Robin watched Sigurd battling Brynhildr and thought the man was a damned fool.
Does he enjoy torturing himself? Robin wondered as he watched the battle. There was no real sign of Saber's anguish – he seemed resolved and his usual self – but Archer was sure it was there. I could snipe her and we could end this. Robin really wanted to do it. Sure, he could take Caster on by himself, but it wasn't a thrilling idea. Where was she anyway?
Robin really intended to honor Saber's wishes, though. After all, it worked out great for him! As long as Saber wounded Lancer enough, he could mop up before moving on an unsupported Caster. He'd rather have Saber along – Casters could be vicious – but Archer was confident in himself. He didn't need Saber to win.
As the battle progressed, though, Robin noticed a troubling trend. Saber was already hurt but Lancer was nearly untouched. When Saber unleashed that Mystic Code – his Master's works were something else! – Archer thought they had it.
Then Saber fucked it all up.
God damn it! Robin thought with disbelief, not caring that he was being blasphemous. I can't let this go on. If he did, Saber was going to get killed and Lancer was barely hurt. Archer materialized his bow and aimed carefully on Lancer, looking for just the right moment. Which turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to do.
"SHIT!" Archer exclaimed as white light filled his vision and pain stabbed through his head like an icepick. Vaguely, he heard his Master cursing and realized the man had been looking through his eyes, and had taken part of the impact. His eyes were still watering and his head was suddenly throbbing as Robin hunched over, hands over his eyes. "I'm fucking blind. Master, do something," Robin muttered, rubbing his eyes frantically. Saber… was probably alright now, he must have used that flash grenade as a cover but he didn't have time for this!
Then Archer went completely still as something cold and sharp pressed against his throat.
"Do what I say if you wish to live," a male voice spoke in his ear and Robin swallowed, moving just his eyes to see who was there. A dark hooded cloak and a skeleton mask… Archer felt a deep shock. We killed him!
Robin, do what he says. His Master sounded strained. There's another one here with a knife to my throat. Assassin had multiple bodies. Robin closed his eyes for a moment in pure frustration as he realized they'd been played. Assassin had staged his death to fool not just them, but Saber as well and Archer had no way to warn him!
For a moment, Robin weighed things in his mind. A cut throat would be inconvenient for a Servant and he could sense this Assassin fragment lacked the power to kill him outright. The real issue was his Master. A cut throat would be far more than inconvenient for HIM but Robin had high Independent Action. Was it time to sacrifice his Master? Particularly since it would be just like an Assassin to use them to take out Saber, then cut his Master's throat anyway?
Robin, by the power of my Command Seal, do what he says! Robin swore under his breath as he realized his Master had followed his calculations effortlessly. Not by reading his mind, no, just by knowing how his brain worked.
"You didn't need to do that, I was going to anyway," Robin muttered, thinking it was probably true. Well, for his Master 'probably' wasn't good enough. Robin could understand that, he'd feel the same way if he was alive. "Fine, what do you want?" He couldn't do anything else now. Assassin chuckled softly.
"Wait." …Well, fine. Robin turned his attention back to the duel between Saber and Lancer… just in time to see the suicidal fuck skewer Lancer, and be skewered himself! Archer watched and waited for them both to vanish but to his surprise, after a touching moment of hand holding, only Lancer vanished. Robin watched Saber's face as he rested his hands on the ground. His face was still as a stone, without any sign of tears, but Robin thought he'd never seen that kind of a look before. Still, that wasn't what concerned him. Saber is much tougher than I thought. That should have shattered his mana core. How hadn't it? Although his chest was torn up so badly it reminded Robin of his own injuries earlier in the week.
Then Caster was there and Robin could only wait.
Sigurd had no time to mourn.
He knew that, and forced himself to his feet despite the agonizing pain. Sigurd could sense Esme's mana flowing through him, busily healing his wounds. It was an abnormal amount and he knew she was accessing the Root to empower herself. Yet, could that possibly be enough? Archer, now would be a good time for a helping hand.
