The night had felt eternal. The skies were clear, void of any cloud, which gave the illusion of slowly passing time. The stars were shining, ignorant of what had transpired that night. Artoria had spent about an hour reading through the book, seeing if anything she read could help her at the given moment. If Artoria had to guess, it had only been four hours since she'd left home, and walking around the city was starting to tire her out, especially with her aching feet. Would she be able to pull off a healing spell? She highly doubted it. She'd rather endure her aching feet as opposed to potentially screwing up a spell.
After having read one more page of the thick and heavy book, she limped to a bench and sat down. It had been enough reading for the night, and she wanted to take a break, even if small. After she had put her book back in her backpack, she took a deep breath.
Her head weighed heavily. The lingering memories of her mother passed out on the cobbled floor of the botanical gardens evaded her mind when she closed her eyes for longer than a second. She feared she'd never forget that image.
"Master." Diarmuid materialized next to her on the bench. "How are you feeling?"
Like shit, she wished to reply. "I'll be better…"
"If I may," he spoke with conviction.
Artoria looked towards him. Would they attract too much attention like this? A short girl in sweats and sunken eyes with a man dressed as if he were ready for the renaissance fair? In the middle of the night, no less. "You may," she mumbled. He looked completely fine for having fought that otherworldly woman earlier, in fact…he looked perfect.
Diarmuid's thin dark brows knitted together as his lips stretched into a concerned line. "I think it best we set up camp somewhere. You should not exert yourself while ill."
Artoria rolled her eyes. "I can keep going if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm not," he denied. He took a deep breath. "I mean, I don't doubt you can keep going master, it was not my intention to insult you. What I mean to say is that I want you to rest." His voice was much softer now as if his momentary anger had given way to his worry. "I feel it would benefit us both. If we are to encounter another threat, it is to our advantage that you are fully healed and well-rested."
Artoria huffed and tightened her ponytail. "Well, you do have a point. Very well then, we can rent a room for the night. In any case, I'd have to go pick up my motorcycle so we can actually get around." She pushed herself off the creaky bench and cringed as she made it to her feet once again.
Diarmuid offered his hand to her. "Tell me where we're going and I can take you."
Artoria stared at his hand for a second before her eyes flickered to his and she glared at him. "You're free to dematerialize now."
"Yes, master," Diarmuid complied as he held a hand to his chest and bowed. Before long, he had dissipated into golden dust.
Reaching for the intricate sword, Artoria picked it up and analyzed it for a bit before she made her way to the nearest motel. The night's wind was cold and blew harshly against her face. Her nose stung while the fingers that were curled around the sword started to burn and turn red. Her black combat boots dragged against the pavement as the wind blew her hair in all directions. She wondered how long winter would drag on. Will spring come soon?
The warmth of the motel room hit her face as soon as she opened the door. Upon closing the door behind herself, Artoria set the sword on the dresser and rubbed her face. She didn't bother turning on the lights before she dragged herself to the bed and collapsed onto it. She spat the hair from her mouth and stared blankly towards the only window in the room. The grumbling in her stomach reminded her she was starving, but she cast it aside for her aching feet couldn't take her any further.
Diarmuid was right, resting was their best option. She needed to recover as soon as she could. She pulled the pillow down towards her face and rested on it. There were still a million things she needed to learn and finish. The lingering thought of her mother snaked back into her mind driving her to bury her head into the white cotton pillow.
The blinding red light of the sun awoke her in the early morning as it bounced off the wall. Artoria's faded green eyes languidly opened a few times. She snuggled deeper into the blanket and turned away from the light in her eyes, but it was too late, she was already awake. When had she fallen asleep? Impatiently, she pushed herself off from the bed and glared at the window, as if to scold the sun for coming up early. She reminded herself to have a look through the spellbook to see if there was anything to help her sleep.
Artoria's chapped lips opened wide in a yawn as she covered her mouth. She didn't want to slip out of bed…wait, when had she gotten under the covers? She couldn't quite recall, but it didn't matter. She kicked the comforter off herself and stepped onto the carpeted floor.
She hadn't looked around the previous night, but the room was rather well kept for being a motel. There was a television in front of the bed and next to it was a bed stand. There was a shelf above the T.V that held a few mundane trinkets and next to the dresser was the door to what she assumed was the bathroom. Finally, to the right of the bed was a couch that sat in front of the window.
"This is home for the next few days…until we have to move on," Artoria said apathetically.
Would you like me to scout the area? The deep voice of Diarmuid invaded her mind.
"If you so wish," she yawned. "I'll be in the bathroom if you need me." She stood from the bed and slipped her feet into the complimentary slippers by the bed. Her eyes caught the beautiful sword before she pushed the door of the bathroom open. The sword was most likely dull…she would have to find a way to sharpen it; would an ordinary knife sharpener work? It was worth a shot. She'd have to go to the department store later.
"That prat," Artoria hissed as she analyzed the scratch marks on her neck. Only three of Gilgamesh's fingers had drawn blood when Diarmuid pushed him off her, and three sets of scabs had already started to form. Artoria's fingers grazed over the bumps on her neck and took a sharp breath, wincing. "I'll kill him." She didn't really mean it, she just said it.
Upon changing, bandaging her feet once more, and applying antibiotic cream on her neck, Artoria picked up the sword from the dresser. It was quite heavy, but most definitely beautiful. She'd admired the weapon since such an early age and had always wanted to hold it in her hands. Now that it was in her possession, she was able to admire it better. The jewels scattered on the scabbard reflected the sunlight and cast rainbows on the walls and ceiling of the motel room. Artoria sat down on the bed and set the sword on her lap, letting her fingers ghostly graze the intricate designs of the scabbard. Finally, her hand gripped the blue and golden handle of the sword and she pulled it out. There was a slight thrill that scurried down Artoria's back as she looked at her reflection in the sword.
"One day, she shall be yours, my darling." The voice of her great grandfather had echoed in her mind, the suppressed memory barely escaping from her subconscious.
"Master." Artoria's image of her great grandfather faded as she looked up from the sword towards her servant.
"Yes?" She implored as she raised an eyebrow at him.
The man's armour moved slightly as he took a breath. The sunlight glinted off his gauntlets as he rested a hand on his sword which was strapped to his thin waist. "I scouted the area and I didn't come across any threats."
"Good," she mumbled before looking back down at the sword. "I have to sharpen this today."
"You don't plan on engaging in any battle, do you, master?" Diarmuid inquired as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I am here to protect you and fight for you, there is no need for you to get blood on your hands. I'm willing to do whatever you ask of me. I am loyal to you alone."
Artoria glanced at him through her eyelashes and nodded. "I have no doubt you can protect me and I dare not question your loyalty." She straightened her back as she spoke. "However, after what happened yesterday, I think it's best I carry a weapon. You won't always be there to protect me, Diarmuid. It's better to avoid a repeat of last night, especially if other masters are as violent as Gilgamesh."
Diarmuid nodded. "As long as you don't feel I'm not capable of protecting you, then I agree with you."
"Why would you think that?" She furrowed her brows.
A look of embarrassment lit his face for less than a second, but it was long enough for Artoria to have caught it. She didn't question it, however, she simply thought it wasn't something he wasn't ready to talk about, and she would definitely not insist. Diarmuid might have been her servant, and she might have had three command spells to control him as she wished, but she didn't want him to do something he didn't want to.
"Never mind that," Artoria assured with a shake of her head. "Would you sharpen this for me? And…if we have any time, would you mind teaching me how to sword fight? I'd like to know enough to defend myself. Who knows when Gilgamesh wants to attack me again."
Diarmuid extended his hands to receive the sword. "I'd love to be of any help to you, master." He bowed after she'd passed him the weapon. "I'll have this sharpened as soon as possible. And we could start lessons whenever you're ready," he smiled. He had a soft but warm smile that made him look quite handsome in the morning light.
Artoria had already read a short biography of him on his wiki page, but she didn't bother reading through it fully. She had already understood his love curse, and was thankful she hadn't fallen for it. Diarmuid had told her it was a possibility that she had some degree if not a lot of magical resistance, which allowed her not to fall head over heels for him at first sight (something they were both thankful for).
However, despite not being enchanted by his curse, Artoria would bluntly admit that the man was rather handsome, especially when his gaze intently looked over the decorative sword. She had yet to meet the rest of the servants, but she was already thankful Diarmuid was summoned for her. Although she liked to be independent, Diarmuid seemed reliable, at least so far.
How was Gilgamesh getting along with his servant? Who was she? She seemed no-nonsense and strict if Artoria guessed. Artoria rubbed her face. A thought crescendoed in her mind; the possibility of forming an alliance with another master. Was that allowed in the Grail war? She didn't see why not. Now there was another intrusive thought that she entertained; would forming an alliance with Gilgamesh work? Or would he strangle Artoria to death if she so much as appeared in front of him again? Artoria's racing mind lingered on the idea of calling Gilgamesh and asking for his opinion, but she thought it was best to see if other servants would be better. After all, Gilgamesh did try to kill her.