"I'll never forgive you, any of you! Remember the rage of—"

Sitting crossed legged on the school's rooftop, that ghastly, shameful demonic look haunted his memory. The pitiful despair from the betrayal pained him. The memories plagued Diarmuid, and he was utterly confused. Should the Grail not have eradicated those events from his psyche?

What was worse, was how fresh they felt. He could still taste the hint of iron in his mouth. Still hear the vicious tone in the way Kayneth scolded and quite frankly—humiliated his very existence with his distaste of him. That smug, detested smile is still shockingly vibrant. Physically, his heart throbbed: a strange pain lingering from a blow directly to his chest from his believed Gae Dearg.

Was the voice in the Grail responsible for this? Diarmuid was unsure. What he was certain of, was that the woman's whose call for help he answered, albeit reluctantly was interesting.

There was no hostility in her aura towards him like Kayneth's. Dare the Servant say, she was the exact opposite. Intuition if correct, he'd suspect she was terrified of him. If not himself, then at least she was frightful of something. Thinking logically, she had just been attacked by an enemy Servant so maybe some of that was still dragging her down. He couldn't quite figure it out.

It was that very reason Diarmuid was eager she took time to restore herself while he inspected the parameters. He felt useful. It was also relieving to separate himself from discussing their collaboration when such disgraceful thoughts thrived in his fragmented mind.

All that bitterness was difficult to suppress and it dragged his trust of this new Master through the mud. Diarmuid felt he had every right to be, given the circumstances. It was unfair maybe, but with his honor being trampled on twice , what reasons did he have to believe this situation would be any different? A cornered person like how he felt the woman was—could do despicable things. Evidence was how he died in Fuyuki's Grail War.

Betrayed.

So this time, Diarmuid felt it essential to persist being prudent. Even if it was in a fit of rage: he declared he'd never forgive any of those inhuman monsters that disregarded his pride as a Knight. So that he would. Insisted to not be caught off guard again. He expects nothing of this summoning, but will provide his services towards his duty as her Servant. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sighing, Diarmuid tilted his head back, his conflicted, honey gaze forced to blink away droplets of rain. That was the correct decision, was it not? The Irishman buried his face in his hands. "I… do not know what is right of me, anymore."

With the area clear of any dangers, and no threats seemingly on the way—he remained hunched over in his palms. The rain soothed his thoughts, and he wished it could wash away these emotions, these memories. This awful hate he had for fate being entirely cruel to him for no given reason. Truly, what had he done in that Grail War to warrant that end? To gain Kayneth's hate?

Sola-ui—but Diarmuid did not attempt to seduce the woman! He only spoke when spoken to. He followed his orders when given. Sure, he had attempted to cling to his chivalry that one time against Saber. Fine, Kayneth wanted her gone, but he swore upon his honor he would retrieve her head! Why could he not understand? Trust in his ability?

No, all the man could do was focus on his jealousy over a situation out of Diarmuid's control. The woman took those command seals upon herself to return Kayneth's dignity as a magus, so how could he deny her? He pledged himself to the man and all he was to do was bring him that glory back. It was not planned for her to be abducted.

Though, he would take responsibility for that blunder. He never should have left the woman defenseless. Not in her state. He had despicably disgraced himself. Kayneth's fury was expected and understood given the extreme circumstances. But to degrade him so far? To take his dignity and spit on it as he did? To send him into battle and—

"Arturia." Her name tasted like lemon, as he whispered it. Sweet as can be, but sour given she had been manipulating him just the same. Diarmuid had nothing but respect for the woman—Perhaps even fancied her—as she shared the same chivalrous codes as he. Or so he assumed, until she led him astray as her Master done whatever to force Kayneth to call his Suicide.

All this did was bring him around the circle's he'd thought himself in. Why? What had he done to be strangled by the shackles of fate so tight? To relive his life despite his wish against repeating that pain. Why?

