Archer's real name was Devin of Loxley and he was a bad man.

Robin Hood was the name he'd taken, but only to justify his crimes. A bandit to the core, thievery had been his livelihood. Take from the rich and give to the poor? What a joke. Yes, he'd given to the poor but only a few pittances to keep the stupid peasants on his side. And they had been bang on his side, too, right until the end. Robin had fooled them with his alms and sweet smile and, to be fair, the lords had had plenty to do with it as well. Robin had precious little use for the stupid peasant but he had even less use for the so-called nobility. And yet, he liked Saber quite a bit. Why was that?

Saber is a good man but not an honorable one. What Robin hated, more than anything, was so called 'honor'. Chivalry was a joke and honor was a farce, hiding tyranny and stupidity. Yet, Saber wasn't like that. Saber could cut throat and stab backs with the best of them, although his motives were purely good. I can respect that. In fact, a deep, well-hidden part of Robin was… jealous. He'd known precious few truly good men in his life and none as a child. If his father had been anything like Saber…

Robin shook away that thought with annoyance. He didn't regret being the man he was and he wasn't going to wish for something stupid like time travel! No, he planned to wish for a new life so he could take up his career of pillaging and plundering again. The modern era was full of possibilities and Robin intended to make the most of it. What mattered about Saber was that he was dangerous. Robin wasn't looking forward to backstabbing him – he truly liked Saber – but he knew he needed to get it done. If he didn't, Saber would do it first. Do unto others before they do unto you. That could be the slogan of the Grail War.

"Hmm hmm hmm hmmmmm hmmm…" That humming was annoying as hell and Robin sighed to himself. It was a petty irritation, he knew that, but it was damned irritating. Reaching out of his nest of soft cushions, Robin picked up a beer and took a swig. He was nearly recovered but 'nearly' wasn't good enough at a time like this. Then the humming abruptly cut off and Robin paused in the act of sipping his beer.

"What's up?" he asked, setting the beer down untouched and sitting up. His Master was sitting at a rather fine desk, peering into a crystal ball. (at least, that was how Robin thought of it. His Master would have huffed and said it was a scrying tool) But the man's back was to him so he couldn't see anything, not that he would anyway.

"Saber just left the tower," he said after a moment and Robin blinked. The tower Saber's Master lived in was a pretty obvious fortress and easy to keep an eye on. Then he frowned, reaching up to scratch his head.

"What's he up to?" They had agreed they wouldn't move on Caster until Robin was fully healed. Caster had tried a few things to penetrate his Master's defenses, but they'd all failed. And there had only been a cursory attempt on the tower that had confirmed it was well guarded.

"He's going into the town, wearing that tarnkappa." Ah, right, the invisibility cloak. Not as useful as it seemed at first glance… quick combat moves gave the wearer away. It also didn't do much to hide the wearer from scent tracking or mystical scrying. It was good for general scouting, though, and keeping the civilians from seeing Saber. "I need to concentrate or he might lose me," his Master muttered and Robin nodded, taking the hint and sitting back. His Master would say something when he knew something. Robin picked up his beer and took a deep swig, enjoying the deep, malty taste. Dark beers were his favorite.

"What the hell?" his Master muttered and Robin looked over inquiringly, taking another sip of beer. "Is he stealing FOOD?" …Say what now?

"What? That doesn't make any sense," Robin said. Saber could steal food, he was certain of that – the other Servant would not be above theft – but why would he do it? Servants didn't need to eat and… "That tower must have plenty of food!" People who lived in castles didn't run out of food unless there was a siege going on… hm. Robin frowned as he thought. Nothing came in or out of the tower except for Saber. Was it possible the girl WAS running out of food? But surely there were magical deliveries!

"That's quite unlikely, I doubt she's a prisoner there," his Master said before standing up and stretching before turning around. Robin examined him for a moment. He was a rather portly, middle-aged magus with a balding head that he tried to hide with a comb-over. His clothing was very elegant and while he wasn't an unkind man, he was a very ruthless one. Robin worked well with him. "I can think of many explanations… they might have had some kind of cooking disaster and Saber is fetching food rather than making her wait." Oh. Well, that would make sense, particularly if the girl was doing the cooking. "Or perhaps they just wanted a special meal and decided the risk was minimal. And it is, it's broad daylight after all." …Hm… Robin didn't think so.

