-Author's Preface-
Firstly, my apologies. This chapter took a lot, lot longer than I imagined it would. Several things, though, storywise:
Firstly, there are some inconsistencies in naming that I hope you will bear with. The introduction of new information
via Akito the exiled brings some new information to the story, some of which actively overwrites old information (for
example, the inexplicable Euro Universe has been replaced with the European Union, which makes a hell of a lot more sense).
Having found that out, I have changed Universe to Union here, but I have yet to do this for older chapters, something I'll
deal with later. In other news, the spelling of Justizia/Justica/Justeaze Lizheli von Einzbern is always being changed
and realtered, and my personal belief that Justica or Justizia both sound a lot cooler than Justeaze (which sounds like
some kind of hip new fruit tea with all natural organic ingredients) leads me to use the term Justizia. Lastly,
I do tend to make up the history of Code Geass/Fate/Stay Night as a whole, as it was the alternate history aspect
that first got me into Code Geass. There is a high chance that information relevant to the EU may be overwritten in the course
of Akito the Exiled, and I do pray that the readers understand. Also, many thanks to HeavyValor, my essential co-writer, for helping
me out of a writer's block and contributing to this chapter. Either way, I've held you up enough, so here's Chapter 3 of Fate/Zero Eos!
Thanks, CaptainSparkles
Chapter 3 – On Hubris and Homunculi
"I pull these quotes off Google about
2 minutes before I upload each chapter.
True Story."
-Me
Hans Guderian Air Force Base
Federal Republic of Germany
European Universal Union of Federated Nations (E.U.)
Only the most disciplined of the European Union soldiers could prevent themselves from gawping at the Bugatti Royale that drove carelessly into the middle of the Tarmac.
Somewhat belatedly, the soldiers snapped to attention as a handsome, boyish young man came out from the front, soundlessly opening the back door.
Once again, it took a fair bit of discipline to prevent the soldiers from staring at the silver-haired beauty that exited soundlessly. With hair like silk and a face deserving of an actress, she was the most beautiful thing the soldiers had ever seen.
At the head of the group of soldiers, a moustached Algerian French Air Force officer in the EU Air Force's Blue Beret saluted. "Milady, did you enjoy your trip?"
Irisviel von Einzbern sighed with disappointment. "It could have been a more comfortable ride. Great-grandfather really needs to update the garage a little more. The cars that we pack these days are just too old."
Even the air force officer could barely keep his face straight. As expected of a Lady of noble birth. Only the Einzbern, one of the oldest former noble houses of Germany, could own a Bugatti Royale[1] and complain about it.
For lack of words, the officer decided to change the subject. "Milady, General Bodewig requests your presence before liftoff."
Irisviel nodded happily. "Ahh, Laura? We should catch up anyway. Lead on, Major.
"Erm, Captain."
"Captain."
Inside the control center, EU soldiers of every nation milled about—French Maghreb Zouaves [2]; Italians in their colorful uniforms; Papal Italian "knights," dressed in white; Czech officers in blue, Irish in somber Black and several grim-looking Swedes in Ikea Colors.
It was a testament to the politics of war.
Combined, the Swiss Sig Sauers beat the Britannian AR-24As in accuracy and range, while the Chinese used copies of Russian AK's; the German Panzer-Wulf boasted more armor, firepower and equivalent maneuverability against Britannian M-33's; France's Dunois Rafael could outfight the Chinese J-20 Chengdu. Divided, though, the EU military could not operate with either the sophistication of the Britannian forces or the unflinching discipline of the Chinese Federation.
Then again, it was to be expected. Any organization that attempted to unite sworn enemies such as France and Germany, Poland and Russia, the Irish Republic and England, the Papal States and Italy, and Turkey and itself was bound to be fractious.
Inspired by survivors of Washington's Rebellion such as Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry who feared the establishment of a powerful dictatorship, the European Universe operated on a strict policy of anti-federalism following the end of the Napoleonic Era. As such, the armies of the Euro Union are markedly different: the militaries of Germany, France, Russia and the Irish Republic (the four most powerful states in the EU's central committee) are armed with different weapons and dress in different uniforms, operating together only in cases of war (and only sporadically) and with only limited cohesion.
The soldier who led Irisviel through the crowds of officers, clerks and MPs had to excuse himself in several languages as he led her upstairs to a wooden door. He knocked.
"Come in."
Without a word, the soldier opened the door, ushering Irisviel and her silent bodyguard in.
