all my fear is coming home

[sheathes]

Who: Saber/sheathes + Irisviel/ritualized
What: Bad end = bad times.
Where: Their apartment.
When: Backdated to the start of the event.
Warnings: Blood, violence, angst, etc.


[ Henry had shown her his mirror not long before — a vision of Kent, her countryside beautiful, peaceful, familiar even hundreds of years later. It's natural, then, that when Saber wakes up with a mirror of her own at her bedside, she expects to see a similar thing. Perhaps the green lands she rode over, or Camelot in better days. Some sign of home. Something to make her heart ache, if only in longing.

But she was a fool to think hers would be the same. That false hope makes what she sees even worse: herself, red-veined and armored in black. Not mourning, but sneering. Sneering at a king who tried to saved a doomed country, at the country who betrayed that same king. Sneering even as she breaks it into pieces. There's no sound, but it's her face all the same, twisted and evil and tyrannical. Silently, she dresses and leaves the room, and — that's right. Amongst all the 'furniture' she reluctantly helped Irisviel carry inside, the impractical, oddly shaped mirror looms large, impossible not to see from almost anywhere in the apartment.

There's the sound of glass shattering — she hasn't bothered to materialize her armour, so the blood drips down her bare knuckles instead, fresh and raw. The pieces on the ground surround her with destruction, a hill of corpses. Camlann, a week after the battle, a week after her death on the hill, with not enough souls left alive to bury the bodies, and in the midst of it all, even now, the tainted version of herself. But she ignores them, feeling immediately chastened for lashing out in the first place. She'll find some way to clean up the shards in a moment, but for now, she just stands in the middle of the room, breathing heavy, only lifting her head when she hears footsteps. ]

Irisviel. Be careful where you tread. [ She doesn't know if others are sharing in this particular trick of the gods, if Irisviel will think her simply mad, but the glass is real enough. Irisviel should not suffer for this foolishness. ]

Comments

[ritualized]

[Irisviel is jumpy already, and she already seems to know how exhausted the next few days will have her. She's practiced averting her eyes from reflective surfaces all day, stuffed the hand mirror from the side of her bed beneath a heavy blanket--though the temptation to bring it out again is visceral, painful, not her own. The corrupt soul that bent out of her own heart within the Grail follows her wherever she goes, its smile on her body angry and cruel. That corrupt soul saw her own daughter's apparition shot dead, cursed Kiritsugu even as he wrapped his hands around her pale throat.

But the apparition isn't satisfied with its cruelty. All Servants who touch it have something to feed it, too. She's afraid of what that horrific image of her soul will do if Saber comes to close to it.

She's so preoccupied with her own vision, the pulsing mud and the darkness of corruption snaking up around her, that Saber's words are heard but not comprehended. It isn't until she steps on a shard of glass that she stops, brought to reality by the crack of the fragment beneath her. Irisviel jolts, taking a step back.]

Saber...! What happened?

[sheathes]

An overreaction. [ She freely admits to it. They were only visions, could hurt her no more than a dream, and yet she lashed out like a fool. ] I pray you do not understand the reason.

[ But she knows better. When have the gods ever toyed with one, when they could hurt many? No, far worse for Irisviel to have seen whatever foul future might taunt her, for such kindness and love to be taken advantage of. If Saber could, she would gladly suffer ten times over in her Master's place.

She sighs, still refusing to look at the shards on the floor. ]

The path to the door should still be clear. Leave, and allow me to do what I can to fix this.

[ritualized]

No, no, Saber, it's fine. Let me help -

[She cuts off quickly as she tries to stumble farther into the room, navigating around the shards of glass as though the carpet were some kind of minefield. Irisviel's nearly made it across the room when she draws up short, her gaze falling to those large shards that remain dangling from the frame.

She gasps, realizing suddenly, and far too late, that she should have stayed away. Saber will see this and understand what lies at the heart of the Grail, truly.]

[sheathes]

[ Saber had resisted looking at her own reflection again, but she feels the pull, glances up before she can stop it. Somehow, it's worse. It's always worse when it involves other people — better for her to carry every burden herself, for nobody else around her to bear anything — but this is Irisviel, and yet not Irisviel; an image of her Master that freezes her heart instead of warming it. The black mud draped over herself in her own vision seems to follow Irisviel now, as if flowing into her — no, from her.

From the Holy Grail.

Her head swims. ]

What foulness is this? [ She hits out at the frame, sending the last few pieces crashing down to the floor with the rest. It doesn't help, only adds to the tableau encircling her feet, moves the horror from one place to another. ] The gods would taint not only myself, but that which would save my kingdom?! Unthinkable! I will not stand for this insult!

[ritualized]

[She knew it was a mistake, knew that Saber would see that ugliness and be unable to face the truth. Knew, too, that the truth would make Saber sink deep into despair, unable to reconcile her dream with the truth of it. The truth is, the only thing that could grant her wish could never grant it int he first place, and beyond that, it's been pitched into darkness.]

