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Evaporated Reasoning
This "skill" makes Servants mentally careless, causing them to leak important secrets or forget important things. Fortunately, this skill comes packaged with Intuition, allowing afflicted servants to compensate for their short-term lapses with solid long-term planning.
ACT-1
An air-headed fool, sweet as sugar, was Astolfo at the party. The inter-servant nattering was his golden zone and something the chronic over-sharer really should never be allowed to do in times of crisis. Luckily enough, the time of crisis was 'over'. Rex Magnus Karl was no longer present on SE.RA.PH and the fear of oraclisation was now a fleeting memory tied to a hectic week of battle and, ultimately, triumph. With their collective stress dissipating, there was no better time for the drinks to start flowing. The coffers of the Roman emperor were more than enough to surmount a selection of alcohol so varied a servant would be dancing with intoxication in mere minutes.
Frankly, it was an assault on the senses. Decadent wine, artisan loaves and culinary delights from each continent and respective era of all present Servants banded together to form a legion of luxurious foodstuffs powerful enough to tempt even the most pious into greedy indulgence. The abundance clogging the scene didn't bother Astolfo one bit, his excited voice casually chirping above and alongside the hustle and bustle of the party to end all simulated parties. The speed of the event's organisation defied the excess presented before the lot as not one of them had the time to take a moment off to strip from their battle-ready attire, throwing yet another hazard into the room. The continual clicks and clacks of armour against armour and the fine woodwork under the cloth-laden table nipping at the heels of anyone daring to find space past the commotion only further busied the soundscape. Gauntlets weren't meant to open wine bottles yet there he clutched one in metal palms, tugging at the promise of the popped cork. C- Monstrous Strength would have to suffice as a brutish replacement for a corkscrew.
POP! The cork gave way to the paladin and was followed into the air by a thunderous cheer from the eager prince; the floor suffering the consequences soon after as the makeshift missile came rocketing down with a sudden THUMP! It wasn't something the party would have long to linger on, no time to cheer for the new round of wine, as Rider soon got to trying to dispense said wine with his first target being the man he'd been keeping an extra close eye on all night long... To the untrained eye, it was nothing other than Astolfo simply focusing on the servant he had the most shared history with but something sat behind his pink eyes that spoke to a worry caged behind a cell of enthusiastic output.
"Hey! Heeey! Chaaarlie!"
A call from his paladin silenced any current conversation and snatched the Holy Knight Emperor's attention back from the mighty competitors around the dinner table. Astolfo practically flew out of his chair to bend over the table, lugging around the expensive bottle of wine that had just come close to death amidst Astolfo's attempts to open it without seeking any outside help, in an attempt to reach his king and refill their drink.
"Sit still and let your paladin top you up! Ack-! Please-!"
Any further over the table and Astolfo's legs would have been in the air.
"Ah- careful, Astolfo, careful! Whatever you spill, you pay!"
Charlemagne had yelled back in surprise far too late to prevent his companion who continued without hesitation in his pursuit aided only by Charlie's efforts to nudge his cup ever so closer to the wobbling wine. By the time Astolfo had finished pouring, the table cloth could have been secretly swapped for another with red polka dots without any noticeable difference to the blind eye. A share of laughter and shock warmed the room, making the antics of Astolfo and his easy-going monarch hard to find fault in. Comedic levity was in high demand and no one rushed to the aid of the victimised décor.
The ebb and flow of the night continued much the same, different actors making the celebration their stage, and Astolfo slowly retreated from the centre of attention to place extra focus on his secondary activity outside the party: observation. Skulking in the shadows of conversation, trained eyes fixed themselves on each micro expression of Charlemagne. Every sharp breath at the idea of tomorrow, every glance to the exit door, an overabundance of thanks for such a good time... There was an air about his king that was unmistakeably off and Astolfo was picking up on it more by the second.
Astolfo knew Charlemagne had something else on his mind. The party went on, indifferent.
