thenearshore | You were in the darkness too

Entry tags:

You were in the darkness too

Who: Archer and Caster
When: December 27th
Where: Dún Dealgan, Caster's temple
What: Archer suddenly remembers a few hours from his past and a certain Servant;
Warnings: violence Servant style in memories, PTSD, will update if needed

Archer wakes up with the start, flashes of his dream still playing with surprising clarity. It's his past, he knows it, one of the forgotten pieces that shinki can sometimes remember.

Caster is here too, his breath steady, warm weight anchoring Archer to reality. He can still feel the phantom pain and the blood trickling down from the non-existing wound. It's been real, much too real to shake off immediately.

Lancer. Saber. Golden Servant and the priest - the details are a bit murky, muddled with remembered feel of his body giving up and his stubborn resolve to not die. How many times had he pushed himself further ignoring his own weakness? This much haven't really changed.

Lancer. Caster. Cú Chulainn. Archer presses the heel of his hand to his closed eyes and swallows. A Servant that, in the end, stayed true to his beliefs. The irony of him forced once again to break one oath to keep the other; how many times has Cú Chulainn suffered the same fate again and again?

He forces himself to calm down and steady his breath, to push aside all the jumbled feelings awaken by the dream - no, his memory - to avoid waking Caster up.

Too late.

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[Archer continues to rub Caster's shoulder soothingly and leans closer to Caster's ear.]

I am not so sure. [ignoring this topic may be the best, but things won't get resolved.] Without your class ability to gain mana from other sources you'd most likely fade. Change of class also forced you to focus on strategy.

[As well as do something reckless without caring for consequences.]

Tch-

[ Part of him knows that Archer has a point. His skills as a Caster proved to be incredibly useful in the situation he was faced with. Part of him wants to agree and just go with it. Then they could drift back to sleep and forget about this conversation

but! ]

Or you know, I could have won this even sooner. [ Before all went to shit! Wishful thinking but ah ha ha. He just prefers being Lancer, this is a cheap knock-off of his real self. ]

[There's no way to win this argument, is there. Yet Archer tries again, his voice quiet but firm. He knows how much Caster loves his spear, the weapon handed to him by his mentor, and the weapon that took the lives of his most loved ones.]

Perhaps fate gave you another chance to make your own choices instead of forcing your hand with cursed spear.

[Is there a way to rewrite the tale of Cu Chulainn, to undo all the wrong choices and times he's been forced, to give him back the happiness that's been stolen. Most likely not. However, there may be something to even the chances out.]

[ There might be a way. Rarely there might happen a Servant who wants to obtain the Grail to change how their story went. Unhappy with the result their life produced. Caster isn't one of them, he doesn't even desire the Grail and idea to change history wouldn't occur to him. ]

[ No matter how bad his life ended, he would not change it for any other one. That's why the idea of even just simply "continuing it" here comes with an element of wrongness he can't fully shake off. ]

I very well know what my fate was, Emiya. [ That's why he takes it as an insult. Caster storms out of the embrace Archer held him in, and turns around. Flinging right into violence would be easy, and a the way his pupils turn into thin slits shows he's close to doing just that. But it's his Exemplar he's talking with, and he's his God, not just offended warrior against another. ]

My fate was never forced, I chose it. [ And the spear was a reward. Even if his mentor had sinister reasons for giving it to him. In the end, he couldn't even truly fulfill her wish either. ]

[Archer doesn't tense, his posture slack and unguarded. He chooses his words carefully, knowing that Caster is one step from flinging into violence.]

Yes, your fate was the result of few choices that you made for yourself, and so is the tale of great hero Cú Chulainn. [Archer speaks slowly, his tone carefully neutral.] Even after millenias has passed you are still bound to choose one oath over another.

[He's not offering pity, merely stating the facts. Then his voice takes a slightly different, somber tone.]

Then there is Cú Chulainn that is freed from such fate, who won the Grail War and was summoned as a god. One gifted with runes of creation, powerful enough to rewrite a fate of certain death. Like each power it comes with a price.

[Archer's voice fades into silence and he waits.]

[ Caster's brows are furrowed, his expression that of frustration and annoyance, but the anger evaporates. Archer won't even let him have that, a proper rage, a proper fight. For once instead of the laser precision jabs he- still goes for laser precision but it's neutral, even appreciative in some way.

Instead of insults, there's a respect. Damn it. Caster sighs, his arms relaxing. ]

Does the one you speak of can truly be called that? It's almost contrary to what "hero Cú Chulainn" stands for. [ He lets out a brief bitter laugh. That's right, that's what is bothering him. He's not meant to change his fate- it was sealed upon the moment the prophecy. Whole life just a road to that one fixed end. ] A hero and his Noble Phantasm are one and the same, Archer. You saw what mine in this form is.

[ A burning cage of tragic death, looking sacrifice, that's what it is. It burns and destroys everything in its wake. ]

I could raze all Servants in Grail War with it and none would get any idea who does it belong to!

[ They could guess some famous druids, maybe even Cathbad, sure, think he's his own grandfather. That to speak, it proves his point. His Noble Phantasm belongs to a nameless druid, his name effectively erased. Even when he introduced himself with his True Name to Rider, he assumed at first it was just a god he must represent. ]

[Archer listens intently with a small frown, focusing on Caster's words. He doesn't reply in an instant, considering it for a long moment. It's true that the cursed spear is heavily tied to his name, but it's not the only weapon he has used, is it.]

Isn't it the other way? [he asks quietly.] You are Cú Chulainn, a Child of Light, whose natural element is fire. You are also a wielder of Cruaidín Coiditchenn as well as of Gáe Bolg, proud owner of Liath Macha and Dub Sainglend that draw your chariot, and the one called the Hound of Ulster.

You are very much like your Noble Phantasm, burning like a falling star that destroys everything in its wake.

[Ironic, since the sacrifice isn't Cu Chulainn himself this time.]

Archer, you're a fucking nerd. That's just an effigy. [ There's an actual exasperation when he says that. Can't stop anyone one reading about him, but you can be sure this guy here will have done his research by now. Kind of a shame, because Archer can be a real jerk too. Caster wishes he was that a jerk now, they could have just gone down to the training hall, punch each other senseless until exhaustion. ]

[ Instead of- having an actual conversation about issues. Ugh, he kicks him in the shin out of annoyance. Without real force, just a childish move. ]

And I could be just a nameless druid who for some reason responded to the summons of "Cú Chulainn" [ It's not an identity crisis, he knows who he is, and never doubts it. If someone else doubts it, fuck them, he's not going to waste his time proving anything. He just hates how removed from himself and his past it makes him feel. So yeah, maybe his spear was cursed, despite that, he never actually wanted to give it up. ]

[ But he also finally recognizes the terrible irony here- ]

The hell, what have gotten into me. [ Caster mutters and runs his hand through his hair. He's suddenly too tired to even be angry or frustrated ] Ranting to you about this, of all people.

[ The Nameless Archer and a shinki at that. Last person who should hear that kind of complaints. Especially when it started with few disjointed memories that just returned. Way to go, Caster just deralied the conversation. ]

[ The part about runes is still an annoying thorn though. "Runes of Creation" aren't that far of a stretch. There was a god who got them from the world's tree itself- a god of Norsemen. Might sound funny, a Scottish witch, teaching Irish kid Norse magic, but mages always used whatever they could and whatever suited them best. ]

No nameless druid knows futhark.

[Disagreeing gets him a kick to the shin but Archer can live with that. There are more important things to focus on instead.

Yet Caster sobers quickly. The irony isn't lost on Archer, though.]

It troubles you, that's a valid reason. [a shrug.] Besides, I'm not a hero.

