Planet: [NULL?]
Branch: [NULL?]
Twig: [NULL?]
Year: [NULL?]
Location: [NULL?]
"I must ask: are you not playing with fire? Are you not concerned of the consequences?"
"Gaia is monitoring the energy expenditure. The system remains within the allotted boundaries, Adjacent World formation remains high. Strength and stability are good, we've another quarter century before the next Lock. No problems detected."
"Pulling information out of the Throne in such a way threatens to overburden the walls separating dimensions. Merlin's little stunt was bad enough, considering the locations and involved parties, but he knows the risks. My issue is with the boy."
"You're sounding like El Melloi."
"There's a reason his circuit capacity is capped and his Throne presence is limited to the chained Guardian. Removing Emiya's leash throws the system off balance. The more knowledge he has, the worse it becomes. Boundaries weaken as more people gain awareness of the walls. If they become common knowledge, people will incorporate it into the core subconscious. It risks a system crash. Expenditure will skyrocket, and the culling procedures will falter as more and more realities are confirmed. It cannot be maintained."
"You forget your place, magician. It's nothing that hasn't already been considered. The rewards outweigh the risks."
He'd overstepped and risked annihilation; a worthwhile risk, circumstances considered. Mincing words and pleasant flattery held no place here, in this pocket between dimensions.
Only in this location just below the Swirl could he gain an audience with the creature who knew Alaya best: the Counter Guardian tasked with protecting the Root. And though it could not be reasoned with, though its logic existed far beyond the realm of mortal and Ancestor and Divine, here, at least, he had the opportunity to present his case and show the experiment for what it truly was:
Foolish.
"What rewards could possibly validate jeopardizing countless healthy realities? Recalling Pendragon from Chaldea alone reduces their chances of survival by seventeen percent. I beseech you: reapply Emiya's chains. Undo the tethers binding the timelines. It risks a destabilization we could not recover from."
"It shall not be done."
"May I ask why?"
The being snapped its fingers. A new environment appeared.
...
The man swallowed, his anger lost.
"I see. This is not an experiment or a joke. Forgive me."
"The Counter Force does not joke."
"Is that why you are manipulating Emiya and Pendragon?"
"Correct. Analysis of the disparate realities has finally presented us with a solution. We only require those three and Ector. The rest will fall into line."
He needed to make sure.
"And you are willing to sacrifice the other timelines for this venture? You are certain the expenditure can be maintained?"
Actions spoke louder than words. Various simulated realities played out before his eyes. Failure after failure, waste after waste. All led to the Overcount, to the Aristoteles, and to the death of the Gun God. Neither did things change upon reaching the timeline of their discussion; where the others reached absolute extinction, this altered one existed with a ninety-nine percent failure rate - for a very good reason.
Hmm.
But within that one percentile...
...
"Interesting."
His magic could not lie. A fascinating outcome, one worth observation.
"To guarantee this singular potential, Alaya and Gaia are willing to sacrifice everything. If so needed, we will manipulate Pendragon's shards. We will guarantee Merlin's cooperation. We will raid the other failures, and cull them for their energy and benefits. This one future must be maintained. For humanity, and for the World."
Its statement hung over him, ominous yet brilliant.
It had no ending. It continued, and continued, and continued. Progress without stagnation. Calamity without ruin. Infinite possibilities.
"You are saying it could spawn a new tree."
"We will ensure it does. Emiya will protect it until the roots take hold."
He bowed before the Guardian. "Very well. I will prepare things on my end."
"Thank you, Kischur."
He departed at once.
"I admit, however, that you surprised me."
"Hm?"
Ector parsed his notes. "I did not take you to be the sentimental type. Rarely do men of your caliber feel comfortable sharing such personal details about themselves."
Shirou kept his expression neutral.
