Work Text:
"Measures will be taken so that we do not fail again."
The old man speaks dispassionately, as though reciting a fact. The bounty hunter keeps his silence from his kneeling stance. For all their unwavering fixation, given what they are it might as well be one.
"It was a mistake to work outside the system. In the first place it has been designed to facilitate that goal with utter certainty. We need only adhere to that design, take advantage of it, and overcome its deficiencies."
He gestures to the girl that stands by him placidly. Even for their kind, her blank expression and motionless form unsettles even a man more familiar with the dead than with the living.
"Heroes. They are nothing but tools, a means to achieve an end. Therefore they must be optimised for that purpose. What matters is not the process, only that the goal will be reached. You agree, I should think?"
He does not allow the turmoil raging inside him to rise to the surface. His voice is even when he answers, "Naturally." He does not even spare a glance to the woman kneeling at his side. The path that he treads was decided long ago.
"Indeed. It is the nature of this ritual that is the key. Strength alone cannot assure success. The only one that is certain to trace a path to victory is he who has already walked on it."
The old man places a hand on the girl's shoulder. As is woken from a trance, she stirs for the first time. Before them, resting on a podium overlaid with crimson cloth, a massive shield gleams.
"Might there be one surer to attain the Holy Grail than the one who once held it in his hands?"
"There is no such thing as a perfect knight."
"Even so, allow me to hold you in that regard. Even heroes need someone to look up to."
The cursed blossoms leave no blemish on the steadfast shield, but the star-crossed warrior's smile does not wane. For him who wrestled with an ideal throughout his days, crossing blades with the paragon of his principles is in itself fulfillment enough for this second life of his. And because of that he cannot see, blinded by his fervour.
A perfect knight is a wish, and it is a curse. An ideal formed from the regrets and grudges of those who strayed, stumbled, and fell by the wayside of a road without an end. The shining light that countless souls chased after for all their lives was never meant to be reached.
What then of the one who bore that burden?
The mad warrior's blows rain upon the shield like raging waves crashing against the cliffs. Had he no limits to his lifeforce, he would persist until he has chipped it all away. And yet no blow is returned from the defender but a gaze of profound grief upon the fallen knight.
Hatred, grief, regret, madness.
All that must be cherished, lost.
All that must be protected, betrayed.
The final reward of a virtuous life is despair.
This is the true meaning of the paradigm that he embodies. Countless deaths in pursuit of unreachable goals, crushed under principles that cannot be upheld, in the name of an ideal that cannot be attained, are the building blocks of the perfect knight.
Immaculate chivalry, dispassionate justice, peerless mastery, unwavering faith, absolute loyalty, stainless purity. To personify these impossible aspirations is beyond even the territory of the Gods. Yet men continued to chase after such things even though they would only lead them to tragedy. Did they have a choice but to believe? Is it the nature of man to strive ever forward, or else deny the meaning of his own existence? And does one find any reward in that struggle? At his end, does he look back to his life's works and find fulfillment in them, or were all his struggles in vain?
He cannot understand. After all, human nature is inherently foreign to him. But throughout his life he observed it, and the young soul with which he has merged has brought him closer to it. Thus as he looks upon the broken hero before him he can now ask him this.
"Father, regardless of where it led you, did you not take pride in the path you walked upon?"
Tears streak down his uncovered face but the black knight's response is a snarl of madness. The holy blade lashes out with heightened ferocity. Even more than that person he loved and hated most, he cannot bear to stand before the symbol of his failures.
The hands that once attained the Holy Grail will now seal it away. Even if the heavens fall upon him, the perfect knight will not falter.
He stands before the sea of fire, a sole light holding back the waves of human torment. Against the black mud that floods the city the pristine walls of Camelot are raised, and all the curses of mankind crash against the unyielding ideal wished by humanity with tremorous force. It would be too much for a mere Servant to hold back, but in this vessel he does not know such limits.
"Destroy the Grail". And yet, "save everyone". While lamenting the inexorable conclusion of his wish, he cannot fault his Master. Even so, a single shield cannot protect everyone. He recognises the bitter irony of that impossibility — to save the people before him is all that he can ever hope for.
A hero who can save everyone cannot exist. But it will still be something that people wish for. Therefore…
As a tool that was made to grant the wishes of others she confirms.
As a tool that was made to grant the wishes of others he confirms.
To still reach for that ideal... isn't a mistake.
In their hands shines the light at the end of the world. Even while his life burns away to protect hers, the predestined champion rejects the Holy Grail. With a final blow, he affirms not the ever distant dream, but the hopes of those that strive for it.
The gleaming arms that graced the hands of countless heroes are hurled like so many trifles, an endless volley of blades that the blue-clad warrior struggles to avoid as much as raindrops in a storm. The ancient king does not dignify to lift even a finger, merely sneering at the display in something like disgust, or perhaps disappointment. The presence of the warrior's Master and his companion is so insignificant that he doesn't even acknowledge it.
The young boy clenches his fists, angry at his own powerlessness. Every time his Servant barely avoids a lethal blow, trading a light scrape for evasion he fights the urge to jump in and help her even while not knowing how he could do so, and every time he is held back by the hand of the girl by his side, who watches the Servant's struggle with intense eyes.
Inevitably the wounds accumulate. Dulled reactions slow the warrior down, and the golden king's sneer deepens as the rain of weapons abruptly stops.
"You disappoint me, Saber," his imperious voice declares. "I had hoped that there would be something of worth left in my garden, but it seems it has been defiled beyond repair in my absence". To punctuate his statement, the gate behind him opens even wider, the projectiles at the ready beyond numbering.
"Disappear from my sight."
Judgment is declared absolutely. The boy's body moves before his mind has caught up, but even that is slower than the girl that pulls him back and throws herself between Saber and her impending doom. In the blink of Emiya Shirou's eyes, the two girls disappear under a merciless rain of Noble Phantasms. His heart plummets to his stomach — when the dust settles he does not expect to see even a scrap of his Servant or that strange girl left.
But instead, he is mesmerised. The light that flares up and weathers the violent storm tugs at his mind like the flawless sword he has seen only in his dreams.
With her shield held strong against the might of the King of Heroes, the demure girl that once seemed frail extends a hand at the kneeling Saber with an indescribable aura of gallantry.
"Let me be your shield, my Lord. The king need not stand alone."