Chapter 4- Memorable
[Saber]
What she cannot comprehend is how easily the other servants go on living normal lives. They feel no disturbance, no heavy force on their shoulders, no suspicion over what occurred. So she is alone in this endeavor.
It's the dreams..
And the wall she can't push past in her own mind. As if there is something behind it that she should see. Or someone she is forgetting.
In her dreams, she sees the flash and heat of battle, heart wrenching deaths and a face of a man she feels she should recognize and yet doesn't.
Her mind and body tell her that she has experienced these all, that these dreams are memories. But then the wall comes down and she can't place what she had seen or what it could have all meant.
But she is sure that she has forgotten something. Or someone is making her forget it all.
Or perhaps she's only paranoid.
Except, if her dreams are memories, then why do they mirror the image of another Holy Grail War, why does she see new servants and a boy with orange-red hair.
And sorrow.
But happiness, she feels that there was pain and anguish...but also...contentment.
And why, if she had experienced another Holy Grail War, did the servants of that one not return as well?
Saber inhales, a sense of panic suddenly overwhelming her, her head swiveling around as if a pair of eyes are watching her.
The fog comes over her before she can attempt to fight it. For a few moments, she is deciphering her thoughts and the next, she can't recall what she had just been thinking or why she feels so disturbed; standing lost on the sidewalk.
Blinking, Saber tightens her grip around her brown satchel, shaking away the sudden mist that seemed to have overcome her mind.
Without another thought, she is walking towards her destination again. Glancing down at her watch, she shifts her shoulders back, stiffening her back so she is striding as straight-backed as she can. It is a peaceful Sunday afternoon and she takes most of her free time to either go through some of her left over work, follow through on any Caster leads or walk through the city.
In the morning, she already started with a brisk jog through the park closest to her apartment which was about twenty blocks of a fairly easy workout. She hasn't held her saber in some time however, about three days, which doesn't seem too long but to her, it is already a lifetime. The human world can be so hectic, and she cannot comprehend how the other servants have so easily integrated into society.
Without being suspicious as to why—
She stops walking, head falling backwards so that her eyes are suddenly staring at the blue sky. These thoughts seem to circle through her mind like an intense sense of deja vu.
But a voice in the back of her head whispers harshly: No. You are happy here. This is where you belong.
She wipes at her eyes and then her head falls forward, her feet seem to rush towards or through the ground for a certain moment. Everything is wobbly and then Saber is reaching for the strap of her satchel again, digging her fingers into the material; the fog clearing a bit.
"Um—", groggily, she rummages through her satchel and grabs a packet of tissues. Without another thought, she wipes at her eyes and then her nose, as if her sudden tiredness is merely allergies; regardless of the fact that she has never suffered from anything remotely close to such.
Then she is walking again, her thoughts flowing like the flick of a flame bursting from a lighter.
I think I'm running late...
Glancing at her phone, the digital clock reads, 2:00, making her quicken her steps, weaving through tight pacts of people, slipping past tourists and boisterous guides. All she has to do is avert her gaze or fix it on the sidewalk right before her and she is left alone, seamlessly moving through crowds of civilians. It is uncommon for her to spend more than an hour of her time not working but she supposed today is a special occasion. She wears a woman's blazer, navy blue, on top of a buttoned white shirt, folded to her elbows and the same color trousers, fitted for woman as well. On her feet, are perhaps the most uncomfortable shoes she's ever worn—and she's never worn heels—but these flats are so close to the ground. She can feel each indent in the sidewalk and each vibration rushing up her shin bone. The awkward sensation disappears the more she walks but it makes her truly admire women who so easily wear shoes with pointed heels taller than anything she's ever seen possible.
Her hair is, of course, tied into a neat ponytail, swaying with each step. No makeup, because she hardly knows what it is or even how to put it on.
She supposes she should get more casual clothes but she quite likes dressing professionally, preferring it over a skirt and tight dress. Her armor doesn't really count as a dress, it is far too easy to run and fight in to be something uncomfortable. Plus the dresses these days are amazingly short. In her time period, that would be seen as quite scandalous.
She pauses by a small bookstore, something that is tucked between two other stores, fairly obscure. But it smells warm and kind and if kindness ever did have a smell, it would be the scent wafting from the tiny book store before her.
She aches to stop and indulge in some light reading, having already acquired the interest over the four years she's been here; lost in biographies of women and men she had never had the chance of knowing. Or stories of outrageous adventures and trials of courage.
