Fate/Red String

Chapter 4: The Age of Innocence

"Come on brother. Wake up already. I want to play."

Shirou's mind was a foggy mire through which a coherent thought could barely find its way. He latched onto that voice. It was unfamiliar and while sweet at first was freezing to the touch. But that coldness helped his thoughts return quicker. They told him that this was a matter of life or death. Through the fog he realized that if he didn't wake up soon then she was going to-

"Berserker, break his foot. Left one."

Shirou's mind quickly snapped into focus as a scream tore from his throat. He tried to move away from the source of the pain but found that he couldn't. His body was tied with glowing white rope to a chair, and it didn't budge at all as he struggled.

"Thank you, Berserker," said the little girl standing in front of Shirou. Bright innocent smile, pure snow-white hair, and the red eyes of a predator. The hair on Shirou's arms stood on end just looking at her. Behind her was a tower of muscle and menace. He wasn't sure which he thought was more dangerous but considering the lack of hesitation the large man had in following the girl's orders, he realized it didn't matter. They were one and the same threat. "Glad to see you're awake, brother."

"Brother?" asked Shirou. Speaking hurt. He remembered that he'd been knocked unconscious by a sucker punch when he'd answered the front door. He breathed. Pain. A rib might be broken. But not speaking meant focusing on the pulpy mess that was his foot. He really didn't want to think about that. "I don't have any siblings. Who are you?"

The girl spun, gave a cute curtsy, and smiled brightly at him. "I'm glad you asked. I am Illyasviel von Einzbern of the prestigious Einzbern mage family. My mother was Irisviel von Einzbern and my father was Kiritsugu Emiya."

"Kiritsugu…" His father's name. "Emiya…" His name since the fire. "He never said he had a daughter…"

Illyasviel moved just inches from him, giving him a radiant smile. "I'm sure he didn't." She took his hand in hers for a moment, admiring it. He felt a shock run through him from where she touched. Magecraft. She was studying him with Magecraft. Just like he did a machine. "You work a lot with your hand, don't you, brother?"

"I guess," said Shirou. He looked around, seeing that they were in his dining room, the kitchen visible from behind the counter. That meant behind him was the hallway and exit. He considered his options. No one was coming to save him. Sakura had left for the night after dinner, and Taiga had called to say she was going out to dinner with the other teachers. If she did come to check on him, he doubted she could do anything to this man. He was clearly inhuman. Maybe a familiar or golem? He knew the terms of the Magecraft world but had no clue what any of it meant in reality. Guessing was the best he could do. Maybe if he kept her talking, he could find a way out of this situation. "I work on machines. Fixing anything that someone needs fixed."

"Using Magecraft and your hands," said Illyasviel.

"I do."

"You're very rough at it, aren't you? A novice."

"I haven't really had much training."

Illyasviel let go of his hand and turned away from him. "But you had such a great teacher." He couldn't see her face, but she didn't sound like she was smiling anymore.

"The old man didn't want to teach me," he said. Was honesty the best policy here? Well, it's not like he could think that far ahead through the pain. So, he just went for it. "He refused beyond the very basics. Everything else I know was from his books. Not that I really understand those either."

"So," said Illyasviel, "you're saying that as a mage heir you are totally unfit for the role?"

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I guess I am? Not that I really want to be a mage. I just want to help people. If Magecraft can be used to do that, then I'll use it. Otherwise, I'll just use these hands of mine. Just like how he reached out his hands and saved me."

"Hands. Father's hands." There was a pause. Silence. Shirou thought he heard water hitting the floor. Tears? Before he could ask though, Illya turned back to him, that radiant smile once again on her face. "Berserker, break his fingers. Right hand."

Struggle was useless and the action was instantaneous. Berserker didn't even need to move as his long arm reached out, grabbed Shirou's hand, and squeezed. Shirou's instinct was to use his Magecraft to fortify his body, but it made no difference. The man before him was too overpowering and his fingers snapped just as easily as if he hadn't tried anything. He screamed in pain as the mana he'd been pumping into his hand feedbacked into his body as it could no longer find fingers to reinforce like he'd instructed. He felt like he was going to explode from the sensation and forced the mana out of his body through the nearest available space. It traveled back up his arm and flowed out with his blood. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The mana leaving his body left Shirou feeling strangely satisfied despite his current state. The same sensation as when he completed a Magecraft ritual properly. Something he didn't manage often. He couldn't help it, he let out a sigh of relief. Illyaviel's smug smile at his pain turned to a frown. "What was that, brother?" she asked. She moved to be face to face with him again. "Are you relieved that your fingers are broken?"

