Humming happily to herself, Esme skipped barefoot down the dirt path that led into the Root.
It's been so long! Before the Grail War, Esme had visited the Root all the time, just to relax and feel comforted. She'd had no idea that was unusual until Sigurd had told her… apparently, even Magicians feared being swallowed by Akasha and rarely contacted it again after the first time. I'm not sure why I'm not afraid, but I'm not. Esme knew exactly what she could and could not touch.
Since the Grail War, though, Esme had been busy doing so many other things. The desire to come to the Root, though, had overwhelmed her today. So now she was here, deep in the World, feeling the warm dirt beneath her toes and marveling at the magical wonderland that was the Root.
There were multiple tunnels, various paths in the Root and Esme found, to her surprise, that they were different than usual. Unconcerned, she picked a path at random to go explore. Leaving the Root was never a problem, Esme just had to want to go and the path outwards would be behind her.
"Oh!" Esme stopped dead as she saw the tunnel before her widen into a much larger space. That was VERY new, she had never seen anything like that before… moving more carefully, Esme ventured into the cathedral-like cavern. "Oh," Esme breathed, her eyes wide as she beheld what was within.
It was a library. Yet, it was completely unlike anything made by human hands. The walls of the cavern were full of living roots, shaped into bookshelves and holding countless volumes, more than Esme could count. More shelves filled the inside of the cavern although Esme noted that the roots holding them changed into real roots halfway up, no longer holding books. They reached the ceiling and became part of it, like great pillars holding this room up.
Esme walked through the cavern, looking curiously at the books. There were no names on the spines… hovering a hand over one slim volume, Esme concentrated on the feeling. No hint of threat. Obeying her instincts, she plucked the book free from its' place. It was black and thin, almost the size of a magazine. As she looked at it more closely Esme found that was oddly hazy and unreal, difficult to perceive… she had to squint but finally the words on the cover resolved themselves.
Jack the Ripper. Esme blinked at the book. Who was that? Feeling a bit of danger, she didn't open the book, but set it back in its place. Then she picked up another. This one was bound in red and gold and had ornate gold writing on the cover, clearly stating the name of the book. William Shakespeare.
"What are these…?" Esme murmured as she kept picking up books. They ranged from the tiniest of slips to great tomes that were heavy to lift. Mozart. Kiyohime. Gilgamesh. "Are all of these people?" She knew Shakespeare, she'd read his books. Mozart was a composer. Who was Kiyohime? Who was Gilgamesh?
Then Esme had a book nearly leap off the shelf into her hand.
"Oh…" It was a book bound in blue leather. Esme ran her fingers over it, finding it was soft and supple. There was embossing on the leather in the shape of silver snowflakes. Sigurd. And there was a companion book on the shelf, bound in the same blue leather. Feeling breathless, Esme reached to pull it out. It had the same snowflakes. Brynhildr.
"Is this the Throne of Heroes?" Esme murmured as she stared at the two books in her hands. They both felt so right together. "Did binding Sigurd to Akasha show me the way?" Her connection to the Root was instinctive. It was plausible that accessing the Throne via the Grail had given her a path to access it. And… "Is this part of my Magic too?" Making the Imaginary into the Real… what were all these books if not Imaginary things that could easily become Real?
Esme dearly wanted to read the book titled Sigurd. She wanted to know all the details of his life, all the history behind him, even the things he couldn't recall. But even as she felt the desire she had second thoughts. This book would contain all that Sigurd was, the sadness and pain and secrets he would not want revealed to anyone. Was it right to read someone else's entire life like a book?
"I can't," Esme murmured, running a hand over the soft leather. "…" Yet, she felt like the book belonged with her? "Do you want to come with me?" Esme asked the book. Logically, it made no sense – Sigurd was already summoned – yet, the book felt warm under her hands. "…" Deciding to trust her instincts, Esme accepted the book of Sigurd. For a moment she gazed at the book of Brynhildr before carefully putting it back. It was sad to part the two volumes, but they couldn't be together right now. Maybe someday, in some far off place, there could be a reunion but not right now.
Feeling deeply accomplished, Esme left the Throne with book in hand. She didn't see the space behind her wobbling a bit and the book immediately being replaced with a new one, identical to the first.
It didn't matter how many times a Servant was summoned, they were always still within the Throne of Heroes.
For Sigurd, matters that evening went rather oddly.
Esme was immersed in something, muttering to herself as she drew on paper after paper with deep intensity. She was working on the floor of their 'bedroom' and as Sigurd peered through the door, he saw her swipe away several discarded papers in irritation. One of them floated close to the door and he reached out to snag it, lifting and examining it in the light of Crystallized Wisdom.
This rune? Sigurd felt a deep chill as he took in the intricate design and the extensive modifications. He knew this rune. Brynhildr had taught it to him and also taught him the few ways she thought it should be used. Esme was going far beyond that. Why is she trying to modify time? Because that was what this rune governed, the ebb and flow of time…
"Esme, princess, is this safe?" Sigurd asked, letting the paper slip from his fingers. For a moment he was afraid Esme wouldn't answer, too caught up in her designing. But then she did, answering absently as she continued to work.
"Yes, I know what I'm doing." …Sigurd wanted to believe that, he truly did, but he didn't think he would have trusted Odin himself with this kind of magic. "This is the rune I used to make the tower let go of me." Oh… was it? Sigurd swallowed at the thought. "And the good thing is that I don't have enough power to really mess it up." Eh? "This rune is more dangerous the stronger you are and my mage circuits are rather weak." Ah… that was true, wasn't it? Sigurd had a great deal of raw power and Brynhildr had known that. "I used this rune all the time when I was a child too…" Oh dear gods. "Every time I broke a plate or a vase so I wouldn't get in trouble."
"I see." Sigurd felt bemused and a little horrified at the information. Yet, he could see a young prodigy doing just that sort of thing. Turn back time just enough to stop the breaking of a plate. "Would you like me to make supper, princess?" Normally that was Esme's duty but Sigurd knew how the stove-Number worked. He could handle it if she'd been hit with a fit of inspiration.
"If you could… I need to get this out before I forget…" Yes, he'd thought as much. Smiling to himself, Sigurd went to Esme's newest Number, a magical fridge. Hmm, they had pork sausage. What could he do with that? Celery and carrots caught his eye and Sigurd had an idea. But did they have the other ingredients? A quick check of the cans and dried ingredients confirmed they did. Yes, that was what he would make!
Sigurd quickly and expertly chopped up an onion and garlic before putting them in the pot. Celery and carrots followed, then a diced up tomato, followed by the sausage. Then water and a bouillon cube, to give it flavor and after it got to a boil, some noodles and beans. Hmm, was he supposed to add some herbs as well? A bit of dried oregano joined the pot.
An excellent soup. It was already smelling good, he would just wait for the noodles to soften. And was Esme done? Venturing back to the bedroom Sigurd saw she was staring at a chunk of silver with a single minded, intense stare. As he watched the silver warped, respond to Esme's desires and shifting to become what she wished.
"Esme? Supper will be done soon," Sigurd called softly, not wanting to break her concentration. She nodded.
"I'll find a good place… to stop…" Her voice was strained with effort and Sigurd was reminded that making her Numbers, particularly the very complicated, powerful ones, was difficult for her. Nodding, he left her to it. It shouldn't take her long to finish. As he brought out the bowls, though, Sigurd frowned to himself. A Number that could distort time… how was Esme powering it?
The great limitation is raw power. Even in his own day, that had been true. To make something incredible like Gram, materials of the highest caliber, with virtue of their own, had to be used. The fragments of his father's sword had been made from steel touched by the faerie realm. Mere silver cannot bear such an effect. Perhaps Esme meant her new Number to be single use? The destruction of the structure could garner more power.
When Esme came out of the bedroom, Sigurd was alarmed at the sight of her. Sweat dewed her forehead and stained her hair and as he watched, she stumbled. Acting instinctively, Sigurd moved with Servant speed to gently catch her before she could fall.
"Oh… thank you…" Esme murmured as Sigurd took her weight easily.
"Are you alright princess?" Sigurd asked in concern, checking his connection with her. Only the tiniest trickle of mana connected them at the moment. It didn't matter to him – his connection to the tree was strong – but it showed how exhausted Esme was.
"I'm fine really. I probably should have waited to start the actual construction until tomorrow but I want to finish it quickly." Esme reached up to push back a bit of sweaty hair before shaking her head. "I'm fine really." Sigurd doubted that, but her troubles could easily be fixed with a bit of food and rest.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. As they sat down to supper Sigurd kept an eye on Esme and to his dismay, he soon realized she wasn't really eating. She was bringing the spoon to her lips and taking the tiniest of sips, but nothing that would nourish her. And this was much different from what he'd seen before… in the tower, Esme had been distracted by her thoughts and uninterested in the food. This time, Esme was exhausted to the point of sickness. Was this what her Numbers truly cost her?
I never saw this because she couldn't afford to exhaust herself so in the middle of a Grail War. Sigurd frowned as he considered what to do. Everything she made then was less intensive. The Number of binding, the flash grenades, even his heart guard, were all lesser Numbers than what she was making now. What was she making? Sigurd wanted to ask but now wasn't the time.
Briefly, Sigurd considered putting Esme on his lap and spoon feeding her. But that was a thought born of frustration and Sigurd knew it was a terrible idea, she wasn't a child and he was a Servant, not her father. Hmm… it was a low tactic, but…
"Esme, is there anything wrong with the soup?" Sigurd asked and Esme looked at him, startled. "I made it just for you." Sigurd allowed a bit of disappointment to color his tone. "Could you please at least try it, for me?" Guilting her might be a dirty tactic but it was effective, as Esme blushed.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Esme took a real mouthful then, to Sigurd's relief. Eating was still a struggle for her, she even paused once to heave, but she managed to keep it down. "It's a wonderful soup, it really is." Esme assured him and Sigurd felt a bit of guilt of his own, using this strategy. But it truly was for her good, she needed to eat.
"Thank you, I'm glad you like it. But what are you making?" Sigurd asked curiously. Manipulating time was still a terrifying concept, even if Esme was sure she could do it right.
"Well… Sigurd, you know I visited the Root today." Yes, she'd warned him she would be 'gone'. It was a very strange feeling, their connection growing so wispy and tenuous as Esme left the World but it had still been enough to anchor him. "I found something new… there's a library there now." Eh? "It's the Throne of Heroes. I think using the Grail to access it showed me the way." Sigurd was enthralled at the thought, immediately seeing the implications. Making the Imaginary into the Real was practically the definition of summoning!
"Esme, can you summon other heroic spirits?" Sigurd asked even as he considered the downside… Esme couldn't support them. Only her link to Akasha made it possible for her to support Sigurd, even on a limited level.
"Yes, and I might in the future, but only the ones like you who can support themselves." Ah! Other magic users could certainly do that. Sigurd could easily give them access to the tree, once it was complete. "That's a project for the future though, maybe… but Sigurd, when I was there, I found your book." Sigurd blinked. His book? "The book that held everything you are… I didn't read it! But I took it with me when I left because it felt like I should. And when I left the Root, it turned into a lump of silver." Wait, the material she was using for her Number had come from the Root?! "It's not really silver, I'm not sure what it is, but it's an incredible material so I had to make something worthy of it."
"Ah," Sigurd murmured, stunned by the revelation. With a material of that caliber, Esme's Number would work. "What is it meant to do?" Esme smiled at him, setting down her bowl of soup. She'd almost finished it and was looking much better, Sigurd absently noted.
"It's going to be a ring for you. It will give you a second chance." Esme reached up adjust her barettes before continuing. "If you die, or I die, the ring will shift back time just a bit to give you a chance to fix what went wrong. You'll remember exactly what happened… No one else will, but I think they'll have a weird feeling of déjà vu." It sounded excellent but Sigurd frowned at the thought.
"Do you think I'll need that, Esme?" Sigurd couldn't help but have mixed feelings. It seemed to lack faith in his abilities. Esme looked at him solemnly.
"Everyone can make mistakes. And remember, it will give you a second chance if I'm the one die," Esme said softly and Sigurd's gaze dropped to his soup. Ah, it was true, despite her beautiful power and her mystic codes, Esme was only a girl. "I just want to give us every advantage I can." That made Sigurd feel better. It was how he'd fought his own battles as a living man, making sure there was every advantage in place before he'd made his move.
"Of course, you're right. Well, that's an amazing thing! But you don't have to kill yourself making it, Esme. We won't need it for a while," Sigurd said easily and she looked doubtful so he hastened to reassure her. "The next attack will surely be Enforcers. They don't know about me yet." The mercenaries her family had hired had been rather pathetic. They would likely assume that Esme had defeated them herself, with her mystic codes. "Other Servants will be a last resort." Because that would mean dealing with Chaldeas. Responding to his need, the Grail had given him information on the political situation and Sigurd knew the Clock Tower and Chaldeas had rather strained relations. The owners of Shiva would make them pay through the nose for help. Esme was a bit reassured by that.
"You're right. Still, I want to get it done before the week is out," Esme said firmly and Sigurd nodded, finishing the last bit of his soup. As he did, he reflected on it… he would never tell Esme but he was looking forward to the next attack. All that was left to finish his tree was the final sacrifice and with a bit of luck and preparation, Esme would never have to know.
Odin's bloody sacrifices were not something to taint her soul with.
The next attack was not a real danger but it was far more serious than the first.
A strike force of ten Enforcers, all of them capable and armed to the teeth, breached the wards. It was cleverly done and they no doubt thought themselves undiscovered, but they did not know about the Territory Sigurd had created. Esme's wards were penetrated but the Territory detected them and alerted her Servant.
"I will go alone. There is no need for you to come, princess," Sigurd said, touching her cheek with a small smile and Esme nodded.
"Yes, I understand. You're wearing the ring?" Not that they would likely need it but… Sigurd lifted his hand and dematerialized his gauntlet, showing the silver for a moment. Esme had worked it into the shape of a dragon, biting its' own tail. On her own hand was a matching band but smaller and more feminine. "Thank you. Be safe!" For a moment, Esme wished she could come. But she would only be in the way, with her lack of any real combat ability and no enemy Servants to face. Strange, that the greatest powers, that other humans could never face, were nothing to her, while humans were her bane.
"Don't worry Esme, it will all be over soon," Sigurd promised before leaving the house. Esme went to the scrying tool, intending to watch him. It would be bloody and terrible, to be sure, but she would not turn away from that. And if things became dire, she could use the Number she had implanted on him to cast spells. Even if it was very unlikely she would be needed, Esme would watch over her prince.
Esme watched the thing unfold, feeling a bit of sadness in her heart. It was a blustery, unpleasant day that seemed to suit the mood of the thing, as Sigurd started with a sneak attack. His daggers picked off two Enforcers before the rest were even able to react. Then the battle was joined in earnest. Esme watched raptly, feeling an odd excitement stirring in her chest as she watched Sigurd fighting so beautifully. It was easier to feel excited when she wasn't also terrified for him…
It was bloody though. Bloody and ugly and Esme almost blamed her sudden feeling of dizziness on that. But something wasn't quite right. Esme rubbed her forehead before looking into the crystal ball. Sigurd was dispatching the last of the Enforcers and now gathering their bodies for a funeral pyre. But something wasn't… quite right?
Sigurd? Is everything fine? Esme asked, unable to quantify exactly what was wrong.
Everything is just fine princess. Don't worry about anything, Sigurd's voice was so soothing that it was entrancing. Esme dreamily let go of the crystal ball –
Don't. Esme blinked as another voice, scarcely more than a whisper, touched her thoughts. Don't let him make the same mistake again. He shields the ones he loves the most and he means well but it's the mistake he makes over and over again because he doesn't think it's a mistake.
"…Lancer?" Esme whispered. "Brynhildr?" Had that been…? But wait, shielding her? What could Sigurd be shielding her from? From… the true outcome of the battle?
Acting on a hunch, Esme lifted her ball from the holder and gazed directly at the bottom. Removed from its' stand and with her attention directly on it, the rune that had been planted there became clear. Esme's breath caught in her throat as she analyzed the rune. It was based on Wind and meant to be illusory but drawing the inspiration for the illusion from the viewers mind…
Sigurd has been tricking me. Esme felt a churning in her gut and suddenly understood why the Caster card was somewhat feared. I didn't suspect a thing. But what would Sigurd be hiding from her? Wait… could it be…?
Acting on a combination of instinct and knowledge, Esme sprang to her feet and rushed out of the house. Light rain pelted her as she ran through the woods, taking the familiar deer trail that Sigurd had shown her. Branches caught on her skirt as if they were trying to slow her but Esme shook them off, ignoring the lines of red they left on her legs. What mattered was Sigurd and what he was doing at the tree.
Esme nearly tripped and fell as she came to the clearing, catching herself on a tree. As she did she saw exactly what she had feared… a man hanging from the branches of the tree, dying but not dead. He died even as she watched, as Sigurd ran him through with a wooden spear. Esme felt the energy of the death link to the tree and saw the pattern of power shift, ever so slightly, like a key turning in a lock. Swallowing hard, she let go of the tree and stepped into the clearing. Esme's foot landed on a twig and Sigurd turned at the sound. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he saw her.
"Esme…" Sigurd's voice sounded strangled and Esme could see a terrible twisting in his numbers. Fear. Apprehension. Blame, directed at himself. She will hate me. The feeling was so strong it was nearly a thought and Esme wanted to hug him and tell him it was fine but… that would be a lie and lies were the problem here.
"Sigurd, you've been tricking me." Esme stared at him, seeing her Servant going pale at the accusation. "All those times I've felt dizzy… you've been manipulating me." How had he been doing it? Sigurd had a deep connection to her and as Caster, he'd been exploiting it. Not something he could have done as Saber. "And even worse is the reason behind it. Do you think I'm too weak to know what's happening?" Esme asked him reproachfully, feeling deeply disappointed in her Servant. She didn't hide the feeling from him and Sigurd paled further. "Do you think I'm not fit to be your Master?"
"No! No, of course not, that's not why I did this at all! Esme, you shouldn't have to bear this," Sigurd said and Esme remembered that voice in her mind again, clear as a bell. He shields the ones he loves. "This is – is something I have done in life, when I paid Odin his dues. There's no need for you to give up your innocence." …Innocence…
"Sigurd, I'm not as pure as you think. I've killed someone," Esme said softly, feeling a deep swelling of sorrow in her heart. She'd avoided thinking about it, knowing that it couldn't be changed, but she still knew. "When I took the Tower away from my family, I knew exactly what that would mean." Sigurd was staring at her and Esme felt his surprise, saw it in his numbers. "I knew and I accepted it, since we couldn't leave it in their hands… but which of them died? Was it my father, or my brother?" It wouldn't have been her mother, she hated the Tower and avoided it as much as possible.
"Esme…" Sigurd was there then, in front of her and his hands landed gently on her shoulders. Esme could feel the cold ridges of his gauntlets, wet from the rain. "It was your father. I'm sorry," Sigurd murmured before pulling her close. He was wet all over, not just his hands, but Esme didn't care, hugging him back. He needed this closeness as much as she did.
"That's… good. I blamed him more than my brother," Esme murmured, feeling Sigurd's arms tightening around her. Esme could tell he disagreed, but he said nothing, just holding her. "Sigurd, I don't want to be a helpless princess anymore. I want to be your partner, not your burden." Esme nuzzled his chest, feeling the warm solidity of her Servant, such a contrast to the beautiful mana that made up his Numbers. "Please, let me?" She couldn't do that if Sigurd was protecting her.
"Of course," Sigurd murmured, resting his cheek against her hair. Esme could feel his warm breath against her ear. "I'm so sorry Esme. Please, forgive me my deceptions." Esme could tell Sigurd truly understood that what he'd done was wrong. And yet.
"I'll forgive it once, but not a second time, not like this. There has to be trust between partners," Esme said firmly. She didn't want to, Esme wanted to hold and comfort Sigurd, but he had to understand the seriousness of this. "If you do this again, I will not forgive you." She would banish him back to the Throne, even if it ripped her heart in two.
"I… understand." Sigurd sounded lost and forlorn and Esme gave into her urges, letting comfort and forgiveness flow down their link. She hated being stern with him, she truly did and Esme let that feeling reach him as well. Comfort flowed back along the same link, bringing them together in a shared moment of empathy.
What interrupted that moment was the rain, which was becoming heavier. Raindrops splattered thick as Esme pulled back, shivering as she felt it soaking through her hair, dripping down her neck and into her already damp dress.
"Esme, you must go back. I will take care of this," Sigurd said firmly and Esme thought about protesting but then she shivered, unable to stop herself. The cold and wet were seeping into her bones. Still.
"The body doesn't need to stay here, does it? You're going to bury it?" A pyre wouldn't burn well in this rain, although perhaps Sigurd could make it work with runes. And just from what Esme could tell, the corpse didn't need to remain. It wasn't part of the trees' Numbers, to her relief. That would have been difficult to accept. Sigurd nodded, expressionless, and Esme accepted it. "I'll go back." And she had a plan for that.
Leaving Sigurd to his grisly task, Esme went back down the deer track. By the time she made it back, the rain had become very heavy and she was completely soaked, her dress offering no protection at all against the wind and rain. As soon as Esme was back in the house she stripped off her clothing before whispering spells, using minor magics to dry and warm herself. She was still cold so Esme activated a Number, something new she'd made for the winter. Tied to the leyline for mana, it acted like a hearth and soon blessed warmth was flooding into the room.
Her own comfort seen to, Esme began preparing a snack for Sigurd's return. It was late, but she could quickly toast some bread with butter, cheese and fresh herbs. That was among Sigurd's favorite things and Esme wanted to give him tangible proof that she still cared.
The cheese was just beginning to bubble when Sigurd came back. He was sopping wet, even more than she had been, and Esme looked up as he dematerialized his armor and clothing. For a moment Esme was dazzled by the sight of his wet, naked body. He was so handsome, particularly in the dim light of the lamps, making the water sparkle and his body almost glow. Then Sigurd was tracing runes and murmuring softly, drying and warming himself and Esme turned her attention back to the food. She wanted the cheese to be just right, a little browned but not burnt.
"Esme, that smells wonderful," Sigurd murmured as she pulled it out of the oven-Number. Esme looked up with a smile and saw that Sigurd was looking a bit down, his Numbers flat and unhappy.
"It's your favorite, the fontina cheese and the fresh herbs, with plenty of butter," Esme said before sliding a thick slice onto a plate. Fontina was so perfect for this, creamy and stretchy but mild enough to not detract from the herbs. Sigurd accepted the food with a small smile.
"Thank you." Esme kept an eye on him as they ate and was pleased to see Sigurd's Numbers brightening, gaining energy as he took in the food. She although thought he understood the unspoken message… that she still cared for him, very much. When the snack was done they both settled into bed to sleep, cuddling and sharing body heat beneath the warm, heavy blankets. The seasons were changing and it was starting to get cold… as Esme drifted off, she felt a deep sense of contentment.
They'd had a bump in their relationship but they would get past it and become stronger together.