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If there is one thing all those who have crossed countless battlefields know, it is this: death can strike a man down in an instant. All veterans know this; only fools deny it. More often then not a battle is over before you know it. The instant one combatant makes the first strike in an exchange of blows, time snaps forward, and only after someone backs off or is in ground is there a moment long enough to realize what just transpired. Everything on the battlefield happens swiftly, faster than you can think. Thought is too slow... so if you accept the adage, 'I think, therefore I am,' then between each exchange of blows we cease to be. What exists in those brief instants are warriors who act not on thought, but instinct. Be it wild or honed, only instinct is fast enough to act in those life or death split seconds. That is the cruel, unforgiving truth of the battlefield.
It all happened so fast. It always does.
"My dream is not wrong! It's not wrong!"
When Shirou charged Archer, the Servant raised his arm up to strike him down. The action was so well practiced it was automatic, instinctual. Of course it was... he had crossed countless battlefields. This was Archer's moment of victory. Faster than Shirou could run him through Archer would bring down his blade and end this and slay his former self... But he hesitated, losing a moment to a thought: 'How cruel. It's like looking into an old mirror. There really was such a man once, wasn't there?' That lost moment, the breadth of one thought, was all it took for Shirou to thrust his sword into Archer's gut.
The stabbing pain paradoxically cleared Archer's mind. Victory was in his grasp, and yet, he had hesitated. On the battlefield, hesitation lead to death, to defeat... but even then, with Shirou's sword in his gut, Archer could have finished off Shirou. He was a heroic spirit after all, this wasn't enough to finish him, even without a master... but Archer's hesitation forced upon him a realization: he didn't have the conviction to kill his former self after all. In a one on one fight to the death Archer could kill Shirou every time, but in a battle of will and ideology it was Archer who was the lesser man.
What followed happened so fast too. Of course it did. Archer never saw Gilgamesh's attack coming. All he knew in the aftermath was that he didn't have the strength to defeat the King of Heroes. When the next volley of swords came flying toward Archer and Shirou, Archer didn't think about saving Shirou, he just did it, instinctively. Saving others was what he'd honed his instinct to do. Stuck down, he faded away--well, that's how it looked at the time, but he didn't fade away, he disappeared. He discorporated. Having survived barely, he faked his death...
... and that was why he was, in spirit but not physical form, on a hill, reflecting on his battle with his former self. He needed to think, to process everything that had happened. After all, it happened so fast. It was still sinking in, the earnest convictions of his former self. He still spited the foolishness of such ideals, and yet, now that he had seen it again with his own eyes he remembered how he used to feel. Trying to save everyone was futile, he knew that... but was it truly meaningless? Over and over, floating over that hill, Archer ran through it again and again, going in circles of logic, until he forced himself to stop, thinking wryly, 'Independent Action sure is a convenient skill.' After all, he was all too well aware that without it he'd be gone now. No master, mortally wounded... Archer knew he was on borrowed time.
So the question became what to do with it? He didn't have any responsibilities any more. Sure, a part of him felt compelled to do what he could about the Grail War, but, 'what he could do' didn't amount to much any more. Well, here he was, a dead man walking in his past, in his home town... there were many people who would envy his having this opportunity. As someone who'd taken so many lives (albeit to save more) he knew too well that this time was precious, not to be squandered. Each moment, he felt more tired and empty, like a cracked glass losing liquid.
'Hmph... What do people do when they know they're dying? ... They make peace with themselves and their loved ones, don't they.' But Archer didn't have that opportunity. It wasn't that he didn't have loved ones here. Fujimura Taiga was family to him, Matou Sakura was once dear to him as well, all those years ago before he left on his fool's errand to save the world... but he couldn't see them now. They wouldn't recognize him, Sakura could be endangered by his presence, and to try to get near Fujimura, who was around Shirou so often, could reveal that he was still alive. Archer just did not trust Taiga or Shirou to be able to keep a secret, and people thinking Archer was gone for good was one of the few things that enabled him to be useful in his wounded state. Anyone can be surprised, especially by a sniper Archer wasn't going to give up that play, not when it was probably the only card he had left.
But there was someone he could see, that he knew he ought to... the man who set him down this path, his father, Emiya Kiritsugu. But he wouldn't just visit the grave, no, Archer would do something more...
***
Built beside the water, Fuyuki in the dead of night was a wet, clammy place. The moist air drew out of the body all your warmth and out of the graveyard the smell of dirt and moss. Archer didn't bring flowers, but when he saw a bouquet at the foot of Kiritsugu's gave, it reminded him of just how often Taiga came here. He stood there, not as a spirit, but in body, breathing the cold into the depths of his lungs. The chill grounded him, made him that much more one with the world. He was about to something the mage association would Sealing Designate a magus for: he was going to wake the dead.
Well, that was a little over dramatic and inaccurate. The dead were gone. Archer couldn't bring them back. Even the Grail didn't truly revive the heroic spirits, but it proved that it was possible to produce a recreation. Projecting the spirits of the dead was complicated and required great expertise. Archer's carrot topped younger self wouldn't know where to begin, but it was possible for the heroic spirit. To project a facsimile of a spirit there were strict requirements. You needed both a person close to the deceased, ideally this would be the thaumaturgist, and an item with a strong connection to the deceased, such as an heirloom, a gravestone, or a part of their body. Only then, through ritual, could a magus project a spirit faithful to the original's heart and mind.
As he worked his magic the air felt denser, the wind died, but the cold bit deeper until a faint and faded specter flickered on the grave stone. His skin was pale, but his hair was jet black. His transparent, ephemeral form was covered in a coat of whispy shadow.
For Kiritsugu it was as if waking up abruptly from a long sleep. He quelled the trembling confusion inside him as he looked upon the stranger in red. As a man who made many enemies, Kiritsugu's first thought was that he was at a disadvantage, though danger didn't seem imminent. He wanted answers. "Who are you? Where is this?"
Archer smiled wryly. Kiritsugu's reaction didn't surprise him exactly. Kiritsugu was a kinder man to young Shirou, but he was a magus, and a master in a Grail War. Archer realized he should have known Kiritsugu would greet him this way. Holding up his hands, showing they were empty, he answered, "Don't worry, I'm not your enemy. And, as for where we are, well..." Archer dropped a hand down toward the gravestone beneath specter's form. The projected ghost looked down, his brows furrowing as he read his own gravestone. The sound of a slow breath slipped out as he considered this silently for a few moments.
"So I'm dead." He accepted it rather easily. It made perfect sense to him. Toward the end, the curses he suffered made his body feeble, his vision poor ... he knew he was dying. Like a wind blowing away a thick fog, his wits sharpened a little bit with each passing moment, and Kiritsugu considered himself fortunate to be in somewhat better shape than what he remembered of his last days. He could see the tan man in front of him, and though Kiritsugu felt faint, it wasn't painful just to exist. "Alright then. Who are you, what do you want with me, and how long am I going to... exist?" No one would do this without a reason, after all.
Archer glanced aside for a moment. Divulging anything made him nervous... that was the kind of man he was now, someone who kept his cards close, but he looked back at Kiritsugu and answered quietly, "Dad, it's me. Shirou. You won't be here long," neither of them would. The next word caught in Archer's throat before he could get it out. "Ahem... Sorry. I just, wanted to talk."
Kiritsugu cocked an eyebrow. He had trouble believing this man was his son. After all, he didn't look like his son. It didn't seem possible. The father stared with intense gaze, studying Archer. He was tan, his hair was white, and yet... he could see, just barely, the features of his son's face... but he didn't believe it. He was more cautious than that. "Prove it."
"What do you want me to tell you? When I was young, you saved me from that fire. You never wanted to teach me magic at first. You gave me medicine when my nightmares kept me up..."
"Alright. I believe you." Kiritsugu closed his eyes and nodded. Archer's answers put some of his worries to rest. If this man wasn't his son, he certainly was well informed... He looked him up and down again. "You've changed."
"I spent a lot of time in the desert." Archer ran a hand over his platinum white hair. "A lot of stressful time..."
"You've grown tall."
"Heh, yeah, I have."
"So... what's on your mind?"
"Straight to the point, aren't we? No small talk, dad?"
"I just thought that if you're doing this, there's something you want to talk about, but OK. What have you been up to all these years?"
Archer rubbed one of his temples. He didn't mind the questions, but it was... awkward. He didn't talk about himself a lot... "You know, I'm a little surprised with myself."
"Oh?"
Archer's breath hissed out for a moment, like a steam vent releasing pressure. "No offense, but sometimes I wish you brought me up differently. Thinking about it, I'm a little surprised I'm not mad at you." Archer knew, after all, that he was so angry with that ideal not so long ago. He still was, and yet... "I suppose I just know I'm responsible for my own mistakes."
So his had regrets. For Kiritsugu, it stung to know that. He sympathized, but if his son was going to bring it up, this must have been what he wanted to talk about. "Go on."
"You were right. In this world, you can't be a hero."
Kiritsugu was actually taken aback, if faintly. "You actually tried?"
"What do you mean?"
"... when you told me you'd be a hero in my stead, I didn't think you'd actually do it."
With tension in Archer's chest, the servant found himself, of all things... chuckling. It was funny to hear that from his father. "Yeah, that makes sense. It's pretty stupid, unthinkable. Hard."
The older man's face wrinkled as his own chest squeezed tighter, trying to imagine what his son meant, remembering all the difficult things his own ideals put him through. All the lives he'd taken to save people, all the pain he'd seen, and dealt, and suffered. Those thoughts building in his head, he bowed stiffly to his son, trembling, as if pulled down by weights. "I think I can imagine what you've been through."
Kiritsugu never told his son all that he'd been through. In fact, he told next to nothing of it. Without a doubt, a part of Archer seethed at this, burning with a wish that Kiritsugu had said more, had warned him better. "Me too... it was hell."
"It, it was hell..." Kiritsugu stammered out. He breathed slowly, but stiffly. It was all he could do to keep his composure in front of his boy.
"I killed so many, to save so many more..."
"Like... like father, like son..."
Archer looked down at his father, still bowed before him. "I often imagined it was the same for you too... Why didn't you warn me?"
"... I told you, I didn't think you'd really try, and, I just wanted to believe. When you told me you'd do it for me, you had such innocence. I wanted to dream. I wanted to hope I was wrong, even though I knew I was right."
Archer's gaze was fixated on his father, staring at him in such a pitiable state. This wasn't what he wanted. Despite everything, he couldn't hate the man. He had some reasons to resent him, but it was beyond reason. It was a matter of the heart. He couldn't hate him. He said the first thing that came to mind, something that had been on his mind... " 'Your dream wasn't wrong.' "
Kiritsugu didn't stand upright, but he turned his head up to look up at his son. "What?"
Perhaps it was through seeing his father, perhaps it was just the passage of time, but Archer found himself understanding more and more with each word he spoke why he hesitated, why he let his former self win. "Maybe you saved me and I gave my life away... maybe even though you saved me I died in that fire after all. It wasn't much of a life--no, it was an awful life. I killed so many, to save so many more... that's how I spent my life. I could never save as many as I wanted. You were right, I couldn't become a hero ... but... there's more to it than being right or wrong. Trying to save everyone... it was futile, misguided, stupid... I suffered over it... but," today I realized--no, remembered, "I didn't suffer in vain. It mattered for something. Even if you didn't really save me, you saved others through me." Archer wasn't certain he believed all of this. It was hard for him to accept. He was cynical now, and a part of him thought perhaps he was just saying this for Kiritsugu's sake, but ... it made sense. It felt true. He ... wanted to believe it.
Even though Archer struggled with whether his words were true or not, Kiritsugu could feel the honesty. It was resigned, but sincere, and eased his aching heart, if only a little. "Son... I'm sorry."
"... I accept your apology."