ACT-2
The last thing Astolfo said to Rex Magnus Karl, after everything, was goodbye. A heartfelt goodbye no less, "dear Emperor" still lingering on his lips. That man was his king and even friend to no lesser extent than Charlie even if what he understood of the man was an incomplete half of the full legend of Charlemagne gripping to the 'real' part of it all that Astolfo could hardly muster any memory of. The uncomfortable permanence of Karl's defeat - with no prospect of his resummoning the way he was - sank its fangs deep into him and shattered the optimistic idea of there always being another chance in this second life. That weighted concern persisted past the curse of evaporated reason, plaguing him without end. If there was anything that could break past Astolfo's moon-locked restrictions, it was passion.
After the death of the party, Astolfo shed his armour and retreated into the barracks of Charles Patricius. Nights spent outside of spiritual form were nothing new but nights spent alone were; visiting the other rooms in the barracks had made the last couple of nights a thousand times more entertaining for the highly curious paladin who couldn't help but stick his nose into the nightlife of the other servants. Tension chained him to his room. The soft bedsheets comforted the parts of Astolfo that hardly mattered now, the quilt's tender caress across the skin of his exposed back providing nothing more than a temporary illusion of ease. No physical solace could liberate him from the war raging in his head as Astolfo impulsively rolled back and forth to bind himself within the bed's cosy confines. Without permission, past conversations looped in his head.
"I'm the Charlie you know."
"It'll be fine. After all, Rex Magnus isn't me."
Drifting off to sleep, Astolfo thought of one thing: would there be one last chance to adventure together before this was all over?
He jolted awake far from the barrack's comforts - strong wind billowed through the cape that, as far as he remembered, was halfway thrown over a chair and caused his ponytail to flutter behind him - a hundred metres high in La Brèche de Roland. In legend, this gap was carved by Roland attempting to destroy Durandal upon facing defeat in the Battle of Roncevaux... it made Astolfo's blood run cold with recollection. This event was wholeheartedly real, an event staining the military history of the Franks during Charlemagne's rule, even if his involvement wasn't and that hardly felt unrelated to their recent defeat of the equally real Emperor. After a round of deep therapeutic breaths, the knight stabilised himself... only to then squeal with fright at the sound of boot against earth approaching his six o'clock. Sword drawn and swinging around to meet the figure head-on, fear gave way to elation as he stared down none other than...
"Roland?! Oh, good! This is so amazing, there's so much you gotta know! We also REALLY could've used your help, idiot! Since when were you here?!"
Astolfo's eyes wandered to the granite below, where was 'here'? Course, he knew the locale but he also rather distinctly remembered tugging on his bedsheets for an extra inch of frustrated wiggle room. Plus, this had to be part of SE.RA.PH still...
"Roland?"
With a spring in his step, the two paladins met in the middle. The Saber's stare was glassy and faced France through the pass. To no avail did Astolfo begin to prod and pry for his attention. He snaked his arms around Roland's chest like a constricting serpent to pull him into a relieving hug only to find a discomforting chill to the touch, he cooed excitedly without response and even went as far as smacking the other paladin with the butt of his blade, right at the hilt, to push something out of the usually eccentric knightly figure. Nothing.
"None of this is funny! None of it at all! Quit being so mean!"
As fear gave way to excitement, excitement then gave way to desperation. Try as he might, Roland was nothing more in this moment than an unshakeable mannequin. His stay at the gap was only brief and, with Astolfo still latched on tight, the leader of the paladins kept moving past him without so much as a glance his way. Whether frustration or sorrow was due to take the stage as Astolfo's forefront emotion was hotly contested.
"What's your deal?! Come back! Rolaaand! Please? I... kinda need someone to talk to right now! You're there, normally..! Can we go back to things being normal? Our normal? With everyon-?"
His legs gave out beneath him and, again, nothing came from 'Roland'. Astolfo dropped without honour like a lifeless body to the uncaring stone below, scuffing the exposed skin on his thigh. That pin-prick of pain clicked a part of his mind back into the right place, it didn't hurt? Before he had time to complete the puzzle, he was back in the barracks. A dream that left a very real quiver in his whole body and no marks on his legs. The thought of losing touch with those who mattered most to him made him sick to his stomach, queasy and doubled over in bed. He was running out of time to have one last talk with Charlemagne before his time on SE.RA.PH was up, the type of talk he never had in his first life. The smile on his face as he died in Roncevaux Pass was a wholehearted one, going out alongside the very paladins who had made all their extreme adventures and dreams come to pass together, but this second life reminded him of what he never got: one last talk, one last goodbye AND one last adventure with his emperor.