Nibbling her bottom lip, she contemplates the consequences of stopping. Knowing herself, she'd linger far too long or lose track of time. She's had such a luxury ever since being in the human world—to be able to forget what time of day it is or become so lost in a store, that she is unaware of her surroundings.
But not this time—
She's already a bit late to her "meeting" and she hates to be seen as rude, especially when she is meeting him, of all people.
Lancer had messaged her on the terribly distracting rectangular phones, asking her in a rather polite and quiet tone if she would meet him at the cafe again. To which she relented only because she knows she owes him answers of what she remembers.
I know I'm forgetting something—
She continues to watch the bookstore, eyes locked on the two small bells attached to the top. Her thoughts have come to a sudden halt and she is thinking about nothing except about the way the light hits those two bells.
Then her phone vibrates in her hand and she is looking down, for a moment, absentmindedly, having forgotten where she was.
Lancer...
Lancer?
Right. She was meeting him. She reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, a startling sharp pain banging through the back of her head. She grunts but keeps walking nonetheless.
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She is nervous for a moment but then she steals a bit of courage and strength from her stubborn personality and walks into the cafe, pushing the door with as much confidence she could muster.
The cafe is much more crowded during this time of day and she underestimated the movement of the people, getting caught between a heavier man and slender woman. She grabs the flap of her satchel instinctively as she migrates through the long line, feeling the brush of skin on her cheek and small shoves from behind as she pops out from the crowd.
Exhaling, she reaches up and brushes her fingers through her neatly done hair, making sure no hair stands too out of place besides the two strands she can never keep down; sticking right up from her head.
Glancing around the half of her room, she searches for the familiar hazel eyes and dark, raven hair; slight curl pulled over his forehead. For a moment, she nearly begins to search for a bright red lance but she must remind herself that they are blending normally into the world. To hold such a dangerous weapon in here would only cause mass chaos and confusion.
At the counter, she notices the shop owner and his curious wife, her mouth open, most likely speaking loudly in her heavy accent. But they haven't noticed Saber so she dips her head and continues to the back of the room, past an arching doorway; covered with a transparent purple curtain. Purple lights splash across the floor as she pushes it aside, letting it sweep closed as she steps through.
Small circular tables, about ten, sit around a room, one with an open window and veranda towards the street. It isn't a particularly pretty view but at least it is decorated with flower pots and bright colors, making the dark and littered street seem less dirty. Saber cranes her neck towards the entrance behind her and then searches the room hurriedly for any other noticeable exits. She spots two and then she feels much safer after surveilling the area.
A wave of familiar power overwhelms her senses and she blinks, twisting to look at the flow of energy, like an invitation she can recall taking once before.
Sure enough, sitting in casual clothing—a green t-shirt tucked halfway into black jeans adorned with polished brown dress shoes— is Lancer, his legs splayed outward and arms slung over the seat beside him. He carries himself with the same confidence he always has, with a sly, knowing smirk and catty eyes.
She sucks in a deep breath, crossing the room towards him where he has situated himself in the far corner, closest to one of the exits she's spotted. The breeze of the cars passing by makes her blazer slightly float open and hair fly across her lips in small strands of blonde.
She grabs one of the chairs and quickly sits, folding her satchel across her lap, already searching his eyes for a hint of emotion other then his usual flirtatious gaze. But if he has any anger or nervousness, he hides it well.
He leans forward, folding his hands together and she imagines this is why he's already succeeding so well in the world, because he easily flashes a chivalrous smile with a slight raise of his eyebrows and even a bit of a slight narrow of the eye that the beauty mark sits under. So he's decided to use his charm spell? Or perhaps he simply can't help using it.
"If you are trying to seduce me, may I remind you that it does not work." She shakes her head at him, placing her phone down on the table, even giving a click of her tongue. He can be quite childish can't he?
Looking up, she is startled to suddenly see a different face. A man she is sure she must have known, a man who posed a bit of danger towards her at some point. A man with a strong jaw and blue hair, wearing a lancer's armor but in royal blue, his hand wrapped around a red lance and his body leaning nonchalantly against the table. Saber nearly jumps out of her chair but she only manages to scoot an inch back, making the legs of the chair screech in resistance.
"I—Who.."
The Lancer she knows returns, like an apparition disappearing before her very eyes or a flash of a memory. She blinks for a few minutes, shaking the thought away from her mind, feeling the tug of that fog threatening to wash over her.
