The fourth Holy Grail War was set in Fuyuki City that year, and had I intended full well to observe it from afar. My father was to participate, and I had to watch; I had to ensure that he would not do something crazy or stupid if he were to win the Grail. Previously, his greatest desire was to reach the root (like any well-seasoned Magus), but over time– that passion seemed to change. It became an obsession and a quest for power I feared he could never control.

Consider me baffled, as when all but one of the Masters for that war were set, and my father was not among them: thus laying to waste the eight long years of my torture, and the next ten years of avoiding pursuers, enduring rumors and having my name dragged through the mud, only to find my father had discarded his quest of the Grail in his search for me.

It only became worse when the prestige Magus, Kayneth Lord El-Melloi, summoned a Servant and sent him after my bounty.

When that Heroic Spirit appeared before me, leaning in with a mystifying allure and telling me to come with him– I merely took a step back. Something was amiss: his face was too beautiful, his copper eyes too bright, and his smile too tantalizing.

There was bewilderment on his stunning features when I darted for my life, worried he was a sexual predator. His movement was too quick, and the realization struck me like a truck– this man was a Servant. There was no escaping his inhuman speed, or wrestling away from his overpowering strength. So I resorted to my telekinesis, and held my own for a few hours until the headache became deplorable, and his persistence remained unyielding.

I begged, I pleaded for him to let me go. My voice was impassioned as I told him he could never understand the repercussions of fulfilling that bullshit bounty. No amount of words or tears moved the man's position, even though there was a tinge of sympathy across his gentle eyes.

"It is not my place to question the legitimacy of your bounty. I am to act upon the orders of my Master, and nothing more." These were the flat and borderline cruel words of the dark, raven-haired man.

And it was then I found myself in front of the blond Englishman, his azure eyes competing with the crystal blues of my own. Banter between the two of us continued, and the bastard and I finally sealed an agreement: Kayneth El-Melloi and his Mistress, Sola-Ui, would refuse to enact returning me to my father in accordance with the bounty. To this they would hold true, only if I were to assist the Lord with his private dealings during and outside the Grail war for three months.

Agreeing to such a thing was detestable, but it allowed me to be safe from my tormentor's hands a while longer. I was trapped in this lousy Hotel, under the watchful eye of the Lancer Servant, until the Grail belonged to Kayneth. Before the war officially started (before the final Servant was yet to be summoned) I challenged the man using flowery language and obnoxious arguments. His Servant boasted that being a Knight, he could not allow my insulting his Master.

What rubbish– but his dedication was admirable. If only I had someone to protect me so devotedly… maybe then–

Well, just as in the past, I was a prisoner once more. Thrust into a magically enhanced room designed to keep me inside, with only a sketchbook and scant literature. I devoured the books (as was my nature) while the Lancer guy remained invisible. The faint obstructive feeling of having eyes on me bothered me beyond belief. So I decided... I would talk to him.

I was answered with silence, which was fine. I was used to carrying a conversation by myself. I got lost in my ramblings, all about how much I loved the stories of Knights, and the medieval eras that he obviously originated from. I revered those tales. My younger self would imagine I was a princess, locked away, waiting for my Knight to rescue me. Not some random prince, as they were usually weak, or obnoxious, based on their family lineage. Only a Knight would suffice: full in armor, trained to fight the masses, and loyal to the suffering.

Still, the Heroic Spirit denied me words. Defeated, I laid to rest. It was only when the bland linens folded over my frail frame, did the Servant show he was listening. Maybe, even, that he cared… however slightly.

—

I was supplied with meagre portions of food. Kayneth spat that I should be used to such small quantities, given I was a runaway. The insult hit home, but I refused to let him get to me. Instead, I quietly took small bites of the dumplings that tasted rather good. Curious, I asked if the hidden Servant would like some. Now, I knew that Heroic Spirits had no need to eat, but I knew they still could. I put emphasis on that, but when my voice only carried through the hotel's walls, I placed the plate on the nightstand.

I was dumbfounded when the plate was empty; only remnants of crumbs remaining. I remember feeling my heart jolt as if it had been zapped. He ate the rest! Maybe we were getting somewhere. Maybe I could get him to trust me, and we could be friends...

We carried on a conversation that day, but the Lancer was short in his replies, brusquely answering questions or contributing non-personal details. When my stomach rumbled, I asked the Spirit to relay the message to Kayneth. Perhaps he would listen to his Servant, and allow me some extra meals.

But the door burst open, and the Magus spewed vile nothings towards me. I was not to speak to his Lancer by any means, nor dare to converse with Kayneth himself. Ridiculous. I could only utter a low apology to the concealed Hero after Kayneth left me to my own devices.

After that, the Servant seemed more cold, and uninterested in me. It was to be expected, but there was a small flutter in my heart I didn't understand. Inspired, I opened my thick sketchbook, with pages filled with years of drawings. On a fresh page, I started a new creation.

—

In the living room area of the Hotel, a woman's happy shrill of excitement signaled the start of the Grail War. Finally, the seventh Servant had been summoned, and the war was to be started. An order came to travel the City, and search for locations with the Servant to engage in our first battle. If I found an agreeable area, I'd be rewarded with food. How lovely.

Accompanied by the trailing, imperceptible Servant, we traveled throughout most of Fuyuki. There were plenty of uninhabited spots, but some were too tight, while others were too dangerous or open. A factory at the edge of the City's waters was the perfect landscape. Plenty of places for Kayneth to conceal himself, while his Servant did battle. We settled, and returned to the Hotel.

On the journey back, I conversed with the Spirit again. As always, he was firm in maintaining his unbroken silence. What was he, a mute? It was so frustrating. Well, Kayneth did say we were to only speak if it involved our little mission, but still…

Afterwards, I was rewarded with the smallest measure of cereal; I would have tossed the bowl and box into the Magus's face, if not for the Servant who threatened me with his golden glare. Sola-ui, the Englishman's betrothed, stated I might be too troublesome to keep along. All of these issues pooled into a deep hatred in my soul that I barely stifled, as I stomped off into my prison room.

—

Lord El-Melloi's plans were to scope out the competition with his familiars, though I hadn't been feeling good that night. I finished the pathetic cereal, and was about halfway through my artwork, when I decided I needed some air. There was a small window in the room, and when I slid the glass upward, I felt the Spirit materialize behind me. He must have thought I was planning to escape, since he graced me with his physical form.

"Relax… I really don't feel too good… I just want some fresh air," I quietly explained.

It was fall then. The waft of air cooled my flushed cheeks, and lightly swayed my long, chestnut-colored locks and side bangs. It was profusely needed, in that dull, cramped room. The Grail War had just begun, and I already could not wait for it to be over; to be rid of that tall, sculpted man behind me. All of a sudden, the air felt like ice, freezing my angered persona. I slammed the pane shut.

The following morning, I was cursing the Magus. Stupid Kayneth. The man had put something in my food as punishment for mouthing off at him so often. If not for the pitiful look of compassion on his Servant's face, I would have lashed out right there. Why was he doing this? What the hell did I do to this pompous ass to be treated in such a foul way? Still, I bit back my anger, and promised the man I'd behave.

During the endless day, I talked with the Servant. He… apologized for Kayneth's abhorrent ways. I wanted desperately to ask him–to beg him–to help me. Instead, I enquired what the Servant's wish was. Surely he could divulge that little tidbit, and to my surprise, he did.

"As I have been summoned, my wish only is to loyally serve my Master, and bring glory to his side through battle for the Holy Grail."

In retrospect, that meant he had no wish. A perplexing thought, as most Heroic Spirits answer the call to the war to achieve, well, something. It was nearly unfathomable, but in a way, sweet. He only wanted to fight for his Lord, and bring him victory… Kayneth was a lucky man. A supremely loyal servant like that was a gift.

What was this man's identity? And why, why did I feel like… like I knew of him somehow? Rejecting the idea of asking him, I returned to that same spot on the bed, and went back to drawing.

Night finally fell, and Lancer was to propose a challenge to the other Servants. I hid on top of the warehouse buildings, shielded by a round ball on the rooftops, while Kayneth concealed himself with a spell. Only a single, blonde-haired servant in a strange black suit answered his request.

Behind her—presumably, her Master—was the most strikingly beautiful woman I had ever seen. Long silver hair rippled in the light breeze; the gigantic chef's type hat on her head was too tall for her small face. What captivated me most were the striking ruby eyes, accentuated by the gleaming white coat.

With my enhancement magic, I heard the woman consult Saber (whose outfit transformed into a fluffy royal blue dress with armor on her hands, chest and feet) that she could only assist her with healing magic. That would be perfect for Lancer to win, knowing there wouldn't be any interference from the enemy Master.

Their battle raged, and beautiful sparks flew in the untraceable movements between the swordsman and the spear man. Kayneth's orders barked here and there, with the usual insult crafted along with them. I watched in awe of their beautiful battle dance. When Lancer's blade cut through Saber's armor, my jaw dropped to the floor. "No way… Lancer is..." Was Lancer's true identity – Diarmuid?

Earlier, before their fight began, Saber mentioned a charm spell. The green-suited Servant responded that it was a curse he was born with. The strange, unfurling pull I felt when I first met him... his confidence that I'd follow the idea so easily… and now a spear that can pierce armor... How did I not notice before? No, I would not jump to conclusions. It was only a guess, and time alone would tell. But if he really was him...

Their fight continued and Lancer indeed had the upper hand: he wounded the Saber, and oddly enough, received a mirroring blow. Kayneth easily mended it (with more vilification, of course) and yet Saber's Master was unable to reciprocate. His true name was finally spoken, and it was as if someone was churning my stomach like a masher molding butter.

It really was him. All of those stories I read… the real figure as my captor… My chest tightened.

Interrupted by dazzling lightning, and a loud crush and roar, another Servant joined the fray. He declared his name proudly: "ISKANDER THE GREAT", leaving me a silent laughing mess. How unreal, this man giving no shits about concealing his identity for the war, then boisterously trying to recruit the two Servants to join him to give him the Grail.

Their responses were priceless. Insanely angry at the thought, Diarmuid faithfully concluded he'd never join him, as he was only here to serve that jerk, Kayneth. The woman exclaimed that she was the great king Arthur... so many theatrics.

Such as a golden-haired servant appearing to add to the fun. He was irate that no one recognized him, while I compared his shockingly similar, pompous attitude to that of Kayneth. Who could this guy be, now?

When all was said and done, we returned to the Hotel. I sat on a bookshelf behind Kayneth as he tore Diarmuid apart for failing to finish off Saber. My heart stung a tad– I thought he had done well. Still, the kneeling Knight simply accepted the rebuke. Why was he so submissive? If he were that Golden Servant, I was certain Kayneth's head would be detached from his body.

I couldn't listen to the yammering of Kayneth's wife, who shared my opinion. However, the blaring of sirens and the ringing phone stopped me in my tracks. Arson. Someone—likely the Master of Saber—was setting the gigantic building on fire.

Diarmuid and I had been assigned the task to greet them. We traveled the empty hallways, and yet nothing indicated that the pair were here. It was the most eerie feeling I had ever experienced. Something wasn't right.

The decision was made that we would check the perimeters for them, and yet: in the dark alleyways of the night, there was no sign of any enemies nearby. Diarmuid's knife-sharp senses found no traces. So what—

It was then the explosive sound sent shockwaves through my body. My hair spun in every direction. Large, strong arms wrapped around me, and catapulted us into the stars, while dust and smoke engulfed us.

"I must check on Kayneth!" Diarmuid's smooth voice stated. He hesitated."Come." He leaned on his haunches, signaling for me to climb on. I debated it for half a second, before crawling onto his muscular back.

Kayneth of course was fine. His hydro/mercury or something rather magic was strong enough to withstand the crash of a demolished building, now reduced to rubble. He ordered us to find a safe place for when the rescuers would discover the ball of steel they were hidden in, that was still buried beneath the debris.

There was so much dead air between me and the dematerialized Servant, that it left the blank portion of my mind room to think. Was that woman really crazy enough to sink an entire tower to beat her enemy? She just didn't seem to fit the part… for how many lives could have been lost in—

It was here, that I remember the relationship between me and the Lancer finally changing. I froze in place, thinking of what was left behind in the junk of that Hotel. The collapsed building went down with my heart and soul. Years of emotions and memories in a single, worn sketchbook.

"Diarmuid!" I fell to my knees, the cool cement of the park's sidewalk digging into my skin. "Please, please…! You're a Spirit… you can... can you please search for my sketchbook?!"

The servant materialized in front of me, and my tear-brimmed eyes met with empathetic gold hues. "In no way… would that book survive the fires, and the crushing of that establishment."

"No! Please! You don't understand, everything… everything that is me is in that notebook…! Can't you try…? Please…!"

The Servant's eyes softened, but his tone was firm. "I cannot, now we must—"

"No! It's not that you can't! It's that you WON'T," I blurted, banging my fists into the dirt. "Why, why are you so cruel?! You… and Kayneth…! I never did anything, to anyone. Yet I am being treated like shit! Aren't you a Knight ?! You're supposed… to protect innocence…! All.. all I asked is that you help me, just this once! Please!"

I'd never broken down like that before. It was the worst feeling I could ever imagine. All the anguish and suffering I felt from years of torture, from prolonged running away (always in fear of being returned to my father, who had performed so many evils on me in a warped endeavour to train me to heal them away). I had lost every positive thought, all memory of the beautiful things I had seen, in a stupid devastation of a building. Was I cursed to suffer endlessly?

Diarmuid pitied me; I could feel it in the stare that was fixated on my quivering frame. I waited for the Heroic Spirit to curse me, attack me, or drag my ass from the pavement and demand I get moving.

However, his voice was calm, collected, "I will go look," he turned away from my bewildered and stained countenance, then added, "And we shall not speak of this to Master Kayneth."

—

The way that the Haley woman spoke to me rattled my heart. So much so, that I had purposely turned away from our mission to retrieve a book I knew was long lost in the aftermath of a demented attack.

There was little time for my search, so I worked through the heavy debris in my spirit form, doing the impossible. Shifting through the railings, dismantled bars and glass, I swore that what I was attempting was nothing short of useless.

As expected, I had come up empty. At least I could admit I had tried for the Lady that desperately bore tears to find this… "sketchbook…"

I materialized in the rubble, as broken material collapsed off my frame. A small, magical light enveloped a familiar book. I knelt down and lifted the fragile, battered book into my palms. The woman could have mentioned it would be protected by magic.

Curiosity set forth as to why this worn tool was so precious, and I opened it to the first page. My mouth parted at the gorgeous replica of a sunflower field, sketched wonderfully into the faded paper. I flipped through marvelous artwork of different terrains and people. Further into the craftsmanship, a few phrases were written over some imagery.

"I will be free…. and freedom will be beautiful." A detailed hand was outstretched for this one.

"No one will come to my rescue, only I can be my strength." This had an illustration of Haley, with an empowering fist at her chest. All the while, the question began to bloom like a fragile flower…

Rescue her from... what...?

There were many empowering phrases that I read as I became lost in her work. I carefully perused each delicate thought she had, and each beautiful, emotional image, until I reached the final page. It was a great replica–unfinished–of myself, kneeling. Above my image lay the words, "Strong. Dedicated. Loyal. The perfect Knight. Who... are you?"

I stared endlessly at those words, as if they would leap off the page to embrace me. How long had I yearned for someone to believe I could be loyal? A perfect Knight? I had purposely traveled through time and space to be summoned to prove myself. Yet I had not even started, and this… woman who I had done nothing for, would say such things of me? Why...?

I felt a smile tugging at my lips then, and I burst through the remnants of the Hotel, to return to the woman. I would express my gratitude, and of course ask how she could think such things of me.

Upon arriving at the park where she waited in a little huddled ball in the grass—lined with despair and dried tears—I extended to her the sketchbook. Her look of pure astonishment and appreciation overtook my troubled heart.

She snatched her artwork from me and hugged that book like it was her lifeline. All I could do was offer her my delighted smile, as she broke into further tears. "I'm… sorry... I'm sorry for… I'm sorry for yelling at you. You just… have no idea.. The things I've endured… and how everything that happened after was put into this sketchbook to help relieve that pain... I..."

The woman looked up at me, those crystal orbs begging me for something I could not quite place, "…recorded it all in this book."

"Tell me… are... are you really... Diarmuid ua Duibnne? The real... Legend one...?"

This question caught me by surprise: something this lady had done more and more often. I nodded, as the inquiry was quite absurd. "Indeed. I am no other. Why do you ask?"

Haley's somber eyes told a story I didn't yet know, as they wandered over to the fields of grass. I awaited the answer she pondered. The smallest hint of a smile touched upon on her little lips, as she whispered the words I could have replayed in my mind forever:

"Because... Diarmuid ua Duibhne is…

My Hero."

I knooow, there could have been more. There is more. But let's just say, I would not have the time to write this fully. So I summarized it through the eyes of Diarmuid and Haley. And let's just say... when Dia's "death" happens, well, some changes in Fate come forth. And hopefully, it's obvious that Haley read the stories of Diarmuid as a little girl, hoping she would have a Knight save her, and relates to his tragic tale. If you want more of Haley's backstory, feel free to read Arena for the Dead!

Not some of my best writing, but I like it. Hehe. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this little snippet of my little version of events in Fate Zero!