The unmistakable smell of sizzling back bacon wafted in the room, waking Arturia from her slumber despite the deep-set exhaustion from her little excursion in Iraq, and-she remembered, hands roaming over the two marks on her neck-the whole ordeal with Gilgamesh and his pompous, entitled arse. Her fingers slipped over the neat stitches he made, clean and even, despite how their night ended. But she wouldn't dwell on that, she thinks. Gilgamesh was an enigma she would never understand, and she should stop trying. Best she just avoid him.

She staggered on her way to the bathroom, steadied herself on the sink. In the mirror she was completely flushed, both chest and cheeks, like she would have looked had she downed the entire barrel Iskandar brought during their little banquet. It couldn't have been alcohol, though. The knight touched her fingers to her forehead.

Bloody hell.

Were the water faeries upset with her? She knew she should have changed into dry clothes last night, but sleep had claimed her the moment Gilgamesh left, and now she had a fever to deal with. Arturia sighed as she turned on the shower. She was not looking forward to a cold bath, but it was necessary if she wanted to be rid of the bothersome sickness. Droplets of water cascaded down her hair as she padded across the room to the closet.

A shirt, no, that won't do. Then there's-oh, this one should suffice.

As she pulled out what looked like an old sweater of Kay's, she briefly wondered if it was alright to walk around bare when Gilgamesh clearly had no sense of personal space, boundaries, or privacy, but then questioned herself again why she was even so self-conscious around him. And that was something she'd rather not dwell on. Arturia was still getting used to the garterized,lacy contraptions this new generation called underwear, but thankfully Merlin sent her enough pairs without underwires and she was flexible enough to hook them in the back without much fuss.

"Good morning, Arty," Kay said, taking his eyes off the frying pan for a second to greet his sister, who exited the room in his sweater and a pair of black leggings. He was smiling contentedly, the sight of her last night in her bed brought him much relief after the rather heated argument he had in the elevator, but it was a whole different feeling to see her in the morning, safe in their little apartment. That, and he was sure the woman would like his surprise. He couldn't keep his grin from spreading as she walked up to the toaster, which had just popped up some hot slices.

He wasn't sure what Lancelot was up to while he was escorting her home. In fact, he begrudgingly admitted he was thankful to the traitor for at least seeing Arturia safe, much as he hated the idea of his sister even being close to him. Not after what he did. No. But bollocks, Kay cared about Arturia and after her mission he wanted to make sure she had...well, had a good life. Something she was robbed of all those years ago in Camelot. Which was why when Merlin had given him the call to pick up a certain someone arriving at the port, he rushed out to make sure Arturia would be the first person they'd get to meet.

"There's someone here to see you," Kay said, slyly, laying sunny side-up eggs on a plate for her as he eagerly awaited her reaction.

Arturia stopped, eyes blown wide open by the vision in the window, smiling as his figure basked in the warm glow of the morning sun. He looked just like she remembered, gentle and composed, the ever-unmoving rock she leaned upon in her darkest days. And even in a casual white shirt and blue jeans, even with hair-he cut his hair!- so short she had to look twice to verify it, she could never forget the elegant composure of her most loyal knight.

He closed the space between them, kneeling at her feet as he came upon her. "My King," he voiced, the low timbre like a tall drink of water on a hot summer day. He took her hands in his single hand and kissed them softly, once on each set of knuckles, and once on each palm. When their eyes met, she grasped his fingers, emotions of all shades and colors bursting forth from the contact. Her loyal knight, the one who never strayed, the one who never left her side, not even on her deathbed, was finally by her side once more.

She drew a path up his cheek with her finger, tracing the thin streak of water to his clear, azure eyes. Eyes that were as piercing and deep as she remembered, the ones she thought truly knew her best, even more than her brother's.

"There is no need for tears, my dear knight," Arturia expressed, comforting the quivering knight as best as she could.

"Oh but there is, sire," Bedivere said, placing a final kiss on the flesh of her thumb. "For you have returned."

Merlin told him everything, just as he did to the others as they began their second lives. King Arthur was not Arthur, but a young girl named Arturia who had laid down all her life for the sake of Britain and for nothing else. Just a young girl, surrounded by knights, and yet all alone on her throne, with nothing but her country in mind. Since the day he'd sworn fealty, he'd watched his young king. Guarded her more closely than even her first knight, admired her from what short distance was required, For years, all he wished for was her wellbeing, her health. And all those nights he prayed to the Lord and Savior culminated into one final, brief moment of peace on her deathbed and nothing more.

And though he was happy she finally had a restful sleep, the rest of his days were tormented. She was gone. Her body was cold in his single arm as he rode back into Camelot, knights and peoples alike prostrate and weeping at the sight. He passed Gawain on the battlefield, who breathed his last seeing his king lifeless. Dead like the stones beneath him. Bedivere's vision was blurry enough with so many unstoppable tears that he couldn't deter Lancelot's approach. He could barely watch as the excommunicated frenchman fell to his knees as he rode past, the once glorified knight wailing in agony til his voice was hoarse, til the wind was whipped from his lungs.

Kay would arrive to see the flags half-mast, to see their old pop, bless his soul, whispering words of love and hope into King Arthur's unhearing ears as he stroked her hand.

My dear Arty….My dear, dear Arty.

Sir Ector's voice would haunt his dreams for months, more haunting even than the cries of Lancelot, who threw man after man aside as he stumbled into her chambers. Let me at least pay tribute! He begged. Let me at least say goodbye, I beg of you! The swordsman dropped to his knees in front of her body and wept, his long hair caressing her face as his tears fell onto her cheek. Kay, in all his quiet, lugubrious fury, would take it out on him, hiding tears as he dragged Lancelot out of the castle by the hair, throwing him out into the streets where he was stoned by passersby on his way back to France. Her father and brother dressed the king in a burial garment so mournfully knit by the weeping seamstresses and fae alike.

For three days it seemed that the earth, too, weeped. Torrents of rain whipped the castle walls and seeped through the window panes, preventing all but the faeries to see to the king's embalming. They surrounded her with medicinal herbs and lavender. Made her seem she was merely sleeping in her bed of flowers. And though Kay and his father were reluctant, Bedivere opened the chapel for the people to grieve. The days seemed as if the sun refused to rise, the nights only darkened with no moon in sight. Single file, the people paid tribute, some knowing not how much they'd lost til they'd lost their selfless king. In the crowd he saw Percival, who brought the king white lilies, her favorite flower, he remembered. And then there was Palamedes, who gave Bedivere a 'gift from the traitor' that he alone should decide what to do with.

In the end, Arturia wore that gift, a fairy silver circlet around her head. Bedivere, Palamedes, Percival, and Kay carried her casket to the docks, representing the only Round Table Knights remaining in the aftermath. Sir Ector trailed behind, with an arrangement of flowers he himself had grown and gathered. All white save for a single, blue rose he'd bred just for her. She didn't even get to see it.

The land weeped, showering them all it's tears, but the knights and all the people followed her coffin to the docks, even as their frocks dragged behind them in the mud and the chill made their shoulders grow weary. Kay was the last off the boat, the one who lifted its anchor and pushed it out to sea. He was supposed to shoot the arrow, for he was the best shot of them, but he blamed the rain for missing twice. Finally, the ship burst into flames, with Kay's arrow still nocked, his fingers still closed on the bowstring. A hooded figure disappeared into the crowd, hiding a bow before Percival and Palamedes could find him. But they didn't need to, Tristan was dead, the orphan slain by poison in a far land. There was only one other who was a better shot.

It didn't matter in the end, when Kay sat by his aging father at the docks, when Bedivere fell to his knees on the beach, when the remaining knights and squires stood rooted to the spot, refusing to leave til the last of the boat disappeared in flames and sunk into the depths. It didn't matter when Lancelot returned to Guinevere a failure, weeping into her knees as she cried herself, rubbing comforting circles into his back. It didn't matter when Merlin's raw, shaking fists finally stopped bashing on the tower walls to escape.

