CATHARSIS is a non-canon OC fate/series site, loosely based off of fate/apocrypha. Knowledge of the fate/series canon is helpful, but knowledge of fate/apocrypha isn't needed!
He followed his father through the scenic route of late July's blossoms, the summer of which its trees fill the patches of green grass underneath with fallen red apples. He could hardly see with a sky occupied by dark, grim clouds and only had the sight of his father's back to guide him through the semi-darkness. Despite this, it crossed Marcos that they were travelling through the same path Doctor Jose Rizal used in his three-hour walk to the university, coming from the house of Pastor Ullmer, his Protestant friend and German teacher, who had invited him to live with his family. What year had it been? He did not bother to recall. The short distraction in thought only made him more anxious.
"Where are we going? Wouldn't one of the churches be an ideal location?"
"A church...may present a problem depending on the results. No, this place is much better. The presence of magic is not as concentrated but it's finer and fresher. Youcan feel mana swirling like a calm, perpetual breeze. The summoning is much simpler than you think. I only need a place to concentrate."
They continued walking in silence for two more minutes when Marcos' father stopped, making Marcos stare up at him without breathing. His father's head was slightly inclined with a palpable pause of deep thought. He turned an angle toward Marcos, but it wasn't until he faced him that Marcos first saw a smile on his father's face since the other day.
"This looks really familiar. Isn't this the same path Doctor Jose Rizal used while he was living in Wilhelmsfeld?"
"With Father Ullmer and his family," Marcos said, smiling. He walked to his father's side where his shoulder was welcomed with a comforting arm.
For a while, Marcos stopped wondering about the stolen Grail hidden in Taixuan, China, and the ninety-nine mages who perished in the attempt to reclaim it. He was able to think of the man with him as his ever-present father, far apart from the image of a soldier, ready to kill and be killed starting the following dawn. The night seemed longer, thicker, and unbreakable. At the time the circle was drawn on a field of flowers Marcos cleared with the sweep of a spell, nostalgia kept his smile afloat.
"It was his stay in Germany where Dr. Jose Rizal felt his deepest longing for his homeland and his family. He never forgot; he constantly held on to the thread connecting him to his home and circled in places and mingled with people with an open mind. In his personal journey to treat his blind mother, he also became a revolutionary, a philosopher, a scholar, a friend. When I was a child, it struck to me how he had, without a second thought, thought of becoming the instrument to help his mother, than going on a desperate search around the world for the miraculous pair of hands that could help her."
Marcos stopped. He didn't know why he didn't finish his thoughts and instead chose to express the rest in his head.
Did Doctor Jose Rizal ever wonder what would happen were he to fail? If he found his goal too difficult? Impossible? Marcos felt the happiness evaporate out of him but he did not despair.
"Father...good luck."
The soft, unearthly blue light poured out of the glowing circle and flooded the perimeter in a bright orb. Marcos watched his father's back where a large shadow stretched behind him. The incantation for the Ritual of Summoning rung across the air with power. After only three lines, with the knees collapsing inward first, his father stiffened into a stone like he'd been turned with the weight of lead, and collapsed. While it looked like he was unable to move except to scream silently with his eyes, he was being violently shaken from the inside. Marcos knelt by his side, his hands wrapped around the popping veins that felt like metal wires unbending to his touch. He had no words to offer. His father failed and his Magic Circuits were destroyed.
He decided to look up. To the light still burning. To his father's labour of torture and suffering. The Servant - Marcos stood and brought his hand out, the rest of the incantation following almost immediately from his tongue. By the time Marcos came to doubt his action and wonder why he was bothering to continue on with the ritual, he was already sinking into a foggy state, lost in the surge of power that coursed through his very being.
The catalyst, a mysterious small twig, sat by a raised rock on the other side. No one knew for certain which apple or fruit this twig belonged to. Was it from the forbidden fruit? The fruit that caused the Trojan War, the apple of discord? From the Tree of Life, picked by Heracles? From Iðunn's garden of the Norse Myth?
He didn't know how long, but he stopped without thinking. The light was gone.
Post by Paris of Troy on Jul 31, 2014 22:55:35 GMT
The first thing Paris noticed was the smell. The thick scent of incense burned the strongest initially, but a clean, fresh breeze cut through it to deliver the scent of a forest. Paris liked forests, he liked being outside. Tending to the land was the only thing he was truly good at, and being in nature again was good for him.
Then he noticed the light, a strange blue, obviously created by magic. He wasn't used to magic as such, though the divine gifts he'd seen and experienced would be somewhat similar...and the Grail had been generous in filling him in.
The return to life was a rather odd moment in the summoning of a Heroic Spirit, it never really affected each individual the same way. The one constant was a feeling of unuse, of being rusty after having their soul sit within the Throne for millenia. The stronger ones were able to shrug it off without a second thought...but some others needed a bit more time.
Cracking his neck and arms to try and loosen up, Paris looks around the room. 'As you've summoned me, I have answered. I ask of you, are you...hey, is he okay?!"
Ditching formality despite the huge importance confirming your Master is, he moves over to the side of the old man. "Hey, can you hear me?" Turning to the younger man, he asks after the old man. "Does he need a healer? He doesn't look right at all. Oh...and yeah, are you my Master?"
Turning back to the old man, he takes one look at the damage, internal bleeding running rampant and other maladies sure to follow. "This doesn't look good, if you're gonna call someone, you'd better make it quick."
Marcos failed. Staring at the thick mist that settled after the magic, he could only wonder why he bothered. The feeling of failure was ugly, but he already accepted it. Right now, he needed to help his father and inform the Mage's Association -
Marcos did not dare believe it but the asking voice was sure not his imagination. At the centre of the spell circle was a man with wavy blond hair. Marcos analyzed the spirit and he instantly picked up its class from the bars and letters of its parameters - Archer.
The summoning worked.
But...how? There had to be some sort of irregularity. Archer might be weaker than a normal class, or maybe he wasn't a real Servant. Marcos was instantly filled with dread. His recklessness might have just cost the Association the war and the Holy Grail.
"He's..." Right. His father. Marcos knew what was happening, but his emotions seemed to have fled from the scene. He went down on his knees and ran his hand from his father's chest toward his forehead as if to x-ray the damage. "He's alive. I'm healing him. He's not going to die."
"But he's in a lot of pain..." Marcos' eyelids drooped halfway as the blue light of magic poured out of his hands. His father continued to spasm from the pain, but there wasn't anything Marco could do but keep on healing the damage from within.
"I'm not your Master...probably. He's supposed to be your Master. There was an accident. It's something he - my father - he's my father - has always prepared me for. It's going to be fine. Already, he's lucky. The worst-case scenario would have been instant death."
Paris, christened Archer for the duration of the Holy Grail War, lets out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good. He seems in rough shape, but I'll believe you. How long do you think it'll take before he gets better? Or is he in for the long haul?"
Leaving the boy with his father, Paris looks around at the forest, smiling. "Well, you did pick a nice place to bring me out here. Probably would've been more convenient if it'd been a place with a bed, but hey, you couldn't have known this would happen."
Paris sighs. "I'm really just bringing things down, aren't I? Sorry about that."
As Marcus denies being his Master, Paris frowns. "Well, does he have the Command Spells on him? It'd be good to make sure everything's fine with the contract and all, but he doesn't seem to be in a talkative mood. So bug him to get better fast for me, will ya? What happened, by the way? Mind filling me in?"
"It's all right." Marcos was too absorbed in the urgency of the situation to find the oddity in a hero from the ancient myths to be making jokes and apologies. He wasn't able to express it now but Marcos greatly appreciated Archer's presence. He helped establish an air of much-needed normalcy (as ironic as it was) to keep Marcos going.
"I don't know when he'll wake up...He could be conscious right now, but too much in pain to speak. The damage in his Magic Circuits is permanent. Father won't be able to use magic anymore. As our family crest involves with the flow of prana within us, we constantly run a risk of exposing ourselves to our very deaths. Father made a mistake. I don't know what or how, but the result is the same." he explained, glancing at Archer at the corner of his eyes.
"Honestly, I'm more worried about you." He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this. Is there something I need to do? My father was granted the Command Seals by the Association but the contract must have been made with me."
"Wow. That's some heavy stuff...but I guess if you're after the Grail, any risk is worth it, right? Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten roped up in something like this." Not being able to use magic ever again sounded huge, when these people called themselves magi. It sounds like being crippled, just as if your back was broken or your eyes were put out. "I'm sorry to hear that though...but that actually makes things easier."
Paris turns to him, rubbing the back of his neck. "If your father was my Master, I wouldn't be getting prana. Fortunately, I'm still getting a supply, which means like it or not, you're my Master. At the very least, you're the one providing the energy, which is the most important part."
When the boy seems worried about him, Paris can't help but laugh. "Don't you concern yourself about me, friend. Aside from your father's state, everything's working out fine for me. Could have been much worse, at least. Besides, it's probably more convenient I got summoned by the younger generation...not to be insulting, but your dad looks like he'd be a bit stuffy if he was well."
At the mention of Command Spells, Paris shrugs. "They're definitely worth keeping, but you can probably wait until your father is well before you take hold. I'm not going to betray you, kiddo."
Paris frowns. "You probably don't like being called kiddo. Mind letting me know your name? I think that'd probably seem a lot less condescending in the long run, sorry about that. Unless you're stuffy too, then you'd probably just prefer it if I called you Master. Which is fine, but that seems like such a drag, doesn't it?"
"Father doesn't want the grail. I don't either." But he didn't tell Archer this.
He didn't tell him that he didn't want to be his Master either. He kept on listening, focusing on the healing spell while Archer's words sank like stones on water.
"Like it or not, you're my Master."
"Huh? Oh." Marcos stumbled about Archer's question, having caught the mention of 'betray.' What did he mean by that? What did that have to do with his father's seals? "I don't mind being called kiddo. I am still a kid after all. But you can call me Marcos."
If they were doing introductions, Marcos should be asking for Archer's name - his real name, but that should be for his Master to know. Marcos wasn't...it wasn't as if it's allowed. He's sixteen. And he knew little spells outside the basics of elemental magic. He could sustain a Servant, but he was not meant for war. The Association would have to replace Marcos. Switch the contract with someone. Give his father's seals to that person...
And then, Marcos supposed he would be staying at home for a while. Or maybe they would continue travelling. It wasn't as if they needed magic for that. Losing his magic circuits was not the end for his father, contrary to what Archer thought. Life was simply going to move on for them. Maybe the Amuro might leave the magical community for good. That seemed likely.
Paris blinks a bit, then shrugs. "Huh, kudos to you. Back when I was younger, I couldn't stand being talked down to. Maybe that meant I deserved it then?"
The Heroic Spirit sits down next to Marcos' ailing father, and he grins. "You're good at this healing stuff Marcos, he looks ten times better already." The bruising was diminished dramatically, and his breathing seemed more smooth and even. "You know, healing's a great power to have as Servant support, helps us preserve prana more than anything else. Is that what you specialize in?"
He was liking this kid, even if he did seem a bit too quiet. All in all, Paris was pretty confident they'd be a good team for the Grail War. "I suppose for now everything's just a matter of time, isn't it?"
Marcos watched his father's complexion return into a shade darker, making his shoulders relax with relief. He wasn't lying when he said his father wasn't going to die. He knew that for certain. Knowledge of the Magic Circuits was the centre foundation for the practice and precaution of the Amuro Crest. But Marcos couldn't shake the feeling that his father was still at death's door, which seemed to continue to loom and wait for an opportunity to finish what it started. Now that he could see the certainty with his own eyes, he was able to truly believe that his father was safe.
"I don't think you deserved it," Marcos said. It depended on what the context was. He could see why it would seem condescending but for sure, it wasn't something Archer deserved, whoever he was.
It was a weak respond, but it was the first and honest thing Marcos came up with.
"It's currently the magic I best know. My father originally intended for the Amuro Crest for self-healing. He's still trying to develop it further." Well...not anymore. Marcos didn't bother correcting himself though the irony of it was pretty disheartening. He only nodded to Archer in agreement afterwards.
"Who...who are you?"
Marcos stopped, his hands flying to clutch his father's shoulders. "Pa! Pa?"
His father's eyes winked open but he didn't seem to see Marcos.
"The Servant..." he whispered weakly, his eyelids fluttering shakily as he struggled to stay conscious. "Marcos...who..."
Grinning at the compliment, Paris nevertheless shakes his head. "You didn't know younger me. I've done some stupid things...not quite the stupid thing everyone remembers about me, but a lot of stupid things. I just know I'd probably hate it, so I thought I'd spare you a bit."
Marcos' explanation about the Amuro family crest was a little bit strange. "So, a crest that can kill the owner easily is designed to heal them? Seems a bit contradictory to me." Laughing, he turns back to the kid's father. "Ah well, what do I know. So you'll be taking it over then?"
As he was talking, Marcos' father began to stir. "Hey there, old-timer. Let's not do anything stupid while you're healing, alright?" When he hears his question, the Servant smiles. "Just get your life threatened and already back to business...there's a few people I could compare you too."
When he doesn't seem to be willing to wait, Paris rolls his eyes. "Alright, alright. Name's Paris, and I'll serve as your son's Servant. Now you really need to relax, you're doing better but, with all due respect, you still look like horse droppings."
When Archer said Paris, Marcos thought of the city.
But he quickly remembered what Servants were. They were spirits of great heroes from myths, legends, and history. Their accomplishments were considered to be so exceptional and their fame well-known that their souls were taken out of the cycle to be put in the Throne of Heroes. Marcos felt it still wasn't quite right.
"...Paris of Troy? From the Judgment of Paris? Hector's brother?" Marcos wasn't as shocked as he was confused. It wasn't outside their expectations that the catalyst would be from the same golden apple that had caused envy between the three Greek goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite; however, as the apple was plucked and thrown by Eris, the goddess of discord, they were expecting a mythological being from it. And Paris...was he someone really 'exceptional'? Archer's earlier statements about his youth did not help.
Was it because Marcos wasn't strong enough? Marcos searched for a reaction on his father's face, but there was not much to see in his exhausted, burned out look. Suddenly, Marcos recalled something. He had better call his mother. He took out his phone and speed dialed for his mother. In a heartbeat, she had answered. Marcos could imagine that she had been waiting by the balcony with her phone in hand, waiting for their return.
"Mama, Circuitos Mágicos del papa fueron destruidos - estabilizado, pero es necesario para llegar aquí." Marcos frantically muttered a healing spell again as he nodded to his mother over the line. "Ah. Si. Si." He paused and looked at Archer slowly. "...No."
"Marcos, tell her..." His father croaked weakly. "Plane...to England..."
Marcos did as he was told.
"Contact him...for the seals...to you..."
Marcos knew who his father was talking about, but he suddenly stopped.
"What?" His heart skipped a beat. "What about the seals?"
His father closed his eyes. Marcos saw his chest rise and fall to the seconds that drawled for what felt like minutes.
"You're Master, Marcos. You."
Paris of Troy (translation: "Mother, Father's Magic Circuits were destroyed - he's stabilized but you need to get here." Not sure if Servants were given knowledge of all languages too.)
Paris winces a bit, but nods. "Yep. That's me." Figures they'd remember Hector more than him. Much as he loved his poor departed brother, getting compared that way to someone isn't exactly the best way to increase self-confidence in the listener.
There was a more pressing problem though, things didn't seem to add up. Paris broaches the question to Marcos now that the situation seemed stable. "Since you didn't know my name already, that must mean you weren't trying to summon me. But you don't really seem like the kind of person to summon me by sympathy, or even to try to summon an unknown Servant. Mind connecting the dots for me?"
Unfortunately, it seems his Master was busy making a phone call. Paris supposes the information that magi shunned technology the Grail told him was exaggerated, and simply listens in. "Expecting family? That'll be good...family's really important when things get bad." He couldn't really relate to Marcos' situation, but darn if he wasn't going to try.
Paris almost jumps in surprise as he hears Marcos' father begin to speak. "Hey, old man, don't push yourself like that, you've gotta rest. You're stable, but you won't stay that way if you push yourself like that." As the conversation continued though, Paris grins wide. "So, looks like things are settled. The contract between us has been made, and the seals will...well, seal the deal. Don't worry about a thing, this war will be a piece of cake."
That sounded weak to him. "I know my track record on wars isn't the greatest, but well, this time I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve."
Marcos didn't know if any other Servant would have been as understanding and easygoing about this complication as Archer - Paris, Prince of Troy - was being. His optimism was admirable but Marcos began to fear that Paris was getting too readily complacent. He wasn't making any sense, and neither was his father...
Paris' war "track record" not being the greatest was an understatement, but at this point, it was not a real concern. He was still a Servant and was summoned in what seemed to be the appropriate class for him, Archer.
Marcos, however, was different. If he could explain things to Paris, perhaps he might see too why.
"Archer, my father had used as catalyst a stem that could be from any apple or fruit from various myths: Biblical, Norse, Greek. Your summoning confirmed that it was from none other than the Apple of Discord but we thought it would bring the likes of Eris or Aphrodite. I was probably not strong enough. I'm not." He wasn't trying to garner pity. It was the truth. Marcos never valued magecraft for combative purposes. He would never want to have the "honour" of joining the Grail War.
Marcos stood up. "I understand that for you to have a chance at the Grail, a more fitting Master would be a concern. There are many skilled and experienced mages from the Mage's Association. They're sure to come up with a solution. I know many would like to jump at the opportunity of becoming a Master to a Servant such as yourself."
As he spoke, Marcos did not look at his father. He did not know what he was thinking. He tried to insist to himself that his father wasn't thinking properly after getting his Magic Circuits destroyed. But as Marcos stood explaining to Archer, he felt as if his father were looking at him with great disappointment.
That couldn't be right. He wouldn't think that way. It did not make sense in ways more than one, than the obvious. His father...his father loves him. What kind of father would send his own young son to war?
The explanation made a sort of sense. "Well, guess that's how it was then. Though, lemme tell you, you weren't going to get Aphrodite. Eris probably either, though I never had the 'honor' of meeting them. Those are both honest to goodness gods, they don't get sent to the Throne of Heroes like mere mortals such as myself."
As Paris listens to his complaints about not being strong enough, something clicks in his head and he gets indignant. "Wait, so you're disappointed with me now, is that it? Well heck, now I've got to win you the Grail, just to prove you wrong, kiddo." He was fairly hurt...though honestly, if they didn't know what they were expecting, he shouldn't have been too surprised. Still, he didn't like being compared negatively to other possibilities.
Paris was still too hung up at what had been implied earlier to let the evasion work on him. "You just don't want to risk the war with a "weakling" like myself. No need to butter me up, Master, I get the way things are going." He was being a bit too overly petulant, but he was being outright insulted as far as he was concerned. "Be straight with me, don't try and lie to make me feel better. If you want to foist me on someone else, that's fine, but at least say so."
The interplay between father and son was lost on him, though he does grow a bit more sympathetic when he thinks things through a little. "Wait a minute...let me take a guess. You're not completely sold on the war thing, are you? Lemme know if I'm right...if that's the case, we might have a little more in common then I thought."
That was normally the logic with Heroic Spirits but...Marcos didn't really care either way. Talking about the fine details and technicalities of spirit summoning was not his current interest. He was more concerned about Paris' reaction.
"That's not what I'm trying to say," he said, lowering the volume of his voice. He was not aiming to make things even more complicated. "And it doesn't matter what I think or feel. I am not an appropriate Master for you or any Servant."
Marcos had his head firmly planted in this belief. It was true - too true. There was something wrong with his father right now and Paris was simply misunderstanding things. Once things have cleared up, then they would finally be on the same page.
And though it seemed assuring that the two might have something in common, it had the opposite effect. Marcos did not want to go to war because he's sixteen. He thought that much had been obvious and that Paris...did not simply care. Until now, Paris had been labelling him as his Master "whether he liked it or not." Now he sounded like it mattered. Did Paris not have any wish he would like to fight for? The more he thought about it, the more it made Marcos wonder. Why would he want to fight in the Grail War then?
