Chapter 1 – The Night is not Over (Published: 04/30/12 - Beta: none)

The sun was rising behind him, bathing the land with its golden rays. The long night had finally ended, the war won. Yet there was no prize for him.

In the distance he saw the female King rush to the side of his blissfully unconscious, red-headed counterpart. The other girl, the Magus who had been his closest companion, walked where he was standing and looked up to him with concern.

"Archer, make a contract with me again," she told him in a whisper.

"This is troublesome. I no longer have that right. Besides I have no regrets left in this world, but… I have a favor to ask. Rin, please take care of me. As you know he's unreliable."

She looked troubled for a moment, but then nodded. "Hm. I'll teach him to love himself, so that he won't become distorted as you are. So… so you should also…."

-forgive yourself.

She didn't actually say those words. There was no need and no use for them.

He was beyond salvation. They both knew it, but she still worried about him. What a busybody.

Her real self was so different from the image she projected that he felt like he had been cheated, even years after getting to know her. That was what made him like her as much as he did.

The energy sustaining him had finally reached its limit and his body began to fade. Still, he couldn't quite leave with her looking like that.

"It's fine, Tohsaka," he said smiling sincerely for the first time in a long while, his voice warmer than it had been for eons. "I already found my answers."

Those were his parting words. There was no need for real goodbyes, as they would never be truly separated. Even if he was going to return to his cage, a version of him would always be with her. His naïve, younger self would definitely stick close to her and she wouldn't give up on her favorite toy anytime soon.

He could be satisfied with that. For all of his fault, Emiya Shirou wouldn't let anyone down if he could help it. It was both his talent and his curse. Perhaps more of the latter considering how things played out for the older version of him.

All that was left now was returning from where he came. That dark place outside of time where he would wait until humanity screw ups would require his intervention.

There was no escaping that situation. Even if he no longer regretted his choices, their outcome didn't change. His ideals still betrayed him. He still was little more than a glorified slave whose sole purpose was slaughtering those who would cause mankind's ultimate downfall. A bloodstained failsafe to insure humanity continued existence.

He could not save anyone not even himself. He was a phenomenon beyond anyone's reach.

Or was he?

He later wondered if the following events were caused by his resignation or because, for a brief fleeting moments, he was able to love his ideals once more.

He expected his soul to be claimed by the wish-granting machine that was the Holy Grail, like every other defeated Servant. Instead it lingered in nothingness for a moment, before the Alaya claimed his contract and dragged him back.

It was nothing more than a fraction of a relative second while drifting in the all-encompassing nothingness that is the Swirl of the Root. Yet that insignificant portion of time was enough for something else to kick in.

Archer had no idea of what it was. In that condition he had no eyes nor ears but as the thing reached out for him a river of emotions flowed through his soul with a displeasing familiarity.

Despair.
Sadness.
Tears.
Hopelessness.

HELP!

A cry for help from a multitude of souls. Countless lives dying, twisted by pain and sorrow, while many other were lining up to follow the same fate. Shapeless hands reached out for him and dragged him somewhere, to a new body that he could already feel forming to receive his soul.

If he had a mouth, Archer would have tch-ed. He hadn't even returned and he was already being deployed again.

Yet, while the sensation was too familiar for comfort it also had a distinctive feeling to it. There was nothing of the berserker-like trance that usually possessed him when he was sent out to do his dirty job.

No, the components where the same but the method was different. Yes, he was certain of it now. This wasn't Alaya deploying him, but a summoning from somewhere else.

His existence gained consistence again. Physical senses linked to his newly formed brain as he materialized once more. Hearing and sight were the first, shortly followed by smell. By experience, taste and touch would soon follow as they weren't as important to establish a contract with his summoner.

Which brought him to consider the current circumstances.

He was used with being called or deployed in a different timeline from his original one, and as such he had no problem whatsoever in seeing what looked like a medieval building around him.

What surprised him was the appearance of the people around him and, most of all, the woman that stood in front of him, just outside of the summoning circle.

She had long red hair and pointy ears. Her armor clad-body was thin and ethereal and she held herself with pride and confidence. Around her, many soldiers stood with their weapons drawn, obviously ready to step up and fight if he proved to be hostile.

By the look of it, It appeared that this summoning ritual was unfamiliar to them as it was for him. For one thing there wasn't the usual "download" of information in his brain about the place and time he now was.

There was also the matter of his embodiment. There wasn't any empowerment that a Servant usually had. Furthermore he couldn't feel the usual Counter Force that tried to correct the impossibility of his existence. He couldn't even feel the flow of Prana from his summoner to counter balance this natural force.

What kind of ritual could do that?

"Well, this is new," he commented as he clenched and unclenched his fist to get a feel from them. He kept a relaxed stance as not to provoke the armed guards that surrounded him. It wasn't like he thought he couldn't take them, if needed, but he had no reason to start unneeded troubles before even knowing what the situation was.

The red-haired woman in front of him said something that sounded like a question, but her words made no sense to him. He looked at her and tilted his head slightly, before shaking it from side to side to communicate his lack of comprehension.

She nodded to him, apparently glad that he wasn't reacting to the odd situation with panic or with violence. She gestured to a bearded man not far away and he walked up to her, looking at him warily. He exchanged words with the swordswoman and then carefully approached him.

Slowly, the man raised his hands to his face and then waited.

Archer felt a surge of Prana from his hands, signaling the build-up for a spell, but not enough to actually start it. He looked the man in the eyes and slowly nodded, as to give permission to cast the spell on him.

The man uttered a few incompressible words and Archer's ears, eyes and tongue burned slightly.

"Oleff, did it work? Can he understand us now?" The woman asked.

"Apparently so," Archer answered in Oleff's stead. He had the unpleasant feeling that his tongue wasn't moving as its brain instructed it to, but he couldn't complain about the results. "So, let's get the formalities out if the way. I ask of you, are you my Master?"

"What?" The woman asked ."What does that mean?"

"Ah. Apparently I'm not bound by any protocol this time. Let me rephrase it. Are you the one who summoned me?"

"Yes, I am Aribeth de Tylmarande, Paladin of Tyr and right hand of Lord Nasher Alagondar. What is your name, Avatar of Justice ?"

He carefully considered what answer was appropriate. He had no Class to name him this time around, but he didn't feel like going back to his old name, not with everything it brought along. He no longer regretted his choices, but that also meant he wasn't willing to look back at his old, foolish self. He would have to make do with the last name he used.

"You can call me Archer. Now, if you don't mind me asking, why did you call me an Avatar of Justice?"

"Are you not the Champion chosen by Tyr?" Aribeth asked.

"I'm afraid that I don't know what you're talking about. I have never heard of this Tyr you refer to. Aren't you the one who summoned me?"

"I…" Aribeth stuttered, "I prayed Try, the Just God, my god, to send a Champion to help Neverwinter in this dark times. He answered my prayers and told me he would send the one person I would need the most. A Champion of Justice."

Archer had to resist the impulse to snicker, but he couldn't avoid smirking. Here was another Magus screwing up his summoning. Life was certainly repetitive.

"I'm afraid I have no idea of what you are talking about."

"The ritual would not have worked without the intercession of Tyr," a man with pointy ears interjected. "The fact that you are here is proof enough that his will as been accomplished even though you are ignorant of it."

"I agree," Archer began, "that no mortal should be able to summon a Counter Guardian without the help of a nearly omnipotent artifact or the intervention of an higher entity."

"Counter Guardian?" Aribeth asked again. "I don't know what that means. Could we have done something wrong with the ritual?"

"I do not think so," the man named Fenthick answered. "We double checked every detail before proceeding. I insist that if he's here than the will of Tyr as been fulfilled."

"You might be right," Archer said "or not. Though it would have been nice if I had been asked before being sent anywhere. Still, this is a nice change in pace for me. Now would you be so kind as to explain me the reason for which you summoned me?"

"Of course," Aribeth nodded. "We need to fill you in on your mission. The Wailing Death cannot wait any longer. Follow me this way, please."

Half an hour later Aribeth was rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration. How could it be? Not only the Champion didn't know about Tyr, but he also didn't have any knowledge of the Realms. He hadn't been too detailed but he made it clear that he wasn't from this world nor any known plane. He wasn't a servant of the gods elevated at the moment of his death after a lifetime of service.

Had she really screwed up the ritual? It couldn't be possible.

Archer was of similar thoughts. While he appreciated having his free will it still looked like he had to deal with other people's crap. At least, the briefing gave him some sort of basic knowledge and cleared a few doubts he had.

"Well, at least that partially explains why I'm here. The situation must be even worse than you imagine," he said, gaining Aribeth's attention again and brought a scowl to her face.

"What do you mean? How could anything be worse than the plague?"

"Someone like me, a Counter Guardian, isn't a spirit that is summoned for any one reason. We exist for one purpose only. To prevent humanity's extinction. Even though the circumstances are different from usual the fact that I'm here means that this plague is threatening much more than just this city."

"This is.. unsettling," Fenthick commented. "The Wailing Death is a terrible thing but to think it could have such repercussions."

"I say that this is all nonsense," a man named Desther said. He was the leader a group called Helmites, some sort of religious order. "How do we know this man is actually what he says he is? What proof does he brings?"

"What would I need to bring any proof? I'm here because I've been summoned by you, not by my own will. If you don't like me I will be on my way immediately. This world of your looks quite interesting. I would like to explore it while I'm here."

"He is right Desther," Fenthick confirmed. "Why would he lie at all? He is not a demon in disguise, we already ascertained it. He must be the Champion Tyr has chosen for us. We must have faith."

"Yes," Aribeth agreed," we must have faith in our God. Even though we might not understand his working. We asked for a Champion and he has given us one."

"Some Champion he is," Desther scoffed. "He has no knowledge of our world or even a weapon with him. We might as well have picked a beggar off the streets and entrusted it with this mission. He doesn't look particularly skilled either."

Archer gave a light chuckle at the man's rant.

"Do I amuse you?" he glowered.

"Quite," he admitted. "I had my share of pompous pricks in my lifetime, but it never fails to amuse me how some incompetents fools are all too ready to point out other's apparent flaws and missing their own entirely."

"You dare-"

"Pointing out that you and your so called Order have been useless in fighting off this plague or retrieve the creatures needed for the cure? Should I remember you that my reason for being here is that you have failed repeatedly at this task?"

"Archer, please," Fenthick pleaded, "the Helmites have been more than helpful in this difficult times. Their blessing gave hope and comfort to many."

"And saved none," he replied coldly. "Now, since all of your ramblings have done no actual good I'd rather hear everything you can tell me about these Waterdhavian creatures you are looking for and any other information you might consider useful for this task. "

"You seem quite eager to get to work," Fenthick pointed out, "considering that you have been dragged here without being forewarned."

Archer shrugged at this observation. "I have no interest in just standing around. I don't consider myself a Hero but I don't like senseless deaths either. The sooner I can begin, the more lives will be saved. Simple as that."

Aribeth and Fenthick nodded. While the summoned sprit wasn't exactly how they had imagined he would be, a selfless Champion of Justice, he had at least the right mindset to get the job done. In the end it was the best they could ask for, short of a direct intervention for Tyr himself.

Only Desther didn't agree with that estimation.

"I still say that we can't entrust this man with Neverwinter's safety. How do we know he's capable enough. His ignorance is already a major weakness."

"I agree," Archer said, surprising all of the present. "I'm quite confident with my fighting abilities but there's little I can do without knowing this world."

"You don't have to do this alone," Fenthick pointed out, "you could hire some help from the local mercenaries. As a matter of fact we would not expect you to take this mission alone even if you did have the right knowledge."

"Mercenaries? I don't intend to question your judgment but is it wise to assign such a delicate task to someone whose loyalty lies with gold? I can understand that you trust me on account of your faith but…"

Aribeth nodded in accordance but smiled nonetheless. "If you are able of understanding that by yourself, I'm confident you wouldn't be so easily backstabbed."

"You are awfully trusting, Lady Aribeth," Archer commented.

"I simply have faith in the decisions of my Lord Tyr. I'm sure you will not let us down."

Archer grumbled. It didn't like how she was so trusting and made his displeasure know.

"I really hope that you'll never have to regret that choice."

He spent two days gathering information on the world he was currently in. While he knew that time was a fundamental factor he was painfully aware that having the right information was fundamental to any task. He couldn't just stroll out of the door and into an unknown world without taking serious precautions.

Therefore he spent all of his time reading heavy tomes that illustrated the general working of the world around him, from recent politics to magic and the various races that inhabited it.

It definitely wasn't a light reading.

There were so many races and half breeds to make it a subject worthy of a lifetime of research, but a general knowledge would make do. He kept himself to the creatures the he was likely to find in that particular portion of Faerûn, the continent of Abeir-Toril he now was.

Then there was magic. Names and methods were different from Gaia's, but as he studied the concept of the Weave and its counterpart he realized that they were essentially the same. The difference was mainly sociological. Whereas on Earth magic was a secret art restricted to a few, here it was common knowledge although it wasn't practiced by most.

On the bright side, there were thing that were the same here and back on Earth: Politics. Count on sentient beings to find ways to deceive each other for their gain. Even the gods, much more active in this world than his own, were not immune to it. The Time of Troubles was proof enough of that.

And then there was Neverwinter, the city that he had been called to rescue. There was much that could be said about that place, but essential it was referred as the Jewel of the North, and held in high regard as a place where justice and fairness were served.

It sounded so much like Camelot it wasn't even fun. The irony of him being called in defense of such place didn't escape the red-clad Counter Guardian.

Sighing he closed the last book and leaned back in his chair.

Before Projecting and throwing a knife behind his back.

"EEEEP!"

He turned around to see a small man, a Halfling, that somehow managed to sneak behind him without making a noise. It was only thanks to Archer's long experience with legendary spirits like Assassin that he managed to perceive his presence when he was close enough.

"Sneaking up on me is a bad idea, little man. One that's likely to get you killed."

"N-N-Noted, my Lord," the man stuttered.

"Is there something you wanted from me? Besides hastening your death?"

"I-I heard that you were looking for help with some mission for Lady Aribeth and my services happens to be on sale so…"

"So you thought that sneaking up on your potential employer would make a good resume?"

"Something like that my lord," the Halfling quickly agreed.

"And if you happened to lift something from my pockets without me noticing, all the better, right?"

"Well…,"he tried to justifiy.

"Nevermind, you're hired."

"What? I mean… for real?"

"If you managed to get so close to me then you must have some real talent. That kind of experience isn't something that a newbie can posses. I daresay you must have extensive knowledge of the working of the local underworld."

"I…can get by," the Halfling admitted, not quite sure how that was a good thing.

"Great. You are just the kind of guy I needed."

"For real?"

"Of course. I can find pretty much any normal information I want form these books or the people around here, but who better than a criminal can give me the heads up on what other criminals to around here?"

The Halfling nodded, still pinned against the wall by Archer's knife. He seemed awfully pleased by his new employer approach to things.

"So about my fee… I think that two hundred pieces of gold would do fine."

"One hundred-fifty. Not a single coin more."

"What? My expertise has a great value, my lord."

Archer chuckled. "Don't over-estimate yourself, now. I'm hiring you to save myself the trouble to look for someone else. Take it or leave it. How long do you think it would take me to find another crook in this devastated city?"

He made a good point, the Halfling had to admit to himself. Well if this man was good enough to see that much then he would definitely provide for more income as they went by.

"Fine, one-hundred and fifty will do, my lord."

"Good choice," Archer said as he fished the gold from the money Aribeth gave him to get started. The small man quickly pocket it and gave him back a piece of parchment with a X mark drawn over it. "What's this?"

"My contract," he answered proudly. "This proves that Tomi Undergallows is working for you."

Archer stared blankly at it but then took it nonetheless.

"Well then, Tomi. We are off. I need to hire some more help before we can get started."

"Oh, it must be something big then. I just know the place where you can find some capable hands. Have you ever heard of the Trade of Blades?"

A/N:

I've got only one thing to say:

FFUUUUUUU-

You know the rest.

I didn't plan to start another fic on top of those I already have published and a couple more I'm writing "backstage".

I was happily replaying the first Neverwinter Nights when I reached the end of the second chapter and thought: Well, no wonder Aribeth went ape-shit. After all she was….

Betrayed by her ideals

Fuuuuuuck! The damn plot bunny didn't leave me until I started this. I couldn't write a single chapter of anything else. There are too many connections between Archer, D&D and Aribeth. I just had to write this.

Just to let you know, I played the Itlian version of the game and as such names and manner of speaking will probably differ from the original since I'm traslating them rougly. Google is helping me finding the right versions, but minor characters might be mispelled.

A note of warning: I'm writing this only to get the bunny out of my system. I don't plan to make regular updates if at all. Also feel free to take this story as a challenge and write your onw. I would really like that.

That's all o needed to say. Bye.