"Are you alright?" Lancer inquires, still sitting as he was, leaned forward, hands held and eyebrows now furrowed.
Saber touches her phone, straightening it before her on the table, "Yes. Yes, I am fine."
And when she looks up to see him appearing severely unconvinced, she debates on whether she should tell him what she just saw. Then again, the last time she brought up anything remotely crazy or even talked about her suspicions of this whole dilemma, he became irritated. So who is she to say he wouldn't see her insane now when she admits to seeing "ghosts".
"I haven't slept," she lies, hoping that the sluggishness she has avoided for the whole week will suddenly seem extremely apparent.
He accepts this as truth, even perhaps understands it himself, because he flashes that smile again, "I'm glad to know the spell doesn't work on you still. It would be a shame if it did."
She's glad for the easy distraction and the sudden shift. She'd much rather speak light heartedly than admit she sees another man's face on top of his own.
"I'm afraid it will never work on me. You can stop trying now, if that will spare your pride."
He winks at her and she is unfazed, staring at him unblinkingly, not in the slightest amused that he thinks her a frivolous girl. Lancer shrugs, "I was only joking. I know you'd never succumb to such a spell."
Again, she touches her phone, perhaps a nervous habit or perhaps she hates not knowing the specific time every minute that passes, "Good to know."
They are interrupted when a young woman strides towards them, a girl Saber recognizes immediately as the shop owners wife. Saber clicks her tongue and casts an annoyed glance towards the street to her left.
She doesn't have to hide her dislike for the loud woman, who cocks her head at the two of them as if they are a pair of animals behind a set of metal bars.
Lancer's smile doesn't fade, "Afternoon Amelie. I see it's busy today."
Amelie, holding a paper pad and pen, suddenly skirts close to their table, her perfume heavy, "I really have no clue where these people came from. I'm pretty sure you're famous now because half of them snuck back here just to take a goddamn picture of you—"
Lancer flashes a knowing look towards Saber and she assumes this is his joking manner of attempting to impress her. A failed attempt it turns out to be.
Turning back to Amelie, he taps his menu, "My normal order, please."
Amelie doesn't have to look down at what he is pointing at and she doesn't bother scribbling anything down. But then she turns to Saber and Saber can see the hungry curiosity boiling in her irises.
Saber holds in a disapproving sigh and glances down, sliding her fingers down to the end of the page, "I'd like the oatmeal please. With some raisins and cinnamon."
"Perfect." Amelie scribbles her order down and then shoves the pencil in to her apron pocket. Saber assumes she is going to leave soon, if only to giver Lancer and her some privacy, but Amelie doesn't move. She pulls out a chair and sits right down, Lancer's bemused smile turning wider while Saber's frown turns into a tight grimace.
"Will you two mind telling me where you met? I sense some history..."
She's hungry for gossip, her eyes wide with desperation.
Lancer flashes his eyes towards Saber. She shakes her head subtly but Amelie, like any human with average eye sight, notices.
Lancer drums his fingers along the table, "A long time ago. We helped fight off some..." he taps his chin, "A..." he glances at Saber, a plea of help and she flinches.
"Abuser—b-bully! Yes," she sees Lancer nodding, his eyebrows furrowed and lips a bit pursed, "In school."
Amelie's eyes are hungry for more, "Really? What school? What grade?"
Saber watches her. She hardly knows of any schools around here, much less of how to fabricate such a story to satiate the woman's never ending curiosity. It is Lancer's turn to save them, because he interjects, "Sorry Amelie. We're pressed for time today and we have a lot of catching up to do. Do you mind if we have a bit of privacy?"
His smile is warm but Saber can tell by his fingertips thumping repeatedly against the table that he's become increasingly impatient.
Amelie snaps her head towards him, staring at Lancer. Perhaps a message seems to flare between them, because she sighs and gives in, leaving the table.
Lancer looks to Saber with a smug expression, his smile seeming to await praise. She scoffs, "I am not very impressed if that's what you want me to say."
"In due time, Saber."
His gaze is fiery and she realizes how much more flirtatious he has allowed himself to become. Even to her, someone he must know would hardly ever fall for it, he keeps incessantly winking, smirking and using that charm spell. At least it makes the situation less tense.
"Shall we begin?"
He chuckles, a light filling his eyes as the corner of his eyes crinkle and his hand reaches up to rub his chin, "You are still so polite and formal. I hope that isn't how you start all your conversations."