Sigurd shoved Gram's tip into the ground and surreptitiously used his sword to support his weight as a woman in purple floated out from between the trees. She was really quite beautiful, he thought, with a fine figure and odd purple hair. Her sharp ears made Sigurd wonder if the woman had fey blood.
"You're even more handsome with blood painted across your body, barely able to stand," she said with a wicked smile and Sigurd blinked. That… was not the opening he'd been expecting. "You know, you confuse me, warrior." Sigurd dearly wanted to spit in her face and tell her to go to hell, after seeing Brynhildr's misery. And yet… No, keep her talking as long as you can. Esme's whisper echoed his own thoughts.
"How so?" Sigurd asked warily and Caster's smile softened a bit before she explained.
"You seem like such a strong man. Not just your body, but your mind," she said and Sigurd was starting to feel nervous. This… reminded him of Gudrun… "Such skill with magic from a Saber! You're capable of being a Caster, aren't you?" She didn't wait for his response, which was just as well. Sigurd preferred not to admit it. "Yet, you betrayed her." Sigurd felt a sudden jolt of pain. "Why didn't you cast aside your second wife and go back to her? Why did you help another man to marry her? Why?" Sigurd's attention was firmly fixed on Caster and he saw the question truly bothered her. Vaguely, he wondered what man had betrayed her in her past.
"It was…" How should he handle this? Stall as long as possible, yes. "It shames me to admit that I loved them both," Sigurd finally said, still feeling the pain of it. Although… something was… different…? "Gudrun erased my memories but then, she won my heart. That was why I married her." He hadn't accepted her because she was a Queen. No, Sigurd had been captivated by her dark glory, her beauty and her spirit. "And then… when I remembered… I couldn't set her aside. For my love for her but also because it would have meant bloody war," Sigurd said, remembering the political situation. Gudrun couldn't have forgiven the insult and if he'd set her aside to take back his Bryn and their kingdom, she would have surely declared war on him. "She was a vengeful woman." Oh how he knew that. Sigurd had restrained Gudrun several times, in the few years they had been married. "But seeing Brynhildr so bereft and alone… knowing she would be waiting for me forever… when my brother-in-law expressed an interest, it just seemed right." Sigurd dared to take a bit of weight off his sword. He was already steadier, yes. Could he fight though? "I wanted her to be happy and loved and I knew he was a good man." Sigurd felt a flicker of anguish as he remembered. Giving up Brynhildr to another man had been the hardest thing he'd ever done and then… "I just wanted good for everyone and in the end, there was nothing." Himself, sliced apart by the woman he loved. Brynhildr burning to death, leaving behind nothing but ashes. And Gudrun widowed, left mourning him for the rest of her life. What had any of it been for, in the end?
Sigurd, Archer's Master isn't responding to me anymore, Esme whispered urgently and Sigurd stiffened. I can't pull you back to me with a Command Seal, the bounded field is too strong. That… wasn't good. I have another idea but I'm not sure… it might destroy you. Destroy him? How?
"I see," Caster said with a small sigh and Sigurd's attention flashed back to her. She was smiling now, but not wickedly. No, she looked genuinely happy as she drew out a weapon? "You are just as I'd hoped. You'll make an excellent slave, Saber." He might have taken offense to that – Sigurd would never submit to slavery! – but his attention was riveted to what she was holding.
"What is that?" Sigurd whispered, staring at the 'numbers' of the blade. The changes to his glasses revealed that it was a great and powerful Number, yet twisted on a level he could barely comprehend. It repulsed him, sending shivers of dread down his spine and in the back of his mind, Sigurd heard Esme gasp. "Stay away from me!" Sigurd lifted his sword, setting himself as Caster stepped forward. She stopped, a slightly surprised look on her face.
"You're afraid of a little dagger?" Was that even a dagger? Ah, yes, that was the physical form it took. Sigurd had been so involved in the other side of it that he'd hardly noticed. "Well, well. You can actually see what it is? Is it those glasses you wear? You are truly intriguing, hero. Perhaps I need a bit of help…" Shadowy forms melted out of the trees and Sigurd's breath caught in his throat. So many, men and women, wearing white skull masks. "Assassin, restrain him for me."
"Zabaniya!" Sigurd's eyes went wide as Assassin moved… against Caster. She screamed in shocked surprise as her minion suddenly turned on her and daggers stabbed into her body, her limbs and her vitals. At the same moment he felt Esme's ward activate and whirled in time to see Archer's arrows going astray, defeated by her shield. What the hell was happening? Had Archer betrayed him with Assassin…?
There's too many! Sigurd! Shit, shit shit! Sigurd knocked another fusillade of arrows out of the air with a series of air runes, even as a few of the Assassins began launching attacks on him. His sword weaved a pattern of death and a head flew from dark shoulders but there were so many! I'm doing it now! By the power of my Command Seal – what followed next wasn't words, it was runes? Pure mathematics, equations created in Esme's mind, seared through Sigurd's skull and his body obeyed a command he didn't understand. The very nature of his mana seemed to shift and distort into… what?
Sigurd had no time to contemplate the change. Even as it happened, something reached out to him. It looked like a filmy white hand and the world around him became impossibly distant, the sounds of battle and death becoming muffled to nearly nothing. That was not comforting, though, because as the hand grasped him Sigurd's senses were assaulted in a different way… the sickly sweet stench of rot filled his nose as the copper tang of blood rested heavily on his tongue. Icy cold stabbed at his skin before sinking into his bones and guts, causing an agony unlike anything Sigurd had ever known. And despite that, the hand seemed to hold him strangely gently, inflicting no true harm as it slowly, delicately drew him away. Sigurd was helpless as a newborn chick as the battlefield vanished completely into nothing but hazy white.
Then white shifted to dark stone and Sigurd landed on his knees on the floor.
"Sigurd, Sigurd, oh Sigurd I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Warm arms went around him and Sigurd realized he was shaking, shaking so hard his teeth were rattling. Yet, he couldn't stop, as even his bones seemed to ache with the cold. And his horrible wounds stung, adding an extra layer of agony on top of horror.
"What… was…?" Sigurd croaked as he put an arm around Esme, feeling her warmth and life. A hand gently touched his cheek and Sigurd shuddered before resting his face against her. He needed her warmth, anything to take away this deathly chill.
"I used a Command Seal to make your numbers looked like me, then I kicked the tower," Esme said softly in his ear as Sigurd breathed in her scent, felt the brush of her hair. "It did the rest. It's bigger than a Command Seal, much bigger." …Yes. The tower was much closer to the Grail itself than a mere Command Seal.
"It's a monster," Sigurd said, still shaken by the encounter. He'd known the tower was monstrous, of course – Esme had told him of it's nature – but that was still different from experiencing it first hand. "Esme, I… uh…" Sigurd grunted as she tried to help him to his feet, accidentally setting most of his weight on her. Esme gasped but accepted the burden without complaint.
"You need to go to bed. You're safe now Sigurd, you have to rest," Esme said softly and Sigurd nodded, feeling exhausted to the bone. Oh god, the stairs, how was he – "Right over here." Oh, were they on the right floor? Thank god!
Sigurd was barely on his feet when he collapsed into a bed. Vaguely, he was aware of the fact that the sheets were pink and frilly, matching the curtains that blew with the breeze. Yet, it didn't matter… what mattered was Esme's whisper in his ear and Sigurd managed to obey, making his armor vanish. Hands rested on his body and Sigurd felt the gentle flow of healing, even as awareness of the world fell away.
Utterly exhausted, there was nothing he could do but accept blessed unconsciousness.