The office, reserved for the general in command, was meant to be luxurious, with bookshelves for holding ornaments and medals and a desk handmade in Ottoman Turkey that would have made any Pasha proud.
Yet, the office of General Laura Bodewig still managed to look positively Spartan. There were no medals on the bookshelves—in fact, there were only a few books on the shelf, most of them binders whose spines bristled with vague identification codes.
On the desk were no reminders of home or military mementoes, but a half-assembled H&K MP5.
And, her back to Irisviel, was a silver-haired girl of a surprisingly diminutive height.
"Elder sister," Irisviel said respectfully with a small curtsey.
"…Irisviel," General Laura Bodewig said emotionlessly as she turned around.
The first thing that struck the soldier at the door was the resemblance between the two. Their silver hair aside, both of them had the same reddish eyes and beauty—a beauty that seemed almost inhuman.
The second was that Irisviel had referred to the general as her older sister. A joke? General Bodewig, in fact, was a head shorter than her supposedly younger sibling—as far as age, she looked at least ten years Irisviel's junior.
Catching his confused expression, Laura nodded to the soldier. "Wait outside."
Saluting, the soldier left with a bemused expression on his face.
Laura glanced at the blonde boy next to Irisviel.
"Get him to leave."
The boy didn't budge.
"…My duty is to protect Lady Irisviel."
It was about as clear a denial as any Laura had heard. For a moment, she simply stared at the boy—
And then, in what Irisviel saw as simply a blur of movement, the two were at the center of the room, the boy's hand holding Laura's, which held a pen. They stared at each other—and then, a moment later, the boy released his hand.
"He does his job well," Laura said to Irisviel, twirling the pen and returning it to her desk.
Irisviel smiled. Any other person would not have noticed, but the way Laura's left hand clenched and unclenched was a sign of Laura's shock, something she had only shown seven years ago.
It wasn't often that somebody could intercept the fist of Germany's super-soldier.
"I assume that mercenary is well?"
"Kiritsugu is fine," Irisviel replied with a grin. Laura had never quite forgiven Kiritsugu for handing Laura her first defeat in single combat, something the homunculus had taken personally.
It was hard not to—as a homunculus bred by the Von Einzbern for the sole purpose of being the best at all things warfare-related, defeat was the same as admitting that Laura was a flawed product, the worst insult for homunculi such as Irisviel and Laura.
In a modern Germany that had long since abolished the nobility, the Von Einzbern held onto their privileges and wealth through their tacit support of the German Government.
Laura Bodewig was the Von Einzbern's gift to the German Military.
Modern Genetics and bioengineering, established in two centuries of research, was still miles away from the alchemy of the Von Einzbern, who had rewritten, reestablished and refined their art for over a millennia.
Nothing even all the greatest nonmagus world could devise would combine to create a supersoldier as specialized and skilled as an Einzbern Homunculus.
And so, for now, the Von Einzberns were honored guests of the German Government.
"Where is he?"
"He went ahead of us to Japan."
"…and you will accompany him?"
Irisviel smiled. "I am his wife, no?"
"I trust that you know about the war that will be coming to that country very, very shortly."
"Yes, I am aware of that."
Laura looked straight at Irisviel. Unlike Laura, whose muscles seemed to be in a constant state of tension, Irisviel's looked relaxed, almost vestigial.
"Irisviel, you have no place on the battlefield. That is where I belong."
Irisviel remained unmoved. "I have a place next to my husband, wherever that may be."
Her stubbornness only irritated Laura more. It was typical of her younger sister—unlike Laura, a normal (albeit stunningly well-made) homunculus, Irisviel was a more advanced type of Homunculus, built on the genetic and spiritual data of the Einzbern's last miracle, the Homunculus Justizia Lizleihi von Einzbern. As was the case for all of Justizia's clones, Irisviel had inherited traits of her ancestor's appearance and personality, namely her stubbornness.
"You only prove my point, younger sister. Love has no place on the battlefield either. You were not made for a warzone—you never were."
Irisviel continued smiling. "…We were not made to love. But we do."
"Maybe you do, younger sister. But that is a design flaw that I do not possess."
"Then why, fellow Homunculus, do you call me Sister?"
"…" Laura wanted to say it was just a convenient Euphemism—but somehow, she felt that wouldn't be completely honest.
"I am going to fulfill my purpose, Laura. You should be proud of me."
Laura sighed. Irisviel was, of course, right. A homunculus who fulfills its purpose has pride—it is fulfilling its reason to exist, and it is needed to do so. Yet Laura felt no pride in watching the only remaining homunculus she knew fulfill her purpose.
Yet, she could think of nothing else to keep her back. Instead, she turned back towards the window.
"This will be the last time we will speak, correct?"
"Yes, elder sister."
"The plane will lift off at 1400 hours. Good luck."
Laura heard her sister curtsey. "Goodbye, elder sister."
And with that, she was gone, just another of the Einzbern's many homunculus on a job.
With a quiet bow, the boy who had accompanied her bowed and turned to go.
"Butler."
The boy paused and turned around.
"Yes, milady?"
"Do your best to protect my sister."
"Of course."
"I'm sorry you had to see that."
"Not a problem, milady," Servant Saber replied with a smile as Irisviel settled into the chair of the EU VIP jet. The huge, cushy sofa easily absorbed irisviel as she sat down. "My brother and I often acted similarly."
Irisviel looked surprised. "Your brother…"
"Sir Kay. I was raised in his household until I was crowned king."
"Ahhh. I'm sorry, Saber, I don't know much about your legend…"
"Think nothing of it." Saber replied breezily. "She seemed quite skilled for this era. In my era, she could well have taken my place as king."
Irisviel laughed, a cheerful and yet sad laugh.
"She would be proud to hear that. Fulfilling its purpose is a Homunculus' greatest pride."
Saber said nothing, but in her mind, she saw the silver-haired boy who had asked for an audience with her on that night. The face that had been nearly aglow with pride and excitement.
"Homunculus have a strong sense of pride, don't they?" Saber asked tentatively.
Irisviel smiled and nodded, somewhat sadly.
"It's all we have, we who are made to work.
Humans are the products of chance. A human birth is the product of chance—sometimes unexpected and sometimes undesired.
But homunculi are different.
A homunculus is never born, only made.
We are never the products of chance.
We are always made, and for a reason.
And it's for that reason that we were given life, and it's for that reason we live. If we cannot fulfill our duty, then we have no reason to live."
Saber remembered the night that Camelot began to fall. On that night, she had been roused by Sir Mordred's urgent request for a private audience. In all her years as king, she had never heard the voice of the masked knight so excited. Dismissing her guards on the Red Knight's request, she had received Mordred in her bedroom, a dangerous action she had tolerated only due to Mordred's flawless record.
There, with barely concealed excitement, Mordred had removed the helmet he had never taken off in his many years as a knight of the round table without a second thought.
It was a face that she had never seen before, and yet had seen a thousand times—her own.
On that night, framed by locks of silver hair, that face had shone with a boyish delight, a pride that seemed to ignite the room with its warmth.
With joy the boy spoke eagerly of how he was a homunculus, born of the King's seed. How he was ready to stand behind his father in every battle, to face a thousand enemies in the name of the King his father. Sir Mordred vowed to carry on the legacy of his father the king, to bring even Rome and the Orient under his father's banner.
And then his father, the man he had idolized much of his life, had rejected him.
To this day, Saber wondered why she had done that.
Maybe it was because the affair smelled of Morgan Le Fay, whom her mentor, Merlin, had never quite trusted.
Maybe it was the ambition that burned in his eyes, the ambition not of a defender but a conqueror, the eyes of many a man she had slain in battle, eager to take new lands, new spoils, new wives.
Or maybe it was because he looked just as she had on the day she had drawn the sword from the stone.
Given, Sir Mordred had gone through far more than Squire Arthur—Mordred had killed a man, led an army, and performed an execution, all things that Saber had never done before drawing the sword. And yet, his excited enthusiasm was no different from the silent determination that Saber had the day she had drawn that sword, the confidence of a peasant soldier who dreams of glory on the cusp of his first battle.
And, like the girl at the stone, he would find that the world outside the keep is no fairy tale. He would feel the pain of riding through a burning village he could not have saved; he would have to execute the deserter whose five children waited eagerly for his return; he would have to plan assassinations, arrange unwanted marriages, and send men to a certain death on the battlefield.
He would come to hate the throne as she had; he would curse the crown by night and wear it proudly by day.
And he would curse the day he had ever become a king.
Perhaps that was why she had so firmly rejected the boy who truly would have died for her sake.
So that Arthur Pendragon would be the only king to bear this cross.
Or perhaps this, too, was the conceit of a king who tried—and failed—to carry the burden of her country.
In that one moment of pride and conceit, she had rejected Sir Mordred's raison d'etre, dashing his hope upon the rocks. In that one moment of panic, she had swept away all he lived for, and he never forgave her for it.
The next time she saw the face under the mask would be at Camlann, on the end of her spear.
Perhaps, if I had acted a little differently, Camelot would not have fallen.
One of a thousand times she could have stepped away from the road to Camlann.
One of a thousand ways she had failed as a king.
"Saber?"
Saber blinked as she suddenly became aware of Irisviel's face, only several inches from her own.
"Saber, are you alright?" Irisviel said, her red eyes clouded with concern as she put a hand on Saber's forehead.
"Y-yes, of course, milady," Saber blustered as she recoiled. "I just dozed off for a moment."
"Ah, I see," Irisviel replied happily. "Well, the plane is about to lift off. You should sit down as well."
"Of course, milady," Saber replied as she sat down and picked up the two ends of the seatbelt.
It was pointless to commiserate on her failures now.
It's my duty to win the Holy Grail and make up for those failures as king, Saber thought to herself as she began tying the two ends of the safety belt into an intricate knot.
"Um, Saber?" Irisviel's unusually hesitant voice once again brought Saber back to the present, and she turned around, ready to don her armor at a moment's notice.
"Milady, is something wrong?"
Irisviel smiled, a little awkwardly as she looked at Saber's knotted safety belt.
"You don't know how a seatbelt works, do you?"
Several thousand miles over Czechoslovakia, Irisviel hummed happily as she fiddled with Saber's tightly-bound hair.
Her good cheer was not shared by the other passengers on board.
Japanese ambassadors returning home, EU military advisors, mercenaries with weapons clearly shown, Diplomats—each of them sat silently, ignoring the amenities that the first-class Von Einzbern-rented jet offered.
There was a certain note of solemnity onboard the European Universe Jet. It was, servant Saber, King Arturia of Britannia recognized, the mood of an army on the road to the battlefield.
Right outside, a Dunois Rafale fighter flew alongside the fighter, its side emblazoned with the French Air Force's Rondel, a constant reminder of the nature of the flight.
With the Chinese and Japanese fleets smashed in the coral sea, Japan was hunkering down for war. Japanese Aviation had already closed down all commercial flights. This flight would be the very last plane to enter and leave Japan, and had only been able to do so with a cautious donation to the Government of Japan by the Von Einzbern family.
Each of the passengers on board held the tacit understanding that, for better or for worse, they would not be able to leave until the end of the war.
This was, in other words, their HIGHWAYYYYYY TO THE DANGER ZONE jump into the breach.
All this was lost to Irisviel as she happily plopped herself in her seat with all the solemnity of a kindergartener on a field trip.
"Airplanes are pleasant things, aren't they?" Irisviel beamed as the flight attendant deposited a cup of coffee onto Irisviel's cup holder with a short bow.
Saber nodded with a wry smile. "In my day, travelling twenty miles without a robbery attempt was considered a successful trip. To imagine that now we can travel from Camelot to Rome or the Holy Land in a single night…"
"Even two and a half centuries ago, nobody imagined that people would be able to fly like the birds," Irisviel remarked with a faraway look[3].
"You lived that long…?"
Irisviel smiled. "It's not my memory. As a homunculus based on my 'ancestor', Justizia Lizleihi von Einzbern, I remember shreds of the things she saw, smelled, heard, remembered."
Saber frowned. "Shreds?"
"Only shreds. Sometimes a whisper, sometimes a burst of emotion, sometimes an unbidden thought. But it's rarely clear or reliable. It's an incomplete system. "
Irisviel turned to look outside of the window. "In that respect, Laura is a better Homunculus than I."
"That girl is different from you?"
Irisviel laughed. "'That girl' is five years my senior, you know. But yes, Laura is a normal homunculus, if the term homunculus could ever be attached to the term 'normal.'
My ancestor Justizia von Einzbern was a normal homunculus that, by chance, was given power and ability far beyond the norm, a perfect homunculus.
Laura was designed from a thousand years of accumulated knowledge and refinement. She, too, is 'perfect' as a homunculus, but a different kind of 'perfect' as my ancestor.
If Justizia was a perfect violin made accidentally by a novice luthier, Laura is a Stradivarius, a perfect violin made through decades of refinement. She is extraordinary in her own right, but she will never be more than that.
It is almost impossible to reproduce a violin that became perfect by pure coincidence, but with enough knowledge it's possible to create a thousand violins of Stradivarius quality[4]. In that respect, as a flawed imitation of a perfect aberration, I am a lot more flawed than Laura, a perfect model built from a nearly-perfect blueprint."
Saber mulled over those words.
To be honest, the king could not relate, not entirely. Barring the violin parallels, the girl called Arturia was similarly imperfect, hammered and cast into the mold called "king." Saber could understand the aspects of "perfect blueprint." Her obstacle was the concept of "perfect aberration." The mold of king only fit the perfect blueprint.
She recognized that there was a bias present in her consideration of the idea. To build a perfect king would invalidate her wish. That, however, was only a portion of the problem.
The sole difference between Irisviel and Arturia was that Arturia was never intended to be cast in the furnace for rule in the first place. She was born as a human, and that would never change. The boundary of humanity, ironically, barred Saber's understanding of the purpose of a "perfect aberration."
Humans are born. A human being made is, at its core, a concept that refuses to be recognized by the nature of humans. Saber understood training, changing, denying herself to become himself. She could even understand the grooming compressed into birth for a false human. But she could not understand the purpose, the idea of replication based on a flaw. Humans were flawed, but to attempt to reproduce those useful flaws is recognized as "foolish," "idiotic," "impossible." Humans are unique. To invalidate that is to maneuver against the force of human nature.
She denied her humanity, but it was her innate quality as human that prevented her understanding.
But, she supposed, that was the point. She was a human then, a Heroic Spirit now. Irisviel is a homunculus. That was all.
And yet something struck Saber as odd.
"Milady."
"Yes, Saber?"
"You said all Homunculi aren't born, but made for a purpose, correct?"
Irisviel nodded.
"Then what about your daughter?"
Irisviel's smile froze.
Several times, she opened her mouth to say something before closing it, swallowing some half-formed sentence as Saber realized that she had perhaps said too much.
"Milady, I have overstepped my bounds—"
"It's fine," Irisviel finally managed with a fragile-looking smile. With a deep breath, she leaned against the plane window, her eyes fixated somewhere in the blue sky around her.
"Ilya…Ilya is a blessing that I never deserved," Irisviel said quietly.
"Homunculus have always been coined, born in the magic circle and in the Alchemist's lab. But Ilya…Ilya is my daughter, born of my flesh and blood. She likes flowers and snow and pretty dresses and animals and riding on her father's back. When she grows up, she wants to be taller than Kiritsugu so that she can give him rides on her back" Irisviel continued, her voice glowing with pride. Even Saber smiled as she remembered the little white-haired girl she had seen from the window.
"She never will." The bitterness with which Irisviel almost spat out those words took Saber by surprise.
"Ilya's growth will halt long before she develops secondary sex characteristics," Irisviel said with a bitter smile, seemingly rummaging through her handbag distractedly.
"Ilya was born, perhaps, but she, too, is a Von Einzbern Homunculus, with all the modifications necessary. You see, Ilyasviel is Great-grandfather's insurance. If Kiritsugu and I do not obtain the holy grail, then Ilya will have to take my place in the next war."
Saber could say nothing. It was a common occurrence in her day—in order to ensure the loyalty of one's vassals, it was not unusual for a Lord to take in a vassal's child as a political hostage under the pretext of training him to be a knight. After all, Arturia Pendragon had been raised in the house of Sir Ector as his son Sir Kay's squire.
Yet even the King who had watched thousands of her own people die could not stop herself from looking away.
And then Irisviel withdrew a velvet-covered box held close with a silver latch, smiling a smile that betrayed no mirth.
"And that is why Kiritsugu and I will fight." For a moment, Irisviel stared at the latch, as if mulling over a decision. And then, with a deep breath, she snapped the latch open.
"Kiritsugu would have thrown a fit if he knew I had this," Irisviel said with a mix of embarrassment and pride.
Inside, seated in a mold of velvet, was a silver-plated handgun. If Kiritsugu had been there, he would have identified it as a Heckler & Koch USP, a law-enforcement handgun with a unexceptional but reliable design and low recoil.
With delicate hands that had probably never even held a kitchen knife, Irisviel lifted the handgun. Despite its pleasant silver plating, it still looked, felt outlandish in her hand. A homunculus holding a modern handgun—it seemed unnatural. Nevermind Kiritsugu—Great-grandfather Acht would have thrown a fit.
"I begged Kiritsugu to teach me how to use a handgun before we left, but he wouldn't let me. He said that I wasn't suited for his way of life."
Saber blinked. That was a side she had not noticed in the master who had completely ignored her.
"He and Laura are right, of course," Irisviel remarked as she clumsily inserted a few packaged bullets into the detached magazine. "I'm not made for war."
Anyone who noticed Saber and Irisviel would have found it stunningly obvious. Irisviel von Einzbern had clearly never handled a gun before.
"That seemed rather unlike Kiritsugu," Saber said bluntly. "He did not seem to be a man given to emotions…from what I saw of him."
On that first night when Saber had been summoned, Kiritsugu had met eyes with Saber. At that time, Saber had seen a pair of opaque eyes—a pair of selfish eyes that saw everything but expected to give nothing away, the evaluating eyes of a soldier eying his new sword and figuring how it would be used.
Behind those eyes, Saber almost caught a glimpse of something—but that had sunk under the surface in an instant, to be replaced by rejection.
Without a second glance he had walked off, ignoring Saber and Irisviel's protests.
Since that time, Kiritsugu had barely even looked at Saber, nevermind engage her in conversation.
Irisviel, though, smiled kindly. "Ah, you believe that Kiritsugu ignored you because he judged you unworthy."
Saber nodded. "I understand that I was expected to be a man. But I have the strength of any man, and have led my kingdom as any man. Was I that unworthy, that I did not merit words?"
Irisviel smiled. "He was probably more angry at the people of your time forced a young girl such as you into such a position."
"I chose this role," Saber protested. "He has no right to blame my people. At any rate, I wish he had at least deigned to speak to me in his anger instead of leaving me in silence."
Still smiling, Irisviel glanced out the window once more. "I used to believe that too, you know. That night when I first met him, straight out of the magic circle, he had given me that same look. At that time, he was vocal with his objections to Great-grandfather. I was no different from a Beer Mug, he said[5]. I could not serve as one of the weapons of the Magus Killer. I was a defective product."
Saber said nothing, but what Irisviel said only made her angrier. If King Arthur had ever caught a husband treating his wife in such a disgraceful manner…
"To prove that I was not a defective product, great-grandfather left me out in the disposal yard, with the spirits and my crazed siblings, the hundreds of failed experiments that come with each success. I was to come back by dawn, alive. It was cold that night, and I didn't even have clothes."
"But Kiritsugu rescued me that night."
Irisviel's eyes were closed, as if recalling the events.
"That night, he vowed to teach me anger."
"Anger?"
"Anger. For Kiritsugu, you can only have anger when you have learned to value your own happiness, when you are no longer willing to let others take that away. Kiritsugu gave me happiness; anger; a family.
I love him, and I know he loves me.
But in our seven years together, he has never forgiven himself for allowing himself what he had taken away from others. He will never forgive himself for what he did to others, and he expects no forgiveness. He has resolved to fight his battles alone, in his own way, so that others cannot fight for him."
Irisviel looked at the handgun in her hand. "Even now, he plans to fight this war alone."
Kiritsugu had already travelled to Japan ahead of time, through his own means. Irisviel and Saber would travel openly with the deliberate intent of being engaged. The King of Knights and her beautiful Master would shine like a beacon, attracting the gazes of the other masters. Emiya Kiritsugu would skulk in the shadows they cast to stab them in the back.
"Emiya Kiritsugu is not simply hiding from the other masters. He is hiding from me and you—so that only he will dirty his hands in the methods that so many others find despicable.
Kiritsugu isn't a heartless mercenary. He hurts more than anyone else every time he kills.
But he keeps on doing it.
Because he doesn't want anyone else to do it."
Irisviel closed her eyes. "If I had still been the homunculus born from the magic circle, I may have accepted that."
With a slightly awkward grip, Irisviel sighted down the top of the handgun.
"But Kiritsugu gave me happiness. He taught me how to value it. How to defend it. He taught me love. For him, I am willing to wade with him into the darkness.
We will not fail. For Ilya's sake, we cannot fail."
"You will not, milady." Putting a hand on Irisviel's handgun, Saber gently lowered it. "Milady, sheath your weapon." And then, to the surprise of everyone on board, Saber got down onto one knee.
"I, Arturia Pendragon, swear to uphold your honor, milady, and to bring you the Holy Grail.
