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Test tubes clink as Waver moves them around once more. There’s no reason for him to, aside from the need to feel like he’s doing something; all his tests will take a while to show results. He slides them back into place, vowing to leave them alone. He shouldn’t do anything that might tamper with the results.
“If I’d known the Holy Grail War would involve so much waiting around, I’d have brought a few more books.”
He flops down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling; at the tiny pieces of paint that have begun to fleck off. Probably Rider’s fault.
Waver has never been good at being patient. Always striving, always seeking. He’d used everything he had to gain entrance to the Clock Tower, but quickly found it all meant nothing to a stuffy society still stuck in the ways of the past. So he’d worked harder and harder, only to see his genius dismissed. Not that that matters now. He gained entrance to this war fair and square. The others can’t dismiss him when he wins.
Well… perhaps it wasn’t entirely fair and square, but Kayneth had had it coming!
Waver sighs and turns on his side, flinching as a sharp pain radiates across his ribs. As much as he hates to admit it, a few days off might be what he needs right now. That bumbling oaf of a servant had attempted to train Waver in a few practical fighting techniques but all he’d managed to do was injure him. Well, no. Waver sighs again as he sits up, eyes scrunched up from the pain. As much as he hates to admit it, he’d done this to himself. He’s sure Rider wouldn’t care if he knew the truth of it all, and even if he did, Waver could just order him to be fine with it (a trick he wishes would work on a few other people), but he doesn’t-
He isn’t really sure why he keeps quiet about it. With others, it makes sense to, but with Rider it’s-
He doesn’t want to disappoint him somehow. That’s the truth of it, if he’s honest with himself. Not that he’ll let himself be honest for long; it’s better not to think of the why and how, not when danger lurks around every corner, and their time together is ticking down.
There’s a thunk on the stairs, heavy enough to make the test tubes rattle. Rider must have finally decided he’d had enough of whatever pathetic attempt at revelry had been going on downstairs. Or maybe his ‘grandparents’ had finally turned in for the evening. Unlikely— they’d been thrilled to have someone as boisterous and full of life as Rider around.
The door bursts open before he can think about it further, Rider catching it just in time before it hits the wall.
“Boy! Did you not wish to celebrate with us tonight? Your grandparents, the honourable Martha and Glen, they wished to continue the feast but it did not seem right without you.”
Continue the feast?! Did Rider think of this as a game? Some minor battle hardly worth his attention? They’re in the Holy Grail War for crying out loud! Waver jumps up off the bed, intent on scolding his servant before the stabbing in his side returns with a vengeance.
“Rider, you- argh! ” His vision blurs for a second, the pain overwhelming his senses. He’s only half aware of the muscled arms that catch him, saving him from crumpling to the floor.
“Are you injured, boy?“
“No, I’m-”
“There is no dishonour in being wounded. Why, it’s scarcely possible to live through battle without gaining a wound or two.” Rider continues, either unaware of or simply choosing to ignore Waver’s grumbling protests. “To hide an injury however, one that may hinder your fighting chance and cause trouble for your comrades, is an act devoid of honour.”
Stupid Rider and his stupid speeches. Why can’t he learn to leave things alone? Waver’s servant is larger than life, the true definition of a hero, but Waver wishes that sometimes he’d be content to just move on from something. He mumbles to himself, trying to work out how to possibly explain this. He hasn’t had to in a while, but he isn’t sure anything he’s used before will work particularly well for a hero a couple of millenia out of time.
“It’s your fault,” he huffs, crossing his arms while trying not to look at the man who had just so gently placed him back on the bed. “Your training went too far, so now my ribs are bruised.”
Waver catches a glimpse of his companion’s face for a moment, that bold smile shifting to confusion. If Waver happens to feel his stomach drop, he doesn’t let himself acknowledge it.
“Why didn’t you say so? Foolish boy, keeping it to yourself.”
A flash of rage courses through him. Foolish?! He’s not foolish, he’s-
“Of course I kept it to myself! You can’t keep a secret at all! And anyway, this is just something I have to deal with. I don’t-” Oh no, Rider is looking at him with bemusement, and even worse, concern. How can he explain this? That when Rider first called him ‘boy’ it nearly brought him to tears; to shatter that illusion would leave him with no pride to speak of.
He begins to speak again, quieter this time, his usual confidence absent. “I have-” He gestures towards his chest, unable to articulate the words. How embarrassing, to be bested by such a small thing. “And I don’t have time to waste trying to fix it. So I have to make everything flat.”
Silence. Waver picks at a stray thread in his tie and waits for whatever judgement Rider sees fit to pass. His servant seems fairly open minded, but he is still an ancient King, and Waver isn’t sure they were quite so accepting of such things back then.
Not that mage society is much better.
Rider hums. He’s never quiet, his whisper somewhere around the regular person’s yell, but he seems to be trying to be more reserved. “Hoh… Well boy, why didn’t you say so?! The grail gives me knowledge of such things, though the concept isn’t as modern as you might think. Your modern materials make for safer methods though, why I-”
He stops before he can regale Waver with another tale from times long past and Waver gets the sinking suspicion that his own expression may give away more than he’d like. Rider’s eyes flick over to the bed, to the pile of clothes at the end. A clumsily rolled up bandage peeks out from under a shirt. The floor shakes a little as Rider walks back towards the door. Panic wells up inside him. He can’t lose his servant, not over something as stupid as this! Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?!
----
The next day is spent in a similar fashion. Experiments, research, stopping Rider from trying to run out and declare conquest on yet another area of the world. The results of his tests are promising, though he’ll have to collect some more samples from the river to make absolutely sure. At least Rider can complete that task without any issue.
Probably.
Hopefully.
Waver is half expecting to hear an explosion in the distance as he continues to measure out various solutions. What he isn’t expecting is the doorbell to ring, startling him in a way the sound of Rider’s chariot might not have done. Chemical solution spills onto the carpet as he jumps, leaving a purple mark on the edge of a rug.
“Bloody- argh!”
It won’t come out, not even if he ignores the person at the door to clean it. Best to see who it is and pray that the rug isn’t some treasured Mackenzie family heirloom.
“I’ve a parcel for an… Iskandar Kingofconquerors?”
The delivery driver tries to give him a smile, but Waver can’t help but notice the nervous bemusement in his tone. He groans, wondering how to explain to Melvin that yes, the money you lent me was used by Alexander the Great to buy video games , and reaches for the pen to sign for delivery.
It’s not a heavy box, something which should be a comfort; no video game system could be this light. But that simply deepens the mystery. What could Rider have possibly decided to buy? There’s no use wasting time thinking about it—he’ll find out soon enough. Waver bids farewell to the delivery man and trudges back up the stairs, shoving the parcel in the corner of the room and away from sight. The purple stain on the rug hasn’t spread any further. He breathes a sigh of relief and gets back to work.
-----
“I have returned!”
Finally. Waver sits up on the bed, putting his book to the side as he waits for Rider to rematerialise. There’s no need for a bookmark, the spine is already a mess and one slightly folded over page isn’t going to make it look any worse than it already does. The gold lettering on the probably faded long before Waver was even born, but at least the words inside are still of value. The benefit of magecraft being so steeped in tradition.
The room suddenly feels much smaller than before, Rider now taking up the space between the- well, everywhere. The house Waver’s ‘grandparents’ own isn’t large, though he’s thankful they’re not stuck in his crummy flat back at the Clock Tower.
“Did you run into any trouble?”
Rider laughs; the windows rattle slightly. “No! Though if I had, I would have returned victorious all the same. Here, the water you requested.”
Waver’s arms are suddenly full of test tubes; he scrabbles around trying not to drop any, panicking for a moment before letting them down onto the mattress.
“Rider, you-” Urgh, there was no use shouting over it. At least everything is safe and secure. He starts to organise the samples into groups, talking as he works. “Another parcel arrived for you. Giving you access to that card was a mistake! What do you even need?! You’re a Heroic Spirit, all you really need is mana.”
“A delivery? Oh! Why didn’t you open it, boy, that is for you, not me. The contents should make that clear enough.”
A spark of rage flares up that takes but a moment to fade to irritation. Waver turns from the bed to look at his companion, carefully making sure to avoid knocking anything. He fixes a smile to his face, the rigid, harsh-looking one he hasn’t used since the time someone decided to tamper with one of his experiments. It had taken months for his eyebrows to recover.
“Your name is on the parcel, Rider, how was I meant to know it wasn’t for you? You keep buying useless things so I thought it would just be another one! If you meant it for me, you should have put my name on the box! Or just told me!”
“Oh, well.” Rider strokes his chin, seeming slightly taken aback by the outburst. Though why exactly, Waver isn’t sure; it isn’t like this is the first time he’s had to shout at his servant. “Well, never mind that! It’s here now.”
“Right. I suppose I should see what this is.”
There’s a pair of scissors on the desk, half hidden under a pile of notes. Paper flutters to the floor as Waver grabs the small blade and marches over to the box lying in the corner. There’s no address on the outside, no postal markings to indicate where exactly this might have come from. He’ll just have to hope Rider’s taste in everything isn’t as awful as his taste in modern clothes.
The box snaps open, the last of the tape proving to be no obstacle. Waver dips his hand into the box, startling when his hands meet soft fabric. It’s elastic? Or something close to it at least.
“Rider, what the hell is this?”
A snort from his companion, now sat on (and taking up most of) the floor. “Use your eyes, boy! Or are they as puny as the rest of you?”
His eyes are fine, actually. Waver prays they stay that way— glasses would be just another expense to cut into his miniscule budget. He folds the cardboard back properly, taking in the contents of the box. A second goes by, then ten; the act of processing the gift Rider has given him taking time to truly sink in. Though there is something slightly odd about the parcel.
“Rider-” Waver pauses for a moment, desperate to mask the emotion in his voice. “Just how many binders did you order?”
He tips the box upside down, stretch fabric covering the floor.
“Oh, enough! One for each day and a few replacements. The battles ahead will be tough, damage to your clothes is inevitable.”
Waver can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. How had he managed to summon such a ridiculous man? A master of tactics and yet-
“You- you thought I’d need ten of these?! Well, I suppose I should thank you, these will last long past the Grail War.” And probably past our time together is left unsaid.
Waver’s body vibrates with excitement, enough to cast away any pain that still lingers. He picks a binder off the floor, forcing himself to hold it in one hand instead of clutching it to his chest. “I’m going to go try this on.”
His knees crack as he stands, and he wobbles slightly as he turns towards the door. However, before he can take more than a step or two, he’s pulled back, his hand engulfed in one much larger than his own.
“Just hold on boy, do you think that wise? Only yesterday you were crippled with pain. Unless you mean to sabotage our chances of victory, it would be best to wait.”
He’s right. Waver knows he is, but that still isn’t quite enough to quash the frustration he feels. This war is a way to prove himself, yes, but in ways beyond those he’d explained to his servant. His theories are of utmost importance— nothing should be more important than research to a mage— but a tiny, foolish part of him hopes that if when he wins, those at the Clock Tower will no longer be able to look down on him. Waver Velvet will go down in history; any name he’d had before wiped from the record.
But all that can wait, for a day or so at least.
“You’re right.” This isn’t quite the first time that he’s accepted his servant may have a point, but the instances are still few enough that they can be counted on one hand. “I’ll wait.”
There’s a pleased hum from Rider as Waver begins to fold the binders. They’ll fit in a drawer for now, though he’s not entirely sure how he’ll carry them all home; his bag had already been packed to the brim on the journey to Fuyuki. Perhaps he can buy a proper suitcase. Perhaps if when he wins he’ll get Rider a bag, and make him carry them. Yes, that seems fair.
There’s a myriad of feelings threatening to suffocate him- gratitude, hope, some he isn’t entirely sure he can pin down. Waver takes a deep breath and sighs as he closes the drawer once more. He’ll have to think about this at some point; especially the emotions he refuses to put a name to, but that can wait. For now, he gives Rider a small smile and returns to his experiments.
(And if he does manage to find a word for them later… well, nobody else has to know.)