Chapter 6
You Are My King
Saber had to remind herself that this was not the “Holy Grail War.”
The false priest ten years before had revealed as much. Shirou had confirmed it as they talked about the situation. It was not a competition for a righteous artifact that granted wishes. It was not an honorable duel between spirits for a prize. It was not even a death match in the sense of battles between foes. It was simply a ritual overseen by magi, now tainted to be a failure if it were to ever be completed.
She also had to remind herself that the rules and reasoning behind the ritual were not clear-cut. It was not the dark and despairing place that Kiritsugu Emiya had believed it to be, deliberately killing defenseless targets and eliminating threats in a manner appropriate to a demon. Nor was it the situation that Shirou himself had tried to resolve in which an enemy could be saved from the violence they brought like a virtuous angel. Striking fast, hard, and without remorse—that was something she understood well, the same situation she now found herself amidst.
Still, it did not make it easy. Righteous, in its way, and in the long run, honorable—but dirty in the way it stained the person carrying it out.
The train swayed, unconcerned as Saber surveyed the aftermath of the fight. In the tunnel that connected the United Kingdom to France, the vehicle sped along with its few civilian passengers and operators unaware of the violence that had just been carried out on board.
Shirou crouched over a large container, examining the contents. Just behind him lay the body of their target, Enzo Fatone.
Decapitated. The head stared at the body with eyes still open, a strange awareness still present within. Fatone was still technically alive, his crest continuing to glow faintly on the back of his skull, but the sword Shirou had created was still embedded in the body. A cursed sword, Dáinsleif was a natural enemy to Fatone’s unnatural magecraft, which activated automatically when a mortal wound was suffered. Fatone’s crest would consume his body, then recreate itself while allocating the wound to a non-vital state. The crest worked within the realm of Equivalent Exchange only in that it also permanently sacrificed part of its own existence—the “grotesque” method of survival that would appall any orthodox magus, destroying years and generations of research just to save one’s skin. Thus his title of “Serpent Sign,” an ouroboros of a snake consuming its own body. The ugliness of an ugly survival. Magi governed themselves with their own laws—it was not immoral to use the innocent to further research so long as secrets were not divulged to the world at large. However, to become behest to magecraft rather than in full control of it was an unspoken disgrace. Like the difference between an untrained genius waving their abilities around and a trained practitioner in full control at every level: one did not wish to be the former. Not only did Fatone let his craft control his destiny for the sake of survival, it also sacrificed the only truth that magi acknowledged.
A man that feared his own death more than anything. The kind of enemy that Saber could tell now that upset Shirou to mark as “one that had to be eliminated.” In many ways, it was a stance that Shirou understood, even preferred, to the one that the average magi sought.
It had to be done, as well. The train car had all of his equipment, ready-made to be taken across the continent and re-deployed as a workshop of top quality. The train itself was like his workshop, his home territory, and such things were a danger to Shirou in particular, still very much mortal despite his ability to fight with those of his own kind.
Dáinsleif conceptually kept Fatone’s crest from enacting upon the body, the discrepancy of a dying man that was not dead would right itself, and Shirou would be able to carry out the request Rin had left for him after contacting him about the Fatone family situation.
Information gained to save many lives at the expense of the life and desires of another.
“No summoning artifact,” Shirou said. He closed the crate and shoved it back against the wall next to the others he had already shifted through. “That I can tell, anyway. Maybe he wanted to summon something related to the straight, or the sea itself and would get it soon.”
Saber was careful to not let Shirou see the violent shudder that came over her at the possibilities that ran through her mind. She directed her thoughts as deliberately as possible elsewhere—which were still not wonderful to begin with. “Then potentially enemies that would have been problematic, as there are many foes that I did battle with from this region, none of which I would be pleased to be at war with once again.” She continued to push on. “It was a wise decision to confront him now, Shirou. Of this I have no doubt.”
The battle was not one Saber relished in, either. Two against one was not the way of a knight even if it was a matter of efficiency and, in the long run, the righteous action to take. Shirou had proven to be as competent as she could ever hope for, and most of their actions had been to use Saber to block Fatone’s spellwork while Shirou struck. That, at least, mitigated some of her regret in such a pitched battle.
