vocab_drabbles | [Challenge #84: Evanescent.] Fate Stay Night. "Broken Throne, Cut Hair."

Title: Broken Throne, Cut Hair
Fandom: Fate Stay Night (Fate/Zero)
Author:

luminious
Rating: T
Word Count: 964
Characters/Pairings: Lancer (Diarmuid Ua Duibhne), Grainne, Fionn Mac Cumhaill, Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, Sola-Ui Nuade-Re Sophia-Ri, Saber (Artoria Pendragon).
Warnings: Deals with cuckoldry, infidelity, and murder, for anyone not comfortable with that.
Summary:

In his last moments alive, Diarmuid hazily witnessed Fionn once again drop the water that could've saved him.

("Take me with you," Grainne once asked of Diarmuid with tears in her eyes, "I beg of you, my true love!".)

He should've known it was good to be true.

(Or, a short character study on Fate/Zero's take on Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, both regarding his past in Irish folklore and as a Servant in the Fourth Holy Grail War. Very Angsty with a sad ending.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Fate Stay Night, nor am I or will I ever profit from this work.

THE BEAUTY MARK UNDER DIARMUND’S right eye was the bane of his existence from the moment he had been cursed with it by a young woman of magic; he knew not why his allies and foes alike envied him so.

Increasing the time he devoted to the army of Fianna did nothing to lower the female yearning for his touch and, eventually, Bol Sherca brought chaos to him in the form of long brown locks and a white, untarnished gown.

“Take me with you!” Gráinne begged the knight who tanned like andalusite, her dark doe orbs glimmering with barely-veiled lust and highly evident need, so devoted to his every minute focused on her as if she had not said her vows to a man with fairer skin and higher rank hours prior.

“Your heart is not mine to possess,” Diarmuid told the woman simply, loyal to his leader.

The princess grimaced.

“Take me with you,” she repeated as she waved her hand in front of his eyes, “I beg of you, Diarmuid!”

This time, Diarmuid thought yet did not omit another rejection and instead wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly despite his shock but denying himself access to her chasteness when she lifted the sides of her silk dress and exposed virginal, unblemished hips and thighs despite his sudden desire, the better half of his mind turning him away from committing such cuckoldry.

Gráinne is tempting, but her virtue is to the right of his commander—his superior, his friend—and deflower her he shall not.

“Then come shall you,” he whispered in her ear after pulling her culaithe back down, beginning to prepare in his mind the many ways he’d find for them a new path to live, the two lovers having no idea—much like Guinevere and Lancelot wouldn’t at a later time—their future would only end in tragedy.

II.

“As my Servant, you are to fulfill my every request”—Lancer winces as his Master strikes his face—“so start doing what you are told at once, you utter fool!”

Letting out a loud scowl, the blond Magi sits back down in his chair, taking the wine his redhead spouse holds out for him, the same spouse who then makes an apologetic gesture to the tanned warrior.

Bowing his head, Lancer places his hand over his chest. “My apologies, Master Archibald.”

Expectantly, Archibald just rolls his eyes and tells Diarmuid to get out of the suite, which he does as well as tries to ignore the way Sophia-Ri stares at his biceps as he walks by her.

Master Kayneth is erudite but arrogant, as Mistress Sola-Ui is sly with a faulty restlessness.

From the start, no matter how obedient and submissive Lancer is his relationship with his Master is strained and demeaning, the man chastising him for each time he fails to eliminate the other Servants and then berating him for each second he believes Lancer wishes to covet thy neighbor’s wife.

“I wish Master would just listen to me for once,” the Servant mutters to himself as he teleports to the rooftop of their temporary hideout, “but it seems that all the following nights in this hotel will just end in the same violence.”

Looking up to the night sky, there are a few constellations that if he were to stare at them for a little longer they’d almost be akin to the emerald eyes of Saber—

The only woman who did not look upon his mole with zeal, and the only Servant to which he’d trade blows fair and square.

(If only the Gods did not cruelly make them meet at a battle to the death.)

III.

Diarmuid couldn’t believe it when his and Gráinne’s marriage was recognized by Fionn.

Fionn had sent many hunters and hexes towards Diarmuid and Gráinne in the several months they spent hidden in the lands beyond their kingdom, but when he found out that Diarmuid had overcome each attempt on their life, rather than increase the bounties and assassins he instead granted Diarmuid a new title, new ownership of land, and a new ring to give to the High King’s daughter.

Gráinne couldn’t believe it either, her eyes so widened with tears of joy falling when he told her the news.

Eventually, Diarmuid resumed his position as the right-hand man of Fionn in battles, and soon their relationship was back to normal as if the former blond had never been betrayed.

(Diarmuid should’ve known at that point that it was too good to be true.)

IV.

“I’m finally your Master, just as it should’ve been from the start”—Sophia-Ri roughly unclasps the last hook of her brassiere—“now we can finally be together, my love, my true love!”

Diarmuid is silent, fists clenched and eyebrows furrowed, looking away from his Mistress when she places one of his hands between her warm breasts.

“Why do you look away, Diarmuid? My Servant? My love? You are touching what is yours—will always be yours,” Sola-Ui tells him before traveling his hand to her bare stomach and near the waistband of her undergarments.

Diarmuid pushes the redhead off him.

(For a second when he glanced at Sola-Ui, her eyes curved and shined like those that belonged to a pleading Gráinne.)

“I am loyal to Master Archibald, and to take one’s lover I shall not repeat twice—especially when my Master is in poor health. Please clothe yourself and return to the objective, Mistress.”

Not wanting to hear another word from the bewitched woman Diarmuid vanishes like a mist in the night, leaving the British Magi to the same sorrows many women who glance at his love spot face.

In his last moments alive, Diarmuid hazily witnessed Fionn once again drop the water that could’ve saved him.

He should’ve known it was too good to be true.

[FIN.]
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