On one hand, it was a risky venture, but one he considered important. To Ector's credit, he guessed correctly. He did treasure the fifteen days he shared with Saber, and those memories remained under lock and key. He imagined that, from this man's perspective, it appeared quite strange - a warrior from another reality appearing from the ether and, days later, admitting to having pursued his daughter.
But for Shirou, confessing held no downside. It placed him in a position of advantage: either Ector took his words at face value and entrusted Artoria to his honest care, or Ector believed him a naive fool, someone who posed little risk and could be easily controlled.
To admit such a thing was to reveal a weakness.
That was the point, and it was how he fought. Revealed weaknesses could be blocked without issue.
But on the other hand: Ector was, well, her father.
"I simply thought you should know," he answered. "You raised Artoria, and it's obvious you care for her. King Arthur had a prominent effect on my life, and she was the same girl beneath all the armor."
"Hm. That may be so, but the story you've told concerns me. So does the apparent difference in our two swords."
"Oh?"
A scowl curled his lips. "Aye. While I would forbid her from ever drawing it, part of me prefers her being the child of prophecy. It would mean no one else has any such claim."
A wise man. "You're afraid of a tyrant coming to power."
Ector nodded. "Last thing this country needs is a madman wielding some magical blade."
Shirou saw the reasoning. Knowing Artoria held divine right allowed some semblance of control in a chaotic time; their problems couldn't become worse than they already were. With this timeline's Caliburn now a mystery, there existed potential for the situation to devolve further.
"It is concerning, I agree. My sole mission here is the protection of your daughter, however, so I can offer you my assurances for her safety and not much else."
"Are you forbidden from assisting in other issues?"
"If they conflict with the aforementioned mission, yes. Otherwise it depends on the circumstances and details behind said problem."
Ector steeped his hands. "In that case, I have a proposition for you, Saber."
He knew what he was going to ask. "I'm listening."
The man exuded raw disgust. It oozed from his person like a fog.
"Destroy the Sword in the Stone."
Planet: Earth
Branch: 2-XX
Twig: [Unknown]
Year: 20XX
Location: Antarctica
Outside the Chaldea facility.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
"I shan't go until you give me my answers, witch!"
Their prana surged; gold clashed with black, blue struggled against red. Saber's overhead blow descended onto her enemy. Alter half-sworded Excalibur Morgan and stopped the strike in its tracks. The ground cratered beneath her blackened sabatons.
"So daft. So helpless! Like a kitten mewling for its mother!"
Alter slammed her leg into Saber's stomach. The blow's force jettisoned the Servant into the air, but a graceful flip righted her descend. The velocity of her landing slid her back; her feet gouged the terrain, and her holy sword hummed with energy.
"Your taunts are Alter's, yet come from a place of malice and despair," Saber snapped. "You smell of the Grail's taint."
"Ah, so you noticed. Whatever Servant you summoned is but my shallow representation. Of course it would not compare."
Their distance closed within a second. Relic scraped against relic. Alter's eyes dilated.
"And neither can you!"
To that, Saber took offense. Magical energy washed over her person like molten rock upon a volcanic island.
"You dare underestimate me!"
"You underestimate yourself. You hold back, Artoria. Always the dutiful king, always the protector of the people. You care about their pathetic feelings! You occupy yourself with their happiness, when none of them know what they want! All while Camelot's enemies pound against its gates! Threaten their lives!"
Energy rolled across the twin Excaliburs, decimated the land, yet there they remained. Gashes cut into the mountainside, their depth and severity an unfortunate result of the blows exchanged.
"You are a tyrant!"
Clang. Clang. Clang.
"So are you. You take from them, steal their wealth, all whilst pretending to be their ally and benefactor. Me? A tyrant? At least I admit it! We are the same person, Artoria!"
Clang. Clang. Clang.
"'Tis the past, foul beast, not the present. I have long accepted my actions. I tried my best!"
Saber unleashed a vicious horizontal slash, one aimed for Alter's neck. Her counterpart ducked under the blow, brought Morgan to her hip. Energy exploded along its length.
"Then why do you still fight?!"
The uppercut seared the air's very molecules. Saber stepped to the blow's side, her bangs singed from its heat. Snarling, she hefted the golden sword over her shoulder.
"So that others might learn from my mistakes!"
Alter recognized the pose. The blackened knight took advantage of the missed uppercut's momentum and shifted Morgan high, mirroring her counterpart's stance.
All sound drained away, muffled by the condensation of mana and the fury of two King Arthurs.
"Ex—!"
It wouldn't be released. At such close proximity, the beam would have no effect. Both knights knew that. Both knights reached the same conclusion.
What would happen, then, if such power - such apocalyptic majesty - was contained to the mere swing of a blade? If they utilized their Last Phantasms the same way Lancelot overloaded Arondight?
If anti-fortress...
"—CALIBUUUUR!"
...became anti-unit?
"Grrrrrr!"
Felt like he'd comprehended Ea.
"Grrrrrrrrrrr!"
"C'mon Pelleas, give her a chance at least."
He'd gone from not understanding her at all to understanding her perhaps a bit too much, all in the span of a single conversation. Keep her competitive streak, her hatred of losing, her love for food and swordplay. Keep her protective nature and her wish for everyone's happiness.
"Cuuuuuuuurses! Grrrrrrrrrrr!"
"I can't go e-easy on her, Ywain, y'know that. Little lady'll run her m-mouth for a week."
And then literally just reverse everything else. Quiet? No, loud. Self-sacrificing? Nope, family first. Thoughtful and pensive? Nah, she speaks her mind. Self-doubting? Perhaps a bit too overly confident. Pretending to be a man and unsure of her body? No, she made him grope her to prove a point.
So that was where Mordred got it from. No wonder.
Shirou watched Artoria struggle against the stuttering guard. The competition was... not going in her favor.
"Uh... what are you doing?"
The one called Ywain looked over.
"Ah, sir knight. The Lady here wanted to eavesdrop. We told her we'd let her through if she beat Pelleas in an arm wrestling match."
He thanked the gods she didn't know how to access her prana yet. Physically, Artoria was very much a teenage girl. Strong for her age when compared to a normal villager, true, but biology was biology and Pelleas probably had her by ten inches and a hundred pounds. Her monstrous strength came from Mana Burst.
And Mana Burst was terrifying. She'd tear the man's arm off.
Which made this funny as hell.
Shirou turned away. Artoria noticed his trembling shoulders.
"S-Stop laughing, Saber! You're supposed to be on my side!"
"I can't help you, Artoria. You brought this upon yourself."
"Sir Ector says information wins wars!"
The lord chose that moment to exit his chambers.
"Sir Ector also says attempting to arm wrestle physically superior opponents is stupid."
Artoria sputtered. Shirou watched her pride explode in slow motion.
Fine, he'd give her an out. He approached their barrel.
"Mind if I challenge you in her place, Pelleas?"
Pelleas grinned, already understanding how it would end. "Aww, does Lady Artoria n-need her knight to win her b-battles?"
Poor girl's cheeks couldn't get any redder. "That is how this works, aye!"
She stood; his right gauntlet and vambrace disappeared. Shirou locked his hand with his opponent's.
Okay.
Carefully now.
He needed to pretend... he was sharpening... a sword...
Gentle. Geeeeentle.
He pushed Pelleas' hand onto the barrel in much the same way one would fit a small ship into a bottle. Shirou rapped the man's knuckles against the wood, and released at once.
"Th-Thank you f-f-for not b-breaking my arm."
"Not a problem."
Artoria puffed out her chest, hands on her hips. That little strand of hair waggled back and forth in pride.
"Wonderful, Saber. I have taught you well!"
Honestly, now that he knew who and what she was, he saw some of her in Saber's personality. It emerged in Saber as the occasional playful spark, that little zealous streak she got whenever she figured out how much she wanted something. The twinkle in her eye when she discovered a new passion or hobby, the sheer concentration when she set about its mastery. Like that day in the town, when they learned King Arthur sucked at baseball.
Just... Artoria was far more than a spark.
Ywain pulled at her ahoge. "He should be teaching you, ya lil' twerp!"
"A lady takes credit for her knight's victories! 'Tis how chivalry works, Ywain!"
She was a supernova.
He admired Saber even more, now. To be able to repress such a strong personality so completely beneath her kingly responsibilities, all for the good of her country...
Artoria rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.
"I won~! Thou lost~! 'Tis just the way it is~!"
"Why... why you little...!"
Incredible.
The girl ducked behind him, placed her Servant between herself and Ywain. The guard faux simmered; Shirou recognized that this seemed natural for the both of them.
"Alright you two," Ector sighed. "That's quite enough. Pelleas, Ywain, thank you for entertaining my daughter. Go retrieve the next rotation, your shifts have ended."
Their backs straightened. "Aye, milord!"
Once they departed, the elder turned to the girl. "Artoria."
"You two were talking for quite a while, Sir Ector. Has something happened?"
He and Ector shared a knowing look. Shirou put his hands on her shoulders.
"Listen."
She blinked. "Saber?"
"I'm going to destroy the sword."
Of all the emotions flashing across the young woman's face, the one she settled for was relief.
"When?" Artoria murmured.
"I planned to leave today."
"Today?" She frowned. "You? Not we?"
"That depends on your decision, Artoria," Ector grunted.
The reality behind her father's words dawned upon her face. Her eyes widened.
"Father, you are..."
A grim smile tightened the man's cheeks.
"My conversation with Saber was very revealing. I learned a great many things, the most important of which being the unfortunate realization that you, lass, are far safer at his side than you would be remaining within these walls."
She took a moment to process. Artoria freed herself from Saber's hold and wrapped her arms around her father's torso.
"Thank you. We shall come back."
He returned her hug. "We are not going anywhere, Artoria. Camelot will forever remain your home."
She nodded into his tunic, then separated. Artoria wiped at her eyes, turned to her Servant, and, after grabbing his hand, began to lead him down the hall.
"I have polished my armor, Saber. My sword is sharpened. Come, we must depart to the markets!"
"The markets?"
"Aye. 'Tis a week's journey to Glavum. We require ingredients for meals."
Ector watched them leave. He stroked his beard, a slight smile on his face.
"A man from the heavens, yet still a fool. She's courting you, lad."
"They're... what number spar is this?"
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
The soldier's partner scoffed.
"I stopped counting after five. Each time, a tie. 'Tis some sort of lovers' quarrel. They've not had breakfast."
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
Lancelot nodded. "An adequate deflection."
And Gawain sputtered in return. "Ad-adequate?! How arrogant!"
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
"Truthful."
"Arrogant!"
"Truthful."
"Arrogant! By the gods, man!"
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
"The thrice-borne hells is this?" the first soldier muttered. The second shook his head.
"They can't be human. We should leave, aye?"
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
"'Tis not arrogance to state the truth. Thy skill is good, but could use improvement. Therefore: adequate."
"Do you kiss thy mother with that mouth?!"
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
The first soldier nodded his agreement.
"A-Aye. Let's go."
Meanwhile, at Chaldea:
[ANOMALY DETECTED - ANOMALY DETECTED]
Assassin blurred; a hail of bullets slammed into Mash's shield.
"I've never seen him move like this before!" she groaned.
Ritsuka and da Vinci cowered behind her protection. The woman's hands tapped away at Chaldea's central terminal.
"As a Counter Guardian, his abilities are scaled to handle whatever threat he faces. It's to be expected. We just need to make sure we don't anger him further. Something's going on here - if the Counter Force wanted us dead, Assassin would've ended us a long time ago."
[ANOMALY DETECTED - ANOMALY DETECTED]
The Round Table knights continued their counterattack. Gawain and Lancelot engaged the cloaked man, their blades a combined whirlwind of metal and magic. Tristan loosed Failnaught's vacuum arrows whenever possible - arrows that could not be avoided.
Exceptions existed always. Assassin counted among them.
In half second intervals the Guardian seemed to teleport to entirely different positions. Sword and arrow alike struck naught but empty space. His form blinked behind Lancelot; the Contender's revolver rotated like a turbine engine.
The weapon spewed origin bullets, its fire rate that of a machine gun, not a hammer-fed pistol.
They tore into Lancelot's armor. Gawain tackled him aside. The former froze and shivered like a man paralyzed, his suit's magical properties disrupted by the Mage Killer's strange ammunition.
"B-Blast it all!" he seethed. "Gawain! We must hurry!"
"Aye! I fear for His Majesty's safety!"
Assassin turned his attention to the outside world. Beyond the mountainous horizon appeared a hole from the void, over which circled a storm rivaling the fiercest tornado. Lightning crackled in the clouds.
[UNAUTHORIZED RAYSHIFT DETECTED]
"Da Vinci!" Ritsuka called. "What's happening?! What is Assassin doing?!"
"That strange Alter's signature is being rayshifted!" she gasped. "And Artoria is going with her!"
The news enraged the knights. Gawain roared his frustrations.
"Foul Guardian! What are you doing to my king?!"
He didn't respond. Golden chains wrapped about his neck and limbs.
Gilgamesh's entourage had arrived as last.
[UNAUTHORIZED RAYSHIFT DETECTED]
Enkidu raced into the central chamber. "Master, the Counter Force has been activated!"
"We're well aware, Enkidu!" Ritsuka growled. "A Counter Guardian's stalling us as we speak!"
The Servant shook his head, odd panic overtaking his usually peaceful visage.
"You do not understand. It has been activated everywhere. Alaya has started a full system lockdown!"
...
"I've found their destination," da Vinci whispered.
Ritsuka forced his racing heart to slow. He failed.
"Where is it?"
Sweat glistened on her forehead. "Britain. AD 506."
Mash whimpered. "Oh, come on. Again?"
"What are we looking at here, da Vinci?" Ritsuka asked. "Is it a Lostbelt? A Singularity? I need details. Depth level, severity ratings."
"It is neither."
The group turned to Assassin. He didn't resist nor struggle against Gilgamesh's Chains of Heaven, though it would be a simple enough matter to free himself of their bondage.
"It is a stable timeline approved by the Greater History," he explained. "Outside interference in its matters is not allowed. Artoria Pendragon is required for its salvation."
Ritsuka frowned. "Why? What is Alaya doing, Assassin? What could warrant such an excessive use of force?"
[UNAUTHORIZED RAYSHIFT DETECTED]
Assassin's head twisted in his direction, utterly unrestricted by Gilgamesh's chains.
"Rejoice, Chaldea, for humanity has found a path to the future."
Fate/ess
Saber - Artoria Pendragon - LOST
The Kingseekers - 2
"The Age of the Will has come."
ROUTE NUMBER FOUR
[UNAUTHORIZED RAYSHIFT DETECTED]
Silly people needed to stop staring at her Servant. Honestly!
"Saber," she sighed. "Why do you insist on staying in that suit all the time? Do you not get hot?"
"It's air conditioned."
"What?"
"Nothing."
He did it on purpose, she knew. With what those memories implied, he probably suspected an ambush around every corner. Poor man. To live with such paranoia!
"Camelot's townsfolk won't bite. Has anyone else seen your face?"
"Ector and Pelleas."
...
Pelleas? Pelleas? Her father she understood, but Pelleas?
"You showed it to a regular guard?"
"He was being obnoxious."
Ah, yes, of course.
