12:35am, The Acropolis
Where Aaron once sat, Rider was now perched in a posture unfit for his magnanimous appearance. Hunched over, kneading his hands, he could almost be mistaken for human, as the emotions that filled his glowing mind most certainly were.
As he'd expected, Lancer's rake appeared off the edge of the plateau, coming taught to pull the small form up to the mountain's peak with enough force to land on his feet. It could be immediately determined from the misery that wafted off his body that the search for his Master had been a complete and uncontestable failure.
"Ah, friend Lancer. Wast there any sign of thine Master?"
He shook his head, "Nah. None," He pleaded with his eyes, "What do we do now?"
Rider heaved a deep sigh, filled with regret, "Aye. I do fear that, for the time being, there should be a lack for any 'we', my friend. Not by mine own volition, mind, but mine choices are both few and difficult."
Lancer paused here, the torrent of emotions clashing against each other to create a complete mental and physical stand-still,
"...So... Your Master didn't come around, did he?"
"I fear so, aye. Although, I yet hath faith that he may see the light, but that should not occur before the dawn, not in the least because of the dreams that have taken him tonight. A thousand apologies, friend. I plead to thee, do not come to hate us, for I myself mean well, and mine Master, he..."
His voice trailed off, without any clear indication of where the thought had intended to end.
Pigsy grimaced, "...Whatever. I don't hold it against you..."
"All my thanks to thee, Lancer, but please, do not lose hope in thine allies now. As said, I do believe mine Master will come to see these events... in another, more generous perspective."
He eyed the glowing Rider with suspicion, "And why's that?"
"Mine Master hath a great pride in him: a pride which prevents him from admitting when he is in the wrong. But pride is a most fickle mistress, and I hath faith that she would keep him from becoming a spectator in his own life, and from forsaking the chance to make the change he wishes to see in the world around him."
Rider glanced at his hand and looked away, continuing, "However, even if that should not come to pass, we shall certainly negotiate on thine behalf come the war council tomorrow. I doth see no sensible reason why we should not be able to earn thine Master's safe return given the war as it is." He returned to Pigsy, his voice raising with a note of genuine hope, "Nevertheless, that is only the worst scenario, and I doth not think that should be what comes to pass. Prithee, Lancer, there is no reason to despair, not so long as thine Master still draws breath."
Pigsy's face fell, "I see. You say there's nothing to be done tonight, then?"
"Aye, though I doth realize that such an idea does not being thee any satisfaction."
He shook his head, "No, no. It's fine. This is war after all; it isn't right to go to your enemies and expect unconditional support..." He took a large sniff, and it became clear that he was holding back tears, "Hey, Rider, before I go, could I ask you something?"
Rider leaned forward, his attention brought fully to the pig, "Of course, cousin, ask without remorse."
Mucus began to drip from his large nose, "You've got a good head on your shoulders, so I want to know what you think.. what you think about... everything. Why is it that everything good always ends so horribly? Why can't it just last forever?"
Rider leaned back, his face turning to the rain falling from above, "Ah, tis a question most fair, cousin, except for one confusion: doth we speak of suffering, or of tragedy?"
Lancer continued to win his battles against the tears behind his eyes, "Huh? What do you mean?"
"I say, cousin, that suffering is to climb a mountain through sleet and hail for the sake of reaching the peak, but tragedy is losing thine legs such that thee can climbeth no longer. Suffering brings pain, true, but it should also bring with it learning, wisdom, and purpose. Tragedy, alternatively, brings only pain, and no wisdom or learning except that such purposeless pains exist, and lie always at the borders of tomorrow. Suffering, proper Suffering, requires no explanation, for suffering is itself the process of having truths explained. Tragedy, meanwhile, requires explanation but has none, for just as the sun always rises in the East and sets in the West, some things merely are and will be.
"I understand, friend, that such things are not pleasing to the heart, but the existence of Tragedy is not the absence of goodness. While Tragedy is pain without purpose, true, the suffering that Tragedy creates is not of any different quality than Suffering brought about by anything else. Tragedy does not create purpose as Suffering does, but one with wisdom and hope in his heart can make Tragedy into Suffering, while those who writhe in ignorance and despair may find a way to make Suffering into Tragedy. Of course, a certain objective quality cannot be denied..."
He trailed off, before suddenly jolting, as if waking from a nightmare, and hurried to correct, "Ah- forgive me, cousin, for I well know that I ramble, but, perhaps, thee may yet find a proper answer within my musings?"
Lancer stood with stoic grace, having finally vanquished the tears, and responded evenly, "Yeah- yeah I think you answered my question, though I don't think I like it."
"Aye. Unfortunately, the creators did not ask for our opinion in these matters."
"-Still... thanks. I wish I could be as hopeful as you."
Lugh chuckled, "Ah, if thou art so jealous of mine hope," he reached out a hand, "Then take it freely, and leave me with a smile."
Despite himself, Pigsy could only meet Rider's request when presented with such undeniable goodwill, and shook the hand he was offered, "Right-O, buddy. I'm glad I met you on this battlefield of ours."
"As am I. And yet-" He leaned in close with a harsh whisper, "If thou should uncover any news of thine Master, do not hesitate to ask for mine aid once more. Without a clear objective, 'tis difficult to make any promises, but, with a firm goal in mind, circumstances may change."
He nodded, "Got it. I'll see ya when I see ya."
Rider nodded in return, and, with that, Pigsy removed himself from the rain-slicked plateau, disappearing into the foggy night with a destination that not even he was aware of.
...
1:15am
In a room empty of light except that of the television screen, Monica and Saber were closing their day off as boys and girls across the world often do: with a movie. The popcorn was long-gone, even as Chrysaor took hardly a bite, and the movie- Monica's favorite- came to its conclusion. With the demon vanquished, the once-possessed girl gave a kiss on the cheek to her priestly savior, and a medal for his victory, and the credits started to roll.
Although it was her favorite, the night wasn't as enjoyable as she'd hoped. Chrysaor appeared so innocent most of the time, and yet, at all the points where he was supposed to scream, squirm, or jump, he sat still and stoic, with never more than a grimace or a slight cringe.
Still, she turned to him with what remained of her anticipation, "So, what'd you think?"
He appeared to think for a moment, but shrugged, "It was good... I think I just wasn't prepared for the new sort of storytelling. It's a big adjustment from what I'm used to."
She grinned, her more sadistic side anxious to be fed, seeing as this could be her one chance to proclaim herself more masculine than he, "Oh? You mean the horror? Pretty chilling, right?"
"Huh? Oh, no, not that. It's not too shocking when you've seen it yourself. I meant more the 'play-acting'. Our stories were a lot simpler, and less gruesome, at least in terms of their appearance. I do appreciate it, this was fun, but it might take some getting used to."
"Wait- what do you mean you've seen it before?"
He shrugged, once again innocent to the strangeness that he carried with him, "...Demon possession wasn't so unheard of, and, since Perseus was a famous hero, people would often ask him for help in dealing with it. Of course, all he could do was kill the victim, not actually heal them, but, other than that, I'd say the movie was pretty accurate."
She slapped her palms on the sofa, "Kill them!? That's horrible!"
He ran a hand through his hair, his expression clouded by the darkness, "I won't defend him, but there was nothing else he could do. Maybe if we'd had some of those men from the movie we could've helped, but I'm not sure there was anyone else at that place and time with a better alternative."
She pouted, the unfairness of the world aching at her heart, before another thought made it throb, something he'd said that had slipped by in the strangeness,
"Well, still, you had fun tonight, right?"
She gave her his signature melancholic smile, "Of course I did. Although, maybe we could watch a comedy next time? Tragedies have their place, but I prefer happier endings."
Her heart throbbed again, "Next time?"
He turned his head, "Yeah- Why-"
-There was a rapping at the balcony door.
Monica, on high alert from the movie and its following surprises, squealed and flung herself to the other side of the couch, away from the door- and into Chrysaor's lap. Her blunder made her blush, but she didn't have time to be embarrassed. As soon as she jolted up, Saber stood with all the seriousness he had, marched over to the blinds, peeked through, and tore open the door to reveal a foggy rain, and a strange, pig-like creature sitting on the railing.
The creature gave a mock salute with a stubby hand, "Yo."
....