Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   It was such a small thing, thought Waver Velvet as he sat in a plane on its way to Japan straight from England. The relic had been delivered in an unassuming package; a small wooden box, with little about it worth remarking upon. And the item within seemed so infinitesimally tiny as to be nothing more than junk. But if it was, why then had his hated teacher been delivered such a thing through high-priority mail that seemed to suggest it a treasure of great value? Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi was not a man who suffered the inconsequential or worthless to remain in his sight, never mind sent to him specifically.

Maybe it was wrong of Waver to have stolen the parcel on sight and run straight for the library. But who cared? Kayneth had humiliated him in front of an entire lecture hall, ground the young student’s pride into dust and for what reason? Bloodline superiority? It made the third-generation magus sick to think about. Maybe he couldn’t trace his Magic Crest back a dozen or so generations, so what? Waver was damn sure he had just as much potential as any pureblooded magus from any family. And if that was so, why shouldn’t he take this chance that had literally run into him in the halls of the Clock Tower? If his research was right and this item was a catalyst to enter a war of magi in Japan…then he’d take this chance. He’d prove them all wrong and make them believe in his ability.

…But it was so small, he thought again, gaze drifting from the plane’s window to the box held in both hands. Sliding back the cover for what must have been the fifth time that hour, Waver examined the supposed catalyst once more. It was no more than a splinter of what must have once been a larger object, an off-white sliver no thicker than a pencil. It was solid and smooth aside from jagged and broken ends, a material something like ivory. Could something like this really call a hero of a forgotten age? Make a legend manifest? Or was his gamble in going to Japan and participating in this competition going to be for nothing?

There was only going to be one way to find out. Within a few days he’d established a base of operations in Fuyuki City; some careful hypnosis magecraft had allowed him to live with an older couple that believed he was their grandson. A day or two more and he’d gathered the chickens whose blood he’d use to draw the summoning circle. By the end of the week, everything was ready.

‘The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close.’

    He spoke the words clearly into the chilled night air, breath forming thin white clouds of mist that curled and faded with each sound.

‘Coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulates.’

    The burn and swell of prana rose from within and without. Waver’s Magic Crest had very little to it, but it was a Magic Crest all the same. Around the circle before him, the faintest breeze started to blow.

‘Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled.’

    Would it—could it—really work? Could something so insignificant bring a legend to life? Could Waver bring a great hero to the realm of the living? He broke out in a cold sweat as the wind intensified, swirling with the crackle and flash of energy like lightning.

‘I announce. Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade.’
   
    Whether he could or not was at this moment irrelevant. Everything—the tiny artifact, his teacher’s cruelty, the desperation to be acknowledged and noticed—was irrelevant. All that mattered were three things: the circle upon the ground, the words coming out of Waver’s mouth, and the burning of the Command Spells upon his hand. All else needed to be a distant memory, tucked away behind lock and key lest it should distract him. This was the point of no return, and Waver Velvet would not allow himself to fail after coming this far.

‘If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind and reason, then thou shalt respond.’

    Would they?

‘I make my oath here.’

    They had to. Someone had to hear this call. Some long-lost hero would surely be reached by this, Waver thought in some distant corner of his mind. There had to be someone who would acknowledge him. Who would recognize his talent, bloodline or no. Someone that would help prevent anyone from ever looking down on him again.

I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heaven. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades.

    He was desperate. Desperate to be noticed as more than a half-rate magus. To be accepted, to have his accomplishments however small mean something. And this seemed like the best chance for it. Waver would accomplish everything Kayneth had apparently been wanting to, and surely that was just to start. There was no telling how high he could ascend once this was over.

‘Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past thy restraining rings and be thou the hands that protect the balance.’

The wind picked up, so strongly Waver stumbled and fell backwards once the incantation was done. The air was thick with magical energy, cracking the ground like so many tiny lightning strikes. But aside from the burn of prana and the dust carried on the wind…there was little to it. Waver had expected some great and loud arrival, maybe an explosion. But there was little to no fanfare, so to speak—did that mean he’d failed? Grinding his teeth in frustration, Waver mentally cursed himself for thinking he could have done any of this, that a worthless second-rate magus could ever even dream of becoming more than the pathetic wretch of weak magecraft he was—

    “I ask of you-“

A voice cut through Waver’s fit of silent self-loathing, and his gaze snapped upwards to the clearing and swirling cloud of dust. That was not his voice. No other person was out in the middle of the forest so late at night. So that voice…that clear, confident, strong voice without a trace of hesitation…it couldn’t be anything else.

The dust settled as Waver came to this obvious realization, and his thoughts were confirmed as fact. For in the center of the painstakingly drawn summoning circle stood a lone dark-haired figure in armor of black and forest green; he seemed suited to the lack of great fanfare that heralded his arrival. Golden eyes opened and fixed sharply on the new Master still on the ground. From Waver’s perspective, he didn’t fit the image of a renowned king or warlord. Built for speed rather than raw power, he looked to the magus’s eyes almost like a normal human in very abnormal clothes and yet there was no mistaking the blazing aura of strength and pride emanating from him.

    “-are you my Master?”

This…was the miracle given form called a Servant.

Chapter Text

    This, Waver mused silently the next morning, was already working out perfectly. His Servant—one of the Lancer class, as the knight had introduced himself—was quiet and followed orders without question. In retrospect some time later, Waver would realize he’d done so completely without question or even hesitation. To paraphrase the old saying, if his Master said ‘jump’ then Lancer would probably hit the upper atmosphere.

