Chapter 3

"Do you believe in ghosts, Archer?" Saber had not been able to sleep. Always in the corner of her vision, the bride which had first greeted her in this house. The bar seemed as good as place as any to pass the early morning hours, and it seemed that Gilgamesh had thought the same.

The King of Heroes admitted to himself that he had been laid back recently where it concerned Saber. Contrary to his usual nature, very much so. (Especially compared to his unique and violent proposal just a few days ago.)

As unbelievable as it sounded, he did have a way with people (he just preferred to dictate). So, in his wisdom he sensed in this scenario that moderation was the way to go. They had years, after all. He could afford to stomach a little wait for his best friend. Just like how he used to wait for another person a long time ago. And what was the saying? You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Well, who's to say you can't use both?

"Eṭemmu," he clarified. "My understanding of 'ghosts' is a little different from yours. They were the souls of our ancestors come back to cause misfortune when surviving relatives neglected their duties to the dead."

Saber nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I don't believe in ghosts."

Gilgamesh placed a hand on her shoulder and reminded her conspiratorially, "Then how do you explain your hallucinations? I see you the way you twitch sometimes. The way your eyes dilate."

Shrugging his hand off, she replied, "Then you watch me way too closely. Besides," she added, rubbing her arms, "I don't believe in ghosts. I believe in signs."

He raised his eyebrows and went to lean back over the counter to take another sip of wine. "Indeed, you are much more interesting than Kotomine. My suspicions were correct."

Saber rolled her eyes. "Because that is my goal, to serve as your entertainment."

"It is a deep compliment."

"Well," she replied, hopping down, "as stimulating as this conversation is for you, I think I'm ready for bed again."

"Shall I tuck you in?"

With a warning glare, she walked away. She found that her mind was in fact no longer occupied by thoughts of ghosts, and she attributed it to the sparkling water she had, and not the interaction with Archer.

Gilgamesh for once felt at a loss. He did not recognize his surroundings. A white haze curled around the edges of his sight. Could it be...a dream?

He was seated at a round wooden table along with a company of other men, eleven in all, among thirteen chairs. The sun spilled into the stone room from windows high above them. A tower then.

The rest of his questions were answered when another figure joined them. The hair, the color of his robes, were familiar, and he realized where he was, or better yet, in which time he had been dropped.

The king moved with a supernatural grace. Though shorter than everyone else in the room, he seemed taller than life, as if plucked out of the pantheon of the gods. Dressed in blue and gold, with light reflecting off his immaculate armor, he crossed the room, a neutral expression never leaving his face. His knights quickly stood and bowed, and even Gilgamesh found himself following suit. Then their lord sat down, inviting the rest to do the same.

"Sir Bedivere," he began in his androgynous tone. And Gilgamesh found that the king was speaking to him. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." Then addressing the entire room, Arthur continued, "I would also like to congratulate Lancelot for driving the Saxons away from our marshes. His courage was unparalleled."

"Lancelot this, Lancelot that!" a knight interrupted. "That's all I hear. I realize everyone thinks that he's god's gift to chivalry, but he is not braver than I!"

Everyone froze, except for the King who weaved his fingers together. "Brumand," he spoke, "Watch your words. If you dishonor a knight in this room, you also dishonor me."

"No!" Brumand spit. "I've had it. For all of Lancelot's bravery, he has not dared sit there!" He pointed at the last empty seat, which Merlin had reserved for the knight who would achieve the grail, and representative of the seat that Judas, the Betrayer, had vacated.

"Do not do it," Gilgamesh found himself saying. "You do not have to prove yourself to us."

Brumand, overcome with mania, looked at King Arthur, searching for what, Gilgamesh could not guess. But apparently, he did not find it in the King's stapled gaze.

Lancelot watched the exchange, and as if knowing how this would end, he bowed his head.

"I'll prove it to you all!" Brumand declared, standing up. He hurried over and threw himself at the mercy of the Siege Perilous. "See!" he laughed. "I'm worthy! The grail is as good as mine!"

But as soon as he said those words, he faltered. He reached for his neck, seemingly choking. The knights looked away, except for Sir Bedivere and King Arthur.

Gilgamesh watched the man turn red and sputter to his death, his head at last echoing off the table, his body unmoving.

...

King Arthur sighed.

Gilgamesh came to, facing the ceiling. The dream was so realistic he had to remind himself where he was. Was it a vision? It must have been, but if so, by what power was it shown to him? And why?

Turning on his side, he found himself less interested in the reason than the actual contents of the vision. The sight of his soon to be bride in her own element—or should he say in her own façade—was magnificent. For it was a façade. Her dress was wrong. Her voice was different. The eyes, though, they stayed the same. Determined and so resolute in how right they were.

Yes, he certainly hoped for more visions. It was very revealing. After all, it's only natural to want to know everything about what is yours.