Yet bothered her for what it made Shirou do in her stead.
It also nagged at the back of her mind, the fact that she was without her sword to begin with. Although Shirou had provided her with a weapon of his own making and it was not an issue so long as they did not engage a Servant, it was a strange, ambiguous place that she found herself in, as a Servant of the sword. She had not needed to slash her opponent even once, while Shirou had cleaved the magus’ head from his shoulders, then brought the cursed Noble Phantasm forgery down into the body before the head could turn and consume its own flesh.
Simple and straightforward, yet the kind of violence Saber was not exactly pleased to see her Master carry out without concern.
“Reines said she would look into the cleanup on the other end, so unless there are objections I think we should get moving,” Shirou said. “Separate this car from the rest of the train. I’ll slow it down and we can get off.”
“Understood.”
A different kind of relationship than she was used to with him—where he openly made decisions and commanded her to follow them. It might have been unsettling when compared to how their relationship had been before, had it not been for one aspect:
He wanted to leave on one of the vehicles stored away rather than have her carry him out on foot. No matter how much he hid it behind a professional mask, she had detected this alternative that he strove to avoid.
Saber moved to the front of the car Fatone had been using as his own storage space. With the sword Shirou had provided her with, she severed the connection between the carriages and watched as the car ahead of her gained distance on them. A moment later, emergency breaks were applied to their car, causing the gap to widen substantially.
“Clear,” Shirou’s voice called out. “There’s a motorcycle in the rear compartment that we can back out easily.”
Saber nearly tossed the weapon in her hands away as she followed after him back to the rear car, then thought better of it. He had told her to discard them at any point, and she had no way to carry it if she was to reassume her civilian clothing and take a vehicle like a motorcycle. A strange, mundane concern that brought up a sense of discomfort the more she thought of it.
Shirou had briefly gone over the details earlier, that the blade was an alchemical creation he had made with his knowledge of the makeup of legendary weaponry. Although unique to him, it was an easily replaced item that would dull with use. He regularly went through them in his work and crafted new ones as he needed; a long-term application of his spellwork.
Still, it would be unwise to leave around for someone to find, even if those people worked for a current ally: Reines and the El-Melloi faction were not Shirou’s regular employers. Someday, they may become his enemies as well, and keeping what secrets he could was to his benefit.
A weapon was a tool, to be used and replaced at leisure by the wielder. Saber herself understood that notion, despite the tools associated with her being of the utmost quality. Even as she had lamented the loss of the sword she drew from the stone or the theft of her fae-crafted scabbard, in the end, it was not on the item to save her people or face her destiny.
Yet something within her was discontent with the notion that Shirou believed the things he made had no value.
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They left the train by taking a motorcycle closest to the rear exit carriage. Fatone had chosen a time that would allow them to traverse back to the England end of the tunnel without fear of being discovered. After that, they had a flight to catch for Japan as well.
Just long enough that Saber’s thoughts wandered even as she kept her senses tuned for danger. She was certain Shirou was the same, as she felt him occasionally glance about, although his grip around her waist never tightened to suggest he found anything. That action alone embodied the strange sense Saber felt overcome her.
It was far from the perfect harmony they had once shared at the climax of the Fifth Heaven’s Feel.
Saber was naturally a quiet, watchful person. Even before the kingship that had distanced her from the people of her country, the little girl that had dreamed to uphold an ideal had been one of seriousness and silent devotion. She worked hard toward her goals, never once complaining, and sought with every pore of her body to be as capable as she could with not even a single breath wasted. So her silence came naturally, as did the way she observed the world around her unfold.
Of course, before, she had been so exasperated by her Master’s bullheaded naivety that she could not help but speak up whenever he was about to do something extremely daring or foolish. And he did daring and foolish things often.
Though exasperating, it was endearing in its own way.
The man she looked upon now was still the same person. She understood that people did not change, so to speak—they grew. The base form was always the same. But like a tree, the base grew thicker, the branches spread out, and any number of leaves and blossoms could sprout. Winds blew branches down, humans pruned errant limbs, and the weather might stunt growth, all of which guided the entity toward certain directions.
