Trinity: The Guardians (or Crossovers That Should Not Be V), Part II
A few hours later
He’d had to admit that he’d had a fun morning, despite starting at such an early hour—and an even more fun time watching children hunt for the eggs he’d hidden.
It really was amazing, Galen reflected, what an Unspeakable could get away with as long as the internal paperwork was properly filed.
Just as an example? He’d managed to snag a phial of extended-duration Polyjuice Potion and a Time-Turner, and a few hours of maintenance downtime on the Ministry’s magical detection system, all in the name of an experiment on “the metaphysical effects of first-hand observation on magical phenomena.” Translated from academic-speak, it was “what happens to magic when people actually see it”—and put simply, it was the opportunity and excuse to literally play Easter Bunny for a few hours, and brighten a few kids’ days in one way or another.
Croaker, he suspected, knew what was actually going on; nothing had actually been said that could be conclusively taken out of context, but there had been a few knowing looks after Christmas. And with no offense meant to Arthur Weasley’s intelligence, if he could figure it out, then the Head of the Department of Mysteries definitely could. The only—no, the most important—question was, what did he get out of not interfering . . .?
It was puzzling, true, but not a puzzle for the here and now. For now, Galen was content to rest on one of the hills in Ottery-St. Catchpole, hidden under the Deathcloak, as he waited for the Polyjuice to wear off. The day had been fun, however much hard work it had been, and even though dark clouds were rolling in—not unusual for spring—he took comfort in the fact that the cloak’s nature would keep him dry, and that they hadn’t arrived earlier, to spoil the egg hunts.
To be totally honest, he admitted to himself, being Santa was easier. I’m used to the fur, and the hearing, but the instincts . . .!
It wasn’t that he was unused to dealing with subconscious cues from a secondary set of animalistic instincts—quite the opposite, in fact—but in most cases, they were predator’s instincts, and rabbits were very much not. The conflict between the two viewpoints, and keeping a handle on their inputs, was a bit of a mental strain.
Luna, Galen decided, will probably handle this much better, if it happens again next year. I wonder if I could convince her, or the rest of them, to go for it? Easter’s not quite as big a deal as Christmas, after all . . . And what other holidays could we get away with? Something spooky but fun for Halloween, maybe? Not Valentine’s Day; love potions aren’t exactly what the holiday had in mind, and Neville’s the only one of us with the looks to pass for Cupid, even if in the more mythological sense. Not that any of us really want to see him in a diaper, or equivalent codpiece; though it might be funny to watch Ginny talk him into it—
Later on, Galen realised that if he hadn’t been suppressing his animal side so hard, he’d have seen it coming—maybe even sooner than usual, given how highly skittish the rabbit instincts in particular were. Certainly, the rabbit’s reflexes were the only reason he managed to dodge the initial strike—which was somewhat alarming, given that he felt himself shifting involuntarily from the moment he touched the ground.
. . . Then again, upon consideration the evidence suggested that it was likely the fact of his wearing the Deathcloak being the only reason he’d spotted the attack at all. And that was even more alarming, really.
Galen half-rolled, half-leaped into the air, infusing runes on his still-hidden wand sheath as he moved with magic and intent; the first, of course, to summon his wand itself, and the second—a more recent addition—to likewise summon his “battle gear,” and dismiss the Deathcloak to a slightly more hidden position. In most cases such as this, it allowed him to seem as though he’d appeared out of thin air; and with his knack for Apparition, it was usually dismissed as such, allowing the artefact’s presence and nature to remain secret.
To an outside observer, it was the Easter Bunny, or a reasonable facsimile, which left the ground . . . And a dragonhide-wearing, wand-wielding gunman who returned to it, scanning his surroundings.
His initial impression while in mid-flight had been of a shape: black, big, and smelling of horses and sand. Once he’d landed, Galen understood just how accurate that impression was—his attacker was a horse, formed of black sand, with sickly-yellow lights for eyes, gleaming malevolently. It was beautiful, in an eerie sort of way.
The fact that he could count at least sixty of them emerging from various darkened spots, on the other hand, was not.
“There you are!” proclaimed the sudden, menacing voice from the shadows, cool and velvet in tone, accompanied with a dramatically-perfect roll of thunder.
Its owner stepped into view, though not fully into the light, revealing a tall, shadow-complexioned figure that looked like the love-child of Neil Gaiman and Disney’s rendition of Hades, minus the blue flames. Certainly, the malicious smile displaying scraggly fangs lent to that impression, anyway, as he asked, “Do you like my nightmares, boy?
“I certainly hope so,” he added, after a beat, “because I’m about to introduce you to all of them.”
“Nightmares?” Galen asked in an innocent tone. “Interesting—I’ll have to give you an 8 out of 10, because it looks like you didn’t even try to go for the flaming manes or hooves.”
The stranger paused, and blinked. “What?”