"If you can show him, surely there's no issue taking the armor off in a public setting, is there? 'Tis alright to relax once in a while, Saber."
"My appearance is unusual, Artoria. I don't wish them to think—"
"Oh, hogwash," Artoria interrupted. "Noble idiots hire foreign bodyguards all the time. 'Tis nothing strange. So what if the contract comes from magic and not coin? They shan't think a thing of it, and if they do, I'll kick them in the nads!"
She found the proficiency with which she understood his body language both humorous and annoying. In the absence of facial expressions, she'd learned to read Saber's mannerisms - tilts and angles of the helmet, posture changes, so on.
The one he showed now, for example, meant she was to going to be teased.
"And if they're a woman?"
Hon-est-ly.
"Beg your pardon?"
"Women do not have nads, Artoria."
Honestly! This boy! Goodness, 'twas a good thing he could cook!
"I'll kick them in their lady nads."
"I just said—"
"Their. Lady. Nads."
His trembling shoulders frustrated her. Artoria grabbed him and shoved him into an alleyway. Standing on her toes put her in reach of his helmet. She flicked up its hinged metal.
"Listen, you oaf. You are Saber, a foreign mercenary swordsman hired by my father for my protection. Also, we are long lost childhood friends, and Saber is a pet name."
"C-Childhood friends? Pet names?"
She turned away, hands on her hips. "It adds a bit of charm to the tale, does it not? A bit of flare?"
"It needs charm?"
"It does! A special relationship deserves an equally charming tale!"
...
She glanced at him from her periphery. Heat tinged her cheeks. "Do you not like it?"
He sighed! What was with the length of his sigh!
"As you wish, Artoria."
The armor faded away. Victory swelled in her heart, and with it came some semblance of relief. She could get him out of his shell. It required only time and patience.
Artoria grabbed his hand. "Excellent. Come, Saber. We are late for my training."
"Hm?"
"With Kay and the guard sergeant, Palamedes. I must tell them of our journey, as well. We shall come for our supplies later!"
"You are to accompany me on an adventure to hunt down a wizard's charge, and prevent him from ascending the throne."
Lancelot stared at him. Gawain ignored it, and instead chugged his mug of water.
...
He burped.
"The wizard may or may not be present," Gawain added, almost as an afterthought.
"Pray tell: why?"
"Why what?"
Lancelot pinched his nose's bridge.
"Why me? And why are you hunting a rumor?"
"Because you are adequately skilled, and because this charge's ascension, according to my dearest grandfather, would doom the kingdom and every soul within."
"And who is your grandfather?"
"The Duke of Cornwall, Lord Gorlois," a new voice added.
Gawain looked to the newcomers.
"Gaheris, Gareth."
"Gawain."
"Hi bro!"
Lancelot's exasperation revealed itself in the twitching of his brow and the clenching of his teeth.
"Royalty."
Gawain waved him off. "I'm not the type to order someone into a life or death situation through right of blood. The choice is yours."
"Yet you cut in front of your lessers?"
"'Twas a tremendously honorable action!"
"I beg your pardon?"
Gawain crossed his arms and nodded to himself.
"They stood no chance against you. They themselves knew it! By cutting their place, I saved the time of everyone involved: the soldiery's, yours, mine. Quite efficient, if I do say so myself."
Lancelot balked at the... interesting logic.
"Pay him no mind, friend," Gaheris interjected. "Mother dropped him on his head one too many times."
"She did not!"
Gareth groaned. Lancelot noted his voice to be strangely effeminate. Poor lad. The mockery must be cruel.
"Cut it out, you two. Gawain, the men are ready to mobilize. We wait for you. As usual."
Gawain made a shooing motion.
"Go on ahead. Our party is smaller, we shall catch up in no time."
Lancelot drummed his fingers on the table.
"Before I accept, I wish to know more about this person you pursue. Are they the one from that old prophecy? The one about the sword?"
Gawain almost rolled his eyes right out of their sockets.
"'Whosoever pulls this sword shall be crowned king of all Britain!'" he mocked. "Illegible text scrawled on a sword is no basis for a system of government! Who did that pig Uther think he was? The divine? The blasphemy of it all!"
"Oh no," Gaheris muttered. "Here we go again. Politics."
Gareth's eye twitched. "Brother, need I remind you we are in polite company?"
Gawain coughed into a fist. "Right, of course. To answer your question, Lancelot: yes, rumors state Uther's spawn is - quote unquote - the 'chosen king'."
Sarcasm drowned his words.
"Dear grandfather believes 'twas just a way for Uther to secure his lineage," he continued. "In my humble opinion, a man lusting after a vassal's woman should have no authority dictating the kingdom's path—"
"Gawain," Gaheris pleaded.
"And neither does Lord Gorlois! Hence we march on that poor sod Ector's camp of charlatans to finish this business once and for all. The Saxons rest not, and neither shall we!"
Lancelot mulled over his words.
"Suppose the prophecy is true. Would such things not be the work of witchcraft?"
"Aye, most likely."
"And witchcraft is the domain of the wizards and their ilk."
"Aye?"
Lancelot crossed his arms.
"Then if Uther or his court magician had the power to impose such a prophecy, does that not equal a divine mandate? Is the sword not a mere representation of their right to the throne?"
...
Gareth buried his face in his hands. "Three... two..."
Gawain slammed his fists on the table.
"No kingdom has ever succeeded by organizing fiefdoms around a blasted piece of sharpened iron!"
"You're late, Milady."
"I had other obligations."
"And were these obligations more important than your daily training?"
"They were."
"I see."
Artoria and Palamedes glared at each other. Kay sighed, and instead turned his attention to the stranger who followed her into the training area.
"I'm not sure who you are, good man, but this is a restricted area. Please leave at once, or I'll be forced to summon the guards."
"Ah, of course. Sorry," he apologized. He turned to walk away. "Have fun, Artoria."
His voice struck Kay as familiar. Wait, was that—
The girl sputtered. "Where do you think you're going, mister?!"
"The good knight told me I'm not allowed to be here."
"He does not recognize you, you metal lunatic! Do not take advantage of it! What kind of bodyguard are you?!"
Collectively the group blinked, dumbfounded by the exchange. Kay put two and two together.
"S-Saber?"
The redhead froze mid-step, shoulders slumping. He scratched at the back of his head.
"Ah, crap..."
"Wait," Palamedes muttered. "That's Saber? The metal man? Why, he's but a boy. He's the lass's age, looks like."
Saber marched up to Artoria, hands on his hips. "See what you've done, Artoria? Now my good image is ruined."
"What image?" she snarked. "You have talked with four people, myself included."
A hand lowered to her head. He ruffled her hair.
"I'll put it back on if you don't stop."
"Aye, aye, I understand! My apologies!"
"By the gods," Tristan breathed. "My heart weeps! Woe is me!"
"Aye, hold on, wait."
Bedivere called for a time out. Confusion weighed him down.
"So we're all on the same parchment here," he clarified. "You are Saber, aye? The one who ran out Cornwall? The one who saved the lord's life, or so Kay says?"
The man quite literally leaned his forearm on Artoria's head.
"Yep."
...
"Must you?" she sighed.
"I'm sorry?"
The poor girl blushed. "Stop leaning on me."
"Are you uncomfortable?"
"Hm? No, I - I mean yes, yes I am uncomfortable."
"You don't seem uncomfortable."
Artoria's eyes swirled. She looked ready to faint. "S-Sabeeer!"
Palamedes' eyebrow twitched. "I must admit, I did not expect you two to have such an... interesting... relationship."
Saber met Kay's eye. "Before I lie myself into a hole for no reason - what did you tell them?"
Kay shrugged. "Living weapon, a shade, Sir Ector approves, you call her Master."
Artoria simmered beneath his arm. "I am not his Master!"
The redhead decided he'd teased her long enough. His hands smoothed out her hair.
"Yeah, she put a stop to that. Master and Servant are technical terms, though. Titles, like Saber is. She's still my Master by definition, even if I call her Artoria."
Bedivere frowned. "You speak as though you're her slave."
Saber scratched his cheek. "Are you aware with the concept of magical familiars? Say, a witch and her cat?"
"I've heard stories, aye."
"She's the witch, I'm the cat. I have my free will and can do as I please, for the most part, but I'm bound to her by contract."
"And you cannot betray her, then?" Palamedes questioned.
"Nope. And even if I could, I wouldn't."
Saber flicked her ahoge.
"I quite enjoy her as a Master. We get along admirably." Then he paused, and looked between the group. "Who are you all, if I may ask? I already know Sir Kay, but until now I've kept to my duties."
"Yes, right." Palamedes pointed to the respective people present. "I am Palamedes, the guard sergeant. That is Bedivere, Tristan. Over yonder is Bors."
"Stop yer yick-yackin'!" Bors called out. "Are we training or nah?"
"Aye, aye."
The men assembled grabbed the dulled swords from the rack, as did Artoria. Bedivere turned to Saber.
"Are you joining us?"
He shook his head. "I'll watch. I've yet to see her fight."
Kay exhaled in relief.
Consciousness returned.
By itself, her body rolled up, onto her feet. Dead men stayed prone. The living stood. She lived, so she stood.
...
Surroundings, clear. A grassy field, a distant city on the horizon. No enemies, no allies. Check wounds.
She lacked armor. That was not possible, but no matter. No injuries, no soreness, no bruises or shortness of breath. Mental faculties in order. No slickness upon her head. No blood.
She would vocalize thrice.
"Master?"
No response through the Master-Servant connection. Once more.
"Master?"
No response from Fujimaru. Third attempt. Emergency.
"Rin?"
...
Okay. Stay calm. One more time. None of the others responded, but he would come. If she called to him, he would answer.
...
"Shirou?"
...
Saber's heart sank. Alone, in commoner's clothing, with no allies. She could not manifest her armor.
Her hand flexed.
Nothing happened. She focused, focused, focused. Through her panic, through her confusion, through the situation's impossibility: she focused.
But Excalibur did not come.
Confusion Corner
Whiplash 2: Multiversal Boogaloo
So that's... uh... three Artorias, two Gawains, two Lancelots, two Tristans...
Yeah. Remember the italics rule: if the scene is introduced by italics, it means it's happening outside of Fateless' main timeline. This chapter has a lot of switching, I know; the multiverse happens in parallel at the same time, so all these different events are taking place all at once. It won't always be like this, I promise, but these early chapters especially are the equivalent to dumping chess pieces out of the plastic and setting them on the board. It's a necessary evil. Once everything is prepared we'll start to see the switching slow down until we're almost exclusively focused on the main Fateless timeline, the occasional exception notwithstanding.
What in the hell is an Aristotele?
This chapter introduces a certain Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg into the equation, and I know that for a few of you, just typing that name will get the "troll Zelretch" sirens blaring. Don't worry - like in canon, Zelretch in Fateless is primarily a plot device used to get the ball rolling, and as the curtains begin to pull back it'll become readily apparent that his inclusion is both warranted and necessary. As stated back in chapter 1's author's note, Fateless is a grand finale scenario; the heavy hitters are coming out to play. What I mean by "grand finale scenario" is best left for a few chapters down the line, so I'll talk more about it there, but for now just know that Gun God is a very obscure Nasuverse character - he's the protagonist of a story Nasu wrote over twenty years ago - and an Aristotele is a TYPE. What's a TYPE, you ask?
You know that thing sleeping in Lostbelt 7, where Daybit is? Well...