Her name was Esmerelda von Solms-Heinberg, but she preferred to think of herself as Esme Adler.
Adler is a fine name. That is the name I will take when I am free of this place, Esme dreamed as she patiently waited for her hero to awaken. Sigurd needed his sleep. Sleep cleared the mind and sharpened the senses, even for a Servant and Esme could see that in his body when he awoke refreshed. It was in the structure of his numbers, the way they were better arranged and cleaner.
To Esme, the whole world was made up of numbers. She could perceive them, reach out and manipulate them, changing the world around her. And yet, she could only work small, incremental changes… unless she created a mystic code. Those were her true Numbers, the great works she made simply by staring at the raw materials and forming them into what they were meant to be. Not that it was effortless! Far from it. Creating her Numbers was incredibly draining, leaving Esme exhausted, sore and without an appetite.
I do still need to eat though, Esme thought with a miasma of guilt. She wouldn't have been guilty until Sigurd had come into her life. Then, food had just been something to keep her body alive a bit longer in this hell. Now, though, there was hope and with hope, there was meaning. And meaning meant she had to really try.
When Sigurd came out of his room he was fully dressed in his armor. For a moment, Esme was dazzled when she looked at him. Not by his hair, his armor or even his handsome face. No… what captivated her was his breathing. Every inhale he took, every exhale made his mana core shift. It was a living thing, like a heart, but in tune with Sigurd's breathing and he breathed out magic, completely unaware. If Esme looked she could see it like little tendrils wafting through the air, iridescent and shimmering and blue –
Then she blinked as a hand touched her shoulder.
"Princess?" Bright green eyes, framed by crystallized wisdom, look at her in concern. Esme blinked again as she collected her thoughts.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Esme rose to her feet, feeling terribly embarrassed. She always did that, lost track of the 'real' world. It was a terrible habit, it really was. Sigurd was stoic as always but Esme could see the way the energy that made up his body bobbled, a silent laugh. He offered her an arm and she took it, blushing.
"Do not worry, princess. You just have to be in time for breakfast," Sigurd said and Esme looked up at him with a small. He was so much taller than her, she was looking up all the time. But that was fine, her Servant made her feel warm and safe.
Esme reflected on it as they walked down the stairs to the dining room. Sigurd made her feel safe. His dedication to getting her out of her prison was terrifying – Esme would admit she was afraid of the world she had never seen – yet exhilarating. Because Esme thought they could really do it. They could get out of here together. And yet, what then?
We will need to run, as fast and as far as we can, Esme knew. She actually knew her situation much better now, thanks to Sigurd. His information came from the Grail system and it included the nature of magi society, the Clock Tower and the departments therein. So Esme knew what the people who pretended to be her family were up to and why they would stop at nothing to have her back. If only I hadn't been so eager to show them my numbers. But she had just been a little girl, wanting to be noticed and loved. How could she have known?
Setting that aside – it was over and done with – Esme settled into her spot at the table. Dishes floated in, then a large pot and Esme winced. The wind elementals and automata that prepared the meals were usually very good, but for some reason the one thing they could not cook well was porridge. And since she had no access to them, Esme had no way to fix that.
Sigurd seemed indifferent to the quality of his food, gazing away as he ate, his gaze focused on something she could not see, something only within his own mind. Esme glanced at him occasionally as she forced down the gluey porridge. He was so… so everything…
Don't be silly. He is far too grand for you, Esme thought, forcing herself to focus on the porridge. And he is in love with someone else. Brynhildr, the tragic Valkyrie. Esme hadn't known anything about her Servant's history at all – she'd summoned without a catalyst – but Sigurd had compared her situation to Brynhildr's and Esme had asked. It had caused him pain but Sigurd had related the story. I know so little of anything. She only knew what her family had given her access to. Sigurd will help me. Thanks to the Grail he knew about things like automobiles and computers. Esme didn't even know what they looked like.