But for now, that was just what he wanted. A Servant should do what their Master said, right? Sure, the Command Spells existed in part for cases where a heroic spirit was rebellious or argumentative. If Lancer was to be neither, then he could save those three absolute orders for emergencies. Yet there was still something that bothered him; was it the fact that Lancer had remained in spirit form since their walk home last night and scarcely been seen at all? Was it the near absolute silence he’d been met with since the affirmation of their contract and his introduction: ‘Under the name of Servant Lancer, I will see to it victory and the Grail are delivered into your hands.’ Something about this Servant just rang a faint bell of this person is strange in Waver’s head.

His Servant wasn't the only strange thing on Waver's mind. His second concern was where he'd chosen to establish a base; an abandoned estate near the northern edge of the city. It had seen better days, barely furnished with the occasional dusty and disused chair or table. Worse still, as a magic workshop the house itself was terrible; these traditional Japanese homes were so large and open that any mage looking to craft and shape their spells would need twice the energy to account for what would be lost to the air. In that respect it was almost lucky Waver wasn't an ordinary mage, having no skill or power to weave advanced magecraft. Ultimately, all he needed was a place that no mage would think to seek out a Master, with protection from the elements. It wasn't like he could afford a hotel stay, Waver had begrudgingly acknowledged; if he tried that he'd be likely to starve to death before any Master got to him. The accomodations were beneath him (in his own opinion), but it was the best he was going to do right now.

    ”Lancer.”

He appeared in a moment, materializing from nothing at just one word. Much to Waver’s surprise, he was for some reason on one knee at his Master’s side.

    ”Y-you don’t have to do that—just sit down, I wanted to talk to you.”

    ”Of course, Master.” Lancer replied, straightening up and hesitating for only a moment’s uncertainty before leaning stiffly on the nearest wall. From the cobweb-dusted chair set in front of a worn desk probably older than Waver himself, he started talking in the most authoritative voice he could manage.

    ”I think we’ve still got a few days before the war starts officially. Tomorrow, I wanted to go into town and scout out locations. We should take advantage of the time we have and see where you think you’d do best in a fight.” Lancer responded with an attentive nod, listening carefully.

    ”Then I will follow you in spirit form and-“

    ”…About that.” Waver almost hesitated to interrupt, if only because doing so seemed to make Lancer look as though he thought he’d committed some grave error in judgment. “It’ll be easier to talk to you normally if you stay manifested like this. You were summoned with knowledge of the country, and I can't speak Japanese. I'll need a translator...hm, we'll have to find you normal clothes first, and—Lancer?”

The calm confidence his Servant had seemed to personify faded as Waver talked, even as he’d trailed off into musing under his breath.  There was a strange expression to the knight’s face, as though waiting for his place to respond.

    ”Oh…er, forgive me for saying so, but I do not think that a particularly wise course of action. If I am to materialize regularly, I fear that may pose a risk to our chances in this war.”

It was the most he’d said since his summoning, and though Lancer had finally spoken clearly, Waver only found himself confused. Sure, a Servant was easier to detect if they weren’t in spirit form, but he seemed to be overreacting if that was the only concern. So then, was there something more to which Waver was unaware?

    ”What’re you talking about?” The only way to find out was to ask, apparently. “It’ll be easier for an enemy to detect you, but nobody’s stupid enough to have their Servant attack in broad daylight.”

    ”That is not the complication I had in mind, Master.” Waver idly noted he was surprisingly eloquent, as far as his idea of a warrior went. Not to mention his tone was patient and calm, a contrast to the impatience Waver was already feeling. Just say what you’re getting at and speak plainly, idiot. It seemed his Servant was treating whatever the issue at hand was as a delicate matter and leading up to it cautiously. “There is a slight problem that presents itself if I am to be around ordinary humans.”

    ”If there’s a problem, just say so already.” Waver huffed, crossing his arms indignantly. For someone who spoke so little, Lancer seemed to have a problem getting to the point. But once he did, it was with a statement that threw Waver for something of a loop.

    ”I shouldn’t allow myself to be seen by any women.”

What? What kind of asinine, ridiculous…no, Lancer looked completely serious. (Not that he hadn’t looked serious so far, Waver thought as an aside.) This seemed patently insane on the surface, but there must have been more to it.

    ”Why? Don’t tell me you’ll turn them to stone or something.” His Servant appeared to almost shrink back at Waver’s sarcasm, as though there was some deep shame to any level of admonishing words. Maybe he did take everything as seriously as his demeanor would suggest. Whatever the reason, Waver was left with the odd impression he’d kicked the metaphorical puppy.

    ”It is no such thing as extreme as that, Master.  You see, it…I have had a curse laid upon me for as long as I can recall. Any woman who looks at my face is bound to fall in love with me.”

    ”What.”

That was the point where the young Master sincerely hoped his Servant had suddenly pulled a sense of humor out of that spaulder he was wearing. But no, Lancer remained serious as ever. This had to be a joke, right. Charm magic? You’ve got to be kidding me…

But Waver sighed after a moment’s thought; no, Lancer didn’t seem like he’d make that up. And it certainly wasn’t arrogant hyperbole. If anything he seemed regretful about the concept. Looking at him carefully, Waver was able to detect an unusual fluctuation in magical energy—subtle, like one would expect from charm magic. Most of it seemed centered around a previously unnoticed birthmark under his Servant’s right eye. Well, at least their first problem seemed straightforward.

    ”Can’t you just cover it up?” Waver finally asked, in a tone suggesting that was the obvious solution.
    
    ”…I’m sorry?” Lancer seemed as though the concept came utterly out of left field, or at least that he hadn’t expected that reply.

    ”This curse, it’s got something to do with that mark. Doesn’t it?” Lancer nodded in response, so Waver continued. “What happens if you just cover it?”

Lancer opened his mouth to answer.

…Closed it.

Opened it again with a vaguely objecting wave of his hand.

But he didn’t reply, and his Master couldn’t help but think he’d gotten a very eloquent Servant with very little common sense.

    ”D…divine magic can not merely be covered up, surely—”

    ”Have you ever tried?”

Silence. Lancer’s steady and calm gaze had changed to that of one very well aware they had likely done something very, very stupid.

    ”I…er, I have not, Master.” Sighing heavily, Waver stood and threw open his suitcase a few steps away, kicking up a puff of dust from the floor.

    ”As long as we’re careful, it might not be a problem.” This wasn’t the kind of trouble he’d expected from the Holy Grail War by a longshot, but it was far easier to deal with. Rummaging through his luggage earned a puzzled look from the nearby Servant, and that turned to outright surprise as a small object was tossed in his direction. He caught it all the same, moving swiftly and with the precise reflexes of one constantly prepared for combat.

    ”What is this for?” Lancer asked, turning the object over in his hand before holding it up to examine it closely—a pair of sunglasses. That was Waver’s best defense against the information given to him, which clearly baffled his Servant beyond even his refusal to question such a thing.

    “If we can stop anyone looking at your face directly, then you won’t have a problem with walking around normally. Right?” Waver gave a long-suffering sigh, answering in an irritated voice.

    ”Ah—y-yes, Master. That was my only objection.”

    ”Then you can wear those and something other than that armor.” Waver concluded, crossing his arms and nodding in satisfaction. “Problem solved, unless there’s anything else I should know.”

How much stranger could it get in one night? Maybe Lancer literally attracted women like a living magnet on top of this curse of his. But his Servant brought up no such ability, simply shaking his head and carefully unfolding the sunglasses as though he feared they might break.

    ”….Geez. You’re not really what I’d expect from a Servant, y’know.” A casual remark, said mostly under Waver’s breath. He hadn’t meant anything by it, surely nothing that would cause Lancer to look like he’d just been punched in the face. It was a strange reaction from a strange Servant in a strange situation. Waver had a sinking feeling Lancer was just as uneasy as the newly minted Master was.

    ”I…apologize, my lord. If I have already done something wrong or spoken carelessly, I—”

    ”Hey, hey, wait a minute!” Waver gestured frantically with both hands, verbally and almost physically stumbling to find solid ground here. Lancer looked like he was about to start that overly formal kneeling act again, and what was with the ‘my lord’ thing? “Quit apologizing, you didn’t even do anything!”

    ”But did you not just say I do not meet your expectations of a Servant? If that is the case, it stands to reason that I have made some kind of misstep already, or perhaps upset you in some way.” They were obviously nowhere near being on the same page. Were they even reading the same book? Lancer spoke softly and remained still as death, while his Master’s voice and motions had only become more flustered and animated by the second.

    ”I didn’t mean it like that, idiot! I-I mean….Servants are supposed to be warlords and knights and kings and…y-you know, great and powerful heroes! I was just t-trying to say…!” Waver paused for breath, making a vague noise of frustration as he pressed one hand to his own forehead.  “I wouldn’t really expect a hero to be so…deferential.” Maybe that was what struck him as so odd since Lancer’s summoning. Heroes of most stories were prideful and strong, even arrogant. Lancer seemed proud, sure. And he was probably powerful as far as combat went. But…the ideal ‘hero’ by definition didn’t seem to fit this Servant before him. “You haven’t raised a single objection or even said much of anything until now, you haven’t even asked my name! I mean…you’re really okay with all this? With…with me being your Master?”

Even if he was a Master by right, who was Waver Velvet to command a legend? A heroic spirit should have been paired with a powerful magus, someone who could fight beside and support their Servant with magecraft. A single outcast student with barely any Magic Crest to speak of surely had no right to try, Command Spells or not.

    ”Of course.” Lancer spoke as though reminding someone the sky was blue. Waver looked up at the armored knight before him; shockingly, there was a notable change in his demeanor for the first time. Lancer wore a serene and honest smile as he answered,  the glasses Waver had given him held in one hand like a sacred talisman. “It is no concern of mine what one’s reasoning or desire in this war may be. Neither is it my right to pass judgment upon them. Wherever that magus should originate, whatever reason they hold for pursuing the Grail…I find it theirs alone and not anything a Servant has right to judge or inquire about.”

It was a lot of words for ‘I mind my own business and let other people mind theirs.’ Waver must have had a look of openmouthed shock on his face in response to something so unbelievably simple, because Lancer continued patiently.

    ”It is not a Servant who chooses his Master. No matter whose call I answered, the one who I appeared before would be my Master and that is all there is to it. But once that call is made and responded to, I will give all I have in service to that summoner. Asking me if I accept you as my Master is no different than asking you if you accept breathing in order to live. Whether one likes it or not, we are inextricably bound until the end of this Holy Grail War, however it may come.”

He really was eloquent, Waver would note once his mind regained use of conscious thought. Whoever this Lancer was, he was excellent with words. But it was absurd, ridiculous, and more than a little insane. Did he really accept this so easily? Lancer had a Master at least a foot shorter than him that obviously had no earthly idea what he was doing, so how could he be okay with that?! It was nearly impossible for Waver to even comprehend, and yet Lancer stood there with that infuriatingly honest smile. Like he was happy to have a five-foot-failure as a Master.

    ”I…You…That’s…” He suddenly felt very stupid, being unable to piece together a sentence next to his Servant’s quietly elegant words. The smile faded just a little, as though something occurred to Lancer as his Master scrambled to speak.

    ”Oh…I would like to correct you on something you said earlier, if that is acceptable.” He looked at Waver expectantly as though actually waiting for permission to continue. The completely baffled Master simply nodded, as words remained a little too complex at the moment. Had he known the layer of gravity about to be woven into eight simple words, he might have asked his Servant to drop the subject entirely. But he was satisfied with that small gesture, and it was then Lancer said what had to have been the most absurd thing of all:

    ”Deferential or not, I am not a hero.”

Chapter Text

    Not a hero? Not a hero?! Lancer’s statement ate away at his Master’s thoughts all night and into the next morning. He hadn’t said anything or asked what the knight meant by those words. Of course he’d waited to hear an explanation, green eyes inquisitive, but there was an air of finality to Lancer’s demeanor that made him think better of outright questioning it. Still, how was that possible? There was no way a Servant could exist that wasn’t some kind of hero; that was why they were called heroic spirits! Waver kept turning Lancer’s words over and over in his mind, analyzing them from every angle he could think to approach. It hadn’t sounded like humility—there had been a clear conviction to the Servant’s words as he spoke, the tone of one who believed his words to be fact. He seemed too honest to have been lying…no, Lancer didn’t seem the type to lie at all if Waver thought about it. So the only feasible conclusions were A) he really wasn’t a hero in whatever legend he came from or B) he thought he wasn’t. There was a small measure of peace of mind in the latter option, at least on Waver’s side. He was surely someone of note, but could his Servant really have such a low opinion of himself?

    The more time he spent with Lancer, the stranger he seemed. ‘Curiouser and curiouser’, as the phrase went. Walking through Fuyuki was an experience for both of them, Waver having never been in or near Japan before in his life. But it was just another large city; there was nothing mindblowing about it. He took careful mental note of the terrain, the layout, and anything that might serve as an advantage for them or their enemies. Every so often Waver would stop and look down at the notepad he was carrying, making some written remark about one landmark or another. Lancer would stop beside him each time, quiet and attentive as though awaiting orders. Whenever they started walking again, the Servant in a dark-colored coat and scarf would look around in utter fascination and almost childish curiosity. It left Waver wondering two things: how much did the Grail supply in terms of information, and could someone like this really fight? He looked like he could hold his own in battle. Yet all their interaction so far had painted the Servant he’d summoned as gentle and thoughtful…not really the kind of battle-hardened warrior a typical Master might hope for. Then again, Waver reminded himself for what must have been the hundredth time, he was leagues below ‘typical Master’. If his Servant couldn’t compensate for that somehow, they were both in a world of trouble.

    Minor problems already seemed to be plaguing Waver’s efforts in the war. There was Lancer…being Lancer. Then there was the apparent curse on his Servant’s face. Now it was a street sign. Waver stared intently at it, eyes going line by line and squinting slightly as though that would make the characters on it clearer. Of course he’d asked Lancer to function as a translator, but there was a serious flaw in that plan: it involved Waver Velvet admitting he didn't know something.

    “Is there something wrong?” For all his obvious curiosity, Lancer had remained quiet until then.

    “Of course not!” Waver countered defensively, waving his hands as though Lancer’s question was an offending haze in the air. “Everything’s fine, just fine!”

...He was never good at dealing with being embarrassed. He paused after that outburst, weighing his options. Lancer already knew he could barely read Japanese and therefore the sign. If Waver acted like he knew more than he did, they’d probably get lost. That was risky, especially if they didn’t know where in Fuyuki they were when night fell.

So it boiled down to Waver’s pride versus their lives.

…Tough call.

    “…It’s just…I’m kind of…” Lancer seemed confused by Waver’s outburst and hesitation before something visibly clicked in his head. Waver felt a strange sense of dread as he was certain the Servant would pinpoint the issue and call him out on it. But Lancer said nothing at first; he leaned forward and lowered the sunglasses he wore, carefully looking over black frames at the sign in front of them.

    “The shopping district is half a mile west from where we are now. In the opposite direction is the Mion River.” He spoke clearly, and yet took Waver completely off guard.

    “I...I knew that! Of course I knew that!" came the outburst's second wave as the inexperienced tourist floundered to seem less stupid than he felt. “I-I don’t exactly have a compass on me, so which way is west?”

Remarkably, Lancer did little more than glance skyward before pointing off to his left.

    “…Are you sure?” That seemed too easy.

    “Of course, Master. I have a very good sense of direction.”

Which had been a strange thing to claim; 'I'm not a hero, but I sure know where I'm going all the time'? Maybe that was part of his legend, Waver thought with more than a little sarcasm as they left the shopping district in the late afternoon. It was going to be a pain to ask his Servant to translate things like that, but on the other hand? Lancer hadn’t called attention to Waver being ill-prepared or even remarked on the matter at all. He’d politely overlooked his Master’s shortcoming and compensated for it before even being asked. Lancer was considerate, kind, thoughtful, deferential, and apparently not a hero.

It was hard to say if he was pleased at having such an agreeable Servant or terrified that someone like that would never survive a fight.

    “…You were right after all. Guess you don't get lost often.” Waver remarked, awkwardly trying to lead into a conversation. He needed to figure out how this Servant defying reason worked and to at least try to understand what on earth went on in his head.

    “Thank you, Master.” Even that small amount of praise was met with a smile, but Lancer said almost nothing.

So much for conversation…maybe I should try again.

    “You’re a Lancer, so…your specialty’s mostly in speed, right?” The class of Lancer, he’d read back in the Clock Tower, was supposedly the ‘most agile’ of the seven. They were lacking in pure destructive power to compensate, but it sounded like an efficient class. Finishing battles quickly meant a conservation of prana, and with someone like Waver that was probably going to end up being important.

    “That is correct. I am confident that my agility is without parallel.” Waver actually stopped in his tracks, turning halfway to look at Lancer in disbelief. That must have been the first time he’d said something unquestionably positive instead of merely neutral, and it was even about himself. That was progress if ever Waver had seen it. “Master? What’s-“

    “Tell me what else you can do.” the student cut him off with a note of urgency, as though he feared the moment would pass and Lancer would return to short and unhelpful answers. “Anything you think’s relevant. Direction, strategy, I don’t care if you say you can bake a cake, just talk for a change.”

Lancer actually stumbled over his words for the first time since Waver had summoned him, stammering awkwardly for a moment or two.

    “I…e-er, I…suppose I am an accomplished strategist, and I’ve certainly never gotten myself lost.” Lancer didn’t really seem to understand why Waver was asking, and honestly Waver himself had almost no idea. But he was satisfied with that, the student turning back and starting to walk once more.

    “Listen, from now on if you want to say something just say it. You don’t need my express permission just to talk. And if you can do something that’ll help in some situation, do it or at least tell me you can do it.” This wasn’t anything that should have needed to be stated, as far as Waver was concerned. But a complicated Servant apparently required spelling things out clearly.

    “Understood, Master.” As frustratingly professional as ever.

    “And quit it with that. If we’re not around anyone that could be an enemy, just call me Waver. Enough with the whole ‘Master’ thing, and don’t call me ‘my lord’ again. Get it?” Actually sighing at that, Lancer adjusted the sunglasses he wore as though it was the start of an awkward habit.

    “I will try to remember that, M-…W-Waver.”

    “Good. Now you said you were a good strategist, so tell me what we should do.”

    “What.” Lancer’s flatly stated disbelief sounded oddly familiar to Waver somehow.

    “You heard me, didn’t you?! Geez, I don’t want to keep repeating myself, so tell me where you’d be looking for a tactical advantage if you were any of the other six classes!” Lancer paused for a long moment, raising a hand to his face and taking on a look of deep concentration.

    “A Saber-class would want an open space. Swords and lances are unwieldy in closed areas, particularly when seeking speed and accuracy. Archer…somewhere high, certainly. Rooftops, trees, anywhere with a clear view of the surrounding area. A Rider would want something open like Saber would. But where the latter would do well in a field, I imagine a Rider might seek a strip of land or road. Possibly the river, if their Noble Phantasm should be a ship.”

Waver nodded attentively; that all seemed to make sense. He seemed like a passable strategist after all, or at the very least he was clever.

    “What about the other three?” That seemed to be more of a problem. It was a minute or two before Lancer spoke again.

    “Assassin would want rougher terrain…either an area of closely-placed buildings within the city or somewhere else with a number of places to conceal themselves. Caster might want something similar. I would venture a guess they would want a place to hide and cast their magecraft uninterrupted. More so if they are not skilled at hand to hand combat.”

Waver thought this over; as he did there were several things that escaped his notice. He was no idiot—in fact despite what magi would say about bloodline and potential it was likely Waver was one of the brightest students in the Clock Tower. But he focused on the details and the finer what-ifs when it came to matters of strategy. Oftentimes he failed to see the larger picture of things, and this was one such time. As they had been speaking and walking through Fuyuki, late afternoon had turned to early evening. And as Lancer carefully answered his Master’s inquiry, early evening had shifted to night. Lancer had thought little of it, but if Waver had noticed he might have been in a panic. The Holy Grail War was to be waged in secrecy, under cover of darkness and away from the sight of those without magic. It could likely be said this was a war only fought outside daylight hours.

    “So that just leaves Berserker. What do you think abo—…Lancer?” Waver stopped walking upon realizing his Servant had done the same. His stance was rigid and stable, gaze having drifted off to the side.

    “Something’s wrong.” The sudden onset of calm severity startled his Master, and as Lancer took off his sunglasses Waver realized there was something as hard as steel in golden eyes. “We miscalculated in walking through here.”

    “Wh…wha…” A chill went down Waver’s spine. If he focused enough…yes, that must have been what Lancer was sensing. Faint, but there was magical energy in the air around them—a bounded field set so that which went on where they now stood wouldn’t be detected by ordinary people. Quickly, Waver spun around to try and determine where the source was as he stumbled back to stand closer to Lancer. They’d wandered too close to Fuyuki’s outskirts in trying to get home…inwardly he cursed Lancer’s sense of direction—Of course he wouldn’t tell me I was going the wrong way, I didn’t ask!—as well as his own failing in remembering just what space logic his Servant operated on. “We need to get out of here. Lancer, I—”

    “Waver Velvet.” The voice that cut him off was dripping with arrogance and contempt, projected through magic with neither visible source nor means to pinpoint it. Until that moment, Waver didn’t know it was physically possible for one to actually feel the blood drain out of their face. “I suspected you had a hand in the fate of my relic that mysteriously never arrived, but to think a spineless commoner would actually have gone this far…” No, it was more than contempt. There was barely-composed rage and profound hatred in the voice that echoed through the cold night air. Spineless commoner…?! Waver’s thoughts retaliated as viciously as he wished his voice could. You’re wrong. You’re wrong, you’ve always been wrong about me. I’ll show you, I’ll show everyone what I’m really capable of!

Yet faced with the hatred and confidence of his own teacher, Waver could only show absolute fear. His legs shook as though they threatened to give out beneath him. Kayneth was an expert. Nobility among magi, one of the most respected in the Clock Tower…were the two of them to be measured in magical capacity alone, the teenage Master was barely even an insect. Maybe even less. Dread was overtaking him as he realized that in this battle to the death between magi, there would be no contest between the two of them. Waver Velvet was dead the moment the first shot was fired.

“It can’t be helped,” Kayneth continued from his unseen position, speaking in a way that almost sounded as though he might enjoy this, “this will have to be my final lesson to you. Let me show you what kind of suffering a war of magecraft brings to the underqualified.”

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die here and he’ll have been right all along. To be a magus was to be prepared to die or to kill at any given moment. That life was the definition of ‘survival of the fittest’, and in that moment as his legs refused to support him and he fell to his knees, the nauseated and terrified student finally understood what until now had been only a distant theory presented as something that existed well outside classes and studying.

    “Be quiet.”

It may as well have been a thousand miles away for how well Waver was listening, but he heard a second voice loaded with cold frustration. At the same time, he felt a hand on his shoulder in a firm but reassuring touch. Yes, upon looking up he realised he hadn’t been mistaken: Lancer was the one to give their enemy such an order in a harsh tone. Yet at the same time his voice came through the spiritual link between Master and Servant, in the same matter of fact tones he’d been speaking in all day.

Don’t be afraid, he said on a level that was far more clear than anything verbal. As long as I still have strength enough to move, there is no enemy that can touch you.

Green eyes blinked slowly in disbelief. Waver had just outright proven to Lancer that Kayneth was right and that he was completely spineless. Yet even faced with knowing the student couldn’t even stand up against one threat, he still remained unquestioningly at his Master’s side. Before he could voice an objection, Lancer spoke again—and what he said caused Waver’s mouth to fall open in shock.

    “It is remarkable, how this world has changed. Even shadows can speak and think themselves worth notice now.” The knight’s demeanor and voice had changed into something utterly foreign: he stood casually for once, openly mocking Kayneth with a prideful and wicked smirk. “For surely none who calls themselves superior would hide within the dark like a coward, would they?”

The distinguished level of composure the lecturer spoke with slipped, and Kayneth’s anger presented itself as more of an outright snarl now.

    “You insolent—! I have no reason to listen to criticism from a worthless Servant!”

Lancer shrugged dismissively, the picture of one who believed the words spoken to him as being of no consequence.

    “I care very little for a shadow’s opinion of me. Now unless you’ve something of actual substance to remark upon-” A sudden rush of prana in the air turned his casual clothes into his black and green armor. Outstretching his hands just slightly, the air on either side of the confident Servant seemed to twist and form into a distinct shape, arranging itself into a solid object.  “-I suggest we get started.”

Hold on, Waver realized, it wasn’t just one. There were two lances in his Servant’s hands, one long scarlet spear and one shorter golden one. Was it really possible anyone, even a Lancer, could fight balancing two weapons? Which one was his Noble Phantasm? And most importantly, how were they ever going to get out of this alive? Before him Lancer stood tall and confident without the smallest hint of backing down no matter what he was faced with. There was no fear in his expression, but purely anticipation and even excitement. Maybe Waver had been wrong to doubt him, and maybe Lancer was right…he might not have had anything to fear after all.

The uncertain master of Lancer remained cautiously optimistic right until the moment the road before them exploded in a roaring black fury.

Chapter Text

    It arrived with a sound of crashing thunder, cracking and tearing the ground beneath itself. A near-formless mass coated in thick black fog, when the thing at last stood straight it only vaguely resembled anything humanoid. All that Waver could determine was that this was another Servant…everything else about it was obscured, and that lack of knowledge terrified him. The creature bent back with an unearthly howl, and in response Lancer did nothing more than shift into a fighting stance.

    ”What would you have me do, Master?”

    ”Wha—” Against this monster that could be none other than Berserker, his Lancer stood with the appearance of a predator anticipating the first strike. But even now he waited; if Waver had told him to retreat, without question he would back down and they would escape.

But that wasn’t going to do them any good here. In this situation, ‘live to fight another day’ would only prove Kayneth right.  Waver came to realize he was at last on equal ground with his hated teacher, and running away to hide would accomplish nothing. Standing straight and with a hardened determination in green eyes, Waver knew this was his chance to repay the unquestioning faith Lancer had in him.

    ”…Take him down, Lancer.”

The words had scarcely left his mouth when his Servant moved, kicking off against the ground and flying forward with speed that would put the western wind to shame. The roaring mass of black smoke moved and twisted, striking at Lancer with what must either have been hands or claws. Every attack the creature mounted was met only with open air where Lancer had been standing less than a second before; his Servant was almost literally running circles around their enemy. Was he just playing around, or…

Waver stood amazed as he watched and a realization came to him: Lancer was testing Berserker’s speed. Standing still just long enough for the monster in black armor (it was armor, on a closer look) to aim and attack, then immediately taking off again the moment his enemy moved. ‘Risky’ didn’t even begin to cover it, and yet even as he gambled with his life for a better understanding of his opponent, Lancer showed nothing but excitement. He had been wrong to think a kind disposition marked his Servant as weak. This Lancer that now moved around the mad Berserker as swiftly as water was so far removed from the one he’d been speaking to that it was nearly frightening.

    ”You’re fast, for a rabid dog.” Lancer remarked as though he was impressed, leaping backwards and out of range. “But I think I have a good idea of just how fast. Sorry, but I’m afraid you just can’t keep up.” With a shrieking roar, the black knight charged forward in answer to his enemy’s taunt. At first, Waver feared Lancer had made a mistake—for an agonizing fraction of a second the smaller knight didn’t move at all. But as Berserker drew closer, Lancer’s face twisted into a near-devilish smirk that screamed I have you now. No ordinary human could even have perceived just what happened in that second, and it took Waver a moment to figure it out himself.

As the fog-cloaked monster came bearing down on Lancer like impending death itself, he waited—then the scarlet lance flashed as its owner moved. The smoke around him seemed to dissipate only long enough for Waver to register it had flickered at all. Berserker seemed to stumble, faltering and crashing headlong into a tree to reduce it to splinters as Lancer’s motion carried him to the side and out of harm’s way.

    ”Hm. So that miserable little raincloud of yours is magical after all.” Lancer spoke mostly to himself, organizing his thoughts even in the middle of battle. “Quite a clever way to obscure your true name, but you can’t hide from my lance.” Berserker stood again, and Waver could have sworn he saw a thin trail of blood as the other Servant moved. Had Lancer actually landed a hit on him? How could he, given all the armor they had seen only for a single moment? There was no time for either of them to think further on it; in a moment Berserker had taken hold of a thick fragment of the broken tree around him. Corruption spread across it like a plague, turning the wood black as charcoal with twisting veins of burning red. What was he doing, there was no way he was seriously going to take on a Servant with a broken tree trunk—

    ”Lancer-!” Half a second too late Waver had seen that at Berserker’s touch the wood was infused with magical energy. Berserker’s own prana comprised of hate and bloodthirst had overtaken it, turning a simple object into something far worse. But at the same moment Waver called out an attempted warning, the jagged wood had been thrown one-handed like a javelin. Lancer barely had time enough to register shock before being put on the defensive, forced to dodge a little less gracefully than his earlier movements. Blood splattered to the ground from the deep cut in the knight’s arm, but that was all the damage he’d taken. It could have been worse, and as Berserker picked up a thicker chunk of the broken tree and charged again, both Master and Servant were left confused and hurriedly recalculating.

    What kind of ability was that for a Berserker to have?! It was one thing to use whatever was lying around as a weapon. But there was no way any random junk lying around could damage a Servant! They were made to be stranger than that, and Waver scrambled for answers as to just how he’d managed that. Could a Berserker use magecraft to the point of infusing objects with his own prana? What kind of half-crazed, half-brilliant monster was this?! Though Waver was terrified, Lancer was undeterred and met Berserker head-on in a moment. That was suicide, wasn’t it?! Holding his breath in anticipation and fear, Waver could only watch as the crimson lance’s blade met the mad knight’s makeshift weapon…

…and splintered it to pieces. The corruption of black and red had been stripped away on contact, and a Noble Phantasm against a tree was like one breaking a matchstick with their hands. How did Lancer manage to counter the black knight’s offense this time? Waver didn’t understand, but his Servant seemed pleased with the result. In an immediate second strike, he swung the golden lance at Berserker’s arm with intent to take the entire thing or at least damage the black armor.

Clang! His blade barely grazed Berserker before being deflected not by the monster himself, but by another source entirely. A sword had flown from the sky like a silver meteorite, with perfect accuracy parrying Lancer’s blade and landing between the two Servants. Lancer backed off immediately under this new assault, retreating with the priority of guarding his Master. However, Berserker remained where he stood…disturbingly quiet, as though waiting for someone to dare challenge him.

    ”It would seem I’ve an infestation of rats in my garden.” Unlike Kayneth’s voice from earlier, this one was clear and easy to trace. Atop the tallest tree in the direction from which the attack had come stood a golden silhouette lined in silver moonlight. His stance held pride to an extreme degree, his voice laden with immeasurable arrogance and superiority. Crimson eyes cut through the night with more sharpness than any blade, looking from Berserker to Lancer and back again. “Who are you to intrude upon the king’s territory with your petty skirmishes? Such a pathetic display is not even worthy of this useless war, never mind my own attention.”

Silence. Even Kayneth seemed too dumbstruck to speak in response to this new arrival. The golden Servant crossed his arms, haughty and cold as though he awaited an excuse for why anyone was fighting here.

    ”His Master’s base of operations might be nearby.” Lancer murmured under his breath, thinking out loud. That almost made sense to Waver, but even if that was so it seemed unlikely any Servant would interrupt a fight over a matter amounting to ‘get off my lawn’.

    ”Well?!” the gold-armored blonde snarled, “Have any of you a fitting reason for disturbing a king’s evening and calling me out here, or should I disregard your pleas for mercy and skip to the executi—”

Pulled from the ground in which it was embedded, a black-coated sword flew back in its owner’s direction at blinding speed. Of all those present to tire of the newcomer first, it was Berserker who struck back with a bestial roar. The sword struck deep into the tree upon which the gilded Servant once stood: without so much as uncrossing his arms he had leapt from one perch to another more than thirty feet away.

    ”You rabid mongrel…you think yourself to have the right to my treasures?” The golden swordsman’s voice dropped to a low, smooth threat, not unlike the hissing of a serpent. As he spoke, a woman in white emerged from the forest nearby. She was out of breath, as though she’d struggled to keep up with what was presumably her Servant for some distance. She looked from Lancer and Waver to Berserker and then up at the scowling blond, long white hair whipping around as she tried to bring herself up to speed on the situation.

    ”Archer, please-!” Her exasperated cry to her Servant remarkably caused him to pause in his enraged tirade. Though disgust blazed in his eyes, he regarded the woman as though her request was an inconsequential matter and he was debating whether it was worth the minimal effort to grant.

    Master, Lancer finally spoke through their spirit link, focused entirely on the scene that unfolded before them. I would dare to suggest we find ourselves outmatched, and I would have no objection were you to command a tactical retreat before—

    If he was about to say ‘before Archer does something ridiculous’, it was too late for that. The air around Archer seemed to glow as golden as the rest of his armor, at least a dozen blades sliding through some kind of portal behind him. There was barely time for Waver to comprehend the impossible—every single one of those is a Noble Phantasm—before everything exploded in a flurry of motion. The swords flew forward without Archer raising so much as a finger, crashing into the ground around Berserker and raising a choking cloud of dust and debris. In the very same second, without warning Lancer put an arm around his Master’s waist and practically flew back to keep them both out of striking range. Within the dust cloud raised by Archer’s ongoing attack, there came the sound of metal striking metal countless times. Broken and damaged swords flew in every direction, though the reason wasn’t yet clear.

    ”That’s not possible…” a shocked Lancer spoke under his breath. Half a second from questioning it, the teenage magus realized the same thing. Through the dust was a torrent of silver, a swirling storm of…of something impossible. A single sword corrupted and twisted in Berserker’s grasp, swung with each of Archer’s strikes to deflect and parry. As if the mad knight exerted no real effort at all or Archer was some kind of hack with aiming, not a single thrown sword struck its target.

    ”Th-there’s no way that’s a Berserker…” Waver muttered in response. Shocked as he was at the impossibility, he had to wonder just what Kayneth was thinking: was he aware he had no control over his own mad Servant, or was he pressing his luck where he thought there was an advantage? It was probably smarter to stay quiet in a situation like this, especially when his Servant was likely too insane to listen properly. Green eyes drifted to his own right hand…Kayneth could waste a Command Spell if withdrawing was necessary, but if Lancer was right then maybe Berserker had an advantage over Archer after all. Quickly, Waver refocused on his Servant. “Lancer—quick, tell me what we should do!”

    ”What?” Disbelieving he’d actually heard that in the chaos of metal on metal, the knight actually dared to take his eyes off the fight and look down at his diminutive lord in shock. “I—why are you asking me—?!”

    ”You said you were a strategist!”

    ”I can’t just tell you what to—” Though he was completely aghast at the idea, Lancer had no time to piece together an argument before a frustrated Waver’s outburst cut him off.

    ”I’m ordering you to tell me what to do, idiot!” The knight faltered at that, quickly glancing from Archer’s assault on Berserker to the area around them.

    ”In that case, I fear us outmatched. We should leave before—”

The last few swords in Archer’s assault buried themselves in the ground less than a foot from where Waver was standing. In no less than a second Lancer had taken up his spear again, standing in front of the horrified teenager like a protective shield.

    ”Don’t assume I’ve forgotten you trespassing vermin.” Crimson eyes focused on them from above, Waver vaguely aware he was shrinking back in terror. This was well beyond anything he could have prepared for, but…

As long as I still have strength enough to move, there is no enemy that can touch you.

There was no way Lancer could stand up to an existence like the gold Servant on high. Logic told him that much, but at the same time something else spoke differently. His words from before rang out in Waver’s mind, strong and reassuring. Although it was illogical to stand against power like this, within Waver’s heart was the beginning of a sense of trust unlike anything he could ever recall feeling before.

    ”Lancer, while Berserker’s distracted you should fini—”

    ”Archer.” The woman in white interrupted, leading Waver to think neither he nor his Servant might ever finish a sentence around here. She looked up at the golden swordsman, tone firm but patient. “Please, think about where we stand. Facing Lancer and Berserker at the same time, you ca-…” She hesitated, red eyes wandering as she searched for the right words to defuse the situation. “…It would…be a waste of your treasury?” For some reason, Waver almost felt sorry for the girl with such a difficult Servant. Her voice had ended in almost a questioning manner, and heavy silence fell as Archer regarded her and considered her words.

    ”The rabid dog has already defiled my treasury, