leathery blue and the other in plain beige.

Next to her stood Rider, who sported a worried frown, Archer, who looked very amused, though he shot continued uneasy glances at Rider, and Berserker, wearing a patch over the eye he'd removed, who smirked as he spoke.

"And again, she's technically not his – Oh! Hello," Berserker interrupted himself to say, noticing Shirou and Arthur. His grin opened wider. "We were just talking about you, Shirou."

I get the feeling I'm going to wish they came with less pure intentions, Shirou considered, showing none of his apprehension on his face.

"What were you saying about me?" he asked, bracing himself.

"We were talking about how Illya seems to have developed some amount of affection–"

"Don't you dare–," Rin tried to interrupt.

"–for you," finished Berserker, ignoring the female magus.

"Oh? That's good, I like her too," Shirou said, smiling. Rin blanched, and Rider covered his eyes.

Berserker seemed entirely too happy to correct Shirou. "Not in the same way, I think. Illya sees you as a potential boyfriend."

Shirou's eyes bulged as Archer finally broke down into a fit of laughter.

"That's not – I don't – She's my younger sister!" the boy stammered, to Rin's obvious relief.

"Adopted sister," corrected Berserker. Arthur let out a guffaw of his own while Rider shook his head, a sad sigh escaping his lips.

Yeah, Shirou thought, I'd prefer it if they were trying to kill me.

It took multiple vehement denials, to the eventual amusement of all others present, but Shirou eventually proclaimed his rejection of the mere idea of dating his sister. Berserker in turn conveyed Illya's lack of concern with Shirou's refusal, declaring by proxy her intent to "capture her big brother's heart." Archer and Rider apparently found this too much, leaving the group for parts unknown before returning minutes later, the bowman and traveler both stony-faced upon their reentrance. Shirou noticed that their respective expressions of strong cheer and second-hand embarrassment regarding his situation were somewhat forged, but didn't comment on it.

"So, Berserker, why are you even here?" Shirou asked, unlocking his front door and inviting the party of five in. "I thought you'd be staying with Illya."

"My presence was apparently distracting her from her video games," the hulking servant replied. "I was exploring the town when I ran into Archer and Rin, then decided to tag along with them. Illya demanded that I return to pick her up when she learned we were on our way to your house, but I've learned to tune her out."

"Well, you might as well join us for lunch," Shirou said, making his way to the dining room. "I'm happy to cook for as many people as are willing to eat."

Berserker ran a hand through his hair, speaking up somewhat hesitantly.

"Actually, I don't think I'll be able to eat anything you serve." The strongest servant shot a look at Rider, who gave a minute nod, before Berserker continued. "I'd be happy to stay, however: I find that pleasant company is a fine addition to any meal."

Rider spoke up then. "On the topic of remaining for lunch, I will not be able to do so. My master requires my presence. I do apologize, but I must go."

The bearded man gave a nod to everyone in the room, before making his way to the door, where he paused, turning to the male magus stood beside him.

"Oh, and Mr. Emiya?"

"Yes?" came the responding question from Shirou.

Rider leaned forward, whispering in between Arthur and his master. "The key to infusing divine fire is to remember that you are not the being invoked by the flame. I am certain I will be seeing you and Arthur later, but this is farewell for now."

"Wait, how do you–," Shirou began, stopping when a twist of wind indicated Rider's abrupt departure. "Damn it!"

"He knows my name, and he knows of your power," Arthur mentally stated. "It seems that you were correct in inviting him to your home to glean intelligence; however, I fear that he has left us with more questions than answers."

"I certainly can't disagree with that," Shirou sourly replied. "He could have at least tried to be less cryptic."

"Emiya, what exactly was Rider talking about?" asked Rin, interrupting Shirou and his servant.

"It's a personal matter, Rin," Shirou said tersely, not quite managing to hide his response to Rider's news. "Nothing for you to worry about."

Rin's eyes narrowed.

"Does it involve the grail war? If so, I was under the distinct impression that we were allies," she said, her tone kept light despite her piercing gaze.

"Only incidentally," Shirou replied to her question, sidestepping the nature of their alliance. "It has more to do with my magecraft than anything."

"Both of those are topics I'm quite interested in," Rin persisted, "and given that I ended up fighting Assassin just to grab two books–" she tossed said books unceremoniously onto the table, "I am not going to be happy if your reluctance to reveal what Rider told you ends up invalidating my help."

Do I lie again? Shirou thought, pros and cons tumbling through his head. Can I risk the alliance on it? On the one hand, having another master and servant on my side is invaluable, but on the other, this is my one surefire way of actually harming future opponents. Is alienating Rin worth keeping Archer in the dark? Ugh.

He took a deep breath as Rin stared at him expectantly.

"As of right now, I need to test some stuff," he said, putting off the revelation. "I'm nearly positive that the thing Rider told me won't change the efficacy of your research, but I'll let you know if that stops being true. It's not like I don't want to figure out exactly what's going on, probably more than you do."

"See that you do," said Rin, who gave a grudging nod and sat at the table, crossing one leg over the other. "Regardless, I believe we should combine what little intelligence we gathered from the point of our separation onward. Of course, there's one rather large issue with that plan."

"What's the problem?" Shirou asked. "If it's about not prying into personal matters, I think we're both willing to respect each other's privacy."

Rin jerked a thumb in the direction of Berserker, who was avidly watching the byplay, a small smile on his face.

Oh. Right.

Berserker gave a sheepish chuckle and raised his hands, palms outward.

"Alright, I can see when I'm not wanted," he said, turning to leave.

Well, Shirou thought, this is actually a pretty great opportunity to add to our little alliance.

"Hey, Berserker?" the male magus asked, grabbing the hulking servant's attention. "Is Illya watching through you right now?"

"Yeah. She has some very uncomplimentary things to say about Ms. Tohsaka, though I'm not inclined to pass them on at the moment."

Rin visibly bit back a retort, but a scowl leaked onto her face despite her best efforts.

"Would she be willing to join our alliance?" Shirou asked, ignoring the byplay.

"Excuse me?!" Rin squawked. "Since when do you get to decide who joins us?"

For his part, Berserker winced.

"She says yes, and somehow managed to scream it despite not actually speaking." He paused. "And now she's mad at me for revealing that."

"Great!" said Shirou with a smile, "it'll be good to have another servant/master pair on our side."

"Hold on!" Rin interjected, grabbing her male counterpart's regard. "Shirou, she tried to kill you when we met!"

"She certainly didn't seem as though she wanted to kill me by the end of that fight," he responded.

"Fine, but she seems intent on pulling you into a romantic relationship; how does that not bother you?"

"I'm sure she'll get over–," Shirou began, though he paused as Berserker held up a hand.

"Illya says that she isn't going to give up just because her big brother doesn't yet share her feelings," the servant transmitted. Rin apparently couldn't decide whether to be smug or worried as her face rapidly shifted between the two emotions. Shirou looked like he swallowed something foul.

"Well, Illya's, er, intentions aside, I'm not sure why you have a problem with this, Rin," Shirou said, steadying himself. "My most certainly platonic relationship with Illya isn't really something you should be concerned about, I'd think."

"You're right," Rin said with a sigh, and her face flushed slightly. "As long as you promise not to indulge Illya, I'm fine with her addition to the alliance."

"My master really doesn't like you, Rin," Berserker faithfully communicated, preventing Shirou from responding to Rin's acceptance. "She's been insulting you for the past while. I particularly like 'inelegant hedge magus', but I'm also partial to 'Shirou's parasitic, crimson limpet'."

"That ten-year-old witch called me a what?" Rin growled. "Little miss red-eye can shove–"

Archer spoke up, startling Shirou and defusing the potential Rin-shaped explosion.

"If we're going to ally with Emiya, we might as well ally with von Einzbern as well."

"I agree with the statement, though perhaps not the sentiment," Arthur added. "The greater our alliance, the better our chances of securing the grail."

At Arthur's statement, the group fell into a lull, prompting Shirou to stretch slightly.

"Well, now that we've decided on that, I'm going to go make lunch. Does fish sound good?"

A chorus of nods greeted his question, and the magus walked into the kitchen, humming a slight tune.


"I'm somewhat disappointed that I couldn't eat any of that," Berserker said, the remnants of various sushi and sashimi dishes present on the dining room table. "I quite enjoy what few seafood dishes I can have, but it's a rather restrictive list."

"Is there a particular reason for those restrictions?" Shirou asked, curious, as he collected the leftovers.

Berserker looked apologetic as he spoke.

"You'll have to ask Illya if you want that information; I can't say more," he stated, standing and rolling his shoulders. "I should get going. It was very nice to meet you all outside of battle, and I'll be back for dinner with Emiya's future paramour."

With that, the servant strode out of the room, giving a small wave as he left.

Shirou stood as well, turning to Rin.

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to actually work with Arthur for a while. We got sidetracked this morning, and considering I've nearly died two times since then, strategizing and training is more than a little important."

Rin's head snapped to him.

"You almost died?!" she shouted, her face pale. "Why are you just now telling me about this?!"

"It's not exactly something that comes up in casual conversation, Rin," Shirou said. "Besides, I'm still alive, so it all worked out, no?"

"You're unbelievable, Shirou," Rin groaned, shaking her head. "But to answer your implicit question, go ahead and train with Saber. I'll discuss tactics with Archer in the meantime, and we can discuss your blasé attitude towards your life later."

Shirou walked out of the room and Arthur trailed behind him, stoic as ever. The king spoke, his voice the only thing audible beyond the soft tread of the pairs' footsteps.

"For obvious reasons, I have no objection to aiding you in your quest for our mutual survival, but..."

Arthur trailed off, seemingly uncertain.

"But what?" asked a curious Shirou.

"But, before we begin, we need to engage in a frank discussion of how you have approached the grail war up to this point," said the king, the two making their way into the training room vacated that morning. "I told you this just after I met Rider: I fear you misunderstand the severity of the war."

"How so?"

"You have been blessed with fantastic fortune thus far. Two servants are your allies, a third saved your life for reasons as yet unknown, a fourth disregarded you in favor of Ms. Tohsaka, and a fifth appeared rather willing to leave you out of the conflict. The only servant thus far who has deliberately attacked you is Morgan, and even then it is my personal belief that you were not her primary target," Arthur said. "This is by no means a probabilistically likely course of events."

"I'm listening," Shirou neutrally replied, "but all that you've stated so far are facts. I have yet to see any reason to believe that I'm not taking the grail war seriously enough."

"It is less a case of your commitment to the war than your attitude towards its combatants. Imagine that Archer sought to slay you in your sleep, or that Rider sought entrance to your home for the sake of murdering Rin and Archer alongside you and I. These were both exceedingly realistic possibilities, and your desire to ally with our ordained foes could easily have led us to ruin."

"So your point is that I'm being too trusting? I can't say I agree," Shirou mused. "Perhaps I'm less cynical than most, but is taking no risks at all really the best possible course of action for the war? Maybe if my only aim was to win at all costs, sure. I'm sympathetic to your desire to achieve the grail, and would very much like to see you come out on top of the conflict, but that's secondary to my desire to prevent unnecessary death. When I take these risks, I do so out of a combination of calculation and belief. The fewer rogue servants there are, the more the whole thing can be contained, and if I can prevent deaths by extending an olive branch to my fellow combatants, it goes against everything I believe in to do otherwise. In an ideal world, the seven of you would engage in a series of regulated battles, one winner would emerge, and no innocents would be harmed. The closer I can get to that, the better."

"I suppose I cannot demand that you share my goals any more than you can demand I take on yours," Arthur said, a rueful smile emerging on his face. "Very well. While your rigid preference for negotiation and trust are disagreeable to me, they are incidental to the greater point of this conversation."

"And what is that greater point?" the magus asked.