Time ticked by, and Diarmuid had more questions than answers. More pitiful misery he guessed he'd earned somehow. At least in this life—there was nothing left that could shock him. There was some sort of resolve in knowing that, when this Master betrayed him—he at least held nothing in his heart that he wanted most.

Giving in to that resolution, the Knight stood. He glanced around his surroundings once more, mapping out the districts of the neighborhood. The ocean few streets down that had some vacant areas he'd presumed safe for battle. The opposite way bled into the city and he'd assumed that meant too many prying eyes.

It had been some time since his Master's call, and he presumed it was best to check in on her. Her location hadn't changed, but he did promise to return to her side once he deemed the location safe. If only there was merit to being there.

Shaking his head, the Heroic Spirit shifted into spirit form, and reappeared dry as freshly done laundry, where he felt the woman's magical energy. It was a cafeteria. There were long, flat tables at the center, with matching stools beneath. A counter top not too far away with empty trays. It was vacant, quaint. Quiet, as he spotted his Master in the middle of it.

Stepping inaudibly, the Servant came to the Lady's side. Haley—the woman—was sitting, her ear resting in the crease of her elbows that were crossed underneath her chin. Her long, dark mahogany hair spilled over the white table. At her side, crumpled wrappers a turned over milk carton lay.

A gentle smile crooked Diarmuid's lips. They hadn't been together long; but she seemed, tranquil, as her back slowly rose and fell while she slept.

Well, as the situation was now, they wouldn't be continuing that conversation as anticipated. It seemed she needed rest. So he bent, and casually looked through her bag and found a small quilt. It would do, he sufficed, as he gingerly blanketed her shoulders.

Now he was not entirely so sure what he should be doing aside from continuing his watch. His Master hadn't ordered him to do much else. It was his duty as her Servant, anyhow.

Taking a final glance at the slumbering woman, Diarmuid wandered to the wide glass windows and sat at the ledge. Rain pattered in answer, and Lancer watched the droplets accumulate as he thought once more what exactly it was that he wanted from this life. If anything at all.

—

Eyelids leisurely opening, Haley dragged her chin across her arm and then stretched. Well, she wasn't expecting to fall asleep but it had been a stressful few hours—days, if the sunlight's rays leaking through the windows meant anything. Wait, how long had she been asleep!?

Hands slipping into her jeans pocket, she plucked out her phone and looked at the date. "Well crap," she muttered at the text displayed on the screen. It was now Sunday, so she had definitely dozed off into the next day.

When she straightened upward, her coverlet slid off her frame. Eyebrows drawing together, the Psychic pondered when Diarmuid had blanketed her. Appreciation tugged at her heartstrings. Their collaboration was as clear as fog—but his chivalry was as transparent and pure like water. Folding the fabric, she tucked it away into her bag and called for him.

The Irish Knight immediately appeared kneeling before her, eyes once again trained to the scraped floor. Haley still didn't believe she was worthy of such courtly antics, but figured it'd be disrespectful to his honor to say anything.

"You have called for me, my Lady?" The Heroic Spirit's voice was flatter than a wrongfully sung note. Despite his genuine gesture with the blanket, he still remained stoic in demeanor. Maybe it was something out of respect—but there was still that lingering intent to remain reserved. Or stale as bread, whichever.

Which begged the question: Why was he so different from what she had read about in Myth?

Haley fidgeted where she stood, slightly unnerved by his aura but said, "We should talk about the Grail War." Sighing at the simple nod he'd given her, she sat on the table top, tapping her feet repeatedly on the plank at her feet.

It was nerve racking to admit that she merely wanted to avoid the entire war. What would this seasoned warrior think? He answered the Grail's call to serve her for whatever wish resided in his heart, and she was about to shut it down. Would he think her a coward and abandon her? Do worse things?

No, the very reason she even considered summoning him before he miraculously appeared was because she believed he would listen to her. This version of himself might be a bit different than what she gathered from books but he was still the Loyal first Fenian Knight. She could trust him, had to. Or at least, find out what exactly he seeks from the Grail and find a solution, even if a part of her feared dangerous retaliation.

Inhaling a confidence boosting breath, Haley inquired, "What would you do If I did not want to fight? If I, if I wanted nothing to do with the Grail and everything involved?"

It was dreadfully silent in the seconds it took for Diarmuid to raise his vacant stare and have it pin in her in place. The woman swallowed, a tremble finding her figure as she braced herself.

"You—do not wish to fight?" He said rather curiously, than anything else. Though his orbs scanned Haley head to toe, causing her shrink into her shoulders as she shook her head no.

Her top teeth found her lower lip, "I know you might have a wish, and this might be upsetting to you but—"

Diarmuid's face—one she expected to be full of anger or chagrin—was only twisted in concern, "Master," Diarmuid tripped over the words, that impassive disposition crumbling, "Are you, frightened of me?"

Haley's heart sputtered faster than a jackrabbit's. "Maybe a little." The squeak in her voice was tiny but clear, and she felt embarrassed because of it.

Shoulders relaxing, Haley drew circles on her thigh. "I, I have been tip-toeing around you I know. And I'm sorry. It's just...since Heroic Spirits answer the call of the Grail because they have a wish, and since I want nothing to do with the Grail, I was informed the Servant might kill me over that. I know you're a loyal, valiant person but you've been so distant and different than what I'd expected that I don't know what to think."

The tension in the air was severed so quickly by the way Diarmuid's gaping mouth transformed into the most placid smile she'd ever seen. He stood and stepped closer to her then kneeled to take her shaking right hand into his palm in a gallant gesture.

"Lady Haley, fear not. I would never concede harm to come to you. Not from our enemies, and for surely not from myself. Forgive me. For my actions have let such a foul idea settle within your mind." Diarmuid's timbre was so sincere, that Haley's heart melted like butter in a hot pan.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, "You mean that?"

"I swear on my honor as a Knight, my Lady, my word is true." His resolute statement gave way to an appreciative hug. Diarmuid jerked and stiffened, before he let one arm fall over her shoulder. "It's alright, you are safe."

Pulling away, Haley wiped at the wetness on her cheeks, "Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me. I'm sorry for doubting you."

There was a glimmer in those honey orbs that the heartfelt woman almost missed when she pulled away and sat herself once again on the table. A subtle smile perked Diarmuid's lips. "You need not apologize. I can see why you would be weary. Please, do not cry."

The smallest of abashed giggles left her lips, "Okay, no more tears. This whole thing has just been a lot. Will you—will you sit next to me?" Haley patted the surface of the table on her left.

The familiar uncertainty Diarmuid exhibited prior rebounded. Softening her expression, Haley tried once more, "Please?"

Lancer's golden hue impaled the spot next to her with deep contemplation. As if battling some sort of internal war that raged on. But Haley understood, and would patiently wait and accept whatever his choice may be. Clearly there were things he struggled with, and hopefully, he could find she would be there to listen if need be. But for now, she just hoped he'd—

Throat bobbing, Diarmuid took a creaking seat, his legs rising so he could rest his feet on the chair attached below. Man, he was tall. But she was not too much shorter, she'd come to notice.

A thanks promptly followed along with a dragging silence that left her stumbling for words. "Are you sure you're okay with this? You don't… have a wish?"

Her Servant's orbs reflected something like sorrow as he looked away. It was a simple question that was usually laid out between Master and Servant, but it only felt like it was a burden to him.

"I—" Jamming his eyelids shut, Diarmuid sighed. It was the deepest level of vehemence Haley saw this man convey and it made her heart clench tight. She recognized that emotion as she related to it so well.

Hurt.

Her Servant was hurting.

The idea was not so far-fetched. If only she could pin-point exactly what it was that had him so haggard. The Psychic contemplated asking but, she could be reading into his disposition entirely wrong. It wasn't worth the risk at this very moment, but if time proved her to be correct: she'd at least try to help alleviate whatever weighed him down.

Diarmuid went silent, dropping his head to look at his feet as if his green spandex had the answers to her question. For a few beats, Haley could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. His expression turned serious and he finally leveled his gaze with hers. "I have no desire for the Holy Grail. I am simply here to serve you whether you have interest in the Grail or not." It was a matter-of-fact statement.

He was here to serve her? That's— it? What would the Irishman even get out of that? There had to be more to that proclamation—but given how he'd been towards her—Haley suspected that would require more pressing.

The question was if she should. Obviously, the man was battling something internally now that she was beginning to piece together his actions. All of the confusion that was Diarmuid aside, a part of her was happy. If there was really nothing more to his being here than that, then—

There was a slight sliver of hope building. A chance once the walls Diarmuid had up came down, she could actually get to know the man from legends she adored. She just needed to take that next step: jump the leap of faith. Until she found them in the right place to do that, she'd probe the statement that still lingered in the air.

"That's it? Your desire to serve was that strong you answered the Grail's call?"

Lancer studied her for a moment as if attempting to ascertain the worth of stating something before casting his gaze to the ceiling with a look almost forlorn, "Indeed. I need not the Grail in hand to defend my honor and serve loyally, and for that loyalty to be returned."

Haley's response caught in her throat before a gentle smile grasped her lips. That simple sentence explained their few hours of interaction. Why the Knight was so repressed. This entire time—all she had been doing was focusing on her grief and fear and the respectable parts of Diarmuid's life.

However, his tale is known as a tragic one. Yes, there were incredible feats accomplished, and the man was a noble warrior; but he also had been left to die by the man he swore to swerve and held dearly close to his heart as a friend. She'll never forget the tears she shed when reading his end.

If his death haunted him the way it did her—then of course he would be guarded.

"I get that," she decided to say, "And I can get behind it. I'm not sure the best way to go about it if we aren't going to participate. I can at least be loyal to you and if there something I can do to help you serve: Tell what to do I'll try my best."

Was that appreciation catching the handsome features of the Irish Knight? "Master, that… thank you. Truly." A hint of a smile? Haley's heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Drawing her knees to her chest, the Psychic spied the bright window. There was still so much more to say, and yet she couldn't find the way to tell him. Now that it was clear he would protect her, and while she finally felt safe in her surroundings, there was still the matter of her bounty.

A part of her wanted to keep that situation locked tightly away in the box and throw it deep in the ocean. In spite of that, hiding anything would put a damper in the progress they had just made. Diarmuid was finally besides her, instead of treating her like some sort of distant queen. He finally spoke more than three words to her.

So telling Lancer the reality of their situation was anything but desired, but he needed to know. It was imperative to their survival. If he didn't know there would be people targeting her for the bounty—that outcome might end in both of their deaths. So Haley readied herself and just hoped—

That her favorite legend would still remain by her side.

—

It was strange that Diarmuid even bothered to enlighten the woman on his deepest wish. In truth, hearing her earnestly beg for assistance had aided in persuading him to appear in the human world again. Somehow was enough to summon him. He had not expected her to ask nor care about what he'd yearn for once he rescued her. Though when she had inquired so genuinely about his motivations; he'd told the unspoken truth.

And she hadn't belittled him for it. Her immediate offer to bring his wishes to fruition even more astounding. This situation was not as expected.

Haley was definitely not like Kayneth, just as he surmised. While that man was grossly-arrogant, this woman was sweetly timid. He instantly felt remorse when the woman voiced her concern of being betrayed for not wanting to involve herself in the Grail War.

The Irishman had been so focused on the turmoil of his past and not allowing her his trust, he'd involuntarily given her the impression she had to question him. Assuming he'd kill her was a stretch—especially for one of his nature—but after what he had experienced in Fuyuki's War, her fears were justifiable.

