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!
In the days of old, Cleopatra would arrive bearing gifts of gold and jewels, but these days, she only brought food. There was little point to gold and jewels to Servants anyway. They would most likely die very soon, and instead of needing to bring their treasures to the underworld, they'd only fade into nonexistence, their core still existing on another plane.
But everyone liked food, right? Even if you were doomed, it was better to be doomed on a full stomach than an empty one.
She brought bread; the bread was edible. Her first attempt had resulted in hardtack, with the nagging concern that no one actually intentionally makes hardtack. Her second attempt had set the stove on fire. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd set the stovetop on fire when she baked bread in the oven, but Ruler had long since learned to stop asking questions about the modern world.
Ruler snuck into the Yggdmillenia base with only a moderate amount of trouble. She was aware that she tripped a boundary field or two on her way in, but she didn't disguise her identity as Ruler, the neutral party.
She found Berserker of Black easily enough. "Good day!" she called out from a fair distance away, trying to make her approach obvious. She wouldn't want to startle a Berserker--that could end badly. "I am Ruler, and I've been looking forward to meeting you. It's so good to see you in person!"
Her words seemed to soar, her diction pleasant and cloying like spring honey, but she knew her Mystic Voice wasn't likely to have any effect on anyone affected by Mad Enhancement. Genuinely concerned, she asked, "I hope I find you well. Has your team been treating you fairly?"
After returning from the lakeside, Yehoshu'a had been in a pleasant mood. He'd been able to put the bloody business of the previous day to rest in his mind, and look forward at least to the honorable battles in the name of his Lord to come. He'd even welcomed the presence of the approaching Servant; no enemies had yet arrived to his knowledge, so it was likely a fellow soldier of Black, someone he could spend more pleasant time with.
And then he saw her.
Egyptian.
He did not recognize her personally, but the Berserker of Black knew the features of his former slave drivers well enough. No matter how pleasant her voice, nothing could have made her words sound right to his ears. Ruler, she'd called herself. He growled under his breath, something he would have done even if he'd had full control of his voice.
"The Serpent shall be crushed in the dust before the heel of the Lord..."
Well, perhaps he wouldn't have said that exactly, but the point still stood. He was not about to simply accept an Egyptian as Ruler. Not again.
That was not a hello. She hadn't expected a hello from Berserker, nor had she expected meaningful conversation, but she also hadn't expected, well, that. Perhaps she should've. Ruler knew he who was, that was her privilege, and she knew of the history between her people and his, that was her responsibility.
She smiled--it was beautiful, not only as a woman, but in the way that heroes of old can be--yet Ruler knew it'd be of little use diffusing this situation. No one ever spoke of beauty stopping wars. It only caused them.
Her faith allowed for other faiths to exist. Ruler was aware that Yehoshu'a's did not.
"All in due time," she replied airily--just short of dismissively, as if the matter of being crushed underfoot could be put off like dinner. "I am not here to speak of either your God or my gods, rather allow me to extend a warm welcome to the Holy Grail War."
For a second, she presented Yehoshu'a the loaf of bread, contained in tupperware box. It second didn't last long enough to become awkward, and she would move to place the box beside him if it weren't taken.
"The war belongs to its participants, of course," she continued without skipping a beat, "yet I can't help but feel that I should provide all of you what hospitality I can."
She was the height of sinful pride, this one. When his Lord saw fit to bring it to him in the fullness of time, he would relish the chance to follow through on his words, to show this "Ruler" how powerless she was before the righteousness of God.
But now was not that time. While undoubtedly insane, this Berserker was lucid enough to understand that whether he liked it or not, the woman before him would play an important role in the battles to come. As she had yet to make herself an obstacle in his path, he would allow her to go about unscathed. As a military man, he well understood the need to avoid certain battles for the sake of the greater conflict.
This did not mean he had to be polite.
Berserker eyed the offering she presented, wary of a trap. While as a Servant most normal poisons would have been totally ineffective, he did not know this Egyptian's tale. Perhaps she was a renowned poisoner; fitting for a snake, sure enough. His deliberations didn't last long, he quickly reached out and snatched the container from her hands. Partially out of contempt, but mostly out of the lack of fine motor skills that were a result of his madness acting up, Berserker did not bother with properly opening the container. He simply tore it in two and discarded the remains as he repeated the tearing motion with the bread that he found within. He thrust one half towards the woman, wordlessly demanding she take and eat, to prove she had not done something to the food.
