"Sir…Sir Edward? What…what did you…"
She blinks and reaches up to rub her eye—then freezes. The look in her eyes goes from uncertain to hateful, and you only barely manage to block the titanic slap she aims towards your face, the impact still leaving you shaken after your battle with Caravaggio. She wrenches herself away from you and pushes herself to her feet, unsteady but still standing, and you notice that she bears no wound from the tree that erupted from her chest—even her armor is pristine. It's as if the whole thing had simply never happened, nothing more than a bad dream.
"You…you…!" Avenger hisses her words, sparks in her eyes—you'd expected anger, but this was a little more than you'd been prepared for.
"Lionel, I—"
"You were to kill me, Sir Edward! To slit my throat and end my threat and step forward as a knight! That is what you were meant to do, the only thing I am meant to do, and you would deny me that?! Deny my purpose, my reason for being?!" She snarls at you, seeming to gain strength with every word—some small, clinical part of you notes that it's probably her nature as an Avenger. Hating you so much for letting her live is extending what little time she has.
Go figure.
"What possessed you to make such a foolish decision? Are you that enamored with this form of mine, thinking with nothing but your base urges? Or are you simply a weakling, incapable of doing what must be done? Did you think that your pity would be well received? I have never asked for your mercy! I am a rotten tree, an affront to the world—kill me and be done with it!"
"No!"
Avenger falls silent, her eyes widening just a bit at the sudden shout—you don't blame her, honestly. You're a little shocked at how vehement it was yourself—but you continue anyway, scrambling to find the words to keep her from just running out the clock and fading away. After your battle with Caravaggio, and especially after your talk with him, you feel…raw. Unfiltered. Like the distance you'd carefully drawn between yourself and everything around you had been burnt to nothing.
"I'm not Bors. I'm not being guided by God. I'm not—I'm not going to kill you just to prove that I'm a hero or something insane like that. I grew up learning about you. About what happened to you. And I just…I can't. I can't do it to you again." It's the truth, every word, but Lionel's expression twists into a sneer regardless.
"I do not want your pity, Sir Edward. I understand my role, I understand the only part I may ever play—do you wish for me to strike you down? I may be weak, but against someone who refuses to do what must be done, I'm certain I could manage." Her blade appears in her hand, though she doesn't point it at you just yet, still staring at you with a cold, quiet rage. "Did you expect me to thank you? To praise you? To aid you? I am an Avenger. A loathsome existence beset with rot and evil. I have no place but the grave—the only help I can offer is to sharpen your blade for the evil before you."
"So you're just going to run away?" You speak without thinking, your own frustration rising. Lionel sucks in a breath, fury writ on her face, but you speak up again—you're far from finished. "Buné summoned you. He's still there, ready to start his ritual all over again, and if he does and we can't stop him that's it. History is gone. We're gone. You're gone. Bors is gone. And even if that wasn't the case—you're a Knight of the Round Table! Whatever you did, you're still a knight!"
Every word you say makes Lionel tighten her grip on her blade, but she doesn't interrupt. The others will be here soon, and if they see her like this then they won't hesitate—if you're going to convince her, it needs to be now.
"Are you really satisfied leaving it like this? I don't care how rotten you think you are—are you really going to leave Buné and the others without fighting them yourself?" You reach out your hand, palm upwards, a note of desperation entering your voice. "Stay. Fight with us. That'll help more than killing you ever could."
A moment passes in silence, followed by another. On and on the quiet seconds pass, Avenger's face a mask of utter inscrutability—until finally, her blade disappears, and she reaches her hand out slowly, resting it atop yours. Staring right at you, she makes no effort to hide the loathing in her eyes, but she speaks nevertheless.
"Sir Edward Dempsey, vessel of Sir Galahad, Knight of the Shield. I ask of you—are you my Master?"
An electric current passes from her armored fingers to yours, and you feel the Command Spells on your arm burn in anticipation—there's a sound like thunder drawing closer, crystalline hooves beating on the cobblestone roads.
"Yes."
The contract snaps into place like a bolt of lightning, and you stumble forward—the added drain from Lionel would usually be nothing, but with how exhausted you already are you hadn't been able to brace yourself properly. Lionel steps forward to catch you, pushing you up and gripping your shoulder tightly as she glares at you.
"Do not think I did not see your base manipulation for what it was. True as it may have been, you said so only because you wished to keep me from a deserved death. I will fight with Chaldea, I will cooperate in the felling of these demons more craven than even I, but understand this—I am an Avenger. My hatred is all that I have left. It gouges at my heart like thorns, slumber my only respite from it. I will not abide by a hero too weak and naive to do what needs to be done, to abandon what ought to be abandoned. Do not think to avoid a reckoning forever, Sir Edward." She pushes you to your feet, steadying you, and then all of a sudden her demeanor changes completely—her glare fades, her lips curve into a polite smile, and she claps her hands together just in time for Marie's carriage to arrive, Archer and Circe all but throwing themselves out of it towards you, naginata and staff at the ready. You reach out to hold them back, but Avenger's timing couldn't have been more perfect—her final comment spoken just in time for them to hear.
"Please guide me well, Master. I look forward to fighting by your side."
