Fate Black/Dawn

Disclaimer: The Nasuverse, Fate properties, and characters therein are not my property. This is a DNA-based work, please support the official release. . . Wankers.

Also, I am not an expert on Nasuverse mechanics, so more studied fans of the franchise will have to suspend their disbelief sometimes. As well, while I will be posting this on FFN, the primary source will likely move over to AO3 due to the fact it will contain adult content and FFN has always been a bit weary of it. Twins, as well, will have a place there for adult content.

Synopsis: There are many things Emiya, Shirou thought would happen when he somehow managed to find the right time, place, thing, and amount to make an attempt to reunite with Saber.

Winding up in the amorous arms of her sister was not one of them. ShirouxMorgan ShirouxArtoria (Time Travel-fic, AU Fate-ending)

Prologue

A Sheath Without A Sword

For a single, bloodless moment, she stares. Transfixed at the sight of the arrow as it flies true, right at his head. And, for a moment, she is as numb as the dead.

And then she screams, while another voice not her own raises the chorus. Her chest feels something it has not felt in awhile-

Pure, unadulterated horror. That feeling in her heart that had started to blossom out of control has become in such utter jeopardy. He is dead-

"SHIROOUUUUUUU-!"

There are certain rules to be upheld by the nature of Magic- or Magecraft, since True Magic was something no modern magi could even glimpse let alone comprehend. One such trait was that it was beyond impossible to do something so radically against the "planet's sense" that making objects appear- something considered a basic Magecraft- was viewed as pointless because the construct would vanish in mere moments due to the interference of Gaia.

There were ways to circumvent this, but that was the sign of- to more traditional magi- a truly insipid character.

In that moment, Emiya, Shirou would not have minded being called all the names in the world. For twenty years he had hunted and searched for anything that could have brought him to what he wanted- an attitude bearing that of a proper Magus, ironically despite a change in goal. Nearing forty, he'd finally found what some would have called a miracle.

But, in the eyes of creatures beyond the senses of humans, it was his very concept. The very item supplanted into him and turning him -different- had finally mustered a response that it could not contain.

But neither could Shirou, as the ritual he pursued on a clear sunny day, at the edge of a pristine blue lake in the countryside of England, tore open the world around him and sent him into unconsciousness as his magic circuits overloaded and sent him awry with pain, Avalon's own dregs dragging him through and into the land where it should still exist.

It was, in layman's terms, an absolutely huge spit on the face of Magi fundamentals everywhere.

It was the worst of all possible outcomes, he thought to himself as he steadied his hips and planted his feet. Staring across from him, the long haired man held his sword loosely, the weapon's design leaving Shirou very aware of whom the man he faced down was-

Even if he didn't already know from prior experience and research. Lancelot was not like Gilgamesh, a foe he could face down with pure guts and refusal to lose. He could not hope to win without Morgan there, and so the best he would have to hope for was that he could get away rather than fuss about honorable combat.

Rin's face had contorted into a grimace beyond what could even be called discomfort when he had worn the traditional purples and greens of Atlas Academy's uniform. It had not been a dig, or a declaration, against the dark haired magus . . .

But it had been taken that way. She had offered him tutelage and comfort after he had helped her to win the Grail and they had . . . Ended up destroying it. He had grown to understand- much too late- that said comfort had been in the form of romance.

He could not do that to her. It was unfair to them both. Shirou loved Rin, but he had not been IN love with her. There was only one person whom had ever made Shirou feel that way.

So he could not- WOULD not- let her do that to herself. Tohsaka deserved better, as did Sakura.

He was too selfish.

"Let her out." His voice was level, quiet even. He was aware, for the first time, that he was furious. It wasn't an emotion Shirou could say he'd felt often, but right then it was roiling in his gut in a way that made him scared of what he was doing.

"Why?" It was accompanied by a look that screamed of mistrust- of wariness- but he was also aware that she would not have even asked someone else who had made such a demand of her. They would have been paste on the wall.

"Because she is not a tool, she is your child."

Atlas, in comparison to the Clock Tower, had been an interesting time in his life. Rin had warned him a long time ago about the dangers of Magi society, of politics and backstabbing that was rampant and perhaps even encouraged.