Irisviel stared at Saber. "Saber…"
"If Kiritsugu will hide in the darkness, then I will cut it down in front of him. I will ensure that neither of you will ever have to touch the darkness."
For a moment, Irisviel simply blinked, nonplussed—and then, finally, she broke into a smile.
"Thank you, Saber."
"Think nothing of it., milady."
"Saber."
"Yes, milady?"
"Please call me Irisviel."
"Of course, mila—Irisviel."
Arturia Pendragon sighed as she leaned back into her seat.
One man could not hold up the sins of a nation, no matter how hard he tried.
Emiya Kiritsugu would become crushed under the weight of a thousand deaths and failures.
He would be driven to despair, and then to self-destruction.
He would come to hate the people he had tried to protect, despise the ideals he had once idolized.
Just as she had.
For Irisviel's sake, she would take up his burden, too. For one last time, King Arthur would wear the heavy crown of a king—so that none would have to wear it again.
Cultural Notes and Shit
[1] Bugatti Royale: A car designed by carmaker Bugatti during the end of the roaring twenties for royalty. Only six were made in our history, none sold to royalty, and today they are collector's items of great value. They were, however, not a commercial success until the leftover engines were sold to a railroad company, where they earned the Bugatti a great profit.
[2] Zouaves of the Maghreb:The French Maghreb consists of the area around Algeria, Mauritania, Tunisia and Morocco in Northern Africa. Unlike the British, who saw their extraterritorial holdings as colonies of unrelated individuals, the French (At least on paper) actively considered their holdings as parts of France (even today, France considers itself bordering Brazil and Suriname, as French Guyana is france) and actively attempted to make the locals "French," even offering assimilation as French citizens with all the rights of a Frenchman (at least on paper) to locals. By the time Algeria gained independence, there were a million Algerian-born Frenchmen (Pied-Noirs, blackfeet) in Algeria that were forced back to france. The Zouaves, the light infantry of the French in North Afrca, were known for their slightly-flamboyant dress of "open-fronted jackets, baggy trousers, and often sashes and oriental headgear (quoting wikipedia here)." Their unique uniforms were adopted by both Civil War regiments and the infantry of the pre-unification Papal States, the sovereign state ruled by the Pope.
[3] Yeah I Know: Yes, I know that the first manned hot air balloon flight was in 1783, but according to this timeline the first grail war occurred in 1770, and Justeaze obviously didn't survive its completion, so we can assume she remembered nothing of it.
[4] What's a Stradivarius?: A Stradivarius is a violin or string instrument created by the Italian Stradivari family, known for its high quality and even higher price. Stradivarius are stunningly expensive and prized, but in blind sound tests, even skilled judges generally cannot determine which instrument is a Stradivarius among modern high-quality violins.
[5] Beer Mug: Didn't make this up. This and this whole story comes from translations of the Drama CD that came with the DVD of the first season of Fate/Zero. It's a nice read, actually.
Author's Postface and response to Reviews:
Angry Santo - Once more, thanks for your constant updates, and I hope you haven't quite given up on this fanfic yet, though I don't think I could blame you for it. Caster was initially slated to appear in Fate/Nightmare Apatheia while Rider starred at himself, but I felt as if I would not be able to add much to the Rider-Waver dynamic, which was already quite well-fleshed out in the original, so I switched to a completely new character instead in a last-minute agreement with HeavyValor. Next chapter will have the Knightmare Corps finally get its action chapter, and the one after it will have Kiritsugu shooting people, so I do hope you look forwards to it!
sephiroth12285 - Thank you for your review, and I thank you for your compliment, though I wish I had managed to write Kirei with a bit more originality. When you use the original text for an outline, it tends to accidentally become a script. However, I do intend to move away from the canon fate/zero to a completely new series. I hope you look forwards to it!
I feel like I do owe readers an apology for taking so long (in fact, it's essentially been two months since
the last update). Part of it had to do with the fact that I started playing Minecraft and another that Hong Kong turned out to
be quite a bit busier than I imagined. Either way, I finally managed to grind through this chapter after about three weeks of
writer's block. Hopefully, this won't happy again. I apologize once more, since this is a conversational chapter, but they
do need to be set up. The next two chapters should be fairly long action chapters, so I do hope you forgive my wordiness
and look forwards to the next chapter(s)! Leave a Review if you have time. I am not someone who does a very good job
of proofreading, so there will likely be a few grammar mistakes and spelling inconsistencies. -CaptainSparkles