"Saber isn't the kind of man to steal on a whim," Robin said slowly, turning it around in his mind. "But I wonder if she talked him into it?" Saber did strike him as the kind of man who, when he fell for a woman, fell very hard. Although. "Boss… what if she is running out of food though?" That thought bothered him because – "That would mean she's a prisoner in that tower." Robin hadn't thought of that before. He'd assumed Saber's Master was a coward or crippled in some way that made it safer to tuck her away. His Master hesitated a moment before shaking his head.

"That really is very unlikely, Archer. She's an incredible magus, clearly one of the Numerologists. More likely she's just a hermit or crippled in some way. I wonder if she's disfigured? That would explain why she's never been to the Clock Tower." Yeah, they'd discussed that before. Robin shrugged before going back to his beer.

"I guess it doesn't matter," he said before taking another long swig. "You think I'll be ready tomorrow?" He thought so and his Master nodded.

"Yes, tomorrow we'll get rid of Caster and Lancer. The only question is if we'll get rid of Saber as well," his Master remarked and Robin nodded with a frown. Saber was the tricky one because when exactly should they betray him? Robin resolved to look for a good moment.

Only one team could win the Grail War and they were determined to be the ones.

Robin and his Master were not the only ones watching.

Medea of Colchis smiled as she gazed into her own scrying tool, touching the surface with a loving hand. She would call it what it was, though, a ball of finely made crystal. Perfectly suited to the task she was putting it.

"Your husband is such a handsome man," Medea remarked, smiling as she heard a soft, barely audible sound. Somewhere between a whine and a whimper, it was completely involuntary. "Truly, he is unbearably attractive." It was very rare for Medea to lust after a man on sight, but Sigurd captured her attention. "Tall and lean, well muscled but not too much… those runes he employs…" Medea did admire a man who had a good mind. "That hair, that handsome face… but most of all, those eyes." Medea found Saber's green eyes, framed in those glasses, captivating. They seemed to carry an incisive intellect and a deep wisdom. "Such a substantial man." That seemed to capture the essence of it quite neatly. Jason had been a show, a charismatic front. Sigurd was not particularly charismatic, with his stoic personality, but he had all the substance that Jason had lacked. "I love a strong, quiet man in glasses," Medea murmured, stroking her ball.

"Leave him alone…" The voice was strained and thread, barely above a whisper. Medea smirked to herself. "Don't touch him." There was the sound of a body shifting and Medea turned around to regard her Servant and captive.

"I will do as I wish," she said smoothly, walking towards the stone slab and admiring the flush on Lancer's cheeks. The beautiful Valkyrie was tied spread eagle on a slab of stone, held in place with shackles of red power. Her body trembled as Medea admired it. She's not really my type. Medea preferred delicate, flat chested girls like… like someone she couldn't quite remember. Brynhildr did not fit that profile at all. Still, she was adorable, when she was so flushed and trembling with arousal. Medea floated into the air, moving smoothly over the slab and settling between her captives' legs. For a moment, she paused to admire the picture the Valkyrie presented.

Moved by some imp of the perverse, Medea had chosen to dress this particular toy as a schoolgirl. A very short plaid skirt and a button up white blouse, but so thin it was nearly see-through. Medea smiled as she spread her hands on pale thighs, lifting the skirt and revealing white panties. They were damp from Brynhildr's juices, sticky and clinging to her sex. It was delightfully obscene.

"What a perverse little girl you are, enjoying this so much," Medea murmured, pressing a finger delicately against that damp crevice. Brynhildr's gasp was music to her ears. "Ah, you like it when I touch you like this? Well, how can I deny you?"

"N-No… stop…" Medea did like Brynhildr's breathy little voice. Smiling, she began to gently tease the Valkyrie, with her hands and magic. It was so pleasant to watch her squirm and whimper, her breathing coming in sharp little gasps as she became more and more undone. As she squirmed that white blouse pressed against her breasts, outlining her beautifully erect nipples. Medea's breath came a bit faster at the sight. True, Brynhildr wasn't her type but this was… arousing…

Medea enjoyed every moment of breaking the pretty Valkyrie. When the woman finally cried out in a mixture of misery and joy, Medea leaned close, so their lips were almost touching.

"Tomorrow you will kill your beloved Sigurd, turning him to nothing but ash and dust," Medea murmured and Brynhildr cried out again, so soft yet so full of anguish. It was even more delightful because Medea knew she wanted to do it, wanted to spill Sigurd's blood. Yet, to do it under compulsion tainted her precious desire.

"I h-h-hate you," Brynhildr muttered, still dry eyed but with a suspicious moistness building. Medea laughed, a soft, cruel sound before she cupped the Valkyrie's cheek.

"Hate me with all your heart! We both know that your hatred only makes you weaker," Medea taunted. "Your love is what gives you strength." They both knew it was true and more tears filled Brynhildr's eyes like a liquid sheen. Yet, they did not fall. Well, she could fix that. "And remember, if you don't kill Sigurd tomorrow – if by some miracle he kills you – I'll make him take your place. Do you understand?"

"Y-Y-Yes." The tears did fall this time and Medea revelled in them, reflecting on it. Brynhildr truly loved Sigurd, but that love was cursed with death. Still, she might have tried to resist… but now she would fight with all her heart, to spare her husband suffering. Medea was confident she would succeed. And if somehow Brynhildr didn't… how would she dress Sigurd? Perhaps a nice suit. And the glasses of course. He would have to keep the glasses. As Medea floated off her toy, she hummed happily to herself.

Whichever one of them won, she couldn't lose.

Sigurd wasn't ready for the confrontation but he did his utmost to convince himself that he was.

He prepared his weapons and armed himself with Esme's numbers. She had made several potent ones, just for his battle. One in particular would be of great use, a cage meant to hold a Servant in place. Esme had tested it on him and Sigurd had found it a grueling experience although he had been able to break free after a short moment of intense effort. But in a battle, a short time was all that was needed to take the kill. The others included several flash runes, meant to explode in brilliant light, and a special numeric shield that would deflect arrows. That last would be tricky because it had a limited power source but if Archer attempted to shoot him in the back, it would activate automatically. That was a great blessing and could save Sigurd from one sneak attack.

Satisfied that he was ready as he possibly could be, Sigurd made a quick goodbye. Well, he meant to.

"Sigurd," Esme hugged him before he could go and Sigurd stiffened, caught by surprise. "Just do your best." Sigurd looked down at her glossy brown hair and felt a twist in his heart. Can I do my best?

"I won't fail you, princess," Sigurd assured her and he meant it, although he knew his resolve would be sorely tested. Esme squeezed him a bit tighter and Sigurd rested a hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. This reminded him, oddly enough, not of Brynhildr, but Gudrun. Bryn had taken his safety for granted but Gudrun never had. Esme sighed softly before letting go and stepping back.

"I know. Good luck!" Sigurd accepted the wish and vanished with alacrity, moving swiftly through the woods. He needed to meet up with Robin.

Sigurd used a ley line to find the other Servant. Not that there was anything special about the ley line – there wasn't – but Esme had arranged with Archer's Master that they'd meet up along it. So Sigurd stayed alert as he travelled down the ley line and wasn't surprised when a small rock hit him in the shoulder.

"Hsst!" Sigurd looked up with a blink, realizing that Archer was sitting in the limbs of a tree. As he watched the man jumped down to land easily on the soft ground. "Take off that damn thing, it's giving me a headache." …Oh. Sigurd felt a touch of heat on his face as he made the invisibility cloak vanish.

"Does that thing even work anymore?" Sigurd wondered aloud. Archer shrugged.

"There's a weird little flicker when you make fast movements." …Interesting… "And it's useless against magi, when they're actively scrying anyway. My Master gave me a heads' up or I'd have likely missed you." Sigurd closed his eyes for a moment as Archer's words made him remember… Brynhildr hadn't been fooled by the tarnkappa either. How had he forgotten? "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Sigurd said, shaking himself out of that moment. Archer was frowning but then he shrugged.

"Well, let's get it on. I've isolated the edges of the Bounded Field." That was helpful. Sigurd nodded and let himself follow Archer. The other Servant was more suitable to finding traps anyway.

There were no traps leading up to Caster's lair, though. Something that made Sigurd suspicious. When they located what had to be the place, his worst fears were confirmed.

"This is an excellent battlefield for me but a very poor one for you," Sigurd remarked, gazing out over the wide, clear field. Robin muttered something uncouth and Sigurd did him the favor of ignoring it. "But we already agreed that I will take Lancer." At least, Archer's Master had agreed to it.

"Oh yes. But if you get killed, make sure to wound her badly so I can mop up," Archer said and for one brief moment, Sigurd wanted to kill him. How dare you threaten my wife? Then the emotion died into cold resignation. He was going to kill her himself. What rock did he have to stand on? "Saber. Pull it together or you're going to die." Sigurd blinked and actually focused on Archer, really seeing the other Servant's frown. As he did he felt Esme's concern like a warm weight in the back of his mind.

"It's fine. I'm ready," he said before turning and striding into the field, directly towards the entrance. Archer cursed softly before melting into the woods to watch. As he walked, Sigurd felt his resolve firm. He would kill Brynhildr, then he and Archer would hunt down Caster. This was how the future would be.

Sigurd was expecting Brynhildr to come out to meet him, yet it was still a shock when she did. Sigurd stopped cold, arrested by the sight of her. She hasn't changed at all. Her pure beauty, the pale skin the shade of newly fallen snow. Her spreading hair, shaded like no mortal woman, the violet eyes that seemed to see into his soul, the long fingered hands that held her long spear with such assurance and… and…

The expression of utter misery on her face.

"Oh Sigurd why did you come? Why didn't you stay away?" Brynhildr lamented as Sigurd stayed rooted, vaguely aware of Esme trying to attract his attention, telling him to move, her fear for him… "Now I must kill you to spare you, my beloved Sigurd." She readied her spear and Sigurd knew she was going to attack but his body felt frozen. How could he raise a weapon against the woman he loved?

SIGURD! Sigurd's eyes glazed for a split second before he acted automatically, blocking Brynhildr's first lightning slash with Gram. As he did he felt the power of a Command Seal motivating him, urging him to… oh. Don't die! That was the command that had been forced through the Seal.

Sigurd found his balance and his will as Brynhildr attacked him like a woman possessed. That was truly what she was, possessed by the cursed need to destroy the thing she loved and Sigurd accepted it. She needed to die. Lancer's eyes widened as Sigurd abruptly went on the offensive, combating her with fury and resolve. Their weapons impacted over and over in a delicate dance of death but now he was driving her back. And Sigurd had a plan in mind.

"Sigurd, you have to die! Let me kill you!" …Brynhildr sounded more unhinged than even Sigurd expected. "It's the only way to save you!" Their weapons locked together and Sigurd was breathless at her strength, even as he held the Valkyrie back with his own might.

"Save me from what?" Sigurd asked and tears filled Brynhildr's eyes.

"The evil witch!" Was Bryn referring to Gudrun or Caster? "AiiiiiiiiiiiiAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Sigurd gasped as pure power pulsed through Brynhildr's weapon and blasted him away. Pain ran through his body and he felt flesh shred, hot blood staining his armor but it didn't matter. Brynhildr was flying at him, weapon outstretched but in her love-fueled madness she had made a mistake! In the split-second opening that she gave him, Sigurd pulled out and unleashed Esme's Numbers.

The Number of Binding took the form of a small, octagonal column of iron, roughly the size of a knife. When unleashed on a target it parted smoothly into five pieces. Brynhildr's head went back, her eyes going wide as she registered the magic in the air. She tried to abort and dodge but was too late. The iron hit her and knocked her to the ground, pinning her on her back. Pieces of iron lodged firmly yet not hurtfully against pale flesh, holding her in place. Sigurd moved to take the kill –

And stopped as he saw her. Brynhildr was sprawled on the ground, her hair spread beneath her and for a moment Sigurd was taken back in time, to when he had ridden through the wall of flame to find his beautiful wife. It was the same, it was all the same, his beautiful Brynhildr, helpless and alone.

Then the Numbers shattered and Sigurd belatedly tried to take the kill but the moment was past. Brynhildr's lance nearly speared him through the gut and he was forced to leap back.

I wasted it. Sigurd felt a deep sickness in his gut as he ran around, using his daggers to keep Brynhildr away from him. Her battle madness had intensified, if anything, and she was desperate to reach him. I wasted it I wasted it I wasted it. He'd wasted Esme's precious Number. How could he have done something so stupid?!

He couldn't evade forever though and Brynhildr quickly ran him down. Sigurd gasped as their weapons crossed again, realizing he was dangerously off balance. Esme's Command Seal was still in effect, though, and Sigurd did the best thing he could think of… he palmed a new Number. This one was a silvery little ball and closing his eyes tightly, Sigurd tossed it in Brynhildr's face.

The flash Number went off with a bang that left his ears ringing. But that was much better than Brynhildr's pained scream. Sigurd immediately ran, taking the opportunity to escape within the trees. He had to live. The Command Seal urged him to live and he couldn't fight like this…

Sigurd hid behind a tree, breathing heavily and feeling the hot blood, the sweat on his face. I couldn't do it. He'd had the opportunity, it had been given to him on a silver platter, and then he'd failed. I'm sorry Esme, I am a worthless excuse for a man. Despair settled over him as Sigurd let his head fall back, closing his eyes. He might have cried but he hadn't done that since he was a boy. He didn't really remember how…

Oh Sigurd, Esme's voice whispered in his mind and Sigurd's breath caught in a rough sound that was not a sob, but was far too close. He was failing her, he knew he was failing her. She should – should tell him that… not like Gudrun, no, Esme was not a domineering Queen but his Princess would be so disappointed in him… Don't be sad. I understand if you can't. Sigurd blinked and lifted his head. Please don't be sad for me, I'll be fine. Rest my beloved prince. Warmth caressed his face, touching him like gentle hands. It was like… the mother he'd never had…

"Sigurd, oh Sigurd, where are you?" Sigurd froze as he heard Brynhildr's breathy voice, too close. "Please let me kill you gently, my love. I'll save you from her, I promise…" Brynhildr suddenly sniffled. To Sigurd's hyper aware senses, it sounded like it was in his ear. "I couldn't save my Master but I'll save you… oh Sigurd, she reminded me of you…" Sigurd realized, with a detached feeling, that Bryn was making more sense than he thought. What had happened to her Master? Was Caster somehow acting as a Master? Could a Servant do that?

It's alright Sigurd. You can rest now, Esme whispered and Sigurd felt the Command Seal pulling back. She was letting him…?

"No, I can't. I can't do that to you princess," Sigurd whispered. He couldn't leave her to be all alone again. She might say she was fine and she might really be fine – Esme had great inner strength – but she still might someday choose to walk off the wall of the tower. I can do this. Sigurd had no idea why – perhaps it was his nature – but being given permission to give up meant he could not. "I will save you." Iron determination filled his soul and Sigurd looked at his sword. Yes. This was how he would do this.

"Brynhildr!" Sigurd stepped out of hiding with a firm and steady tread. They were still in the trees… well, that was fine, he could do it here. Brynhildr turned, her eyes wide and startled. "Let's end this," Sigurd said steadily, gathering the power of his Noble Phantasm. "Using special move. O Demonic Sword of the Sun, give rise to destruction!" Sigurd could feel mana streaking to Gram as it glowed with a baleful light. But even as he chanted, he heard Brynhildr's voice.

"Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Love… love, love love love… Brynhildr Romantica!"

"Bolverk Gram!" The two unleashed Noble Phantasms did not clash with each other. As if by some suicidal agreement, both powers plunged into their bodies instead.

! Sigurd had never felt anything like it. Brynhildr's spear, enhanced by her terrible curse, tried to rend his mana core. If it had not been augmented, it would have. But Esme's Numbers were bound inextricably to his core and for Brynhildr, it was like trying to stick a knife in the hard pit of a peach. After a moment the Noble Phantasm deflected, sliding past the hard obstruction and Sigurd gasped as it shredded his body. But his mana core was intact, which meant he would live.

Brynhildr would not. Sigurd felt deep anguish but also completion as his Gram plunged into her chest. For a moment they were caught together, a tableau of death but then their weapons vanished and Bryn collapsed against him. Sigurd caught her, his body screaming in agony. But he still held her gently, easing her to the ground.

"Let me take the burden between us this time," Sigurd murmured as he held Brynhildr close. She gazed up at him with sad eyes, blood splattered across her cheek.

"Oh Sigurd," she murmured and lifted a shaking hand. Sigurd took it, lacing their fingers together. "Please, a final… wish…?" Of course. Sigurd nodded. "My… my Master… her body is in the lake. Please… give her a pyre…?" Brynhildr's voice was so faint, so faint, but Sigurd could still hear.

"I shall," Sigurd murmured, holding her close. Brynhildr felt so light now, like the air she was evaporating into. Little sparks of light were rising from her body. Sigurd held her tighter, knowing it was futile. His Brynhildr was dying…

"I love you Sigurd," Brynhildr breathed and what was left faded away. Sigurd was left holding nothing and he looked blankly at his gauntleted hands. There was blood on them, still fresh and wet. Their bodies vanished but the blood remained… Sigurd put his hands on the ground, staring at the bloodstains there and wished he could cry. But somewhere along the way, he'd lost the knack.

No matter how much his heart screamed in anguish, Sigurd had no tears to shed.