Chapter Six

A Feast for Kings

Queen Guinevere turned from the window and Arturia met her sad, grey eyes.

"You are off to battle then?" Guinevere sighed the words, as though she were tired of them before she'd even uttered them.

Arturia lifted her chin, maintaining her stoicism, one hand cradling the wrist of her other, gauntleted hand. "Yes. I will do what must be done."

"What must be done, is it?" Guinevere's mouth quirked upward into a mirthless, almost bitter smile. Then she turned back to the window.

When she said nothing more, Arturia sighed and, letting her hands fall at her sides, she then gave a slight bow, laying a hand over her heart. "I shall return when the battle is won, my lady queen." Then she straightened and turned smartly on her heel, taking up the sheathed Excalibur and fastening it to her belt.

At the door, she heard Guinevere speak her name, and it gave her pause.

"And Lancelot…he rides with you?"

"Of course. He is the noblest, most loyal, and purest of all of my Knights of the Round Table, followed closely by Sir Bedevere."

"Yes…that he is…."

But Guinevere sounded far away.

Arturia looked at her one last time, tried to see the youthful, golden maiden she had first met on the day of their wedding…the wedding that had gone on for seven days in celebration…but all she could see was the withered beauty of a woman forced to share Arturia's destiny of casting off her humanity and her womanhood for the sake of their kingdom.

They were two of them women who had both had lives carved out for them that denied them to embrace even a single scrap of their femininity. Well, Guinevere at the very least could wear the shell of a woman, but like Arturia, she was forbidden from experiencing a woman's inner life, starved of a normal person's romance and human feeling for someone to love.

Unable to think of anything to say, even if, for once, she wanted to be able to comfort her like any human being, Arturia gave no reply and turned away again, descending the stone steps to the castle keep below.

At the bottom, she was met first by none other than Lancelot, and Arturia felt a frisson at his appearing when she and Guinevere had just been speaking of him.

"Lancelot," she said, because there was nothing else to say. She wasn't really one for small talk. It was hard to find it in herself to get close to anyone when so much of her had to be tucked away from the world. It was better to remember her place and keep herself to herself. As long as her knights and soldiers saw that she stood fearless, they would have heart, and she could lead them to the light in this time of darkness.

Lancelot cleared his throat. "Sire," he began. "I…I have…a qualm or two."

Arturia managed something of a smile. She always could for Lancelot. Of all of the Knights, he had been fighting under her command the longest, back when she still indulged in carefree moments now and then. "You? The brave and gallant Lancelot? Has a qualm or two?"

She approached her horse in the courtyard of the keep, and Lancelot followed.

"Well, it's only…I…."

It took a moment for Arturia to realize that Lancelot was no longer following her. She turned, and saw him run his fingers through his long dark hair. He even looked a little paler than usual, his eyes a little more melancholy.

Was he actually…nervous?

She worked up her smile again, encouraging in the only way she knew how to be, and closed the gap between them. Given her petite stature compared to how tall he was, she could only reach up to his forearm, but she gripped it nonetheless.

"We have justice on our side this day, my friend," she told him. "We will be victorious. Never fear."

Lancelot ran his hand down to the back of his head, idly brushing at the length of hair that fell to his shoulders. And then the corner of his mouth twitched.

"You are the pure light of the sun, sire," he said sincerely. "I pray that it never fades."

Yet he still seemed sad somehow. Perhaps it was because even between them, Arturia could never build anything like true friendship.

To be king is to be alone.

Even so, she could still be kind, gracious and benevolent.

She released Lancelot's arm and held out her hand for him to shake. "Come. We shall ride out together. I need you at my side. I always do."

"Of course, sire," said Lancelot, accepting her hand. "I go where you go."

That day they rode out to the battle against the invading Norsemen more gloriously than ever. Artruria cried out for her forces to follow her to the edge of hell, and they raised their swords and shouted, prepared to do so without hesitation. Their swords and shield shined silver in the sun, and despite the blood and gore, mud and sweat that painted them, they were victorious, and the king held a feast of triumph that night, as was expected of a king.

But that night, she learned everything, when she turned that corner, deep past midnight when she was wakeful. There was Guinevere and Lancelot, locked in lovers' embrace, Lancelot murmuring reassurances in Guinevere's ear. And then Guinevere spotted Arturia over Lancelot's shoulder and gasped. Lancelot turned and he too saw, his expression crumbling.

Yet Arturia could not find any anger in her heart. Only sadness. Only pity for her friend, and pity for her wife went without saying.

"Sire…" Lancelot started, his voice falling away.

Guinevere covered her mouth, looked away, ashamed.

Lancelot tried and failed again to speak, opening and closing his mouth. He gave up and dropped his eyes to the stone floor.

"You do not understand," he murmured.

Arturia said nothing.

Then Lancelot snapped his head up, and actually glared at her. Even Guinevere seemed frightened.

"You do not understand," Lancelot repeated. "How could you? When you are a king who does not understand how others feel? Does not want to or care to?"

Arturia, having no reply, and curling into herself, only turned with a sweep of her deep blue mantle and didn't look back.

Behind her, she heard Lancelot call out with one last desperately hoarse cry that echoed against the stone walls.

"ARTHUR!"

But Arturia kept walking, putting it behind her.

And when dawn broke, Lancelot had gone from Camelot.

The sudden ripple that broke through at the clamoring arrival of another enemy Servant jerked Saber out of her reverie. Her head snapped up, returning to herself as she'd been patrolling the dark halls of Einzbern castle. Her instincts kicked in, her whole body taut and alert.

She had to find where Irisviel had wandered off to.

Something in her made it possible for her to find her lady charge swiftly. No sooner had had she rounded the next corner at a sprint than she discovered Irisviel had fallen to her knees along the wall across from a broken window. When Saber reached her, Irisviel looked as though she was in pain.

"Irisviel!" Saber knelt down beside her. "Are you all right?"

Irisviel caught her breath, as the pain she seemed to have appeared to pass. "Yes, I'm fine." She wiped a bit of sweat that had beaded on her brow with the back of her hand. "I just wanted to see, how bad it was, when Kiritsugu fought here…."

Saber felt a hitch in her throat. For some reason seeing how much Irisviel's thoughts went out to her husband when he was gone from the castle like this tugged at something in her chest. Her mind briefly touched back to her ruminations from a few moments ago, about the life she and Guinevere had shared, and how terribly that had unfolded. She couldn't help but compare it to what Irisviel and Kiritsugu seemed to share between them, even if she only saw mere glimpses of it, and realized that that was why she felt that aching tug at her heart.

They had what she and Guinevere never did, never could. Somehow…they made it work.

"Irisviel…."

"They waited," said Irisviel, referring to the Servant that had just crashed in, her eyes drifting up to the moonlit windows in the hall. "They waited until Kiritsugu was gone to strike."

Saber helped Irisviel to her feet. "Stay close. Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you."

Then Irisviel smiled, warm as sunlight. "I know, Saber. I know you won't."

At that moment, something very large made a resounding crash into the very castle that made the whole structure shake. Saber and Irisviel looked at each other and then nodded, and Saber summoned her armor.

After ordering the Einzbern maids to hide down below in the cellars, they followed the source of the commotion to the castle's entrance hall, and standing atop the grand staircase they were met with the sight of none other than Rider—or Isakandar, if you preferred—in his oxen-pulled chariot. He wasn't wearing his own armor, surprisingly, but instead wearing modern jeans and a t-shirt that bore the image of what looked like a map of the world, but Saber couldn't really tell. Actually, she was more baffled by the immense barrel he had balanced on his shoulder with one arm.

She regained her faculties quickly however, shaking her head and blinking. "Rider! What are you doing here?" she demanded, still puzzled by the huge grin the ruddy King of Conquerors had on his face.

"Why, I came to see your castle," Rider declared as though immensely proud of it, his voice carrying easily in the grand entrance hall. He even thumped his chest with his free fist to emphasize the point. Then he knitted his brows in obvious confusion. "But why are you in your armor? Why aren't you in your snappy suit and tie? Were you planning on fighting someone?"

He's genuinely confused as to why I would don armor when an enemy Servant like himself comes knocking…. Saber mentally face-palmed at Rider's seeming thick-headedness.

"Come now, I come bearing alcohol!" Rider grinned again, his eyes bright and eager, almost like a teenager who can't wait to party. Then he glanced about the entrance hall and pulled a face. "It's kinda gloomy in here though. Don't you have someplace a little more befitting of a banquet?"

Saber and Irisviel exchanged bemused and bewildered expressions, then looked back at Rider. Only then did Saber take note of Rider's Master—a boy who couldn't be more than seventeen years of age—crouched and quivering behind his Servant in the oxen-pulled chariot. His dark hair, grown past his ears, reminded Saber of this one altar boy she used to see every day at the church near where she grew up, his nose smudged with inks from how closely and intently he bent over the scrolls he'd diligently be writing on as he pursued his studies as a religious scribe.

Then Irisivel took Saber's arm. "Maybe we should take him up on his offer."

Saber raised an eyebrow at Irisviel. "Do you really think that's wise?"

"I don't sense any hostility. What about you?"

"No, you're right, I don't sense any either. He seems perfectly genuine in his cordiality."

"Besides…maybe we can discern something of value just from having such an exchange." And Irisviel's mouth curved up rather slyly.

Saber raised her eyebrows and then smiled in praise. "That's a good point. Good thinking."

"Let's use the garden," Irisivel suggested. "I'd prefer this were done out in the open air. Just in case."

Saber nodded. "Right." She turned to Rider. "Rider, we accept your offer of drink and conversation. If you'll just follow us this way?"

Out in the middle of the garden, where the stone paths crisscrossed perpendicular to each other, Saber and Rider sat where they met in the middle. Irisivel and Rider's Master kept on the sidelines, understanding that Rider intended this to be a conversation "strictly between kings".

Saber arranged herself rather as someone native to this land would, on her knees with her skirt of cloth and armor arranged about her, her hands folded in her lap, her back ramrod straight. She gave Rider a very serious look, but Rider appeared unfazed. He looked almost gleeful as he punched through the lid of the wine barrel, rather than simply prying it open like any sane person would. Then again, few people had Rider's obviously immense strength.

He scooped up some into a wooden cup attached to a long handle, and partook of it, as though testing its taste. Satisfied, he scooped up another cupful and handed it to Saber.

Saber took it, never breaking her gaze from Rider's. She wondered if he was curious to see how well she held her drink.

She was on the edge of smiling as she thought, You're about to find out. For in those days of feasting in the halls of Camelot, she had acquired a rather great tolerance to all the ale she drank, which was a bit of a marvel given her size. Of course, she had felt obligated to put her efforts into training herself to be able to hold her own in the art of drinking other people under the table, as it were, so that she could drink as a man would, but handle it like a king, never letting the drink degenerate her into a sorry and ill-befitting state of inebriation.

She quaffed the wine Rider offered her now in one go, letting the fruity bouquet fill her nostrils as the liquid slid silkily down her throat, leaving behind that slight burn that only alcohol could. Then she handed the emptied cup back.

Not even the faintest buzz yet. What child's play.

Rider took the emptied cup from her, and she thought he might've looked just a little impressed. Or at least pleased that she might very well be up to drinking with the likes of him.

Then he said, "I've been thinking…perhaps we need not shed blood in order to determine who is worthy of the Grail. Perhaps we might find another way."

"Is that so?" said Saber, lifting her eyebrows at him. "Then what do you propose instead?"

"Well…I thought we could figure it out right here, by simply comparing our rankings. We could have what you might call a 'Grail Dialogue', instead of a War."

Saber surveyed him with her keen green eyes, trying to figure his game. "Hmmm…."

Nearby there was a shimmer of golden light, and Saber and Rider both looked at where they were joined by the Servant Archer, materializing out of Spirit Form, and like Saber, he had come dressed in the full regalia of his armor, garish as it was. Even in the pale silver light of the moon and stars, that armor shone like sun.

"That is quite enough nonsense from you mongrels, I think," Archer drawled with disdain as he approached the two sat in the middle of the garden.

Saber tensed when he reached them, narrowing her eyes at him. "Archer, what do you want?"

But Rider had an answer for that, and he massaged the back of his neck with his free hand. "Um…well, I ran into him on the way here, and I thought, 'Why the hell not?'" Then he flashed Archer his cheery grin. "Glad you could make it, Goldy."

Archer's nose wrinkled, probably at Rider's sobriquet, but seemed to ignore it in favor of letting his eyes—a garnet shade of crimson that reminded Saber of snake's eyes—rake over the vicinity of the garden. "This place is rather depressing for a banquet. I hope you have something in mind that doesn't waste my time." He addressed this last back to Rider, the merest of threats in his voice.

"Relax, Goldy, and have a drink." Rider had scooped up some more wine and offered it up to Archer.

Archer regarded the drink with distaste a moment before wordlessly accepting the cupful. He took a sip, and smacked his lips once before grimacing. "Ugh…what is this disgusting swill? You call this a drink that befits a king?" He thrust the rest of the wine back at Rider.

Rider took it back, looking a little crestfallen as he considered it. "Really? It seemed to me to be the best that was on offer at the city market today."

"You would," Archer sneered. "You have no discerning taste when it comes to drink, do you? Stupid mongrel."

As Archer waved his hand and made a circle of gold light appear—a circle not unlike the ones from which he had seemed to draw a myriad of weapons from another dimension when they first laid eyes on him in the shipyards—Saber glared even harder at him, not at all approving of the way Archer threw his weight around. For her part, she thought the drink had had a rich bite to it that was the mark of any decent red wine.

Meanwhile, Archer produced a golden pitcher and three golden cups from the circle of light he'd conjured. As the circle disappeared, he tossed the cups to Rider, who caught them all deftly in one hand.

"Allow me to treat you to a true drink of kings," said Archer, his mouth quirking up wryly as he handed Rider the golden pitcher.

Rider raised an eyebrow at him and then poured wine for both him, Saber, and Archer. Whatever skepticism he possessed though was blown away by a gasp of surprise when he took a sip of Archer's wine.

"By the gods! You weren't kidding, Archer! This is ambrosial, to say the least!"

Saber glanced between Rider and her own gobletful of wine, finding herself curious in spite of herself. So she too took a sip and…

…divine.

That one word blossomed in her mind like a rose at the taste of the lusciously crimson drink. There was a plummy lusciousness to it that bespoke of grapes grown in a brightly colored and exotic place, perhaps the biblical Garden of Eden itself. It sparkled on her tongue, glittered like rubies, reaching the neurons in her brain like fireworks turned to starlight.

At that tiny taste, she too sucked in her breath in surprise, staring in amazement at the rest of the liquid in her cup. Then she caught Archer looking at her over his own cup as he'd taken a seat on the ground between her and Rider, and there was something searing about the redness of his very serpentine eyes. It made her shiver and withdraw into herself, narrowing her green eyes back at him, daring him to keep staring at her like that.

To which he responded with a smirk before looking away.

Saber dropped her eyes back to the wine in her cup, and suddenly the liquid seemed to her more like blood than anything else.

"Well Archer," Rider was saying, already pouring himself more, "this sample of wealth from your—what did you call it? Your treasure house? It's most impressive."

"Of course it is," said Archer, as though it were obvious. "Every treasure known to both gods, men, and devils traces their origins back to my treasure house. You could say that I alone contain all that is golden and glittering in the universe, and more. More than that, you not only could say it, but you should, for it is entirely true. You want to puzzle out from a mere conversation who is truly worthy to win the Grail? You need look no further than myself. In fact, even the Holy Grail counts itself among my many prizes."

Rider and Saber stared at him.

"You mean…you've seen the Holy Grail? Held it in your very hands?" Rider asked.

"No, but it is mine by virtue of the fact that I am master of the universe," Archer said simply. "And I can assure you, it is no mere drinking cup."

Rider let out a guffaw. "Well, of course it's not!"

Archer furrowed his golden brow at him, as though every bit of Rider's large-hearted nature offended him in some way. Then his expression turned even more pinched when Rider went on to ask him what his wish for the Grail might be. So Archer went on and on with some drivel about how somehow it was insulting for Rider to ask him such a thing. Saber supposed it was because he already (in his mind at least) owned all that was creation (which was just nonsense to believe so no matter who you were in the history books) and things like mere wishes were beneath him. Or something.

Saber scoffed at him, regardless.

Archer didn't miss it, his ears pricking up at how casually she batted away his declarations.

"Your words are no different than Caster's insane ramblings, Archer," Saber dismissed, ignoring the incensed yet quiet flame growing in Archer's eyes as she sipped more of his wine.

Yet unlike with Rider, Archer made no comment where Saber's offenses against him were concerned. Saber continued to avoid his gaze, getting the feeling that underneath that serpentine coolness, he was actually rather fascinated. It would follow that he would be the sort of man who had regarded women as beautiful objects to drape across his body and nothing more, never imagining that one would fling his words right back at him.

Rider meanwhile was laughing again, pouring himself a third cup. "Well, that all may be the case, Archer, but you forget that I am the King of Conquerors, and I welcome the challenge of simply taking your treasure house by force and plundering all it contains within. When I see something I desire, I reach out, and grasp a hold of it for myself. And if I have to struggle in order to grasp it, all the better."

Saber raised her eyebrows at this. "You would just…take something that isn't yours? Just because you desire it?" She punctuated her question with smacking the base of her gold and emptied cup on the stone ground, unconcerned with the way Archer and Rider were both now staring at her. "Tell me then, oh King of Conquerors: what wish would you ask of the Grail?"

Unexpectedly, Rider's cheeks colored at this, and it had nothing to do with the wine, even as he downed his third cup in one go in his hesitation before answering. And even then, he said it more to the empty space beside him than to either of them, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

"Reincarnation," he muttered.

Saber and Archer both frowned in perplexity at this, as Rider's young master suddenly came up from behind, waving his arms about and exclaiming, "What? What the hell? I thought your quest was for world domination!"

To which Rider backhanded his Master, flipping him backward ass over tea kettle before he landed hard on his back with a groan.

"Idiot!" Rider snapped at him, bristling. "Conquering the world is something for me to accomplish! And me alone! I won't have a wish-granting device do it for me! World conquest is my dream to make true. However…." He softened, considering the hand he'd used to backhand his Master with. (Would things could be that easy between me and Kiritsugu, Saber allowed herself to think a little wistfully.) "As a Heroic Spirit, I am only granted temporary form and substance in this present world of the living. In truth I am nothing more than air, a ghost. But to be real and honest flesh and blood again…." He closed his hand into a fist. "That is what I wish of the Holy Grail, to start life anew and build a new empire, brick by brick, as I did in my old life. Starting from the bottom and working my way up…that's the most exciting part."

Rider's Master frowned as he rubbed his backside, but he said nothing more.

Archer actually snorted into his cup. "My, my, Rider. I am thoroughly going to enjoy destroying you."

This brought back Rider's good humor though, and he gave Archer a glance with a gleam in his eye. Or maybe that was just the wine.

"I look forward to it," he told him.

As Archer answered with a smirk, Saber took another sip of drink.

"This is all hardly befitting the behavior of a true king," she said.

"Oh?" Rider raised his eyebrows and set aside the pitcher as he'd poured himself yet another drink. "Then tell us, Saber, what would you wish for?"

Saber looked at the two of them, a little caught off guard in spite of herself by the directness of the question. Still, she supposed to she owed an answer.

With a sigh she set aside her cup again. "What I would wish for…would be my country's salvation. I would wish Briton saved from the ruin that befell her."

For a moment her mind flashed grimly to her own death, the mortal wounds she had sustained in her fight-to-the-death against Mordred, draining her life away as she knelt on the hill of despair, bodies of the dead laid before her as far as the dawn-touched horizon.

But she was snapped out of her reverie when Rider said, "Wait…let me see I have this right…you would reverse the fate of the nation you ruled? Erase the mark you have made on history?"

Saber lifted her eyes to his. "Yes. I would."

"And this nation…Briton…you say it fell to ruin during your reign?"

"Yes. And I regret it sorely."

There was a snicker of laughter at this from Archer.

Saber flicked a glare at him. "Archer. What is so funny?"

"Ha ha!" Archer crowed, tipping back his head. "You call yourself a king? And are praised by all as such? And you say you have regrets? Oh, it's just too much!"

Before Saber knew it she'd shot to her feet, the rage rising with a roar inside of her, her fists clenching. "How dare you?" she growled. "Why do you mock my despair?!"

"He makes a fair point though…Saber," said Rider.

"What?!" Saber snapped, turning on him.

But Rider had suddenly become uncharacteristically sober while Archer was still choked with laughter.

"To say that you regret your life as king," said Rider, "I find your lack of pride disappointing, King of Knights."

"Yes? And what would you know of it? You who lavished in greed and pleasure and took whatever you liked as you expanded your empire, only to have it all shattered to pieces by your weaker successors. A king must have a just rule, with just laws. You're nothing more than a tyrant."

"A tyrant is at least better than a figurehead!"

When Rider looked up at her again, his eyes burned with something Saber hadn't seen before, and she took a step back.

"In life, as king," said Rider, "I followed my own path, my own dreams, and compelled my empire to follow me to the ends of the earth for them. Yes, some dreams failed to come true, and others led to nothing but ruin before and after my death, but to actually regret all of that? Let alone undo it all!

"Yes, I am grieved by its eventual destruction. I mourn it, and will shed tears over it, but I will not regret it! To do so would insult the lives of those who bled and fought and died beside me!

"But you…Saber…seem to have been blinded by the idea of asserting yourself a noble and humble king who lived only to serve others, yet when you made your sacrifices and left your legacy behind, there was no one left to save those who had survived the calamity. That is where and why your Briton fell."

Saber was trembling, but she lifted her chin. "Kings are martyrs to their ideals."

"I see." Rider shook his head. "That is no way for a person to live."

"If I rule a nation as king," said Saber quietly, "I cannot expect to live as a person."

"No. To live as a king and not embrace all that life has to offer, and live richly, and more grandly than anyone else…that is the worst thing you could have done. Meanwhile those who followed you were left to fend for themselves without hope while you went off and followed your pretty little ideals to the end."

Saber stared at him, her mouth gone dry. And then Lancelot's words echoed back to her.

"You do not understand. How could you? When you are a king who does not understand how others feel? Does not want to or care to?"

She found herself back on the hill of death again, watching the last sunrise that she would ever see, and finding its beauty so cold and so empty, as though the world itself had come to an end.

Meanwhile, Rider went on burning with anger at her, and Saber was seeing him for what he really was, at his core.

"You may indeed have saved them," he told her, "but you never led them! It is clear to me now that you are no true king. You're just a little girl."

That last struck Saber to the heart. Because…that might have been her greatest fear…that after everything she had been through, she had still been no different than the little girl who had cried helplessly the first time she'd picked up a sword and had been beaten soundly, weak as she was in the frail body she had believed to be so because she was female.

She could hear that little girl again, crying as Sir Ector showed her no mercy, shouting at her to quit her sniveling and get back on her feet.

"What kind of king cannot even stand on his own two feet?"

Everything…everything she had fought so hard to overcome…her weakness, her own desires, her doubt and fear in herself…she had come out no better for it for all her efforts…leaving Guinevere broken, Lancelot gone forever, and Mordred dead by her hand…dead when it was her fault Mordred came for her in the first place.

She knew that now.

She had always known it was her fault, but…having it put this way…she realized….

Maybe…maybe I should never…maybe I should never have been….

She felt her quaking knees threatening to buckle beneath her.

Then Archer's laugh snapped her out of her thoughts, which just served to piss her off.

"What is so funny?" she demanded of him through ground teeth.

Archer, unfazed, gave her mocking yet inviting smile. "I was just enchanted by the look of anguish on your face. It's one that I have seen on a many a virgin who used to shower flower petals in my bed." He lowered his golden eyelashes softly. "A woman after my own heart."

"You…."

Then the court filled with a shadow that came like a breath, and suddenly one by one there appeared shade after shade, all of them masked and of varying sizes and shapes. But they all spoke in one voice.

"We are all of us…many…we are many…all of us…and one."

"Assassin!? I thought he died!" Rider's Master exclaimed, his voice cracking.

"Clearly not," said Saber under her breath, her shock and weakness forgotten in the face of this unexpected danger.

Irisviel ran over and grabbed her by the arm. "Saber…."

Rider's Master had gone to his Servant's side, dancing on the spot in panic. "What the hell!? Why are there so many Assassin's here!?" he wailed.

Archer was glancing around at all the Assassins assembled and ready to spring with scarlet serpentine eyes. "Tokiomi…you cur…" he muttered.

But while Saber, Irisviel, Archer, and Rider's Master bristled with tension, Rider seemed quite at ease. He even laughed and jovially invited Assassin to partake of their wine. To which Assassin replied by firing at and destroying the cup he'd raised to them.

That was when Rider got serious. When he stood, he let loose a burst of power, a whirlwind that Saber had to shield her eyes against. As she opened them, she saw that he had donned his rich red mantle and armor.

"Saber!" he called without turning around. "I have one more question: does the king always stand alone?"

Despite what Rider had told her, Saber swallowed, determined to stand her ground. She wasn't about to let him tear her apart all over again.

"The king," she said, "must indeed be alone. Always!"

"No, no." Rider shook his head. "You obviously don't understand. Allow me to show you then…."

The world burst open into hot, golden light. Saber had to squint against the garishness, as Irisviel clutched her arm tighter. When their eyes adjusted, they took in their surroundings in amazement, finding themselves on a vast desert plain carpeted with miles and miles of sand beneath the scorching noon sun. And marching towards them, a vast army approached. And there stood Rider, quite majestically too, a fine horse at his side.

"A Reality Marble…?" Irisviel breathed.

"Behold, my endless armies, each of them a Heroic Spirit in their own right, but who have all pledged their loyalty to me!" Rider announced proudly.

"You mean…each of these is a Servant?" Rider's Master asked incredulously, his young face twitching as though he were either about to smile or sneeze.

Without even realizing it, Saber and Irisviel had sunk to their knees together, as though the very sight had weakened their legs. Saber certainly felt weaker than she'd felt in a long time.

Rider withdrew his sword and lifted it high into the air, so that it gleamed silver in the sun. A memory flickered in Saber's mind of the days she would lead her troops into battle this way.

But where was it that she and Rider diverted in their leadership in this venue?