Their king was gone.

Camelot crumbled after that, but in its remains rooted something stronger, Something that would grow to be one of the most prosperous nations of all time. Bedivere barely got a glimpse before he, too, laid down to rest, after telling her tale to anyone who would listen.

And that's when he woke, washed ashore in the land they now called the United Kingdom. A foreigner in a land he once called home. Merlin was there. Kay pulled him to his feet. He'd lived day by day for six years, following whatever Merlin and Kiritsugu had laid out and finally, finally she was here.

Bedivere felt a tug on his arm as she pulled him up, the hope inside of him growing. Because this time...this time he would make sure of it. This time, she'd finally be able to smile.

"Alright. Alright. Enough of that, you two. Any more of that and I'd think Shakespeare's taken over with that quill of his," Kay interrupted, waving and pointing his spatula in the air as he talked.

Bedivere chuckled, and for the first time that day, removed his eyes from his king. "What's this, Kay? Is that jealousy I hear?"

Kay sputtered and stammered in his reply "Wha-buh-sth! Jealousy?! Bollocks, why don't you come here, you piece of-"

He stopped, dropped the kitchen tool and strode around the counter til he stood in front of Saber. Wordlessly, he put his palm on her forehead and then on her neck.

"You've got a fever," Kay said, concern crossing his features. She was out in the rain last night. That plus the exhaustion. Bloody hell, he knew he should have woken her to change.

Kay grabbed the pan off the stovetop and moved it to the dining table, together with the pieces of toast, eggs and beans, and sat down his sister and their guest. Eat, he told them as he toweled his hands and made for his bathroom cabinet. He was sure he stashed some KoolFever somewhere and there just had to be some paracetamol lying around. To think, back in their day, they'd be off to the apothecary for healing potions lest the afflicted die in their bed. Nowadays, humans had pharmacies on every corner and medicine the size of a fingernail. Crazy.

"I'll make chicken soup for lunch, yeah?" he asked, as he pressed the KoolFever on and handed her a pill and a glass of water.

It wasn't that difficult to swallow. Her throat wasn't too sore, Saber thought, so she expected to be well on the morrow. Of course, any improvement on her health would be most likely based on whether or not she'd be getting another unexpected visit from that cursed mesopotamian today. Would Medea know how to make a ward for that? Should she use that seal on the back of her hand to summon the magus for a ward against the golden king? Hard maybe.

"So what have you been up to, Bedivere?" she asked, trying to enjoy the company she had instead of spending more energy on the puzzle that was Gilgamesh. He...he wasn't worth it.

"Hm? Merlin did not inform you, my king?" Bedivere replied, watching her absentmindedly stroke her neck across the table. The wizard told him of their King's new job at RTK, so he assumed Arthu-Arturia would already know about him and the others. Arturia merely tilted her head to the side.

Sigh. That damn wizard. He had a lot of explaining to do.

"Don't you give me that expression, Knight of Saber. I don't need your judgement."

Lancelot glared at him across the table. It was Iskandar's fault he couldn't get any sleep last night. His and his lady housemate's fault. Well...partially. The constant creaking and echoing moans were definitely distracting, but he couldn't get Arturia out of his head. Try as he might. It was all just her. Her when he closed his eyes, her when he opened them. She ran through his thoughts when he gave up and stood in the shower. She filled his mind when he was trying to pull himself together in the mirror.

He was so distracted that by the time he'd realized what he was doing, he was seated in the mansion's dining room, with the house's owner on his right and the gorgon woman and her sexual partner across him. Sakura Matou, he now recalled, had summoned him down from his room for breakfast as usual, as she'd done the last few weeks after welcoming him to her estate. The hollow-eyed woman was now serving him some rice, an eastern grain he found delicious, as she made sure her other guests were comfortable.

"I have no right to deliver judgement...Rider," he replied simply. The memory of Iskandar's role had come to him, finally. In the very least, he remembered how it felt to be trampled by Gordius Wheel. Right after remembering how he was trying to destroy his own king in that war. God damn it.