"Shirou, unless you obtain the ability and power of a servant, you are not strong enough to be a great help against our foes," Arthur transmitted mentally, not softening the blow in the least. "It is hard to say, though I am certain it is harder to hear, but it needs to be stated. I fear that when next you join battle, the tools I have at my disposal will not be enough to save you. Berserker missed your heart by the narrowest of margins, and his second blow would have you dead if not for your invocation of Sir Kay's spirit. Lancer nearly roasted you alive, and though you were rescued by my use of Galatine, you would have perished had he called forth lightning in place of flame. Morgan crushed you beneath a wave of asphalt, and you survived only through Rider's intervention. These are not nearly the maximum abilities a servant may possess. We are not beings that can be fought through merely copying blades of legend."

The king sighed and shook his head.

"I take no pleasure in this, but I will not stand idly by and watch a child destroy himself. As you are now, you are no match for our foes, and thus I cannot condone your inclusion in future battles."

Shirou grimaced, taking time to collect his thoughts before responding.

"I don't think I can disagree with any of that, at least rationally. It's true that I've almost died three times since your summoning, and it's definitely true that being able to copy legendary weapons doesn't make me a servant's equal. If that was all I could do, I'd still fight by your side, but your allowance of such would be enforced by command seal."

Arthur stared at Shirou with an inscrutable expression. The magus continued, conscious of but not overly affected by Arthur's probing gaze.

"However, I realized something earlier, back in the alley that Morgan turned into a deathtrap. I'm not just getting the form of the weapons I copy: I'm getting some of their wielders' skills as well. When we fought Lancer, I actually managed to hit him with Gwydnawr, which shouldn't have been possible, even if the lance did triple my ability to wield it. In the aforementioned alley, I summoned those two swords Archer likes to use, and I started cutting away the stone attacking me without conscious effort. Sure, I wasn't moving as fast or striking as powerfully as a servant might, but speed and strength can be substituted for by skill, borrowed or otherwise."

He paused for emphasis.

"Beyond that, I have the power of divine fire, and if I combine some amount of increased skill with increased lethality, I'm sure I can harm enemy servants nearly as easily as you can. "

"Do you not recall the last two times you attempted to utilize the divine flame while calling forth a legendary weapon?" Arther asked rhetorically. "You collapsed, trembling, upon calling forth Clyfodran. If that were all, perhaps you could forge past your weakness and grow into strength. But, and it is possible that you did not realize, something concerning occurred when you invoked my foster brother's sword."

"I didn't notice anything wrong," Shirou said, half to himself. "At least, nothing different than when I summoned Sir Bors' blade, and I'm sure I can accustom myself to that."

"I felt an echo of Kay's presence overlaying yours when you called forth Treildfigen. As you kept the blade active, the connection grew stronger, and the two of you began to merge. Taking Rider's earlier words as a warning, I fear that you run the risk of subsuming yourself in whomever you should invoke. Please, Shirou, do not risk your demise just to fight at my side."

"It isn't just to fight at your side, Arthur," said the magus, his temper rising. "It's for the sake of my ideals, and if I weren't willing to court death for them, I wouldn't hold them in the first place. I'm only alive because my father risked his life to save mine, and I've dedicated myself to doing the same for those I care about. Ten years I've spent building myself from nothing, and this desire to help others in need is too important for me to abandon it just because there's a chance of my death. I won't run in for no reason, but if I believe I can help you, I will, no matter the risk."

"Without greater strength, you are as liable to die as you are to aid me. Those are not odds worth playing, Shirou," Arthur heatedly replied. "The route you seek to increasing power is equally likely to result in your death. Are you certain I cannot dissuade you? Are you that convinced of your course?"

"Yes. No matter the level of danger, I won't allow you to face it alone. That's not who I am, and, more importantly, not who I want to be."

"I see," Arthur said, a note of resignation coloring his voice. "I protest your decision, but I hold my own beliefs in too high regard to deny you your own. Might you at least test your proficiency here and now, where there exists a chance of aborting the process without ill result?"

A satisfied smile threatened to break out on Shirou's face, but he clamped down on his emotions as he responded.

"I see no reason not to try it right now, so sure."

The magus concentrated intently, seeking within himself the echo of Galatine. He willed prana to the idea of the sword, from it's tapered blade to its pitted hilt, and–

Well after Arthur returned from his time with Nimue, Gawain entered her glade, and the sun shone brighter above him, its light sparkling upon the surface of the lake. Patterns of the light came together as the lady knelt, and water rose to meet the now disparate rays of light emanating from Sol above. Solid color twisted with viscous water in a sphere of twirling hue, and the mixture spun to a glowing silver before collapsing into a blade, which– Shirou's spine began to burn as something within him thrummed, and he continued his focus on Gawain's blade, from its gradient blue-grey center to its steel rain-guard patterned after a crown, and–

The blade saw action against the minions of Ysbaddaden on Culhwch's quest for Olwen's hand, Gawain wielding it alongside Kay, Bedivere, and the three shapeshifting– He pushed past the pulses traveling his spine to think on the disparate material of the lower blade, its promethean design of fae metal and steel shaped into a spear head flowing into the metal above, and–

Galatine was used in clash after clash on the path between Camelot and the castle of Bertilak, as Gawain sought the Green Knight, who– Shirou's breathing turned ragged as an indistinct form appeared in his grasp. He narrowed his thoughts to the perforated grip and elongated pentagonal pommel, the band of sliver at the apex of the grip, and–

In the siege of Joyous Gard, Galatine met Arondight thrice, but Gawain was repelled each time by Lancelot. By war's end, the sword of the sun was– He saw the sword stabbing into the hill of green, and through waves of almost-pain looked upon its form, peering beneath the metal, and–

Its final act was in combat against Mordred, the two heirs to Camelot battling at Gawain's insistence. Arthur's son brought low the king's nephew, with– Shirou saw the sword free from himself, and the blade appeared in his hand, its outline ringed in grey fire.

He felt a pounding in his head as flashes of Gawain's life became a stream, then a torrent, the thoughts of the long-dead knight surging their way into the magus. Shirou's mind felt rent in two as hatred for Lancelot and compassion for Mordred rooted themselves in his psyche, a life he never lived creeping slowly through the opened door.

He gasped as he grappled with the tide of memories, prana lighting up the circuitry about his body. His spine was numb through the pain, and Galatine glowed, its grey outline shifting lighter in tone as Shirou struggled to retain himself. A discordant thrum built in him, and his attention wavered. What might have once been Gawain seized the moment, rushing to fill the corridors of mind vacated in the magus' search for defensible position.

From thoughts of his father Shirou crafted a countermove, a wall of yearning erected between memories of the long dead and the just passed. He took greedy breaths of air, ignoring the jolting along his nerves as he feverishly reinforced the mental blockade. The magus looked to his servant, who opened his mouth and spoke.

"Have you succeeded?" asked Arthur, an expression of concern readily apparent on his leonine face.

Shirou gave a shallow nod.

"I–," Shirou began, but his minute disregard for the incursion led to resurgent attack, and that which made up Gawain broke ever farther into the sanctum of the boy's mind, trampling over the mental barrier erected a moment prior. Galatine pulsed white, and he began to lose himself to the spirit called forth alongside its blade.

"I'm not Gawain!" he cried internally, forming barrier after barrier in the path of the consuming entity. Prana danced across his body, and his circuits twisted as another set gradually overlaid them. The magus' honey-brown eyes were tinting a bright blue, his irides shifting color from the outer rim inwards. The tips of his hair began to bleach as golden blond replaced deep auburn.

"I'm not–!" screamed Shirou, his vision doubling. His T-shirt weaved steel links out of cloth, a chainmail hauberk forming from the mundane garment.

I'm–, they thought, memories of the charnel house ten years past merging with those of a war fought a millennium and a half ago. Devotion to a king spun from trust in a servant, the object of their thoughts the same. Two fathers overlapped in their mind, both dark and troubled but loving above all else. A mother and a sister became one, an ethereal woman with heterochromatic red and green eyes staring from a face framed in silver-gold hair.

"Shirou!" came a cry from Arthur, his voice desperate. "Remember who you are!"

"I–", they whimpered, clutching at their head with the hand not grasping the sword of the sun.

Brothers one lost flickered with those the other never had, four knighted men mourned without regard for their dying acts. Gingalain, Lovell, Florence– names poured into the consciousness of the dual being, forcing out those beloved prior. Ragnelle replaced Rin in their head as dreams of what might be were consumed by musings on what once was, a neoteric companion overwritten by one lost in antiquity. Chivalry and heroism twisted into a single dream, but the boy was slowly overtaken by the knight, memory by cherished memory, thought by grudging thought.