She was, in fact, a renowned poisoner, but she was only known for poisoning herself. She was, as it happened, moderately offended at the notion that she'd attempt to poison a guest. They would all die on their own. No rush.
Cleopatra smiled again, courteous and accommodating--a diplomat's smile that was too gracious to be entirely genuine. She took half the loaf and delicately broke off a corner, neat and tidy with the crumbs. She would hate to make a mess at the Yggdmillenia's home. Not hesitating in the slightest, she popped it into her mouth and chewed.
It was dry in the sense that it was slightly overcooked and certainly over-flour'd. It was salty in the sense that she had not paid much attention to the various metric measurements. Perhaps it would taste good if dipped into a soup and served with roasted meat. As it stood, it was worth eating if you were hungry.
"I am uncertain about the flavor," she said, after she swallowed. After thoughtful consideration and a what felt like an black hole going her down her throat, Ruler added, "Perhaps I should've bought something instead. Yet I feel such an easily acquired gift would lack sincerity."
She tilted her head. "You need not be so wary of me, Berserker of Black. Your erstwhile enemies were not related to me save by a common land. We are separated by a thousand years and by blood too. I bear you no ill will," Ruler tried to reason, though she would not go so far as to claim a Hellenic heritage outright. Her words glided, as if the softness of silk could be a sound, but despite their truth, they lacked heart. She alone among the Ptolemies had embraced an Egyptian identity rather than a Greek one. That wouldn't change for the convenience of associating with a madman.
Berserker eyed the Egyptian as she took her fist bite. Not completely satisfied until he saw her swallow, he then turned his attention at his own half. If he was at all offended by the taste, he didn't show any sign of it; rather, he devoured the morsel as though he was a starving man having been given something to eat for the first time in days.
As he finished he found himself wishing that his madness would make her words as nonsensical to him as his were to her. "The serpent sheds its skin, yet the Lord decrees a serpent it remains" he muttered. If she could think that any sweet word she could utter would cause him to consider her as anything less than an enemy, she was even madder than he was.
On second thought, Ruler was no longer certain that Berserker's allies were actually feeding him.
"Please," she said, her expression unchanged but her tone less airy and less patient. "I was a pharaoh, and I remain a pharaoh. I simply don't have to be your enemy. That lies in your hands--or in your Master's, such as it may be."
Ruler sighed. She suspected this was a waste of time. Then again, she knew from the start that conversing with any Berserker was not likely to bear fruit. This was starting to become trying on her dignity though--better that they put an end to this farce, it benefited neither of them. "I should take my leave then. Know that I have only your best interests at heart, that you may enjoy your time in this war, however long it may last for you."
She did not bow before she turned to leave, but she nodded, and if there was an incline, it was only slight.
As a final thought, Ruler added, "May your God watch over you. You should be pleased to see that He is powerful now." A pause; it was followed by a faint smile, only a curl at the very edge of her lips. Her voice was sweet like honey. "Although your people seem to have dwindled. Alas."
At last, the blot on creation that was the Egyptian seemed to be taking her leave. She claimed that she was only concerned with him, but Berserker knew better than to trust those words. Certainly she didn't seem the cruel taskmistress type, though he still had not discarded the notion that she simply hid it well, but she didn't need to be. He'd known in his boyhood many Egyptians who had never seemed overtly cruel, and yet never in his time was there one who ever stopped to consider the lot of the slaves underneath them for more than a moment. She was of this people, this people who so casually trampled his underfoot, and for that reason she would never be trusted.
But at least something she said spoke true. His God was indeed the strong force in this world, while the Gods of the Egyptians were little more than relics, something studied for intellectual interest and no longer objects of worship. It was a good omen, a promise from heaven itself: Egypt, her gods and her people, all fell. This woman would be no different.
Berserker's lip curled at her last comment towards his people, and he advanced with a menacing look towards her. She would flee, of course, but the act stood to make a point: he would tolerate her existence for a time, but such provocation against his people would shorten it immensely.