It soon became clear to her. While she had evoked fierce cries from her knights and soldiers whenever she led the charge, she saw something more from this vast army of various different Heroic Spirits of different eras, all united under Rider's banner. And she got this sense from them that where they were unlike her own armies were that Rider had earned this army in his afterlife.

Saber could not say the same for her own.

For it was clear in their shouts and the shakes of their spears and swords that they adored Rider as their leader with every fiber of their being. Enough to follow him into the depths of hell gladly.

The ground trembled with their size, and Saber's heart thrilled and quivered for it.

Then Rider led the charge as he sat astride his horse, and he and his army rushed the meager numbers of the various personalities of Assassin, swallowing them all in their maw. And when it was over, Rider led them all in a cry of victory that shook the world.

Then it all blinked out of sight, and they were all of them back in the Einzbern garden, as if none of that had ever happened. Only Assassin was most certainly gone for good now.

Rider was finishing off the last of the wine he'd brought in the barrel, looking strangely morose for a conqueror who had just achieved victory in battle. His Master had slid to the ground in a shaking heap of what looked like shock and ecstasy. And though it was a passing thought, Saber gave it a moment's attention, for she had the impression that he even looked a little melancholy himself. He was, after all, such a small Master for such a large and robust Servant like Rider was. It touched something in Saber, to see this young man, but she couldn't quite be sure what it could be.

Irisviel meanwhile was still clutching onto Saber's arm. She even seemed to be leaning against her, her face pinched as though she were pained. But then it passed, and Saber made a note to ask about it later, letting her gaze linger over her charge solicitously before relinquishing her hold on her and turning back to Rider and Archer, regaining her feet.

Archer of course looked unimpressed with everything that had occurred as he quaffed the last of his own drink.

After Rider finished off this last drink, he announced that they should bring their dialogue to an end.

As he prepared to leave, Saber took a step forward. "Rider…."

But Rider had turned his back on her, summoning his chariot and plucking his still shell-shocked Master off of the ground by the boy's shirt-collar, like he were picking up a cat by the scruff of its neck.

"Little girl, you need to wake up from your sad dream," he told her after he deposited his Master in his chariot.

Saber clenched her fists at the slight of "little girl", but said nothing. So she could think of no argument when he added, "I no longer recognize you as a king."

However, as he alighted his chariot, Rider also said, "However…I believe you may yet prove your worth…Saber."

And with that, his oxen-drawn chariot rose high into the air and disappeared in a flash of lightning.

"May yet prove my worth…" Saber murmured after him, the ghosts of Guinevere, Lancelot, and Mordred shimmering in her mind.

However, the sobriety of the mood was ruined by another chuckle from Archer.

"Pay him no heed, my flower," he told her silkily, grinning much in the way Saber imagined Lucifer must have grinned at Eve in the body of the snake he'd possessed to tempt her to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. "He doesn't appreciate the beauty of your noble struggle, the way I do."

Saber felt her cheeks grow hot, a passion of anger rising up within her again, but mixed with something else. Before she could think how to respond to his arrogant advances however, he stood and bade her farewell, taking with him what remained of his wine as he dissolved in a cluster of golden light that faded and rose up like sparks from a fire into the starry sky above, leaving behind a trace of his puckish laughter. The sight of his red serpentine eyes were the last things to disappear, and they burned in her mind like embers, just for a moment.

"Insolent…" she muttered after him.

"Saber…." Irisviel had also regained her feet, if a little unsteadily at first, and she approached Saber with a furrowed brow of concern, clutching both of her hands to her heart.

"Come, we should withdraw back into the castle," said Saber, rather abruptly, avoiding Irisviel's compassionate expression.

But she felt comforted somehow as Irisviel followed her, something soft settling inside her. It made her stop for a moment, halfway out of the garden.

"Saber, um…I don't think he's entirely right about you…" Irisviel began.

Saber forestalled her. "It's fine. He actually does have a point. You see…." She hesitated a moment before she went on. "There was a knight…at my Round Table…who left Camelot one day…after telling me that I didn't understand how others feel…."

Lancelot….

"Saber…." It was all Saber could seem to say.

"You know…" Saber, went on, "for all that I find disagreeable about Kiritsugu, I am certain of one thing. There is indeed something between you two that binds you together, and it's more than just the common goal that the two of you share. It's something that's deeper than that. The two of you looked at each other one day, and without having to say a word, knew that you had an understanding, that the wish you hope to offer the Grail gave you the strength to build a relationship based on that wish. You have lived your lives together, as beings who had to be more than normal people, yet you could still stay true to each other. I…." She swallowed a sudden painful lump in her throat. "Guinevere...and I…could never have that."

"I see," said Irisviel very quietly. The wind lifted gently, and then she added, "So, you and Guinevere, never felt anything for each other?"

"We couldn't afford to. At least…that's what I believed, and my being secretly a woman complicated things. Thus I condemned us both. I…regret that now." Saber closed her eyes, and thought mournfully of Guinevere and Lancelot, and of Mordred. Always she thought of them mournfully. "I condemned Guinevere to a life lived without love…the kind she wanted…."

But then Irisviel said, "You know, Saber, Kiritsugu and I…we had a life that was very human, actually, if you can believe that."

Saber opened her eyes, and turned to Irisviel, and found her beaming sweetly, her hands clasped behind her back.

"It's true that we're bound by a common purpose that's greater than the both of us, and a dream that we've had to place above all else…even our daughter." Irisviel's voice caught, and she pursed her lips and paused a moment until she could speak again with her smile. "But still, we shared laughter and tears and cross words like any other couple. At least the ones I saw in movies. Maybe not always for the same reasons as other couples might, but it all felt real, so I know that what I felt was human. We teased each other, and picked each other's brains, and watched corny movies, and read from books, and ice-skated, took walks in the woods, and played the piano while the snow fell outside…and shared loving touches in the veil of the night. And most wonderful of all, we both did our part to raise our daughter together, and there were evenings we'd talk at length about simple worries for her, like how we were going to get her to stop sleeping in a crib and sleep in her own room instead…just…ordinary things, that knit us together like any other family with its own troubles here and there…."

There was something in her eyes that seemed distant, and for just a moment, reminded Saber of that withered look Guinevere had given her before she'd left for battle that last day Lancelot had fought at her side.

And then…Irisviel was crying. Her red eyes filled with tears, making them glitter like rubies, and the moment she realized it, she hastily tried to brush them away.

"Oh…I'm sorry." Irisviel rubbed at both of her eyes with the inside of her delicate wrist, sniffling.

Saber was touchingly reminded of a child she'd once seen crying in a street over a doll her brothers had snatched away from her as a prank and gotten wrecked in the muddy road.

When Irisviel blinked the last of her tears away, she smiled robustly, trying her best to banish whatever sorrow had come over her. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I just…I miss my daughter."

And my husband.

These three additional words she didn't speak of course, but Saber sensed them. She had that same feeling as she did whenever she would ride out to battle, and she would feel Guinevere's forlorn eyes follow her from where she watched in the tower of Camelot above. Though of course, she now knew that it had been Lancelot she'd been looking out for.

Even so, she couldn't help but admire the conviction Irisviel carried, the unyielding faith she had in the man she loved, ruthless as he was as a fighter.

Which brought her back to all those regrets that would not let her go.

"If I rule a nation as king, I cannot expect to live as a person."

That was what she had said to Rider, and yet he had vituperated her for saying it. She was beginning to understand his words a little more though.

Compared to her, she who had slain Mordred, who had left Guinevere broken, and who had stared for hours at the empty chair at the Round Table that Lancelot had left behind, how could she compare to that one small moment Kiritsugu had shared with his and Irisviel's daughter? Something so normal and happy and simple and…human.

Yet when it came to war, he seemed to shift gears effortlessly into the motions of a machine, cold because sometimes that was the only way to bear the weight of killing. And through it, even in separation by distance, his wife was beside him, in her heart.

Would that she had been able to have Guinevere at her side that way! For, if she were being honest with herself, there had been moments when she had looked at Guinevere and wanted to touch her in a way that had nothing to do with her purpose in life as a king, but just a companion to chase away the shadows of loneliness from them both.

Irisviel still had tears in her eyes, even as she tried to smile. And Saber decided then to forget herself now, even if it was too little too late, and not even with the person from whom she might seek atonement.

She reached inside her armor and withdrew a handkerchief, which she held up to Irisviel's face, dabbing at the tears still trailing down her face.

Irisviel sucked in her breath at the unexpected gesture of intimacy.

"Tears are unbecoming of you," Saber told her gently.

Her lady charge blinked at her, and then she smiled, and this time she seemed to have tears of joy instead of sorrow. "You know what? Kiritsugu would always tell me that whenever I started crying."

Earlier on, Saber might've found that a little hard to swallow. But at this point, she was willing to accept and believe in Irisviel's words, the way she spoke of the man she loved.

That for all his shady methods of fighting, at his very core, he had the kind of drive towards action that could only be found in a Heroic Spirit.