Her eyes widen and a flush of color touches her cheeks, only serving to make Lancer laugh louder, "Of course you do, you really never change."
"I see no reason to—besides you called me here for a reason, right?" She places her hands over her satchel on her lap, "You want closure."
Lancer sits back, hand running through his hair, a sigh of exasperation escaping him, "I don't know what I want Saber. I want the truth. You owe that to me at least."
"I–I have never lied to you. That night, I had no idea that Shirou would do that—" a sharp pain stabs through her chest and she nearly doubles over, grabbing her shirt in a clenched fist.
Shirou...?
"Are you alright? You look sick.."
Lancer's voice sounds far away. Saber grabs at the table, as if to hold on, a bit of sweat forming on her upper brow and lip. She sucks in a deep breath and for a moment, a face is coming into view. She's seeing a face that's startling familiar. And then the pain becomes so strong that it fades away with the wind. A car passes by them and she blinks, willing the pain away and the name and memory suddenly and quickly disappearing.
She stares at her lap for a moment, searching the ground, scanning what she can make out before her.
"I—" she shakes out her head, and with a harsh chuckle, looking back up, says, "Maybe I ate something bad yesterday."
"Who is Shirou?" Lancer's furrowed eyebrows and tight lipped grimace is heavy, his eyes watching her with a sense of worry and confusion.
Saber's gaze floats away from his face and towards the open space above his shoulder. Her body feels relaxed and she can't quite focus on what he just said, her lips move but they feel numb, "I misspoke...Kiritsugu Emiya was my master during the last war...he was, he forced your master to—" which each reassurance in the memory that she knows, her mind feels less cloudy and her lips start to feel like her own, until she's talking and she has no memory of what just occurred, nor of why it happened, "I hadn't known that he was capable of doing something so dishonorable. And he only worsened, he made me destroy the—"
"Here we go—"
Amelie appears like a ghost, balancing plates on her arm. Saber can only imagine that the woman had snuck up on them on purpose, if only to hear bits of their conversation. Still, it's enough to surprise both past servants.
Saber hadn't realized that she had leaned in and Lancer as well, his expression serious, listening with an intent to understand. Quickly, they shift backward and Saber slides her hands over her satchel, clinging to it as Amelie hands their orders down towards the table.
"Careful, it's hot."
She lingers for a moment as Saber watches the ground and Lancer smiles at Amelie.
Then Amelie scoffs and spins around, walking back inside the cafe. Saber folds her hands together, suddenly having lost her appetite or perhaps she never had it in the first place, this meeting having given her many sleepless nights.
She breaths out, "The story isn't as complex as you think. He would do anything to get what he wanted and in the end—in the end—"
Lancer takes notices of her pain, her anger. His death was only a realization that Kiritsugu would never be a man Saber respected. Nor did their philosophies truly see eye to eye. Forcing her to destroy the Grail, as she screamed in anguish, pleading for him to stop would be a memory she'd never forget.
Forget...
She rubs her temples and shuts her eyes, taking a shaky breath, "I—"
"We can circle back to it," Lancer whispers and Saber watches him curiously, his eyes speaking volumes of his kindness and generosity, "I see now that it is hard for you."
She shakes her head, "No. We must speak about this, I...apologize, Lancer. I regret so much of what happened."
He's taken aback by her sudden emotion, his eyes widening for a moment and then he looks down to his order—Toast with eggs and bacon with coffee in a blue mug—, "I blamed you for a long time. I had trusted you and when that happened, I found it to be a big betrayal. But I believe you, I believe you didn't know."
"If I had defeated you, It would have been in battle, not like that."
"The selfishness of humans never amazes me." He pushes at his eggs nonchalantly, lips pursed in a pensive frown, "It seems I will always be cursed to die by the hands of ones I trusted," looking up, he adds, "Or, in our case, to think I did."
"No. You are right to be angry at me. If I had known—"
"Saber," he watches her with a saddened gaze, one made of resolution, as if he's already settled on what could have happened that night, decades ago, "You were still loyal to your master, you were honorable. Even if you had disagreed, you would have been made to obey, or even persuaded. You push so much of yourself away, in pursuit of loyalty."
Her cheeks redden, "I don't see that as a bad thing. But...I would have—I would have stopped him."
Lancer chuckles, "I can understand, I would have pleaded with my master as well did he have such a plan. But in the end, we were merely servants."