He was still the same, yet very much different.
His growth had certainly not been stunted, nor clipped away, nor blown down, but he was definitely growing in one specific fashion. Refined, she might say, like steel was wrought from iron. The naivety was present, but overgrown with protection to keep it from being harmed. He was still daring, most definitely, though the foolishness had abated from the day-to-day actions he might take into something that she thought she understood to a certain extent: the foolishness of continuing down a path that had no end. Or at least, no end that any mere human had ever seen.
It made her feel both happy and sad at the same time.
He was, perhaps more so than before, her equal. No longer the boy that only had a goal but little in the way of actualization to his dream. He was now a man, had seen his fair share of war—and though the scope and nature of warfare might have changed since her times, she would never say that one was greater or lesser than another.
He was also no longer the idealist she had to look out for. No, Saber decided, he was certainly someone to protect, to shield from harm, though it was different than before. He would not recklessly charge into the fray and push her from the arc of Berserker’s swing—he now had the capacity to do something more than place his life between those he wished to save and the death that came to strike them.
She was certainly proud of that, though she felt she had little in the way of influence there. Perhaps, she was simply proud of being able to claim I love this person, proud to say that the feelings she had found as a woman were to a person who had gone from helplessness to strength, almost as if overnight.
It was sad, though, that she no longer could say that she held some kind of authority over him—before, she was his superior, both in ability and in experience. Even if his heart had not wavered like hers had, even though he might have had a stronger mind and drive within him, she could still hold onto the fact that her experiences had not been for nothing, that the power she lent him could be rightfully wielded.
She wondered, now, if she had anything to give. Though he was still not her equal in ability, his experience was now great and he had clearly made do with what he had. Though he had not fought in battles with the same scope as she, their years of experience no longer differed in a significant fashion. Though he was not a “knight” as she knew it, he had with him all of the tools necessary to be everything he needed to be—one might say that was even the definition of a knight as far as she was concerned.
If she was going to protect him, she knew, it was no longer from the world at large. It was from becoming what, eventually, had led to the weakness in her heart, the thought that in the end, it did not matter at all. She wanted to make sure that the choice he made that day—the choice that she realized should have been her own all along—would never be tarnished, would always be kept close to his heart, no matter what else may stain him.
It was no longer the harmony they shared as before. He was beyond the boy that knew only a goal and what it took to reach it, and she was no longer the weapon by which to pave the way.
He was no longer the boy that had been her scabbard, worthy to keep the king’s sword protected.
She now had to be his scabbard, to shield the blades of a blacksmith.
As they exited the tunnel into the evening gloom, her eyes once more settled onto the lands where she once fought. Not far from where they were had been the location of her return to the island to find Mordred had usurped the throne.
She hoped that did not pose as an ill omen toward her future endeavors.
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Sleep came easily—or at least, it was supposed to. Shirou now had many years of experience where limited moments of travel time or bouts between watches or the like were the only place he could afford to rest. He assumed Saber understood this, as it was something he had first truly come to understand due to her resting periods before he could provide her with magical energy all those years before. Her conservation of energy differed somewhat from his situation, but it was something that could easily be taken to heart no matter what separated them in terms of talents or experiences.
It was only fitting, of course, that this practice be foiled by the very one who introduced it to him.
“You are sure this is fine?”
Shirou cracked one eye open to hazily look at the girl next to him. Though he was not yet asleep, that place he was in—halfway between awareness and rest—was enough that the dim light within the airplane still made everything look a little blurred. It also left him floundering a little, like his near-restful state had lulled him into a more vulnerable position than full wakefulness or some time experiencing actual slumber. “You’re asking now?”
Saber gave that almost-nervous look, the thing he had once upon a time seen when she would want to settle down for a meal but her manners and pride would not allow her to voice. “Nobody else is awake and I had little time to think about it beforehand. Now is the first chance I have had.”
Yawning, Shirou pulled himself up from the slouch he had fallen into and blinked his eyes open. He glanced around. The airplane that was transporting them from Europe to East Asia was as mundane as could be, the slight hum of the vehicle just about the only noise to be heard. Many of the other passengers were all either hiding behind sleep masks and pillows, or in the case of a couple of teenagers, with earphones on, plugged into a mobile device watching movies or playing games. The flight attendants were at their station chatting to one another. At intervals along the coach section they were in, a monitor with a movie playing hung from the top of the cabin. Absolutely nothing to be concerned about, even if he did still carefully appraise the situation. “What am I sure is fine?”
“Well…” Saber looked a little embarrassed, color so faint touching her cheeks it would probably not be noticed by the casual observer. “Kiritsugu wanted me disguised when we traveled from Germany, so Irisviel had me dress up as a professional young man to avoid suspicion—”
Shirou snorted in a failed attempt at clamping down on a laugh. That brought him fully awake.
“—So I thought it would be the same now.” Eyebrows fell and eyes narrowed at Shirou’s reaction. “What?”
“I don’t think…” Shirou tried to find the words, though the images springing up into his head denied his ability to think straight, “I doubt that would…or that it worked quite like that.” The fact that Saber now came down on him with an intense glare did not help either, as it was too bereft of her stoicism to actually make her seem intimidating. In fact, with the very clothes he had provided for her, it just made her look like an angry young woman instead. “Japan isn’t exactly known for its natural-blonde boys. I doubt you ‘avoided suspicion’ by looking like that. Probably just attracted even more attention.”
“Then why—”
“Was she anything like Illya? Illya’s mother, I mean.”
Saber’s cheek twitched. “Well…”
“They might’ve done it to tease you.”
The way Saber huffed and leaned back into her seat suggested the conclusion he came up with was plausible, if not closer to the truth than her original thought. She sighed and looked out the plane window—though with the glare from inside the vehicle and the dark sky beyond made seeing anything other than the vague shapes of clouds pointless. “In the end, I think the only thing Kiritsugu found pleasing about me was his ability to make a fool out of me. I doubt Irisviel had anything but honorable intentions, however.” She still looked a little concerned, in the end, like something so obvious might have been parading right in front of her the whole time.
Shirou valiantly kept himself from grinning. “Anyway, you still haven’t really answered my question. What’s fine?”
“Dressing me…like this…” Saber mumbled out the reply.
Shrugging, the man leaned back into his seat as well, his eyes falling closed once more. “Why wouldn’t it be? It looks normal. Is that some kind of problem?”
“I was…am concerned that it would stand out too much. I would have thought you would do the same, dress me like Kiritsugu or his partner Maiya dressed. Dressed to match yourself.”
Like before, he wore simple clothes that, at a distance, looked nondescript and vague, like a shadow cast in the sun. His coat, while long and dark, did not have any particular memorable features, and if he took it off he looked merely like a nondescript, casual dresser that had no sense for color. In contrast, she wore colors not far from her natural Servant form: if he were a shadow, she was a noontime day of sun, blue skies, and distant clouds. It had never occurred to her in the previous summoning, but the clothes Rin had provided—of similar colors to now—left her a natural complement to her Master.
These sort of things oddly mattered to her. Perhaps it was the ubiquity of growing up around armored figures like her, united in form and function even if the individuality shone through. Perhaps that was why she had never truly thought Kiritsugu and Irisviel’s clothing for her to be terribly strange.
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t really bother with that kind of thing. If they’re going to figure out who I am, be they magi or warlords or whatever, I doubt a disguise is going to be the one thing that protects me.” He finally grinned, unable to help it when it came to his own plight. “And if you hadn’t noticed, it isn’t like I don’t stand out as well.” He twiddled his fingers through a lock of his stark white hair. Though he did not quite look entirely as Archer had—his skin was not quite as dark and his eyes still retained much of their amber tone—he was certainly not the redheaded teenager that had parted with Saber a decade ago.
“Still,” Saber did not seem entirely convinced.
“Honestly, Saber, I didn’t really think much about it. I thought we’d probably work best looking like some just-out-of-college kids doing some traveling. If you would feel more comfortable wearing something else, we can stop by a mall when we land. I was concentrating on the other things.” Although he did not think much of disguises, he still did have to come up with the materials to fake her a passport and identification.
The expression she made was somewhere between sulking and embarrassment.
“I’m sorry I didn’t keep your clothes,” Shirou said. “I thought that might be a little morbid.”
“No, that is understandable…”
Looking as if she wanted to say something more, but was unwilling to take that extra step, Shirou settled back down to rest. Although amusing and nostalgic, this kind of concern was truthfully far from his mind. He knew Saber would either confront the issue she wanted to eventually, or would put it out of her mind if she deemed it unimportant. That was all there was to it.
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Saber believed he did not remember.
It was a sad truth she had come to: Shirou did not recall some of the more intimate experiences shared by Servants and Masters. While to her, it was mere hours since the last time she had seen Shirou, for him it was a lifetime. For Shirou, who measured his life in the years since the fire, it was half his very existence since they were together last.
It did not seem to occur to him, nor did it seem that he peered into her own life once more. Saber thought that it was probable he had seen everything that was ever important to her already—the drawing of the sword, the battles she fought, the country she endured for, the last battle she suffered—and so he had nothing else to view. Even if he did see them once more, it was something he already knew and his mind would probably simply keep as a recollection rather than an experience.
She, on the other hand, gained more insight. More history. More knowledge. Before, he had been but a boy on the cusp of manhood, his experiences save a few entirely mundane, if insightful. What memories he did have of the night of his “birth” and the horrors experienced then were at least somewhat countered by the positives in his life, the precious memories he had created alongside Kiritsugu and Taiga, Ryuudou and the Matou children, his home and his town and his recovered life.
Shirou’s new memories were undeniably those of a man that had dove headlong into the world. In just a short time, she had seen the last days of his “civilian” life, the last days he spent in Fuyuki before taking off to lands unknown in pursuit.
I can’t stray from this path for the people I’ve left behind.
It was with those words that she had understood what would happen to him after she left. The sadness and triumph he would face.
What she saw reassured her. He had become a man dedicated to his goal, skilled in the methods of battle, heart strengthened by the tiny successes he had along the way.
What she saw saddened her. He had become a man that did not hesitate, efficient in the methods of battle, heart hardened by the many failures he had along the way.
Even his comments about her wardrobe had been different than her expectations. She had brought it up for that very reason, another test of the waters that now filled the gulf between them. Before, even as her embarrassment over some situations was, well, embarrassing, she had not been displeased to know he was likewise uncomfortable when directly confronting the intimate things between them. The way he stammered over her appearance or actions had been endearing.
It was not so now. He did not consider the mundane or interpersonal aspects of it, simply the usefulness it served in their situation. Although he gave her the privacy to bathe and change before they had returned to the airport, it would not surprise her if he did not bat an eyelash at her stripping down without pretense if the situation called for it.
A voice within her own head laughed at the reversal. Viewing oneself as a mere tool or weapon, propriety a secondary concern to efficiency—she remembered how flustered he was the first time he had walked in on her while she changed. Now it was the direct opposite, the concerns she held standing firmly on the human side of the equation.
What hypocrisy would she be faced with, to remind him of the dreamer he once was?
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Death filled the place. A husk of a building in the dim light from a full moon. The shadows that moved through the open windows and broken doorway were nothing more than the servants of death coming to claim the rest of what lay within.
He entered, too late to claim anything himself. There was nothing that could be done, as his steps had brought him too late. From what lay within, far too late, as the scent of degeneration and rot overwhelmed all other senses.
A town on the lines of battle. Refugees to villages nearby reported the actions taken against it, of the makeshift hospital that had taken in refugees of its own, now under attack.
It was not even a place that would have been comforting had life still infused it. Before, it must have been a community center or place of worship as the rooms were spacious and the remains of large, crowd-accustoming furniture were still hanging about. Now, it appeared as a medical facility, with cots lined up and supplies nearby, ranging from modern technology to bags of liquid that were unidentifiable to the untrained eye. Had it still been full of life, it would have been life teetering on the edge of existence, an unhappy place where only survival mattered.
For the last time it had been transformed into a morgue. The cots held figures that would never wake. Dotted beside the cots and near the equipment were the bodies of workers with paper masks obscuring their dying expressions. More were located further away, near the exits, collapsed as if having attempted to flee. The ones furthest to the center of the building lay in the dark, nearly-brown pools from wounds caused by weapons of great force.
Nothing that could be done, even if he had arrived hours before. Perhaps even a full day ahead of time.
Fated to die. Powerless to stop it.
It would be a full day later when he would leave, the faint glow of a pale moon once more illuminating the solemn silhouettes he left behind—those of a graveyard where none existed before.
The third night would mark the end of his pursuit of those responsible. A small unit of guerrilla soldiers making camp in the same town as they retrieved supplies left behind by those that had fled. No witnesses to know that their fallen were avenged. Nothing to signify that they had even been there in the first place, as he destroyed them, buried them, and discarded their war materiel.
Their deaths recorded onto him alone. Two reasons to remain and continue—a record of the lives lost, and the lives taken.
An ally of justice merely existed to straighten out what already happened.
Words he denied, but words that cornered him.
Words that led to his decision to move forward.
Even if “forward” meant he was still too late.
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Saber had a dream.
In it, she understood a man’s sorrow. She understood his helplessness.
It was the same to what caused grief to dwell in her own heart. Before, another king had asked her “What happened to those that were only saved?”
Saber could only sit up and laugh bitterly.
The plane was still quiet, Shirou still asleep next to her. Now, though, she had time to consider, time to contemplate on what answers she had found. What answers she had been shown by the very person that now might need them.
She knew that to him, the helplessness came from an inability to save. Yet for her, watching from the outside, it only rushed toward a conclusion that was equally as painful to know.
He had been saved, and only received that salvation, as he discovered he could do little to save others.
Where, then, did that leave him? Abandoned by the one that saved him, left behind by those that could go on with their lives, unable to leave behind that which had exposed his helplessness?
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Fuyuki City. They arrived late, renting a car to travel to the city rather than taking the bus or train. Shirou was content to let Saber drive while he contacted Waver and Rin, then established a plan of action to meet with them when they got in. Saber listened in as Rin explained the bits of information they had retrieved while Shirou had been in transit as well as the knowledge that there were attempts to track Waver as he entered the city.
“The prof thinks he lost them, but I don’t really trust our current location,” Rin said.
“Yeah,” Shirou could not help the sarcasm in his voice, “I wouldn’t trust a love hotel either. Make sure to run the sheets under blacklight.”
“I’m serious. I just don’t trust it here. Call it a feeling.”
They made arrangements to regroup elsewhere. On the idea of ultimate paranoia, Shirou directed Saber to park on the outskirts of Miyama where they would ditch the car and cross over to Shinto on foot.
Although not much had changed, to Saber, it felt entirely different from the last time she had been in Fuyuki. Like coming home to find small details changed, adding up into an entirely different feeling. Part of this sensation was due to bypassing the Emiya house—Shirou did not even look twice at the doors to his own home. They took a different route than Saber remembered to the center of the city, crossing the bridge as nonchalantly as possible, and then took a zig-zag route to the hotels in the downtown Shinto area.
“Do you sense them?” Shirou asked as they wove through a lesser-traveled street.
Saber nodded. Even without her spiritual awareness as a Servant, the sense of potential trouble was easily discernable in the air. “Much like Caster’s bone warriors. Some kind of golem or familiar that can be deployed among the populace.”
“If the Association is trying to keep this under wraps, they would have deployed as many magi as possible here just to keep an eye on things, much less track the whereabouts of those interested in the Grail. Before, the Church was the one that was in charge of that, but part of the delay in the Association making their move was in an effort to block interference from the Church.” Shirou did not look around needlessly in an attempt to spot one of the devices. “Unfortunately, they can’t just send a couple hundred magi here in the way that the Church can often deploy a large number of 8th Sacrament members for information control. My guess is these are Yggdmillennia golems.”
Saber nodded again. Shirou had given her some basic information of the different factions that stood opposed to the dismantling of the grail system. Yggdmillennia was one such group and one of their numbers was a master at golem manipulation en masse. A definite threat to Shirou and his allies, if nothing else than by sheer numbers.
The realization that he was aware of them brought up another point. “You can detect them?” It was merely a faint sensation to her and not one that she could pinpoint like a radar.
