Artoria huffed, trying to raise her sword back up. Her blonde hair was tousled and her fringe was now sticking to her forehead because of the sweat that trickled down. She tried to catch her breath, somewhat heaving before she gave a cough; her throat had started to ache with all the panting she'd done. "I definitely need to practice more," she groaned as she lifted the sword up properly.

Diarmuid simply gave her an encouraging smile. "For your first time, I think you're rather great at this."

"Don't lie to me, I know I'm weak." Her tone wasn't strong, and she meant her words lightly. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. "This is nothing like fencing…"

Diarmuid couldn't help but stifle a small laugh that erupted from him. He had to cover his mouth and mask it as a cough. It was honorable that she was trying so hard, even if she were less than talented. It'd probably been the first time in a long time he'd seen a master of his trying hard at something that wasn't to ridicule him. Dare he say she looked intriguing, to say the least.

Artoria lowered her weapon and stood up straight. "Are you making fun of me, Saber?" She glared at him ever so slightly. "I don't tolerate people making fun of me, I hope you know."

Diarmuid's smile faded in an instant, as if it were never there to begin with. "I would never make a jest out of you, Master. I apologize if I offended you in any way." He was already giving her a deep bow, arm across his chest and knee bent. "If you wish to punish me, I will not object."

Arturia leaned back and stared at him in bewilderment. "Stand up," she demanded. "I won't be punishing you for something so…dumb." Arturia caught the surprise in Diarmuid's honey eyes when he looked up at her. Had his previous masters been so rough with him that he was so shocked to see her being slightly merciful?

He didn't move from his knee, however. Arturia approached him, setting the sword down on the bed they had squished to one side of the room. She took a hold of his armoured arm and nudged him to stand, knowing far too well he was much too heavy to pull. "You shouldn't kneel for apologies so needlessly, have a little more respect for yourself, Saber."

As Diarmuid stood from the carpeted floor, his eyes never once left hers. She was so short and young, yet he knew, in that very moment, that she was the finest master he'd ever had. His wish was nearly complete, did he even need the Holy Grail at this point? However, he would stop at nothing to win it for her and make her proud.

"You are very merciful, I offer my sincerest gratitude."

"Not punishing you for smiling doesn't make me merciful, it makes me human," she answered him as she took a step back. Arturia could see a warm expression in his eyes, something that looked between relief and admiration. She felt a dull pain in her chest just looking at him. Had he lived such a pitiful life before?

"Shall we continue?" Arturia asked, picking her sword back up. "I'm not quite finished practicing just yet."

He stared at her for a second, two, three before shaking his head and nodding. "Of course, as you wish."

Arturia lifted the sword and pointed it at her servant. She wouldn't lie, she was exhausted and ready to drop the weapon in an instant if he made her wait a second longer.

Diarmuid had seen the way she held the weapon, her hands were trembling and he could tell that her shoulders were tense. They'd been practicing for nearly two hours and she had been swinging that weapon around like a mad woman, with lots of grace but no technique. He knew she was about to let the weapon go and so he thought of a quick plan. "Before we start, master, will you grant me a short break?"

Arturia eyed him carefully. "I thought servants didn't get tired." She raised an eyebrow.

Promptly, he nodded. "You're correct, master. However, I feel I hadn't quite sharpened your sword properly, I feel I did a sloppy job."

She gave him an even look. "You can sharpen after we finish practicing."

He watched the sweat trickle down from her brow. "What if there's an attack in a few minutes and your sword isn't as sharp as it could be? Would that not cause an issue?"

Artoria seemed to consider her options. "Well, when you put it like that, I guess an attack could be an issue." She finally passed her sword to Diarmuid and gave a silent sigh of relief. She was glad to get it off her hands and take a break, her muscles had been begging for her to let go of the weapon for more than half an hour.

She took a seat on the bed and watched as Diarmuid began to sharpen the weapon, the stinging noise of metal swiping against one another filling the room. Artoria would admit Diarmuid was a diligent servant, and quite attentive. However, would he be strong enough? Gilgamesh's servant was quite quick and agile, and god only knew how much more intense the other servants were.

It was the staccato buzzing that drew both their attention to the old flip phone Artoria had left on the dresser. She had managed to get it after leaving her phone behind so they couldn't be traced. Artoria instructed Diarmuid to continue sharpening the sword before she reached for the phone and wearily looked at the caller; Uknown, the label read. She answered it.

"Hello?" Her voice was stern but there was a slight fear that settled in her gut.

"Why hello, my dear," the man on the other line sneered.

Artoria could immediately tell who he was. "How did you get this number, Gilgamesh?" She hissed.

Gilgamesh tutted. "Oh, you should really know by now, you can't run from me."

Diarmuid had stopped sharpening the sword once he heard the man's name. He turned to his master and held onto his yellow sword a little tighter, ready for her word.

Artoria lifted her hand, as if to instruct Diarmuid to relax. "What do you want?" She all but groaned in annoyance, "Were you not satisfied enough with strangling me? Or did you want to finish the job?"

"Oh, Artie, love, no hard feelings," he chuckled, "you know this is all just business, right? The grail can only have one winner, and it'll be me."

"Did you call just to show off? I have better things to do, so if you would excuse me." Artoria prepared to end the call, pulling the flip phone away from herself.

"Wait," he instructed.

Artoria rolled her eyes and brought the phone back to her ear. "What?" She barked.

"I'm sure there's so much more you need to know about the war, right? You're no more than a chicken with it's head caught off; unaware which way is up."

"I think I can fend for myself, thank you for your misplaced concern." She threw her head back. He really had a knack of being a complete jerk, didn't he?