He had made only one friend there, and if he had known at the time who she was, he would have wondered what kind of thing he'd done to have such powerful bad karma when it came to women.

Sion Eltnam Sokaris had been a very upbeat girl, but she was brilliant all the same. Of course, it went without saying that he hadn't known that the girl was so . . . important.

Not that he had particularly deep knowledge of the Moonlit World in the first place, but it would have explained a great deal of why he had proceeded to be ignored even more by the Alchemists there.

That had been fine, however. He was at the Academy to study, not to make friends. He doubted many of the scholarly types could put up with his own quirks. Perhaps she found his companionship entertaining.

Shirou just liked that she knew when to give him space.

++++xxxx+xxx++++

She holds a wrapped blade, not offering it to him, but clearly about to. His eyes wander over her veil-covered face and he wishes, just for a moment, that she would trust him more than this. He can see it's colors, and knows that doing this is akin to offering him everything that she had denied him until this point.

"If you are to do what I want of you," She starts, and for a moment pauses. He can mentally see her teeth worrying her lower lip, "- you will need this. And, in all of my graciousness, I give it to you."

He takes it, and unveils it with all the ceremony that she deserves from him. Holding the darkened blade aloft, he studies the way it refuses to accept the light and instead only refracts it. It is a weapon that he understands she has put her all into. It is not a Holy Sword or a Demonic Sword, he knows with just a touch even without his own special brand of Magecraft, it is a weapon that conceptually reigns in Darkess- it is her attempt to provide him with the weapon she thinks will combat Excalibur, or the weapons of the Knights of the Round.

He knows better, but he also knows that her worries are unfounded.

The vertigo began to lessen. The dreams and images tearing away as his mind reacclimated to his own body. He came to, and sat up slowly. The feeling of silken shifts crossing his chest made him aware of his own nudity. One of his arms came up, and he watched studiously as his fingers flexed and he realized that, for the first time in many years, his circuits did not feel so weak. Worse than that, he recognized that his build had regressed.

Shirou had never stopped being physically fit, half because of Avalon and half because he had long since learned it was uncommonly necessary to be ready to defend oneself- to kill- in the Moonlit World. But, he had also been nearing forty.

Age changes things, especially when you have spent a good portion of those years trying to find a way to make a path not to the Root, like most Magi, but to the person you loved. Reinforcement was no longer needed to feel the tension of each muscle as his fingers curled. No need for the lines of his circuits to ignite on his skin around his eyes as he honed them to see like a hawk.

In short, Shirou felt . . . Amazing. Youthful, even.

But, in the moment, it was time to take in the surroundings of the world he had travelled to through a very . . . Inappropriate. . . loophole of the Second Magic.

He just had to hope that Zelretch would find his bastardization more amusing than offensive. Shirou wasn't sure he could do it again anyway, as someone he couldn't remember the name of had said: The Right Time, The Right Place, The Right Person. Shirou had to add a few extra variables to that little equation.

A set of black covers, silken and soft. The kind that he expected only someone like Rin would put up with, despite not knowing the secret of Rin's morning maladies. Those who had finery like this rarely had sensible hearts- it was just a bias he had developed since his time at Atlas- and the few times he and Tohsaka had warred and traded barbs (mostly her to him, since he'd been nothing but professional with her as far as he could understand). Coming from a mundane background had made him woefully underprepared for dealing with the Aristocracy.

For a moment, he feels a sudden heat under him, and he turns his gaze from his own body down unto the sigil that is carefully drawn into the sheets of the bed. The language is not one he knows, but he also knows that he has seen it before. And, better than that, he at least knows why he does not know it- save for it's similarities to something he'd seen enough in his life that he could still picture it vividly in his head.

Fae script. Rather, all of his scholastic prejudice termed it "Elemental Language", even though he personally felt that was just an excuse at categorizing something that was beyond them as it was. He had no idea what the circle was, but he was sure he would find out shortly as the glow dissipated and the sound of footsteps filled the corridor beyond the room he was in.

Saber had drilled it into him, never let the enemy have you as they want you. But right then, Shirou didn't have the time to do more than give the room the sudden intense glance to make stock of what he could and couldn't do. And the sad truth was, not much. It was a bedroom, and the bed was truly the most ostentatious thing about it. A four-poster thing that he was sure would have been considered dated by modern standards, but looked finely carved. Beyond that, a vanity and chair, a few side-tables, and a desk. It was- well- like some kind of guest room. Except the only lighting was a series of candles and a glimmering orb of some kind.

He would later decide the orb was hilariously stereotypical, but that was when the door slid open and a figure walked in and stole his breath away. For some, that was considered metaphorical, but right in that moment Shirou felt his heartbeat -stop-. A blue gown trailed along the floor while blonde hair spilled from her head. Emerald eyes quirked in a sharpness that reminded him of some of his teachers rather than the wide-eyed young-looking girl, but his brain was willing to fill in the details and make his heart ache. Saber?

But it was not her, and he knew simply by virtue of how -different- she was. For one, Saber could -never- smirk like that. That looked like an expression that belonged better on Caster's face, whom for a second he could not help but want to punch. Some things just never changed.

"So you are awake." The voice is even different. Saber's voice had always been placid, demure. It had a soft, but hard edge, that made him feel like if she touched him the way she spoke, he would only be at risk of her cutting him if he had forced her to. This woman's voice was . . .

Tinkling. There was no other way to describe it. It was more mature, certainly, but her voice sounded like bells rather than a glove. He recognized the language, at least. English- but perhaps it wasn't even necessary for him to rely on his knowledge of it. The way her lips moved seemed out of sync.

Gaia was his friend today, it seemed. He would not argue.

"I am." He tried responding, amber eyes fixed on THAT face that brought him back so many memories and so much heartache. He'd swore he'd wait forever for her, hunt forever for her, and . . . he'd done something insensible and crazy. Yes, Shirou was prone to such things, he already knew.

The slight curl of her brows said that he was understood. She was irritated, it was an expression he was terribly familiar with- and it made him want to apologize without even a thought attached to the action. "It is rare for a Familiar to take the form of a human. Even more so when he reeks of something that should not be in his hands." She is probing him, he can tell. Not yet using magic he knows she possesses, she roils with magical energy in a way that even his almost-blind preternatural senses can see. In preparation for this "foolhardy stunt", he had done countless days of research.

And it made him scared of what the only possibility was. Which only made his desire to respond to her as if she was Rin, and not the Witch he suspected her to be, even more strong. Let it never be said that Shirou was good with women, because he certainly was not.

"It is even more rare," He had to actually pause and swallow past a mouth filled with spittle all of a sudden. Teasing, playful remarks were not things he was used to putting out, but he had a feeling that showing her the weakness of embarrassment was . . . unwise. "For a man to wake up in the bed of a woman and not know what happened."

The pause, the correction of her thoughts, it played across her face and for a moment Shirou couldn't help but smile internally. He would never have said anything so crass and unbelievably -playful- when he was younger and actually had women who enjoyed spending time with him. He could admit that he would have stuck his foot in his mouth before she'd even walked in the room. Shirou had a lot of time for self-reflection while he was . . . immersed.

"You risk much." She said, an edge in her voice that he knew was a good sign, since she hadn't immediately leapt to trying to kill him. He had put her off guard, even if only in a miniscule way. Never let them keep their footing, Saber had said, and he had taken that lesson to heart as well. "Saying such things as that."

For a moment, he tried to think of how to respond, how to keep this moment in his control, but he let his nature take over and- with a shy little smile that felt strange to his more mature soul- rubbed the nape of his neck with a hand. "I apologize. You remind me of someone dear to me, and so I teased you."

Her eyes narrowed, but the slow way her shoulders relaxed said that he would get to survive at least a few minutes longer. Either he'd caught her in a good mood, or she was invested in him. Neither was a particularly good concept at the moment, but it was better than the other options.

"You remain lucky to be in my good grace, as a guest of my home." Ah-hah, she was startlingly easy to deal with. Of course, he only thought that in that moment out of a memory to a much more . . . friendly . . . blonde woman. He willed down the blush that wanted to touch his cheeks. "Your name." In good timing, too, since it seemed this little game of word tennis was going to come to an end. She had demanded it, there was no give in her stance now. He was playing with fire, but that was something he was used to.

"Shirou." He gives it, bowing his head in full politeness since he is bedridden and has at least enough awareness of himself to know that standing at that moment would be unwise. "And you, My Lady?" It is natural to say, he has learned enough from his time at Atlas- even if countless other students had laughed at him when he would inevitably upset some Aristocrat. Magi were one thing, but Alchemists were another.

For a moment, he is sure she will not answer. In fact, she damn near looks ready to walk out of the room in that moment. He is presuming again, in her eyes- that he is of value or interest enough to even know that tidbit of personal information. But, he also knows that she was raised to a certain expectation- and that he at least has what little he did find out about Camelot to wield as a sword in this arena. "Shirou," She tests his name on her tongue, and he sees her tongue and teeth as her face- nearly like Saber's- grimaces for a moment as she is stuck between politeness in the face of similar, or continuing this interrogation-like dialogue. "You do not know of me?" She asks, putting herself above him in station, and making it look like his own failing. It is not clumsy, like he remembers some students, but well-practised. He respects her for that. She is not belittling him, only strengthening herself.

She and her sister are very alike, even if one walks in the Light and the other in the Shadows. "I think I do." Shirou answers, relying on his own honesty in the face of someone he considered an enemy. Certainly, perhaps she could have been Artoria's mother, Queen Igraine, but Shirou had learned to put two and two together many years ago. "Lady Morgan Pendragon, daughter of Uther Pendragon, King of Britain. Am I right?"

His query sees her face return to that steady, controlled smirk that tells him much of what he needs to know about the woman who is his beloved's sister. It makes him feel like a success as a Magus, as well- which is both heartening and depressing. Shirou had never developed the ability to lie, only to control the way he shared the truth.

"Just so, Shirou." Her teeth show, and for a moment she looks much cuter than he is sure she thinks she appears. He is unsure if its her own charm, or him overlapping her with her sister. He would, of course, never share this thought willingly. "Then, you ought to know how gracious I have been in letting you lay in a bed in my home, let alone after you have done something as disgraceful as flirt with me."

He paused. Did he flirt with her? He'd teased her, certainly, but-

"My Lady-" He starts, but the dainty hand she raises tells him that she isn't interested in hearing him speak.

"I am gracious," She repeats, and he can't help but smile at her. "- and I will forgive you being vexed with my beauty. In exchange, I will demand an answer from you. How did you come into the possession of Fae constructs?" He knows she means the remnants of Avalon's magic in his body, but even the truth would be unbelievable.

"The remnants of an heirloom." He says. It is the truth, in a selective way. He knows it is not enough when she glowers at him, but he simply rolls his shoulders in a shrug.

"You will not enjoy life long by denying me." Morgan warns, and he finds himself glad that she seems to still find him interesting. No matter how many times he thought it, a warning was better than the alternative. She could- or perhaps already had- try to take him apart and figure it out herself, but she had not resorted to that. Why, he could not yet say.

He dares again, "My life is not my own to live, it is for someone else."

"Whom." His gaze treats with her face again, that serious look once again in place. She is interrogating him again, not standing on her own amusement and ceremony. The pleasant reprieve had lasted longer than he'd thought, to be honest. This was the truly dangerous part. Honesty would win him no favors- and in fact likely wind up getting him killed. But lying would be bald-faced, and he would fail utterly. So, rather than answer her, he would play on something he understood.

Her love of power, of being treated with regality. "If you will give me time, I will show you that I am worth your while to allow near you, My Lady." He was treading dangerous waters again, and he knew it from the way her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back into a sneer. He couldn't help but compare it to Rin, moments before she'd started firing Gandr shots at him again. Bad memories this way and that, especially now.

"And you will answer?" She poised.

"With my actions." He agreed, thinking of a head full of blonde hair and green eyes. And differentiating the two in different ways.

"Then, your arrival is convenient." Ah, she was back to that smirk. Shirou understood now, she viewed this as a victory. In her mind, she saw him as acquiescing, and playing into her hopes that he would be useful to her.

And he would be, he felt. Perhaps in a way she might not immediately cotton to, but if there was one thing Emiya, Shirou had in spades-

It was willingness to sacrifice for others.

Next

The Witch and the Tournament, pt. 1