There was always something magical about midnight. It was that fleeting, in-between moment where it was neither evening nor morn, neither one day or the next. It was nothing but a blink separating two halves of the cityfolk: the ones settling into bed, and the ones trickling out the door to enjoy the neon lights in the town.
Arturia looked up to a cloudless, black sky peppered with thousands upon thousands of stars. The full moon cast its heavenly rays upon her skin, bathing her in its moonlight as she reveled in the sea breeze. With a small tug, her ribbon came loose, allowing the wild wind to toss her locks as it passed her form.
She breathed in, tasting the salt in the air and let her eyes flutter close. If she ignored the occasional car honk in the background and the brownish red encroaching on the darksky, she could almost imagine she was back home in her own century.
It was curious, how the city never seemed to sleep. In her day, unless there was a war, none but the wolves would be up this hour. One could hear them howling in the distance especially on nights like this when the moon showed its full face. Still, the hustle and bustle of civilization behind her had quieted enough, giving in to the roar of the waves crashing against the shore.
She curled her lips into a small smile. It was perfect.
There was just enough noise to mask the rapid metallic clangclangclang-ing of weapons that accompanied the most glorious of matches and just enough moonlight so to not need too many lit torches on their makeshift, sandy arena. She was doubly glad she and the Lancers had found this little hidden cove beforehand, for it was tucked in the least populated corner of the beach, it being too far a walk from the closest food stands. At midnight, there wasn't a single civilian within range. Plus, with this low tree-ful cliff she was standing on almost completely concealing what would become their battlefield, they barely had to worry about passers-by.
A crack of thunder heralded the coming of its boisterous owner, and the large mass of scarlet came into view, a blur of magenta in tow. Of course she shouldn't have expected Iskandar to be discreet, she thought, as her head whipped around to see if any civilians had noticed. A safe distance away, there were a few nameless faces looking up to the clear sky like she had been, but luckily none looking in their direction.
Arturia fought the rather childish urge to smack Iskandar upside the head as she jumped the near forty-foot drop to the beach to meet him and Medusa. There was an almost inaudible crunch as she flipped landed on the sand with the grace of a cat, the balls of her bare feet digging into the crumbly mess of coral and silicon dioxide.
A breath of quiet wonder escaped her as she realized just how much flexibility her new clothes gave her. Merlin had told her she was going to go absolutely bloody nuts with the new line of sportswear and sent her off with samples of the entire line to fill her wardrobe with, and to be honest, she was thankful he did.
"Show-off, much?" came the snarky comment from Medusa, who despite wearing her usual blinding glasses looked like she was watching Saber stretch up from the crouch she was in. "I love the outfit. 'Specially the mesh. Stylish."
Now, Arturia wasn't entirely sure how Medusa could even tell that there were diagonally cut strips of mesh running down both sides of her charcoal-colored leggings, but the woman always did have deadly-accurate senses. When Arturia smiled, she smiled back. Interesting.
"I thank you," she offered, looping her loose hair into a ponytail using the ribbon in her hand. "It pleases me to see you again, Medusa."
Iskandar's enthusiastic YOOOOOOO bounced off the cliffside like an echo chamber, nearly rattling the swordswoman's brain in her skull as he waved Arturia closer. As easily as lifting a pillow, he scooped up two full barrels of wine from his chariot and set them down between the foldable food table and the mats.
"In modern garbs again today, I see!" Iskandar commented, a wide smile on his features as he looked her up and down approvingly. "Though less modest than usual?"
Heat crawled up Arturia's neck. She had gotten rather fond of the clothes of this new age-considering the outfits from her time consisted of layers upon layers of itchy, ill-fitting linen- but she would admit the shapely fit of the attire these days left little to the imagination. She favored suits for that reason, though time and again she'd find herself slipping into what the new generation called athleisure .
Tonight, she was sporting a look Merlin put together, which consisted of a comfortable, white, not-too-open criss-cross crop top with a black sports bra underneath and the mentioned mesh window leggings. The wizard assured her that the two-inch gap between her top and bottom wasn't much, but after Iskandar's little question, the body-hugging clothes seemed a mighty bit more revealing than before.
"Iskandar, look what you did," Medusa drawled, sprawling on one of the mats after tossing down a few throw pillows. She again gave Saber one of her confusing not-really-looking-but-kind-of looks. Arturia really had to ask her how she did that. "Are you dueling with that instead of armor? It is quite cute."
If Medusa intended to alleviate her situation, she did the exact opposite. Normally, Arturia didn't really care much for how she looked as long as she was decent. As it happens, Medusa was a stunningly beautiful woman with a tall, voluptuous figure. In the bleached skinny jeans and loose blouse she had on, Arturia could understand why all accounts of the Greek's tale mentioned she was beautiful enough to attract the gods' envy. She was gorgeous.
"Not exactly," she answered, cooling her blush by smirking. "Surely you remember that little chase from our war, Iskandar?"
The bulky man stopped short and retracted his hand from the steaming pile of fried chicken. He nodded, the memory still fresh in his mind. It was difficult to forget how Saber once used her armor to augment that iron horse of hers, especially when such a change allowed the swordswoman to give chase to a Rider Class Servant.
The calm sea breeze turned feral, looping around Arturia like a mini twister. Gold light encased her figure, swirling up from her toes and rushing around her until finally dissipating atop her head. The air was ripe with energy as the light revealed the king in full silver armor, except this time, the metal pieces looked like they were fitted over the clothes she was already wearing.
Metal shifted on metal as she turned to the two. Arturia's breastplate and placard were the same, concealing her midriff. As the puffy juliet sleeves of her armored dress no longer covered her bare shoulders, in their place was a single silver pauldron on her left side, Diarmuid-style. Her vambraces were similarly asymmetrical, the left bracer completely covering her arm while the right ended just below the elbow. Perhaps the biggest change was her bottom half, with metal encasing her legs from foot to thigh. Where her skirt should have been were a plain fauld and tasset that allowed her as much freedom as her usual battle attire did.
A long, low whistle and Arturia whipped her head around so hard she almost got whiplash.
"What the hell, King of Knights, that's insane!" barked the newcomer, drawing his hand through his ragged hair as he got up from a hard landing. However excited Arturia was, Cú was five times that, practically vibrating in place like a puppy at the sight of her. And wherever one Lancer was-
"I was not aware you were able to alter your armor like that . Keeping secrets are we?"
-the other Lancer was. Arturia looked over to both Irishmen with a playful smirk that could melt even the coldest hearts into a puddle of flustered water.
"Take care, Diarmuid. You lead me to think you're intimidated," she shot back, only to be answered with a smug smile and and a
" Ha! "
That could only mean Diarmuid was as fired up as a bonfire fed a truckload of gasoline, or so those flame-like irises told her. But everyone knew Arturia would never be one to shy away from such a blaze. Arturia was the kind of warrior who'd jump into an inferno with no hesitation. 'Twas one of the reasons Diar could never possibly tire of her.
"Down, boys."
As if jumping down from the cliff wasn't flashy enough, three armed figures stepped through a barrage of white flowers so dense, one would think Merlin had stolen them straight out of a wedding. Out came the mage, dressed in all white, followed by Kay and Bedivere, who both irritatedly swatted the flowers off their heads as they approached.
Diarmuid was near instantly robbed of Arturia's attention as she welcomed the Round Table members and ushered them towards the Riders for introductions. The two blondes shot him and Cú friendly waves while Kay raised to them a couple of familiar-looking bottles.
It was almost comical how Cú met Diarmuid's eyes and simultaneously shuddered. Just thinking about the hangover that accompanied their last get-together with the two Brits was enough to make his stomach do cartwheels. It was not a pleasant thing to have your ass hauled all the way across town by one Diarmuid. Especially not when his preferred way of travel that night was jumping from roof to roof, an action that had the same stability and gentleness of a bucking bull at the rodeo.
"HOOO! SO YOU ARE THE BROTHER I'VE HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT!"
It took all the knights' strength to not be blown away by the overwhelming amount of decibels this man talked at the default, but they stood their ground despite their hair standing at an odd angle.
"Bollocks, Arturia," Kay sighed, tilting his scarred face to match his sister's eyes. "A warning, next time?"
When he was sure he wasn't deaf in one ear, the Kay took Iskandar's massive, baseball-mitt palm in his and shook once, firmly. Bedivere only had one arm to offer, so Iskandar switched hands and grasped his hand with his left. Finally, Merlin took the outstretched hand in his, an eerie smile on his face as Arturia excused herself to help the lancers with the grill and the kilograms of fish Cú procured from who-knows-where.
The wizard's grip lingered, even when the friendly Iskandar moved to follow the two knights who were finding a seat.
"You might as well not go through with it," the wise wizard warned, the flash of his purplish eyes hinting that the magus saw far more than he let on. "But, oh well! It is hardly my problem who and what you choose to ask!"
The statement left the taller Servant with a raised eyebrow and a mouth slightly agape, but Iskandar, not knowing the true meaning of his words, turned on his heel to join the small group on the mat.
Elsewhere, Arturia and her usual sparring partners had just finished setting up the coals and some tinder.
"Either of you have a light or should I-"
Cú was interrupted by Gae Buidhe and Gae Dearg, the unmistakable deadly whoosh prompting him to jump far enough away for the latter to just nick his nose. Diarmuid clanged his spears together with amusement as Cú clamped a hand over his face like a child who'd run into a wall. Not a second later, fire sprung to life from the sparks of the blades, much to Cú's chagrin and Arturia's entertainment.
"What the fuck, man!? What if that was Gae Buidhe, huh? Want me to bleed to death?" the older knight protested, swatting a laughing Diarmuid in the arm as Arturia clamped fingers to her mouth to stifle a chuckle. Honestly, the two bickered like kids so much that she could almost forget they were hardened warriors. It was...refreshing.
Arturia's eyes widened as she recognized the onyx orbs staring right at her from behind the Lancer pair.
"Oh, where are you off to now, Ar…"
Diarmuid trailed off as his eyes followed her path to its destination: one stoic, cold face he had no desire to be around anytime soon. His heart clenched as the former Berserker dipped to kiss the back of Arturia's hand, and then again to catch the inside of her palm.
Diarmuid turned away before he could see where Lancelot planted his last kiss, but damn if it didn't hurt to hear the tiny little pop as the man's lips left her skin. He tried to ignore the velvet soft ' good evening, my liege' the brooding knight extended to Arturia, his mind needlessly stressing itself over how that same voice could be so cruel only a few days before.
Libertine.
Once, Diarmuid may have had the patience to pretend he hadn't heard the word, to keep on walking with a polite facade, as he often did through the streets of his hometown. At one point he couldn't go anywhere without hearing the word whispered in the corners of rooms, passed between strangers hiding behind open palms. Even the walls of his lord's palace had not kept the insults at bay. He'd find the same cruel words circulating the corridors, following him like a cursed shadow wherever he went. Diarmuid would find solace in the company of his fellow knights and his king...at least until he didn't.
And the one he was most loyal to, the one he devoted his life and service for, would say it himself.
As if his life wasn't punishment enough, his afterlife brought him Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, who was just a horrible, if not worse with handling what was left of Diarmuid's honor.
Needless to say, the spearman no longer had the same forbearance for taking such words, especially not from the absolute tool that dared call himself Arturia's knight. There was an audible snap as Diarmuid's jaw tightened, the gaunt image of the traitorous first knight once again tainting his vision with bloody crimson.
Red. Red. Red overtook his sight like a slow film burn, gradually distorting his surroundings til they were nought but murky puddles and white noise. Voices pitched. And bent. And curved. And wrinkled. And popped. And scrambled. And warped. And- click.
Static.
The lump on his neck bobbed, throat dry and coarse as both id and ego shove his super-ego into the back closet and throw away the key. His thoughts deteriorated, collapsing into naught but the undeniable, imperative, irrepressible urge to drive both his spears straight through Lancelot's mouth.
With tattered flesh where his lips once were and a split tongue dangling uselessly in a pothole of shattered teeth, Diarmuid wondered if Lancelot would still dare insult him to his face. He wondered if Lancelot could still shame him like that.
No, the voice in his head urged. No, he couldn't.
All at once, the frantic pace of his heart stilled to an eerie calm, the frown on his lip curving into an uneven, manic smile as he realized a bonus. With a bloodied face like that, Lancelot wouldn't dare show himself to Arturia wouldn't he?
He stifled a laugh, proud of himself for finding the perfect way to make the traitorous frenchman eat his words. He'd make his suffering painful. He'd make his suffering slow. He'd make his suffering taste like iron, and rust, and blood-
" Oi!"
Diarmuid's head whipped to the side as a slight sting began to settle on his cheek, the red in his vision dissipating faster than the smoke from the barbecue.
...What? ...What was I?
"Oi," Cú repeated, snapping his fingers in a zigzag motion in front of the raven-haired one's face to grab his attention. "Earth to Diarmuid? You there, mate?"
Diarmuid pushed the offending limb away and looked past his friend, only just catching Lancelot tucking a lock of blonde hair behind Arturia's ear.
Eyes narrowing, he turned back to Cú, who was now busy lifting grilled fish off the fire to a waiting platter in Iskandar's hands. He used their distraction to send off his weapons for the time being, only to be horrified at the state of his palms.
Eight bleeding cuts stared back at him, dripping thick red onto the sand between his shoes.
He near scampered off into the seawater, dunking his hands in the salt despite the sting. This was happening often. Too often. He didn't know what he feared more: that the thoughts he must have had were so vile they caused him injury, or the dreaded realization that these wounds were his body's last stand...the only thing keeping him from causing irreparable damage to-
He flinched as cool fingers settled on his shoulder.
For a split-second he swore he saw Arturia's eyebrows knit together, but she quickly replaced the expression with a calm smile.
"The king of Conquerors' drawing the matches for the duels," she informed him, taking no notice of how he shoved his hands in his pockets on their way back. "Food and drinks are ready as well. Should luck be on our side, neither you nor I are up first, otherwise we won't get first pick on Shirou's tonkatsu. "
For one reason or another, Arturia seemed to be scanning the beach for something as they walked, looking up to the cliffs and the stretch of sand on both sides.
Diarmuid mustered a smile with the remainder of the emotional strength he had, and shuffled over to where Bedivere, Kay, and the others were waiting. Iskandar was already shuffling the two fingers he could fit into the tiny fishbowl of names when he got there, and he hoped to hell for the rest of the night to just proceed without incident.
Orange eyes met dark ones, and instantly Diarmuid could feel his blood boil.
His heart pounded as Iskandar lifted two slips of paper from the glass.
Please, Diarmuid pleaded. Not Lancelot.