“Likewise on the Voldemort impression,” the wizard continued, as if the other hadn’t spoken. “Now, to be fair, you’ve got a better voice than he ever did—seriously, if you don’t have a career in radio or voice-acting, look into it—but Voldemort doesn’t really have a link to nightmares. Still, I’m pretty sure we can’t find something in the Monster Manual to match that look; if nothing else, a few extra trinkets will let you pass for an appropriate demonologist or cultist . . .”
“Jokes?” the stranger said in sudden realisation. “You ruin my perfect plan to get rid of those meddlesome Guardians and reshape the world, and you have the audacity to make JOKES?”
Never had Galen been more grateful for his ability to parallel process, alongside his Occlumency training; it allowed him to try and figure out what the hell the guy was talking about, come to a few unpleasant possible conclusions in the process, and hide that reaction while replying dryly, “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
The stranger couldn’t exactly be said to turn a colour, precisely, but his face did take on a mottled texture, presumably representing fury as he glared. “You don’t—!”
He stopped suddenly, eyes suddenly going wide in disbelief. “You, you—don’t . . .” Galen had the impression of briefly being read by someone extremely well-versed in body language, because he himself could see the stranger take on an expression that was an equal mixture of awe and horror—a state that was only confirmed by the tone the other used next.
“Three hundred—THREE HUNDRED YEARS of planning, and work, utterly ruined—and you don’t even have the SLIGHTEST IDEA of what you’ve DONE!”
Voice laden with hysteria, the stranger seemed as though he would either cry, scream, or hit something at any moment—and that even he wasn’t sure which it would be.
“No . . .” Galen allowed, finally having come up with what he felt was a decent plan. “But I know Classical Greek.”
Even as the stranger’s lips began to form the question—
“ZEUS THE THUNDERER, YOUR JUDGMENT!”
It was a really bad thing that the stranger had brought all those storm clouds in his wake.
For him, anyway.
Trinity: The Order, Part III
Continuing . . .
Emiya Residence, Fuyuki
July 7, 2018
“Well, now,” the red-clad Servant drawled, staring across the room. “This is certainly unexpected—I seem to have a knack for drawing terrifying Masters.”
In actuality, he was far less calm than he appeared, and swiftly cataloguing details. None of his previous records held mentions of a situation that was anything like this, and that would be worrying enough on its own . . .
“Sempai . . .!” protested the woman he was addressing, her blush deepening. Despite clearly being an adult, she acted like the Japanese schoolgirl he remembered—which made her white hair all the more disturbing.
Nothing good had ever happened to him (or anyone in the general area of, say, Fuyuki City) when Sakura Matou had white hair.
Still, there was no sign of the red eyes or black veins that signified extreme Grail corruption and her eyes were clear, if fixated on him with a mildly disturbing intensity—which, according to those previously-mentioned records, wasn’t too far off his teenage experiences, actually.
He’d just only ever noticed it as Archer . . .
“It’s good to see you again, Sempai,” Sakura said softly, her violet eyes glistening with not-quite-shed tears.
The Counter Guardian known as EMIYA did his best to put a genuine smile on his face, and answered warmly, “It’s good to see you, too, Sakura-chan.” He raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “But I was under the impression that the Grail System had been dismantled after the Fifth War . . .?”
“. . . It was discussed,” Sakura admitted, “but there was a faction that thought with the corrupted Grail and the source of its corruption destroyed, it might be safe to try again, after a thorough examination and overhaul of the system.” Her eyes flicked to one side as colour rose in her cheeks. “I might have been one of the major proponents.”
Archer stared. “After everything you went through because of the Grail War . . . Sakura, why?”
“Because you never came back, Sempai,” Sakura said sharply. “Even though you promised . . .” She smiled, but there was a hollowness to it that unnerved him. “And this way, I can make sure you keep it.”
Archer felt a shiver travel down his spine, certain that his original belief had been affirmed.
Nothing good ever happened to him when Sakura Matou had white hair.
Outside Fuyuki
July 7, 2018
“Well,” Ritsuka remarked, “nothing’s on fire, for a change—that’s a good sign, right?”
In her Shielder persona, Mash was too professional to giggle; her Master’s comment did elicit a small smile, however.
“We do seem to appear in mid-disaster more often than not, it’s true,” she admitted. “But this will be tricky, Sempai—we don’t know which Servant Foreigner is, after all.”
“Which could mean that we have to deal with all of them,” the Master sighed. “That’s just terrific . . .” He blinked at a sudden thought, and turned to Shielder with a grin. “On the other hand, based on our other experiences, Foreigner should be easy to spot if they get into a fight with one of the other Servants; all we have to do is watch for the tentacles!”
Mash would deny the squeak that left her lips in response to that statement until her dying day.
That her face went beet-red, on the other hand, would be on Chaldea’s mission recordings forever.
Writer's Notes: The actual chapter is approximately 10% written, and 50% planned - so, actual progress is finally being made. :rolleyes: