How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)

"Where the Hell is he?" I shout, slamming my fist down on the table, which breaks in half. It's my father's, so I don't really care.

"Galahad, we've looked everywhere. Neither he nor Cursed Arm is in the camp," the worthless deadbeat who sired me mewls, holding up his hands placatingly. I consider telling him to go fuck himself, but then reconsider. After all, this one isn't his fault. It's mine. "Wherever he and Cursed Arm went, they definitely planned this out so they wouldn't alert us to their departure."

Damn it, I should have known he was plotting something! He's always plotting something! And now I let him out of my sight, and he's probably going to die because I wasn't there to save him! Oh God, Mash will be devastated if he dies. (Although only God knows why.)

I mean, I wouldn't shed a tear, but I don't want Mash to be upset.

"We have to find him!" I snap, starting to pace back and forth. "He won't last five minutes without me- us to watch his back!"

"Oh, ye of little faith," a familiar, insufferably smug voice interrupts, and I turn at the tent's entrance to find Flynn doing his best to casually lean against one of the tent poles, a grin on his face. "I'll have you know that I made it out just fine."

He's alive. Oh thank God he's alive.

I rush up and begin inspecting him for injuries.

"Aw, worried about me?"

Good. He's unhurt. I straighten back up and start throttling him. "IF YOU EVER PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN, I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL PUT MY BOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS THAT-"

He starts making choking noises, so I let him go. Mash'd be upset if I actually killed him, after all. "Missed you too, Galahad."

"I didn't miss you. Not in the slightest. In fact, life seemed brighter without the inescapable shadow of your idiocy hanging over me." I help him up to his feet and start brushing him off. "Now WHERE WERE YOU?"

"About." He smirks as I make a garbled cry of rage. "And everything went according to plan."

"Where's Cursed Arm?" Serenity asks, suddenly, and, with a start, I realize that the Old Man of the Mountain is nowhere to be found.

"Dead." Flynn's smile suddenly takes up that ever-so-slightly too genuine quality he always has when he's faking it. Or about to have someone killed.

"How did that happen?" the current Hundred Face rep interjects accusingly, glaring at Flynn.

"We went to negotiate with the First."

Both Assassins freeze, and I'm left confused. Who the Hell is he talking about?

"Ah. I am sorry to have troubled you, then," Hundred Face says, bowing his/her head respectfully. "Will the First be joining us in the assault?"

"Only if things go catastrophically wrong."

"I'm sorry, who the hell is this 'First' guy?" I ask, utterly lost.

"No one you need to worry about," Flynn says, turning to go. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to catch some rest."

I start to protest, but then I notice something that stops me cold.

Flynn's hands are shaking.

I stay silent as he leaves, and Hundred Face promises to keep an eye on him so he can't slip away again.

The only time I can remember Flynn being so rattled he let it show outside of combat was... Solomon.

Whoever this 'First' guy is, he scared Flynn as much as the King of Mages did. And yet he says that he successfully bargained with the guy.

That raises the question, now, doesn't it? What sort of deal did Flynn make?

As I step out from the tent, and stare up at the stars, I can only come to one, horrible conclusion: Flynn did something stupid again.

And then I sigh. I suppose that all I can do is stay by his side, then. I'll keep him alive as long as Mash's body holds out, no matter how much trouble he ends up in. She'd never forgive me if I didn't.

Abruptly, I realize there's someone besides me.

"Sir Lancelot," I say, perfectly civil, already donning a smile as I reflexively draw the comforting façade of the Perfect Knight up around me. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Ah," he looks awkward, the worthless buffoon. What, did running out on my mother before I was born and never coming back leave you unprepared for dealing with me? Wow, I'm just so damn sorry for you. Jackass. "You know that I'm proud of you no matter what, right? No matter what sort of lifestyle you choose."

"Er... yes?" The hell is he on about?

"Oh, well, good, then." He fidgets awkwardly with his cape. "Um... Flynn seems like a g- like a ni- like a... person. Who I'm sure makes you very happy."

"More like he annoys me to no end." I snort. "Although I suppose I have to concede that he's good at his job, at least."

"Um... well, I suppose that's really just between you and him. And none of my business." Lancelot turns to leave. "I'll just be going now."

I watch his back as he power-walks away. Seriously, what the fuck was that about?

Ah, well. At least that took my mind off of my previous, heavier thoughts. It would seem that my sire is, at the very least, a passable clown, even if he's a shit excuse for a human being.

I turn my back on the stars, and head for my own tent, returning Mash's body to her as I go. I'll need my rest.

After all, tomorrow we begin our march on the Holy City.

 

I grin as I look out over our army, marching towards the Holy City.

“An impressive spectacle, eh, Galahad?”

He just nods non-committally, still looking at me as if he’s worried I’ll vanish the moment he takes his eyes off me. He’s been doing that ever since… things happened. Shrine-related things.

Notthinkingaboutit, notthinkingaboutit, nothinkingaboutit.

In any case, the Holy City is now within our field of view. We’re getting close, and-

Arash gives us the warning signal, and I turn to Galahad.

“Prepare to block a shot from the Holy Lance.”

He nods. “Our glorious homeland, that which heals all wounds, LORD CAMELOT!”

The walls of the shining city rise, and the light of the World’s End breaks against them, the shining glare of their clash blotting out the Sun.

And then the glare fades, leaving us all half-blind, and shaken by the realization of how close to death we just came.

“Continue to advance!” I roar. “We don’t stop until the Holy City has fallen!”

The rest of the army nods shakily, commanders pulling themselves together and barking orders at their men.

Good. I can’t fail. Not yet, at least.

“So.” Galahad looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “You never actually told us just how you planned to deal with Gawain. Just said that you knew how to get him out of the way. Since we’re, you know, about to go toe-to-toe with him, I was wondering if you’d drop the theatricality and just tell me what you’re planning.”

Another deflection hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I catch myself. It’s Galahad, he’s saved my life more times than I can count, he deserves a straight answer. “I’m going to talk him down.”

“Gawain.” Galahad looks at me incredulously. “You’re going to talk Gawain down.”

“Same situation as Lancelot. He’s too strong to fight head-on without any victory being pyrrhic. Thus, we have to at least try to woo him over to our side.”

The new servants I summoned in to replace Cu, Siegfried, and Mata Hari (who we sent back to Chaldea the nonlethal way, to my great irritation) were all handpicked specifically for the fight against the Lion King. If we go up against Gawain, it could leave us fatally unprepared for the fight against the false Arthur.

And I can talk him down. I know that I can. Lancelot, Mata Hari, and Bedivere all pegged him as following out of loyalty alone but disliking the Lion King’s actions.

Thus, he can be swayed. He can be won over. I can’t fail here. I can’t.

“Trust me. He’ll come around. Especially when I tell him what I figured out about the Lion King.”

“You’re not even going to tell me this mysterious discovery of yours, are you? You’re just going to find a reason to bail on this conversation, so it’s more dramatic when you pull it out of your ass,” Galahad says, half amused and half exasperated.

“Well, I was going to tell you, but you just gave me an excellent idea!”

“Yeah, sure I did, you freaking drama queen.”

“You know you love it.”

“I most certainly do not.” He rolls his eyes. “And there’s no way I’m letting you talk to Gawain alone. If you’re doing this, then I’m going with you.”

“I didn’t doubt that for a second.”

---​

We march on through two more shots of from Rhongomyniad, Lord Camelot’s walls unbreakable.

And then, finally, we come to the Holy City’s gates. The Holy City’s surprisingly under-garrisoned gates. I don’t see a single Selection Knight, and there are only two soldiers on the walls.

Right then. “Galahad, have you got the white flag?”

“Yes, although I still think this will be a disaster.”

“You always think that.” I grin, then add over the mental link, ‘Besides, Serenity and Scaevola will be following via stealth. Worst comes to worst, and parley breaks down, I give them the signal and Serenity gives Gawain some sugar, hopefully ending the whole fight before it starts.’

Galahad frowns as begin making our way towards Gawain, flag of parley fluttering in the breeze. ‘Why would giving our enemy a sweetener end the fight?’

I can’t help it. I start laughing, at least until Galahad lightly punches me in the arm. Lightly by his standards, at least. I still lose feeling in it for a few seconds.

‘You’re an ass.’

‘True.’

‘So are you going to tell me?’

‘Giving someone sugar is also a euphemism for kissing.’

‘Oh. Gross.’

And then Gawain calls out to us, “That’s close enough!”

“Sir Gawain.” I nod respectfully, looking him over. “We’ve come to talk.”

He looks like shit. In spite of the fact that Servants need no sleep, he still has dark rings beneath his eyes. But more than his apparent exhaustion, he looks… haunted. Like his very soul has worn thin.

“I doubt my king will offer any concessions,” he says, trying for polite refusal and only managing ‘completely dead inside.’ “I think she might just blast you with the Holy Lance and then tell the survivors to go home, honestly. That’s what she usually does, nowadays.”

“Sir Gawain, are you… all right?” Galahad asks, looking worried. “You don’t seem your usual self.”

“I don’t feel my usual self,” Gawain says bitterly. “But I keep my word. It’s the only honorable thing I have left.”

“We came to parley with you, actually,” I interject, trying to steer this conversation back on track. “Will you turn back? It’s not too late to do the right thing and stand against the Lion King.”

I see it for a moment, a split-second look of hope, of longing.

And then he shuts it away.

“I’ve come too far to turn back now, Master of Chaldea. And I’ve done too much to ever deserve redemption.” He shakes his head sadly. “Return to your army. I will face you as a Knight of the Lion King. It’s all I deserve, in the end.”

Right then, time to break out my rhetorical trump card. I smile and, as I turn away, launch my payload. “Very well, then, Sir Gawain. I suppose it’s only natural for a son to side with his mother.”

He bites. “But-King Arthur is not my mother!” He looks legitimately confused at the thought.

Galahad’s already giving me his get-it-over-with look, so I happily comply. “Hm? I thought it was obvious. The Lion King isn’t King Arthur. She’s Morgan la Fey.”

“What.” Galahad says, utterly deadpan. Gawain, for his part, is gaping like a fish.

“What, did you really believe that noble and chivalrous Arthur would order women and children killed, merely for the crime of not living up to his standards? Did you believe that generous and beneficent Arthur, who never failed to reward his knights for their loyalty, would treat his best and brightest followers like mere cannon fodder? Did you really think that pious Arthur, beloved by God, would be so blasphemous as to raze the holiest city on Earth and declare himself a god?”

“But- that doesn’t make sense!” Gawain finally says, his tone in stark contrast to the hope beginning to creep across his face. “The Lion King has Rhongomyniad, the Sacred Lance! It would accept no master but Arthur!”

“Really?” I deliver my trump card. “And did you ever see Arthur use said lance?”

“No.”

“Really, what’s more likely: That Arthur secretly had a reusable nuke in lance form that he, for some reason, never used, or that Morgan used her magecraft to create something that would give her an edge? Because I get the feeling that the ability to turn any town you don’t like into a smoking crater might’ve come in handy during your war against the Saxons.” I only have circumstantial evidence, of course. But Gawain wants to believe me. He wants to believe that the monster he feels like he’s been trapped into following isn’t the king he so deeply admired. I did too. It’s why I came up with the theory in the first place.

“I… I was wrong.” Gawain says it like it’s the most beautiful sentence he’s ever heard. He’s crying now, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I was wrong. I failed my king. Oh, thank God! I can atone! I can atone!”

I walk up to him and offer my hand. “Will you join us?”

“Yes!” He takes my hand and I help pull him to his feet. “Stand back! I’ll make an opening for you!”

Galahad and I both make a strategic withdrawal while Gawain fires up Excalibur Galatine.

“Do you really believe it?” Galahad asks once we’re out of Gawain’s earshot. “What you told him?”

“I want to. So did he. Sometimes, that’s more important than if something’s true.”

He gives me a look. “I don’t think I’ll ever really understand you, Flynn.” He turns to where the fires of the Sun burn away the walls of the Holy City. “But thank you.”

“What’s that for?”

“For helping him. Even if it was for your own benefit.”

“No problem.” And with that said, I give our army the signal, and the invasion begins.