"The war takes place in Fuyuki, Japan, did you know that? I'm sure you didn't. It'll probably be starting in a few days. If I were you, I'd book the first flight there." Gilgamesh laughed. "I wonder, how will you get your servant there?"

Artoria clenched her hand into a fist. "I ask you, Gilgamesh, do not dare tempt me."

"Or what, Artie? You'll kill me? Oooh, I'm so scared," Gilgamesh mocked. "Get real, you'd never even have the guts."

"I hope you rot." She grinded her teeth.

"Feisty," he teased. "But really, Artie, my dear. There's so much about this war you don't even know. Surrender now and I might just spare your life. Think about it, you're not a mage at all, I don't even know how you summoned your servant, but you're inexperienced, you're going to die. Make the smart choice; forfeit your rights as a master, and give me your servant."

"Over my dead body, Gilgamesh! You want my servant, you'll have to kill me for him."

"Very well then. Be prepared, Artoria, the next time I'll see you will be the last." Gilgamesh sighed, "Such a waste of a pretty face."

"Go die," Artoria growled before she hung up the phone. Throwing the phone onto the bed, she ruffled her hair in annoyance. "Who the hell does he think he is? What the bloody hell is his problem?"

Diarmuid was now standing in front of her. She could easily tell he was upset as well, but he remained silent, sword still in his hand. She knew he was only waiting for her word.

Artoria grunted in frustration, sighing exasperatedly, "Is it true? Do we really have to go to Fuyuki?"

Diarmuid nodded. "I'm afraid so."

She took a hold of the roots of her hair. The stress took over her and she was starting to think if it was all a mistake. "How on earth will I even get you there?" There wasn't much to discuss at this point, she was frustrated and decided it best to call it a day, now that it was getting darker and her body was exhausted, she couldn't help but go to bed.

"Are you sure she'll forget everything?" Uther whispered to a short elderly man. "We can't risk her remembering a single thing."

"Daddy?" Artoria looked around the dark room, her heart pounding in her chest. She was laid down on a cold concrete bed, surrounded by a ring of candles. "What…What's happening?" Her questions went unheard by the two men. She squirmed, trying to get out of the leather restraints that held her tightly in place. She was bound by her arms and legs, and there was even a leather strap around her head. The fear in her heart grew with every passing second, tears were streaming down her face to her ears and she was beginning to shake like a leaf.

The bald old man was wrinkly, he held on to a walking stick, but what scared Artoria the most were his eyes; what should have been the whites of his eyes were pure black and his irises were as white and cold as the harsh winter snow. "If all goes well, she won't recall any of this," he rasped, voice sounding hoarse and weak.

Uther sighed, staring down at his daughter with glossed red eyes and furrowed brows. "I don't want her to be scarred by this. I want her to live a normal life, like any other child." Then he reached out towards her, brushing her golden hair back with his big palm.

The short elderly man pulled Uther away harshly. "Wait outside until I call for you."

Uther's gaze had snapped away from his daughter to the man. "It won't hurt her, right?" He asked, voice slightly shaking. "She'll be fine, right?"

"Daddy!" Artoria's voice cracked and she tried to reach out for her father, but the restraint only dug into her. "Please," she wept.

"I cannot make any promises, now go, we must begin." The man ushered her father to the dark metal door of the room, which Artoria could only see with the corner of her eyes.

Uther took one last look at his daughter, a single tear rolling down his eye. "It'll be okay, honey," he assured. His soft voice didn't calm her as it usually would have, instead, the horror in her core grew more.

"Daddy! Please! Don't leave me!" Artoria cried. "I'll be good, I promise! I'll obey everything you say, daddy, please!" The door shut closed with a thud and the cold on the concrete slab beneath her seeped into her very bones and froze her.

The old man turned to Artoria, black and white irised eyes wickedly staring her down and he took a step closer to her.

Artoria awoke with a start, her skin was lined with a thin layer of cold sweat and her clothes were stuck to her body. Her breathing was laboured and she had to cough a few times. Her body felt icy upon the chilly breeze that filled the room and penetrated through her skin.

"Master!" Diarmuid had materialized next to her, concern lacing his brows and his left hand reaching out towards her. He had taken a hold of her hand upon already sensing that there was no threat around them.

Artoria wiped the sweat from her brow with her free hand and looked at him. "I'm alright, just…a nightmare," she mumbled, but her tone wasn't very assuring. She squeezed his hand momentarily before letting go. "I'm fine," she repeated with a breath. She rubbed her face before looking around the dark room, noting that everything had returned to its rightful place and the curtains had been drawn.

Diarmuid stood and walked to the small fridge under the television. He pulled out a bottle of water and opened it before passing it to his master. "Drink this," he offered.

Artoria nodded as she took the bottle from his hands and took a sip. The cold water eased her slightly, reminding her the dream she had was nothing more than a baseless nightmare. Or was it? It felt so real, as if it were a suppressed memory. She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head; it was nothing more than a dream, she told herself. She gulped down half of the bottle, shivering slightly in the process before she set the bottle down on the nightstand.

"Would you like me to make you some tea?" Diarmuid asked once he'd noticed her shivering. "Or anything to warm you up?"

Artoria looked up at him for a second before she shook her head. "There's no need," she sighed as slumped onto her knees. "I just need a few minutes."

Diarmuid grabbed a blanket that was neatly folded on the couch and draped it over her shoulders. "You should rest, Master."

Artoria held onto the blanket with one hand and leaned her head on her shoulder, hugging her knees with one arm. "Does the past haunt you too, Diarmuid?" She mumbled, eyes fixed beyond the television.

"All servants are haunted by their past," he answered. He leaned against the back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and looked down at her. "But yes, I am, always."

She looked over at him and furrowed her brows. "Will I ever know the truth?"