"Ho? So you do recall parts of our war then?" Iskandar asked, thanking Sakura when she passed him the tonkatsu and promising her payment for her kindness.

Lancelot pinched the bridge of his nose at the memory. He couldn't believe that after all he'd done, he'd come back in the Fourth War just to torment Arturia further. Hadn't he done enough in his time? God. What other horrors did he put her through?

Maybe Kay was right. Maybe he should stay away.

"You...You have got a lot of nerve showing up here, bastard."

Lancelot felt his skull bash into the elevator wall as his throat seized up. He opened his eyes to see Kay's eyes burning with rage, even more threatening than Gawain's when he'd tried to join the battle at Camlann.

"Why would you do that to her, Lance?! I trusted you!"

The elevator screeched as his head collided with the handlebar, but Kay paid it no mind, dragging Lancelot to eye-level by the collar, teeth bared. His vision went red, the blood dripping from his forehead obstructing his vision. But after all he'd done, he felt no need to retaliate as his king's older brother drove a fist into his cheek. When his mouth tasted like iron, Lancelot thought he deserved it. No, this was a far cry from what he deserved. Blood dripped from his lips as he took a solid knee to the abdomen, feeling his organs bruise on the inside.

Kay finally dropped the Frenchman to the floor, hands shaking and covered in red, but Lancelot suspected it was because Arturia would notice the smell of blood if Kay did any more.

"Her love is wasted on you, traitor," he said, delivering a satisfying kick to crack his ribcage. The assailant flicked his hands, splattering Lancelot's blood all over his victim, then straightened his tie and suit. Kay pressed the elevator button, reassured the operator that all was well as if he hadn't been beating the life out of Lancelot seconds prior, and stepped out of the now functioning elevator doors.

"Don't make the mistake of showing up here again."

Lancelot glanced up to the expectant King of Conquerors, who looked patiently at him as he slung his arm around Medusa. He contemplated asking him what exactly he was up to while under Mad Enhancement, even though he knew he wouldn't like the results. Especially if all he could remember was Arturia's agonized expressions as she clashed swords with him.

"Not enough."

"Haven't we been over this, Cú?"

The Irishman smirked, poured Diarmuid a coffee, and after waving to his employer at the counter got permission to sit down with his similarly Celtic friend. He set down the coffee pot and plopped onto his elbow and leaned in close.

"Oh, you mean, over the fact that you were out at three in the morning with the woman you fancy, and you're telling me that you weren't fucking?" he asked playfully.

The lancer spat out his coffee when he registered the man's words. "We were not-why would we be-The King of Knights is my friend, Cú!" Diarmuid retorted, grasping for the closest table napkin he could find. Cú smiled, and shrugged. It was just too easy to tease the man, he couldn't help it. Especially since it seemed Diarmuid didn't quite know how easy it is for others to make such assumptions.

After all, they were always together, he and Arturia. Practically joined at the hip, if Diarmuid's constant rambling about the "sunlight in her hair" or the "freckles on her nose" or the "rather adorable way she says the word 'quite'" was any indication.

"Well, if you weren't making love under the moonlight, the only explanation would be that you were stalking her," Cú reasoned, with such a snarky expression on his face that Diarmuid honestly wanted to sock him in the jaw. It had been an hour of this. A full hour of his jibber-jabber. And while Cú was proving to be a good friend, Diarmuid was honestly reconsidering taking that delegation back. Sure, he would lose a sparring partner but he was confident he could ask Rider, perhaps. Or...well, there was Lancelot. He and Arturia seemed...civil.

"You texted me at the witching hour, D," he teased, shoving the timestamp in the younger man's face so excitedly, one would think he'd won the lottery. Curse the new age technologies. At this point Diarmuid's eyebrows were twitching uncontrollably, but Cú was far from done, especially if the man insisted on not admitting the truth.

An exasperated sigh finally exited the man's mouth, followed by a long, drawn out gulp of coffee.

"Fine," Diarmuid admitted. "Sleep wouldn't come to me last night either, I took a walk, and then I sensed her, alright?"

Cú smiled gleefully, plopping his chin on his palms Oh this should be good, this should be good.

"My search led me to the airport. I had but a glimpse of her, but she was already with her knight," he said, just a tinge of dejection slipping past his defenses.

When Cú tilted his head, Diarmuid sighed again. "The one with the long mane. Sullen fellow," he described.

A spark of recognition crossed Cú's face. Oh. Him. Cú considered reporting this to that pompous, red buffoon, if the Fourth War Servant didn't know already. It seemed their little bet had gotten more complicated, as if it wasn't already. No matter, they were meeting up again sometime this week for a spar, and hopefully the bastard had some coin this time. He was racking up quite the tab here at Ahnenerbe.

In the meantime, Cú thought he should at least try to lift his new friend's spirits. The little pout he was sporting really didn't work with the rest of Diarmuid's handsome face.

"Well, D, it's great drying out. Sun's up and all. Don't be sullying it with that face," he attempted, but it was only met with a half-hearted glare. Cú took it as a challenge. The lancer strode over to the counter, picked up a pack of biscuits and tore it open.

"On my tab, George," he told the manager, who only nodded once he saw the look on Diarmuid's face.

"Oh no, I'm quite full-"

"Ah, you'll have one," Cú smiled, emptying its contents into the saucer that used to hold Diarmuid's cup of coffee. The man wisely chose to take a biscuit, sensing the slightly threatening aura. It was crisp and sweet without being saccharine, baked to perfection. It was only a few moments before the dual-wielder took another. His waiter and friend gave him a small smile, he knew he would like it, and likely, so would the little swordswoman occupying their thoughts. And just like that, Ireland's Child of Light had an idea.

"Why not take her here? For dinner? We serve excellent curry in the evening," Cú reasoned. Behind the counter, George nodded in agreement, excited to see the woman these troublesome foreigners were always gushing about. Maybe seeing a new, pretty face would let him extend Cú's credit even just a bit. The guy was, after all, accepting some of his payment in meals.

Diarmuid considered it for a moment. He'd gotten his first paycheck already, handed to him together with an ATM card and Merlin's stern warning to not buy clothes on his own since he didn't trust his judgement. Since Arturia did return looking quite exhausted, perhaps he could lift her spirits if he treated her here. The food was mouth-watering, and despite the exquisite taste, the restaurant was far from crowded. It couldn't hurt.

"I'll ask if she'd join us," he stated, the gleam in his eyes coming back, "Though I doubt she'd be too enthusiastic about seeing your sorry mug," he teased, the proud Diarmuid smirk crawling its way back into his face. Cú smiled triumphantly, perhaps he didn't have anything to worry about after all. He'd be winning the bet.

Wait a second...

"Hey!"

"I'm talking to you, Shirou! Don't you walk away from me!"

Hoseki sat alone at the table, chasing a roll of tuna maki around her plate with a pair of chopsticks as her parents paced across the Emiya kitchen, her mother's hands flying as she expressed herself. This was the second fight this month. Ever since her daddy had been going on these missions without her mother, she'd wake up to them arguing. There were evenings where she'd hear them whispering outside her room, not knowing she could hear their skirmish.

Daddy promised her they would go to the park today, but she guessed that would no longer be the case. She could smell it, the smell that smelled too clean. Kind of like the clinic mom would take her to when she was sick. Daddy would always smell like that whenever he came home late. He would always be wearing sweaters and pants too, even if it was hot outside. Days like this, her mom would say the pool was too crowded to go to, even if it wasn't a weekend. Dad would pat her head, smiling through a wince, the kind of smile she would put on in front of others when she fell. The kind of smile she made when there were other kids around. The kind of smile she used when she didn't want others to see her cry.

"I told you already, you were asleep when they called," Shirou retorted, pulling away from the woman gently as he could, mindful of the little girl by the table. Even if their daughter pretended otherwise, he knew she could hear them. "Rin-"

The woman gripped him tightly and dragged him around the corner, finally realizing there were two very curious amber eyes-Shirou's color in her eye shape- that could be watching them.