At least she might mean well. She seemed sincerely apologetic for their misunderstanding. Even shed tears for it. That was a positive thing, was it not? He had watched her intently, seeing if maybe this heavy onset of hysterics was because of his lovespot but despite it all, those lovely ultramarine eyes did not resemble that of Grainne's or Sola-ui's.

Now he sat next to her—remaining a bit dubious—and not quite certain what to think of it all or how to instruct on the matter at hand. If they both had no interest in the Grail, but his Master wanted to give him opportunity to serve her, "I presume you shall still be in danger given you are a Master," he inclined his head to the blaring red command seals that glared at him, "I shall fulfill my duty to protect you from enemy Servants and Masters, and do whatever else you might need until it concedes."

The woman glanced at the back of her left hand, "That makes sense, eventually we'll have to fight, though, right?" She'd looked up at him then, worry glistening in her eyes, "Eventually it'll only be us and whoever is left of the 6 others. Unless, do you think it's possible that eventually they'll team up to find us?"

Diarmuid pondered on the possibility. It would not be out of the question. When Caster had committed his atrocities in the previous war, the Church had requested the fighting cease unless he was defeated. Though, Lancer hadn't yet disclosed he participated in Japan's war.

Should—he tell her? What purpose would it serve if they weren't going to fight, anyway? No, he'd keep that information tucked away for a little while longer. He still needed to figure out exactly what it meant, anyhow. Rather tell her everything when he understood it better. Until then, "It is in the realm of possibility. Whether it be now or later, eventually we will have to do something to end the War."

Nodding, the woman nestled her lip under her teeth, "Right. Well, until then, there is something I have to tell you." Haley swallowed so hard Diarmuid didn't need his supernatural hearing to catch it.

Quite unsettled as she was, "Go on," he replied, waiting for her to find her words.

"I don't know if you noticed but, I'm homeless." His interest perked. He had not noticed though he was not quite paying attention. Diarmuid also presumed it was due to the nature of their situation that led her to find shelter before returning home. "And it's because since I was a teenager I—"

Diarmuid waited as she hesitated. He knew all too well what that felt like—and whatever was to come next—her tone implied it was a burden to speak about. It actually made him think it should be shared later, or not be told at all given how troubled she looked.

So he took the initiative, "Master, if what you are to speak is too difficult, might you tell me at a later time when you are more comfortable?"

Haley rocked back and forth, "It is but unfortunately it affects you, too. So you have to know."

His eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing as she continued, "I have a bounty that has many people looking for me."

A bounty. Well, now Diarmuid was at a loss for words. What would this woman have done to warrant a bounty on her head? Then again, not every bounty is earned. Some are placed because of jealousy, or spite. (One of which he knew too well). Clearly there had to be more to this proclamation, and thankfully, she elaborated soon after.

"Now, this bounty was wrongfully placed by my obsessive father." And some were thrown on unlucky individuals caught by a fanatical person. It seems this fit her bill, and Diarmuid felt for her. "Without getting into the nitty gritty details, for years he... tortured me ."

His head whipped to study her face for any hint of a lie, but all he found was this agony that filled her countenance. Torture? He could only imagine what the details of that statement were, and he felt terrible she had fallen to it. "Master… that… I have no words."

Haley wrapped her arms around her torso, as if reliving the very horrors shed faced as she elaborated the important details. Her admittance shredded his heart at the cruelty she'd experienced to strengthen her psychic abilities and healing.

She had but one friend through the madness that almost broke her. An Assistant to her father—who had helped her train a special, cognitive ability to use when they had her escape plan completed. "However one day, my father escalated. He said he was to make his woman, and I fought desperately against him before he could get what he wanted. I used the mind control to get him to stop, but my wording was off. I insisted he stay away from me but—that didn't mean he couldn't have others come after me. I've been running away for years—using illusion magic and help from my friend—to remain hidden but now—"

"Now the Grail War put you in danger of being discovered." Diarmuid concluded for her, and she nodded her head in response.

"That is now our situation. And, are you okay with that? Or, would you want to sever our pact so you won't have a situation so similar to that Grainne nonsense you were dealt?"

She looked at him expectantly, but with this desperate, determined look in her eyes. All of which coinciding with the lot of information Diarmuid had to process. She had proposed a choice to return to the Throne of Heroes, or at the very least—find another Master. That was what ending their pact entailed.

This heavy and long conversation drew parallels to his true life, and his Master had pointed it out in confidence. As if telling him with that very statement she understood how painful such a thing like that would be for him. How could someone experiencing what she was—have his interests even be considered? It was an unfathomably kind thing for her to do.

Diarmuid couldn't return to the Throne. Not after he'd sworn to keep her safe. In retrospect, he did not know this was what that meant, but he was a man of his word. Dare he say he wanted to be her Knight. Oh how the tables had turned.

Turning his body at an angle so he could completely face her on the furniture, he bent his right arm over his chest. "I have sworn on my honor as a Knight to serve you, and that I shall uphold. I believe it to be in your best interest to accept. I imagine your safety being that much more in jeopardy should you not have a Servant at your side, My Lady. However, the choice is yours, and I will harbor no ill will to whatever you decide."

His Master rolled her lips together, but she was beaming. There was enthusiasm she had been lacking until now in the way she gazed at him. "Lancer, thank you. You are amazing. Then, will you stay?"

"Of course." Diarmuid leaned forward, drawing his eyes to a close as he bowed his head. "I am your Knight to command."

Haley chuckled, and it was this light, sweet sound that filled his ears. When had he gotten used to the pitch that was her voice? "You can be my Knight. But—if we do this, I want us to work together. So, no commanding you." She held out her hand to shake, and Diarmuid looked at it questioningly, "Diarmuid, you're free to do as you wish so long as it's within reason. Deal?"

Diarmuid contemplated her suggestion. He was to be free? This woman was full of surprises. No Master would do such a thing. The smallest part of him was skeptical of her declaration, while the rest—chuffed by his Master's kindness. Could she actually be trusted? Worthy of dare he say it, his loyalty?

Not a proper Magus indeed.

He gripped her hand in his, almost swallowing the fragile thing in his large one. "I am uncertain of how you suppose I shall do such a thing, but, Deal."

The woman was radiating happiness, shaking his hand emphatically before giving it a release. "Easy! For starters, talking. You don't have to wait for my orders or whatever to say something, or be somewhere. You can tell me if you like something, or hate it. You could tell me if there is a place you'd like to see. The possibilities are endless~!"

To Diarmuid's shock, the woman displayed an energy she hadn't shown before. My, had her demeanor changed. Was this because she was more comfortable after he laid out he would not even think to harm her?

She then leaped off the table, and spun in his direction. "Just be you, okay?"

"I...ah…" Diarmuid ruffled the hairs creeping down his neck from his raven locks. "Alright. I shall be more...forward."

Slapping her hands together, Haley radiated nothing but contagious delight, "Perfect! Lancer, you won't regret it! Promise!"

Relenting to the smile tugging at his lips, Lancer felt uplifted for the first time since his summoning. Never had he suspected that rescuing the young woman would bring about, well this. However, part of him still worried.

A person with her troubles could still betray him if the right situation presented itself. Diarmuid wanted to bury the apprehension with the rest of his grievances, but those painful memories still bashed him at every turn. He refused to allow his heart to bear such pain again.

But there was hope, hope that the generosity she had given him was authentic. That somehow, someway, he could finally fulfill his duty as a Knight. And damn it all, I will be guarded but, I shall give this brief life an actual chance.

ooooooooooooo

I hope this chapter wasn't painfully long or boring. It is important details between the two that needed to be said given how dreadful Haley feels about her situation. At least Diarmuid is warming up not being a prisoner of his past, but we'll see. Let me know what you think, and I look forward to seeing anyone in the next update!