Shirou shook his head. “No, I just assumed so. It’s actually the lack of feeling like I’m being watched that makes me suspicious.”
“I see.” Saber almost wanted to laugh.
Not an instinct, not a sixth sense, not divine wisdom or sharpened senses. Just his experiences informing his wariness.
Besides the awareness of danger lurking just beneath the surface, they went unmolested to their destination of a larger hotel, the Fuyuki Marriott. Curiously, when listening in on the conversation Shirou had with Rin, they had spoken of using a less obvious location, yet this was one of three skyscraper hotels located within the heart of the city. Saber knew that an incident perpetrated by Kiritsugu had destroyed a similar structure two decades before when targeting another magus, so the choice baffled Saber.
They checked into the stark-white building, the edifice almost a glowing beacon in the cold evening. Strangely, Saber did not feel exposed like she expected as they ascended the tower and decided that it had to do with Shirou’s calm demeanor.
“Rin said she would be here in a half an hour,” Shirou said. “We could easily go to get you new clothes in that time.”
Saber scowled at the faint grin marring his face. She was certain he was teasing her now. “No. It is fine as is. It does not concern me as much as you are making it out to be.”
The elevator stopped on the twelfth floor, far lower than the thirty stories Saber estimated the building to be. Shirou picked up his bags and stepped into the hall—then stopped, dropping everything and reaching for a silvery pistol grip beneath his jacket.
Saber looked around. There was nothing to suggest his sudden suspicion, but she did detect nearby presences.
“There shouldn’t be anybody on our level…?” Shirou pulled a firearm out and peeked around the nearest hall corner in the direction of their room.
It surprised Saber just enough because even paying attention as she was, the fact that a mere human could get so close without her noticing was impressive. A dark figure leapt down from the ceiling just as Shirou spun in place, the barrel of his weapon landing right at forehead height with the newcomer. He did not pull the trigger, however, as recognition bloomed across his face.
“It is just us,” the dark-haired man said. As old as Shirou at least, he still had the air of youth enough that Saber would not call him an “elder” by any stretch of the imagination. His coat and clothing was not that of a master assassin, but appeared fashionable and expensive instead. Yet that very coat also had a prickly look to it at the neck, giving the man a somewhat animalistic feeling.
Shirou sighed and returned his weapon to beneath his own coat. “I thought you were due in tomorrow.”
“Plans change.” The man turned aside, offering a profile to Saber—not an uncalculated move, as she recognized it as the default stance one might take when facing a person that could become an enemy at a moment’s notice. His voice, however, was a contrast, as it was pleasant and calming. “I was not sure if it was you, since there were two of you. A new companion?”
Saber noticed that he did not use the word “friend.”
“Something like that,” Shirou said. “Plans change.” He grinned. “I’ll fill you in later.” Shirou seemed to say that a lot now. “For now, you can trust her as you trust me.”
“Trust is earned, not given freely,” the man said. “But I will consider what you say.” He never once let his eyes wander from observing Saber. “So this is what a Servant looks like. Strange, I was expecting something terrifying to behold.”
Saber had nothing to say to that and could only cock her head. It was a strange point to make and she felt no mockery beneath his words.
“You just watched Godzilla again, didn’t you?” Shirou waved it off and retrieved his bags. “Anyway, Rin Tohsaka and some others will be here soon. You don’t have to jump them.”
The dark-haired man led them back to the room—a suite space, but otherwise nothing special compared to what must be near the top levels. Saber followed the men inside, where they were greeted by another stranger, this one significantly less threatening than the first: petite like Saber, she came across as smaller than her total height as she hunched in a ball while watching the room’s television. She unfolded at seeing the new faces, jumping up with the energy of a teenager, mousy brown hair waving in her face.
The knight of the sword could only look at the pair in curiosity. The man, tall and foreboding, the girl, shorter and unassuming.
“This must be Saber, am I right?” the girl smiled, and at that went from exceptionally plain to entirely radiant with the turn of her lips.
Saber looked to Shirou, who shrugged.
“Welcome to the conspiracy,” the girl said, bowing slightly. She motioned to the dark-haired man, then to herself. “This is Julius. I’m Hakuno. We’ll be in your care, King of Knights.”
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
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