"Where did they send you?" she interrogated, peeking around the wall to see her daughter slumped over her plate, her cup teetering on a saucer as she poked it with her fingers.

"You don't need to know-"

"Where, Shirou," she demanded, interrupting him with a finger to his chest. His hair was graying, it was even more obvious than before, the white strands standing out against his usual rich red. He was exerting himself again, right after she told him it wasn't healthy to abuse his magic circuits like that. How could he?

When he didn't reply, she pushed him into the room and slammed the door behind them. She wrestled his sweater off his shoulders. And Shirou, muscles weary as they were, could do nothing to stop her.

No.

Bullet wounds. Three in his chest. Two on his abdomen. One in his left shoulder, the other on his right hip. All of them were in different stages of healing.. Was that from when he tried to resist her? Stupid...Stupid Shirou. Rin met his eyes with tearful, pleading blue orbs.

"1955. Heh, you'd think back then the bullets would have been slower."

Rin dragged her husband to their bed, tears flowing down her cheeks. Several gems rolled out when she opened the drawer of the nightstand, but she didn't seem to care as she plucked three palm sized emeralds from the mix.

"I'm fine, Tohsaka," he insisted, knowing he was spending her precious jewels. Again. Who even knew how much of her precious magical energy she'd used on him at this point.

"You married me, baka," she retorted, quieting him down as she began the magic circle on his abdomen. "At least call me by my real name."

What was the point? What was the point of the rings og her fingers if he was still sneaking out at night, going who knows where. Or when, in this case. What did it even mean to have a daughter, a husband she loved more than life itself if she couldn't spend that life with the two of them? Yes, they wouldn't lead normal lives, for the magic within each of them didn't permit it, but...they could at the very least be together. Even if her father wasn't around for very long, he was around enough. For the first few years of her life, he was there for her and Sakura. Rin honestly didn't know whether to say the same was true for Shirou and Hoseki.

Perhaps she was the idiot, for ever supporting Shirou's dream to be a hero. If she knew just how many nights he'd stumble home half-dead, perhaps she wouldn't have been so enthusiastic, she thought, brushing her fingers over the white strands of hair that composed his sideburns. His bangs were graying too. It was like his hair was being drained of color every single time the World called upon him.

"Rin…" he said, as his eyes began to close and the healing spell took effect. She shushed him as she stroked his hair.

"You could have at least let me come with you," she reasoned, as Shirou drifted off to sleep. She pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead, promising to be back to check on the spell in a few hours. The magus looked to the floor and the remaining emeralds she had with her. Even though there were dozens, to Rin, they were far too few. If Shirou kept coming home like this, she would need to get some more very soon.

The familiar pitter-patter of her daughter's footsteps raced across the hallway. Had she been listening in? The woman left the bedroom for the dining table to find two unused plates and a half-eaten meal, the tuna maki left out unfinished.

"Mama?"

Her daughter padded back into the dining room cautiously, seeing remains of the streaks of tears down her mother's cheeks.

"Yes, what is it, dear?"

The mini-her took out her palm and procured a tiny little topaz, barely bigger than Rin's thumbnail. She pressed it into her mother's hand and closed her fingers over it.

"I want to help daddy too," she said, as her mother looped her arms around their precious little daughter. Hoseki was so good, she really was. She was everything Rin could ever hope her to be. So strong, and kind. Earnest in everything she did, just like her father. Shame on her, for ever having to rely on her daughter's strength this early.

"Come on now," Rin cooed, leading her little one to the table. She would be stronger for her. She could at least manage that much. "How about I take you to the park instead, okay? We'll get ice cream. It'll be a girl's day out for you and me," Rin suggested happily, already wondering what kind of things they could be up to today.

Hoseki smiled. The kind of smile she made when she didn't want others to see her cry.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter~! Explored some more relationships in this one! What do you think so far?

Hope yáll stay tuned for more.

-akampana