[ Caster makes a step forward and falls first onto the bed. Arms spread, he's taking most of it. And since the bed is big enough it's just his feet that dangle in the air.

He shouldn't even talk about this, ugh. He probably wouldn't have had he be more awake. ]

Not something that I get to change- I don't like this conversation, I'm ending it now.

[ But it is something that has been on his mind. Why that's how he appeared here. Archer might be up to something. Runes. Writing. Druids are keepers of lore.

Maybe his people, his followers, no longer near a warrior with a cursed spear to protect them, but a druid to inspire them with tales ]

[It's odd, but Archer does understand. With how young he died, Caster is still prone to stupid displays and also prefers to hide and ignore what he perceives as weakness. That he understands all too well, because he dislikes showing any kind of vulnerability as well.

This time they're actually talking instead of fighting, so they're getting better at communicating.]

Hmph.

[Archer kneels at the bed, maneuvering Caster so that he can spoon him. Leaving for his bed is the last thing on his mind right now.]

All those weapons that I can project are nothing but copies. Fake weapons for a fake hero. [he murmurs quietly into Caster's neck.]

[ Someone needs to tell them that not allowing yourself be vulnerable is actually a weakness. But hey that's a long way to go, and they are at least attempting to chart it. Or stuff.

They're talking, and they're talking about Archer for a change. Good, good, that shifts the focus Caster is definitely Fine with that. ]

Fake..? Yeah, sure they are. [ He's still blunt, but he softens it with the following comment as he settles more into the warmth behind it. ] A weapon, is still a weapon. Its true strength lies in that who wields it.

[Archer makes a derisive sound.]

By wielding it I'm copying how its wielder used it, and nothing more. [aside the bitterness there's resignation. Archer can't really change it, no matter how hard he tries. With his past being completely forgotten he's not sure if his weapons are truly his.] I don't think the swords I use are truly mine, neither is the way I fight.

[It's something he tries very hard to not think about while he's unable to sleep; a fake hero wielding a fake weapon. A pawn with no other purpose than to fight. It's a weakness and vulnerability he doesn't want to admit to himself, yet one he shares in exchange for Caster's.]

That doesn't make any sense

[ Archer gets a soft elbow in the rib on that comment. Sharing is caring, and Caster genuinely tries to be helpful. But his way of helpful might be different than what is today expected. ]

So if a master teaches their students art of fighting those students are worthless fakes? That kind of knowledge always have a source, and even masters who come up with their own styles learned the basics elsewhere.

[ Scáthach made him into the spearman he was known for. Scáthach gave him the weapon that followed him into the legend. Yet never in his life, he would question if his skills were less because of it. Quite on the contrary, he took pride in being taught by Queen of the Land of Shadows herself ]

[Important is that he tries, and even that elbow in ribs is appreciated.]

Yet students train and develop their technique and style of fighting to suit their needs. While I- [he pauses to gather his thoughts; it's not the easiest to explain.] You counter the hit because it's ingrained to the point that you move on instinct, while I do the same because the weapon I wield remembers how it was used.

[Without his memories Archer doesn't remember that he developed his own fighting style; it feels as if his favorite swords don't really belong to him.]

[ Caster rolls around to face him. Like it or not Archer, you're looking at him now. There is a slight disbelief on his face as if he's "not buying this entirely" He is not ]

You sure about that? I saw you fight with training weapons- you still very well knew how to use those.

[ Or can he remembers the wielder of any weapon he touches? But then training ones had been used by multiple hands. How is there copying anyone going there? Granted Archer is a mage, despite his classification, and the magic he uses isn't the most arcane one- but he's damn good in it. Who knows what other properties he brought out of it ]

[Archer tenses in the first moment, then gradually relaxes. He's not entirely fine with showing his face, but he trusts Caster enough to allow it. Even if he still has trouble with looking straight into his eyes.]

It's a bit more complicated. By now it's most likely muscle memory after who knows how many years of fighting, but in truth my skill lies mostly in analyzing the structure of any melee weapon I see. [he makes a face.] As long as the weapon is created from something that can be found in your world I can replicate it. Even if it's something as rare as bones of phantasmal beast. I can't create divine constructs, but most Noble Phantasms are possible to replicate.

[Looking away he makes a pause, his expression darkening. His skills are something he ironically can have some pride in, if used to craft training weapons as well as fix mundane appliances. What he's talking about now isn't what he's proud of. Ever. There's a possibility Caster will scoff and scorn his only ability.] When I project such copy I gain knowledge about the weapon itself, its creation and its history, as well as separate knowledge of how it was used.

[ Caster listens this explanation and doesn't try to interject, his hand idly resting on Archer's neck- thumb drawing shapes into the junction of his jaw and ear in a lazy caress. ]

So you're a mage who pretends to be a warrior, and it pains you.

[ No shit, the parallel here is almost poetic. Like the universe is making fun of them by throwing them in one place and one time again. Like, no shit where there is end to that ridiculousness. Caster did not expect their bitterness to mirror so closely. ]

And I'm a warrior who pretends to be a mage- [ We're similar, is that what you were trying to say, Archer? ] Funny how things are.

[ He moves closer so their foreheads can touch. ]

But what you do with that skills of yours is your own. Make the action genuine.

[Archer exhales and closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into the touch.]

I'm not that much of a mage. Merely a blacksmith. [he admits in quiet voice. It's ironic, to think of it, that fate thrown them together. Small, tired but honest smile appears on his lips.]

Hn. I guess I should start taking pride in that.

Edited (wrong icon) 2018-09-06 18:12 (UTC)

[ Caster retains the soft caress for a moment longer, until his hand moves and-

he grabs Archer nose between two of his fingers and pulls ]

Yeah, like hell you should. [ Depending on place and time, a blacksmith was either a mundane trade, or holder of arcane knowledge that forged treasures out of stone. ] No weapon would exist if someone wouldn't make it first, you know.

[ And warriors would have to fight only on bare fists, how boring would that be ]

[Ow. What the hell, Caster, have you no mercy-

wait, wrong question. It's still odd for him to consider having pride in his works. Perhaps Caster is right, looking from a warrior's perspective. Perhaps he should consider it a blessing rather than imitation.

Perhaps he could craft a real weapon worthy of ancient hero.]

My bad. Don't suffocate me.

[ You're dead anyway Archer, but it's true, they still need to breathe. Caster lets him go with a laugh too bright for their conversation- and instead throws his arm around him and pulls him into an embrace. Closely, intimately, so his shinki's face is buried in the crook of his own neck.

He runs his hand across Archer shoulder in a gesture that is almost soothing. ]

But I mean it, truly. Having hands that create is a thing that should not be taken lightly.

Edited 2018-09-09 19:43 (UTC)

[It stuns Archer for a long moment - the embrace, warmth, and the soothing caress. It's not what he expects, and not what he deserves - that old, persistent belief resurfaces until Archer forcefully reminds himself that he does deserve something for himself.

Yet Caster's words stir his memory.]

Have withstood pain to create many weapons
Yet, those hands will never hold anything [Archer mutters under his breath without thinking.]

...thank you.

Put your hands around me and then you can see if it's truth or not. [ Caster mutters with a snicker, that Archer obviously cannot see. His hand runs into Archer's hair, tousling the white mop a bit ]

Go to sleep, it will be better in the morning. [ He continues to whisper, knowing well a soothing effect it can have ] I promise.

[Huh. Did he say it out loud? Archer has no time to ponder because Caster is affectionate again, messing his hair while trying to soothe him. It's oddly warm and comforting, just as Caster's steady breathing and shared warmth. Is this what it means to be cared about?]

I will. [he replies in kind, embracing partner.] Good night.

[For the rest of the night his dreams are full of warmth.]

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You were in the darkness too

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