I...

"Shirou, remember!"

"I am...!"

A smiling man, a cavalcade of tears streaming from his eyes in utter elation. An incandescent figure brandishing a weapon, both blade and form glowing bright. A scabbard resting beneath a lake. A sword burning before a gate.

"I am the light of my blade!"

Galatine's edge lit up in yellow light as its core turned a burning white. Sky-blue cracks spiderwebbed along its surface until they crossed every inch of the blade, pieces of Gawain's sword breaking away to reveal a near perfect copy of the weapon, the only difference between the old and the new a pattern of runes winding about from tip to crossguard. A golden glow traveled down the spiral of runes before reaching the hilt and pulsing silver, and in the next second, the blade turned transparent, its edges melting away to reveal a see-through frame with a single strand of burning ivory at its center. In a flash, the muted glow lit in fire, the glass blade filling to the edges with amber flame flowing from the thin line of white. The hilt began to shimmer gray and blue in sequence, gold shining from within the perforated grip, and as the core pulsed again, the light extended past the sword of the sun.

As the wave of color soared through him, Shirou's arm became cloaked in cyan and silver, the entirety of his body then outlined in a double-coat of the glimmering hues. The amber fire traveled from the sword until it covered the whole of his limb, its searing glow a contrast to the two-toned aura enveloping the rest of his form. His eyes and hair shined the color of steel, and for a fraction of a moment, the sedate training room was replaced by a shimmering green hill, dotted with blades and encircled by an endless sea of silver. An ethereal wind picked up, leeching the fire from Shirou and his sword, and then he stood guarded in perfect form, his stance not a speck out of line. His eyes glowed silver with a hint of azure, a portion of Gawain's vanished spirit broadening but not replacing that which made up the son of the Magus Killer, and he held Galatine aloft, an echo of its torch-flame present in a subtle grey glow about the weapon.

What did I..., the magus thought in wonder, staring alternately at the blade and himself. He brought Galatine through a series of slashes, flowing from one to the next without a moment's pause. Each blow was exemplarily balanced, and as Shirou increased the pace of his swings, he retained the same degree of skill.

How am I doing this? Shioru pondered, his brow creased, as he slowed his motions into lazy sweeps. Was I right about gaining skill alongside my projections?

He frowned and brought his speed up once more, this time aiming for upward cleaves and downward slashes. But I fought differently when I used Gwydnawr to wound Lancer, too, and that didn't come with near-possession. If so, what did I actually accomplish with the chant?

Arthur interrupted Shirou's thoughts with a clang, the king bringing his own copy of Galatine to meet Shirou's as he spoke, his face stern.

"Shirou, I do not fully understand the events that occurred just now. However, I most certainly do understand swordplay, and your ability at the moment far outstrips that which you possessed this morning."

The magus shrugged in response.

"I'm not really sure what just happened either," he said, switching to mental communication. "But I seem to have gained quite a bit of skill, and I think I might have gotten the hang of the divine fire."

"If that is indeed the case," Arthur stated, "then I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"You claim that you possess strength enough to fight by my side for the remainder of this war. I offer you the chance to prove it."

Shirou smiled widely, rivulets of prana flowing from his spine to his extremities at his will. He held Galatine point outwards, mirroring Arthur's stance, and his eyes flashed blue as he answered the challenge.

"I accept."


AN: I really don't want to swap from Shirou's perspective, though I might consider writing a side story doing so at some nebulous point in the future. There are a few reasons for it, the most immediate of which is to preserve the mystery aspect of the story. Sorry!

It turns out that dialogist, interlocutor, and collocutor all mean the same thing...someone who engages in conversation. Conversant used to mean that, but that usage is so out of date that it's past mere archaicism and into grammatically unsound territory. Ain't English grand?

One of my pet peeves in any story is characters taking questionable risks with minimal explanation. I'd be a hypocrite if I criticized it and then went about doing it myself, y'know?

I'll rewrite it in the future.