He shook his head. "It's not that," he said, pausing because he was unsure what the right thing to say to someone like this was. He realized there might not be a right thing to say, so he might as well just speak without thinking. "There's just nothing I can do to escape in this situation. Something about admitting that just feels…right…"

Confusion, then a laugh. "You're a strange one, aren't you?" The smile turned radiant again, which Shirou was learning meant sinister for the strange girl. "Do you know what I want?"

"To meet Kiritsugu," guessed Shirou. He shook his head. "The old man has been dead for a few years. If you want to visit his grave I can give you directions, but there's nothing else I can do beyond that."

Illyasviel shook her head. "No, I don't plan to visit a corpse. I already knew he was dead, after all. Grandfather told me when it happened. No, I came to see his heir, the one with his magical crest and legacy." She skipped slowly around him, poking and prodding him as she passed. "I must say, I'm not impressed."

Shirou winced at each well-placed poke. "I don't know what you mean by a crest, but he definitely didn't make me his heir. Like I said, he barely taught me any Magecraft."

Illyasviel paused, poking him, and leaving the finger pressed against his broken rib, slowly digging it in as she spoke. "He didn't give you his crest?"

"No."

"You're not his heir?"

"No," he groaned as the pressure against his side increased.

"Are you not a Master in the Holy Grail War?"

"I-" he took a deep breath. "I have no clue what you're talking about. I'm no Master of anything. And I definitely don't know about a 'war'."

"That can't be," said Illyasviel, turning away from him again. He gave a sigh of relief as her fingers left his side. "I was sure with how much of the sticks this place was that you would have to be one of the seven Masters. I have Berserker. The Tohsaka's probably have a Servant. And maybe the Matous managed to drag one into battle. Only one Servant hasn't been summoned, but I was sure that would belong to a rogue mage, not be where your Servant belonged."

The girl's tone was becoming increasingly desperate and frantic. Her foot was tapping the ground faster and faster. Shirou didn't like how oppressive the air in the room felt. Berserker was still, but Shirou felt a chill run through his body. A premonition of death just like before the fire had consumed the mother whose face he didn't remember. He realized that if Illyaviel stopped talking, then he was probably dead.

"This isn't right. I was meant to dominate the competition. I was meant to dominate his heir. I was meant to dominate you."

Shirou looked around again. Kitchen in front of him. Plenty of knives there, but fighting was probably not his best bet. He'd need to jump over the counter and the kitchen window was small, he'd likely not make it out that was in time. Berserker was also between him and it.

"Maybe he was meant to be the seventh Master, but was too incapable of doing the summoning ritual? Yes, that must be it. That means this wasn't a waste of time then."

To either side of him he'd be sent deeper into his house, which would make escape even harder. Behind him was the entryway and Illya. Could he slip out of these bonds and run to it in time? No, he couldn't think about maybes. He had to. He closed his eyes, glad that Illya couldn't see his face, and concentrated on strengthening his body as much as he was capable of. Again and again, he created the mana pathways in his body needed to cast a Magecraft. His pain abated and his bleeding ceased. His body burned, but in a way that felt liberating. Despite his physical state, he'd never felt stronger. Like someone else was lending a helping hand. He mentally prepared himself to make a break for it.

"If I kill him now, then I'll be removing a potential Master. Possibly preventing a seventh Servant from ever being summoned. That will just make winning easier. Not that I needed the help. Oh yes, I think it's time we end this, don't you, brother?"

"I do not think so, Illya." Shirou opened his eyes and looked around. He didn't recognize that voice. He saw Illya looking around as well, her eyes wide. Like she'd heard a ghost. "Your mother would not approve of this attitude, would she?"

"Be quiet," yelled Illya. She turned to Shirou. "Lift this illusion now, or I'll break it by force."

He shook his head. "I don't know how to cast illusions. I'm hearing them too."

"Your father acted this way," said the voice, seeming to come from every corner of the room. Shirou craned his neck and felt certain the shadows were the one speaking. "But I doubt he would approve of his daughter doing so. I was only certain of one thing about him in the entire time I knew him, and that's that he loved you. Maybe the only thing he loved in this world."

"Shut up!" Illya out her hands to her ears as if to keep out the voice. "Berserker, find and kill him!"

Berserker finally moved, his head turning slowly back and forth over the room. His heavy breathing filled the room, like a steam engine being pushed to its limit. But he didn't move. He looked back to Illya and her face paled.

"You can hear him, can't you?" He shook his head. "That means he's in this room, so find him!"

"The wind itself is capable of carrying my words," said the voice. "What makes you think I need to be in that room to speak to you? I await you in the courtyard for a warrior's duel. Will you not accept and prove yourself to the memory of your father?"

"Curse you, Saber." Illya wheeled around to the courtyard immediately. "Come on Berserker. Let's crush that bug."

The large man followed without hesitation. The pair left Shirou alone in the room, not giving him a second thought. As soon as they were out of the room, he tried to free himself. His enhanced body, many times past his physical limits struggled against the white rope, but to no avail. He realized it was probably a Magecraft of Illya's. Was there anything that could cut this rope?

"We will need to move quickly." Shirou looked around as he heard the voice again, although much quieter this time. "Do not speak and keep as still and silent as possible. I will cut the ropes and spirit you away on my stead. Is that acceptable, Master? Nod if so."

Shirou nodded vigorously. He didn't know who this could be, but he knew as soon as Illya returned, he was dead. He would take any salvation offered to him.

With his acceptance a man in a finely tailored suit appeared in front of him. He had blond hair tied back into a ponytail and striking green eyes. In his gloved hand was a long black dagger that looked to be made from shadow. With a quick swipe the man cut the ropes like they were nothing. Then he held out his free hand to Shirou.

"Let us be off, Master," said the voice without the man's mouth moving. Like the whisper of wind. Shirou took his hand and with strength beyond his slight form the man helped Shriou stand. A motorcycle appeared next to them, and his savior helped Shirou on to it. He then slid in front and gripped the handles. "Hold on tight. This might get rough."

As the motorcycle's engine roared to life, Shirou heard a blood curdling shriek. The motorcycle shot down the hallway away from where Illya had gone. He braced himself to impact the sliding door, holding as tightly as he could to the back of the man. He didn't need to worry as a gust of wind preceded them, shattered the door to splinters and sent them safely around the pair. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder to watch the splinters of his door pass and was just in time to see Berserker smash his way back into the dining room. Behind him was a straight path of destruction that gave Shirou a clear view of his courtyard.

"They're following," yelled Shirou, turning back to the man. This continued his streak of poor timing as they were seconds away from hitting the wall. He couldn't help it and flinched, closing his eyes, and burying his head in the man's back. The impact he expected never came though.

Shirou opened his eyes and saw that like the door they'd gone through the wall as if it was paper. A glance behind them showed his home fading away in the distance, Berserker shrunk to a pinprick that disappeared the next moment as they rounded the corner. He faced forward again and saw them zipping through the late-night traffic, easily out racing everyone around them. The man maneuvered the motorcycle like it was an extension of his body, natural and smooth.

"There is nothing to fear Master. While I am here, nothing will harm you again," said the man, his voice confident and calming. The air of one who protected others. He couldn't help but imagine his father sitting in the space in front of him. It was a comforting thought. "I would like to apologize for my tardiness though. My summoning only happened in response to your second injury and while I would have liked to save you immediately, Berserker is too much me to handle head on in this current form. I had to use cunning and deception, which are tools I am not quite as familiar with."

"Who are you?" asked Shirou, slowly closing his eyes again. Fatigue had started to claim him now that the threat had passed. The man's voice was too soothing, the roar of the engine fading into a lullaby. "I don't understand any of what just happened."

"If I tell you that my name is Assassin, does that answer your questions?"

"No. Sorry."

"I see. Well, that makes things more difficult. You do not seem to be suitable for the role you have found yourself in. But still, know this; you are now my Master, and I am your Servant. To my dying breath, I will protect you. If you ever need me, just call for Assassin, and I will be there."

"Assassin," said Shirou, sounding it out. "That sounds like a title."

"It is."

"It doesn't really fit a hero like you," he said sleepily. He found himself slumping even more against the man's back. "Is there something else I can call you?"

There was a long pause before Assassin finally answered. "I've been called by many names. In another, more recent but still far off life I was called by this name. It may be the best name for now. If you would like, you may call me Elias Watson."

"Elias," said Shirou into the man's back. "That fits you much better. It's nice to meet you."

"And you as well, Master."

"Call me Shirou…"

"Of course, Shirou."

Shirou. Elias's voice echoed and warped in his ears as his mind drifted to sleep. Shirou, as said by Kiritsugu when he held out a hand to him in hell. Shirou, as said by his mother as she tucked him into bed. Laying in that childhood bed once more he held out his arms for a hug. His mother smiled softly and complied. As they hugged the golden dragon tattooed on her back crept down her arms and encircled him. It was a soft and warm embrace as the dragon enveloped him and took away his pain and weariness. He could feel her healing him and his mother whispered a lullaby on the wind and sung him to gentle rest.

It was nice to have a parent to rely on.