ACT-3
Sore eyes and the sun don't mix. The midday beamed down on the Roman courtyard as Astolfo crept out of the shadows more ragged than usual. His braid was tied in an unkempt fashion, messy tufts of hair stuck out as if ripped from a porcupine's guide to style and his body was stiff with the residual effects of poor sleep; he made a great infographic for a PSA on why servants should enjoy the luxury of a spiritual form when it comes time to rest. Back ache and swordplay? Can't mix. Kishinami passed by, pausing for a moment to wave to the paladin, and wore all the tell-tale markings of a similar emotional plight to Astolfo on their sleeve.
"Morning, Astolfo."
They spoke with slight hesitation and a slower tone, their focus on the way out of the Roman territory where their eyes floated after the briefest contact with their servant's.
"Yoo-hoo, master! I'm going to bug you for something, ok? Ok! Thanks!"
Astolfo's innocent abrasiveness rubbed off well on the holder of the Regalia as they chuckled in response to his forceful approach to conversation, nodding along without word to grant Astolfo permission that wouldn't have stopped him from continuing to flaunt the traditional maxims of communication.
"Have you seen Charlie around?"
He asked directly, tone halfway sizzling with an evident pressure and a tension that needed release. Astolfo's need to find Charlemagne quick was palpable and it was no surprise that Kishinami was able to read that with ease. In return, their response was equally short and sweet.
"Oh - he's off travelling. That way."
Before his master could even finish pointing towards the direction Charlemagne was headed, Astolfo had bleated out a quick thanks and dashed in pursuit. Each step was hurried and forceful, bouncing the paladin off the fine Roman concrete with each stride, though the naturally jovial nature of his gait endured to mask any unwanted suspicion. Without the prior conversation, it could be easily assumed that Astolfo was simply off to frolic without any concern in the countryside. The last thing Kishinami was able to hear from Astolfo was a muttered expletive, or something of that nature. Instead of heading back inside, they stopped for a second and took a seat on the nearby steps. Eyes out on the horizon that the heroes from the Matter of France now vanished over.
"Hippogriff!"
From beneath Astolfo came the Otherworldly Phantom Horse, manifesting and simultaneously hoisting Rider onto its back. The half-equine beast let out an ear-piercing squawk that echoed for miles as its powerful wings burst out into a full spread, a single bestial flap that made the air thrum with intensity hoisting the impossible mount airborne. They were in sync, Astolfo's desperation flowing through the monument to his shared history with the paladins. The height and speed granted by the Noble Phantasm's aid led to a discovery - a miniscule speck of blue, black and white in the distance. Instinctively, it dove as Astolfo clutched on tight and braced for the thunderclap descent of the mythical beast. The air popped in his ears and rendered the rest of the dive nothing but soft feathers stroking his face and roaring winds whistling past blocked ears threatening to rip them right off with the sheer force of flight.
Charlemagne was sat alone on a rock. Eyes to the sky, breathing slow, deep in thought... so deep in thought that the distant CRASH! didn't shake him out of it. Astolfo was no stranger to hitting the ground hard from the sky, nor was the Hippogriff, so their sudden intimate introduction to the area's flora was brushed off. Scrambling out of the crater accompanied by a few insectoid passengers, Astolfo made one final mad dash for his king. In the meantime, the Hippogriff disappeared.
What knocked Charlemagne out of his stupor was a tight hug from behind, arms coming over his shoulders and yanking his head back and under someone's chin. A gasp of surprise and the soon-to-follow fight response was cut short by Astolfo's braid flinging over his shoulder from the momentum and smacking the Emperor flush across the cheek before a wave of dust, kicked up by the frantic pace of Astolfo to reach him, blew past the two with the force of a hurricane.
"Charl- bleh! Augh-! There's so muc-!"
It was embarrassing for his triumphant arrival to be sullied by swallowing kilograms of dirt but Astolfo tried his hardest to keep speaking through the earthen volley.