Saber, stop! You'll cut yourself. [If she hasn't already; Irisviel can't see any blood in the oozing mud that flows up in fountains across the glass, but the colors are so similar it would be hard to tell anyway.

Even knowing that she should leave and save Saber some pain, she can't turn away, standing transfixed instead, even as the darkness oozes out from her skirt in the glass beneath her, even if that other her is certainly already reaching across the abyss for Saber.]

[sheathes]

[ There is blood already, and there will be more, still. If she know what she saw was the truth, not just some hypothetical future made to taunt her, she would despair on the spot. Maybe she does know, and just denies it, knowing the alternative is far worse.

Panting, she flinches at the sound of Irisviel's voice, snaps her head up again. ]

It will heal.

[ Naturally, without Irisviel's help — with her mana, yes, but without need of her touch, her presence. She turns and strides across the floor, blood dripping from her hands, standing so she might block as much of Irisviel's vision of the mirror as possible. Not an easy thing, given her (lack of) height. ]

Please leave, Irisviel. [ Behind her, her kingdom burns, her mouth shapes itself into a smirk. She can feel it drilling into the back of her head, and grits her teeth. ] I cannot... it does no good for you to see this. I will clean this mess. [ Saber will battle her own demons. Irisviel shouldn't have to. ]

[ritualized]

[Instinctively, she grabs for one of those bloodied hands, wanting to wrap it in bandages even before she can cast a minor healing spell. It would be an innocent gesture if the Grail behind them didn't repeat that same movement. Her gesture is much more possessive than Iri's is frightened, and she drapes herself over the corrupted Saber's body, the gesture seductive and cruel. The Grail could never absorb Saber's strength in the war, destroyed before that was even possible, and so there's even more joy and satisfaction in being able to corrupt it now.]

Saber, why don't we both go? Why don't we just leave...?

[But if she takes Saber with her, will she be driven by that same possessive desperation, the desire to devour the Servant's soul? She'd be right to fear Irisviel now. The Lesser Grail is nothing when twisted by the overwhelming darkness of the Greater Grail's core.]

[sheathes]

[ Seeing the movement, she looks at Irisviel with — not fear, but something close to it. Not disgust, but something close to that, too. And even then, they're not aimed at Irisviel, but the figure she knows is behind her; the figure that is Irisviel but not Irisviel, like the corrupted king is Arthur but not Arthur. She can feel the chill running down her spine, as if both versions of her Master have their hands on her. ]

And return to this?

[ Saber sweeps her free hand wide, indicating the glass on the floor. She doesn't know that any reflective surface outside will taunt them with the same thing — maybe if she'd used Excalibur on the mirror, but even then, the wind surrounding her sword will keep its shining blade pure. A small comfort. ]

A Servant does not order their Master. [ A knight does not order their lady. ] But this is your home. That it would be tainted by some false reality... [ She shakes her head, still in willful denial. ] I cannot allow things to remain as they are. The gods will not clean this mess.

[ritualized]

Saber, it isn't... [And she stops herself, unable to say that it isn't all false, knowing that those words will strip a psyche that's already fragile with defeat.] It shouldn't be your responsibility alone to deal with this.

[She doesn't want to watch the corruption spread from her dark self to Saber's, but she knows it's happening even as she averts her eyes. What kind of wish would the Grail present to her, to King Arthur, who wished to change the fate of her country?]

It doesn't have to be done now. [She tries to grasp Saber's arm again and pauses, afraid that mud will spill from her fingertips and into the wounds from the glass.] Must you be this stubborn?

[sheathes]

It is who I am.

[ Saber offers, wryly, and in defiance of what she knows is behind them. She is stubborn, yes, perhaps even a failure, but she is not that; not a king who would be corrupted by the promise of power, who would stand coldly by while her kingdom burnt. She is not what the Grail would have her be.

But if that reality is so impossible, then why does it affect her?

Her shoulders sag as the pain in Irisviel's voice stabs into her heart, even while the mud drowns her other self. ]

... I will come with you. But you will allow me to return, alone, to deal with this. [ There are some things she cannot compromise on. Fixing her mistakes is one of them. ]

[ritualized]

You'd find a way to do it even if I said no, wouldn't you? [Unfortunately, she knows Saber to think that anything else would be the case.

Irisviel wants to get away from this as fast as possibly, so she finally manages to link fingers with Saber without imagining the Grail in her image absorbing its newest Servant, pulling her toward the door with little thought. Outwardly, she is calm, but there's an urgency in her movements. She wants out of this place; their home can't become spoiled by this darkness the way her memories were.]

[sheathes]

[ In a better situation, Saber could at least find something comforting in how well Irisviel knows her. Right now, though, her only answer is a sombre nod, and only when she shuts the door behind them does she speak again. ]

That... is not me. [ She says, as much (maybe more) to herself than to Irisviel. Her breathing is heavy, but not because of any exertion; her hand clammy beneath the blood. ] I am not a king who would forsake her kingdom. I am no tyrant like Vortigern.

[ She's not, it's true. But could she be? ]