He looks down again, at his food, deciding to eat rather than play with it. Contentedly but with sorrow in his eyes, he eats slowly, attempting to avoid her gaze, or perhaps the conversation.
Saber looks down at her oatmeal, stomach in tight knots, "I...will never forgive Kiritsugu. I have no idea if he lived, or what he did—"
"I suppose all masters are horrible people. That must be trust because why would anyone wish so desperately for the Grail if they did not live a life of regret or selfish wishes."
"No. There are good masters too."
Lancer scoffs, chewing at his food savagely, as if starved, "How could you know?"
"Because—"
Shirou...Emiya...Rin..Tohsaka...
She gasps, head whipping to the side as the pain returns with a sharpness she can't possibly describe. She groans and clutches her head, eyes wide and back hunched over. The oatmeal has fallen from the table, splattered in a mix of slush and porcelain.
Lancer's hand on her back makes her flinch and she slaps it away, jumping up from her seat as her head pounds. She looks out towards the street and there, like an apparition, she sees a large figure and another standing beside him.
Her memory begins to fade but the man standing there, his slender arm lifted up towards her, is far too familiar to forget.
Saber grinds her teeth, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she notices that the man standing beside Caster has his hand up in a fist, a shimmering bluish-purple light.
Mage!
She screams out in pain and falls to her knees and Lancer is immediately beside her, calling her name.
She points, "Caster!"
Lancer's head whips towards the street and he is frozen, his hands on her back stilling.
"He's...here..."
Shirou...Rin...Archer...Gil—Gilgamesh?—
There had been another war. She knows this, she had lived that truth. She had left peacefully, fulfilled her goals—happily. Gilgamesh had been killed hadn't he? Hadn't Shirou managed to do it? Her heart pounds as flashes of memories are pulled painfully from her mind. That is a feeling she has felt before but when?
When? And who?
She wants to remember, she doesn't want those memories to be taken away again. Her hand grabs Lancer's, "Something is wrong—I—remember..."
Lancer watches her with disturbed confusion, his eyes following each of her words.
She blinks, her head moving on its own towards the figures, her eyes meeting the glowing hand of the smaller man. The mage.
The fog takes over but it's stronger this time. She feels something being pulled from her, strings of images flashing before her eyes and disappearing into the corners of her mind, fading one by one of a War she should remember, of a whole lifetime.
And then a car flies by down the street and the figures are gone. She sees nothing anymore, she can recall nothing. Her mind is empty.
"I can't believe...he is here." Lancer speaks harshly and he helps Saber up to her feet, "What is it? What happened to you? What were you trying to say?"
"Happened—" she mumbles, still unable to regain her balance. Her head nearly falls back and for a split moment, she cannot place Lancer's face or true name or her past with him, "Who—?"
"Saber?"
She blinks the fog away, head slightly throbbing. Her eyes fall towards the broken bowl and she shakes her head, "Oh. I broke it."
She pulls away from Lancer and kneels before the shards of porcelain, piling them in her hand. Lancer grabs her wrist, peering into her eyes, "Saber, you seem ill."
"No." She breaths, shaking her head, "I think I—I just need to stop Caster. That's what I need to do. This happens...once a month, I think. But I am fine. Fine."
Yes, looking at him now, she remembers the last Holy Grail War. Lancer's death, Kiritsugu and that's all. That is her past, nothing more and nothing less, "I'm sorry if I worried you."
He opens his mouth and then the curtain covering the doorway flaps open. Amelie and the shop owner come rushing forward, their eyes immediately taking up the scene, however unable to ever know what had truly occurred.
"Oh no," Amelie sighs, "That was my favorite bowl."
Lancer swallows his words, "We're sorry, it just happened by accident."
Saber nods weakly, "I will pay for it."
The shop owner waves his hands, "No, no. It's okay."
A smack to the back of his neck makes him flinch and Amelie hisses, "This isn't the first time she's broken something, Justin! Of course she has to pay!"
Lancer chuckles but his gaze lingers on Saber, far too serious and pensive. She places the broken pieces she was able to find down on a napkin on the table, rising to her feet.
"I truly am sorry."
Amelie frowns heavily, "You must not be good at physical activity, you are really clumsy."
This time, Lancer's laugh is true, his hand reaching up to cover his lips but failing as his bubbly chuckles escape him. He adds, to Amelie's confused expression, "You'd be surprised what she could do."