"Charlie, you moron! You ginormous moron! You unforgiveable idiot! What the hell?!"
Whatever he wanted to say fell apart before a monsoon of emotion, his hug quickly turning into soft pitter-patter punches against his chest from behind. There wasn't going to be any room for the knight's king to speak till this was all over.
"You thought you were just going to run out here and disappear?! That I'd never know?! I'm YOUR paladin! We're here through thick and thin, dumbass! What's gotten into you?!"
It hadn't started raining but above Charlemagne the sky had opened - amidst the release of emotion, frustration came out in tears.
"I'm not gonna let you do that! Never!"
The tirade had been all too exhausting for Astolfo to continue as his 'attack' ceased and hold turned weak, resulting in the paladin eventually scooting onto a spot on the rock that was free. There, he was finally able to look Charlemagne in the eye... his returned gaze still had clear light in it but that light was on the verge of flickering out. With a sharp breath in that all but confirmed the worst, Charlemagne prepared himself to speak.
"Hhh- Hey, Astolfo... Hardly awesome, am I? It's no look for me. Figured I shouldn't let everyone's last memory of me be fading out, so lame..."
His saint graph was on its last legs - he was here as a limited servant, an antidote and mishap in the birth of Rex Magnus Karl. Crucial to his defeat and also little more than a byproduct of his flawed spawn. There was an unshakeable link between the two and one without the other was nothing much at all, as it should have been written within the Throne of Heroes from the very beginning. It didn't matter that this was the Charlemagne Astolfo knew, he was not recognised as the complete package and served nothing other than a single purpose here on SE.RA.PH. That purpose had been fulfilled, it was his time to go.
The paladin choked. Unable to sputter up a response other than a knowing look into his dying king's eyes as every fear from the last couple of nights struck him stiff. The gall of Charlemagne to tell him it was alright to defeat Rex Magnus Karl when this was the undeniable consequence made Astolfo sick - it was so like him to cast himself aside!
"It WAS awesome though, we all were, especially you. Saw right through me the whole time. Thanks for... choosing me over, cough, me."
There was never going to be another choice in Astolfo's mind, as imposing and powerful as Karl was, because Astolfo belonged way more to the side that existed in the thrill of adventure and story. A shaking hand took Charlemagne's and gripped it tight as a vice whilst the Rider took to steeling himself.
"AND you're still awesome, dumbass! This is what I meant! You're all... Nevermind, you're exactly the Charlie I knew. I think our roles are just a little flipped right now..."
They both knew what he was referring to - Astolfo's body was found there in Roncevaux Pass, now Astolfo found what was for all intents and purposes the cadaver of Charlemagne. It ached his heart, the poignant realisation that this was exactly the man he remembered from the memories he clung to and that, again, he was about to step into a new life without any of that. Behind all the joy this new life brought Astolfo, there was a reason he made sure to always introduce himself as one of Charlemagne's Twelve...
"One hell of a last adventure, Astolfo. I'm so glad we got to have one las-"
A finger came before his lips.
"Charlie."
There was no chance in hell that the ever-persistent Sir Astolfo was about to take that as the definitive end. Defiance burnt in his eyes and turned any stalwart tears to steam with a determined fire. There had to be a chance, anything seemed possible here on SE.RA.PH! They had already done so much that could have never even been dreamed of in reality in this short week alone, what would it be to return Charlemagne? Or at least keep him going? Karl had shown the extent of power possible via manipulating the Moon Cell and he didn't even have the Regalia so there had to be something! Whether or not that was something Astolfo was just telling himself as a painkiller for what came next was out of the question, the rest of his time on SE.RA.PH would be dedicated to trying anyway.
"I'm nowhere near done with you! You're my king, the greatest king! I'll figure something out and we'll... do the most awesome thing in the whole damn universe sooner than later! Not just us, I'm gonna get the Master to summon all of us for one great big adventure again... dammit! You know that, right? The paladins of Charlemagne don't just lie down and take what life throws at us."
The passion rippling through each word made the Holy Knight Emperor smile wide one last time.
"You're damn right, Astolfo."
A fist bump sealed Astolfo's promise. After all, that's way more awesome than a handshake.
The empty air against his knuckles still felt like his friend for a while.