That thought made Esme a bit sad, though, because she knew it was very unlikely she would ever find a man who didn't mind her numbers. She had discussed it thoroughly with Sigurd and he thought that while her family would be desperate to retrieve her themselves, if they couldn't, they would get the Clock Tower to make her a Seal Designation. That meant another prison and Esme would not be chained again. So magi society was barred to her and how could any normal man accept her numbers? And even if they could, how could she get close to them when she might have to run at any time?
Sigurd will be with me. Sigurd will always be with me. That thought made Esme feel warm inside. Sigurd had vowed to remain with her forever and keep her safe. Her… her faithful knight. Yes, that was right, he was her faithful knight, helping her from the darkness and into the light. I am so happy! Even now, before the war was won, she was so happy to not be alone anymore.
"You've done well this morning, princess." Huh? Esme blinked, recalled from her thoughts and realized that she'd finished the porridge. How odd, she hadn't even tasted it! Well, perhaps it was better that way. "I should be going." Sigurd rose from his seat and Esme was reminded of something she wanted.
"Sigurd, please leave your glasses," Esme said and Sigurd looked startled before frowning.
"No, absolutely not," there was a chill in his voice but Esme was undeterred, pressing her hands together and gazing at him hopefully. "You remember what happened last time!" Yes, she did. Sigurd had given her his glasses, secure in the knowledge that wearing them would only give her a massive headache. He'd come back hours later to find that Esme hadn't moved a single muscle, locked in position as she gazed at her Numbers through the lens of crystallized wisdom.
"I'm not going to wear them, I'm going to modify them," Esme said, hoping Sigurd wouldn't find that even more objectionable. The glasses belonged to him after all. "I have an idea…" And the crystallized wisdom would be amenable to modification. Despite being fixed in the form of glasses, it was closer to a raw material than a lot of the things she worked with. Sigurd hesitated before reaching up and carefully removing his glasses.
"I trust you, princess. But don't give in to temptation and put them on," he warned and Esme nodded. It had been a marvelous experience and she secretly wanted to do it again, but that was simply no good. She needed to be ready to help her Servant, her head couldn't be lost in the clouds. The glasses were cool against her fingers and Esme looked at them, seeing the beautiful structure that made up what they truly were.
"I promise, I won't. I have to watch over you," Esme said with a smile and that eased Sigurd's concern. He nodded, stoic as always but Esme could see his relaxation in his numbers. It was so wonderful, being able to see her Servant's feelings in his body… Esme smiled to herself as they parted, taking the glasses to her workroom. Seeing numbers like that didn't work with real people, their bodies were too full of numbers of their own. But Sigurd was made of pure mana and that made his numbers easier to understand.
Gently setting the glasses on a stand, Esme stared at them intently, examining their structure. She needed to work as hard as she could. This could provide Sigurd an edge, and they needed everything they could get.
For herself and for her Servant, Esme would give everything she had.
Sigurd knelt on the edge of a roof, examining a nearby building. It was a tall building, many stories and very large. A hotel? Almost certainly, judging from the size and the taxis that came and went regularly. Was this where Archers' Master was hiding? Sigurd slowly released a breath. It went against the grain, to turn on an ally, but Archer was not an honorable man.
But it wasn't for today. Archer might still have his uses and Sigurd wasn't ready to eliminate him yet. Turning away, Sigurd felt his cloak of invisibility rustle, caught by a breeze. As he did a small smile quirked his lips as he remembered the first time he'd shown it to his Master. He'd put on the cloak, expecting her to be amazed as he vanished. Instead, his Master had just looked at him and asked what it was doing. It seemed his cloak did nothing to hide his 'numbers'.
And she thinks I can learn her numbers, Sigurd thought in amusement as he leapt from roof to roof, following another promising lead. Only Odin himself could comprehend such things. Yes, Sigurd had learned the runes and was fine enough to be a Caster but that was not enough. Odin hung himself from the branches of Yggdrasil for his knowledge, while my princess walked through the roots. If she had lived in his time, what would have happened to her? Sigurd thought he knew… Odin would either have arranged her death, or taken Esme to Asgard, fed her an apple of immortality and married her off to a lesser god. Then he could use her as a resource, like the head of Mimir. And knowing his princess, Esme would have given Odin everything he desired for a pat on the head.
That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth – curse those pieces of refuse that Esme called her parents – and Sigurd thought about it no further as he began to carefully scout his next target. Speaking of piles of refuse, here was another one. A damned dump, Sigurd picked through it carefully, trying not to reveal himself with his footprints.
Sigurd stop, Esme's voice whispered through his mind and Sigurd froze in place. Turn your head a bit to the right please? Sigurd moved his head slowly, scanning the ground of the city dump. Stop. Right there, that's a Servant. It looked like a pile of garbage and compost to him. Sigurd didn't doubt his Master for a moment, though.
Can you analyze it? Sigurd asked as he took a careful step back. The garbage shifted, as if it was stirred by a wind, but Sigurd knew better. He froze again as his Master was silent for a moment.
The numbers are so strange but I think that's Berserker. Well, shit. Sigurd had hoped to fob the duty of fighting THAT off on someone else. Sigurd, I know his name. She did? He's repeating it over and over, so strongly it's written in his numbers… but who is Gogmagog? He had no idea. I think he's trying to remember. He's losing his mind. Sigurd thought it was already lost. This was a Berserker, after all. Sigurd took another cautious step back –
And lost his footing as the whole ground seemed to quake. He vaguely heard his Master's cry in the back of his mind as a gnarly hand erupted from the filthy ground and encircled him. Sigurd gasped as it squeezed – such strength! He could feel it even through his armor – and flung a blade directly into the head rising from the ground. There was a titanic roar and he was flung away. Sigurd caught himself nimbly and landed on his feet and a hand, ignoring the way the filth splattered against his legs and armor. His other hand was full of his second blade as he fixed his gaze upon his enemy.
"It seems you are fated to die today, Gogmagog!" The giant suddenly gaped at him in an almost comical way, revealing stained and broken teeth. "Sei!" Sigurd shouted before hammering the Berserker with his blade. Gogmagog howled before lifting his fists. Sigurd leapt agiley to the side before they slammed down, setting garbage flying in a small hurricane. "Pfagh!" Sigurd muttered as he barely avoided a paper to the face. He was going to smell like a sewer by the time this was over!
Gogmagog, though, was typical of a Berserker. He fought with speed and skill but there was no strategy, nothing but a mad rush at his opponent. Sigurd took quite an opposite strategy. Aware of the dangers of such a large and strong opponent he used all of his speed and skill, rolling and ducking, weaving and jumping to avoid every strike. Sigurd bided his time, launching small and fast attacks as he waited for his chance to end the giant.
The chance came when Gogmagog lost his temper, as a Berserker was wont to do. Enraged by his small and nimble opponent the giant tossed his head back and roared, spreading his arms widely. The roar was actually a Noble Phantasm and hit with the power of a small hurricane, pelting Sigurd with refuse filled wind. But he refused to fall back, bracing himself as he lifted his sword.
"Demonic Sword, ready. Let me show you the manifestation of mysteries. This is the dawn of destruction. Bolverk Gram!" Sigurd shot forward, bringing his sword in for the kill. It was all over in an instant, as he slammed his fist into the hilt of the blade and shot it directly into the Berserker's chest. Ugly, googly eyes went wide and that mouth gaped open again before the beast fell like an ancient tree, hitting the ground with earth-shaking force.
It fought without reason and died the same way, Sigurd thought to himself as he wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead… oh. That wasn't sweat, that was something… slimy that smelled like onions. "Bloody hell," Sigurd muttered to himself. That was utterly disgusting.
Sigurd, please come home, his princess whispered and Sigurd nodded. He was done for the day. Not because of his hurts, although they existed, or the mana drain, but because of the stench. He was covered in rotten slime and an invisibility cloak did nothing at all to conceal a scent. Sigurd pulled it on anyway, grateful that it was a noble phantasm that did not pick up grime. Then he headed on his way.
Rider and Berserker were down. Four more Servants stood between Sigurd and the Grail that would be his own.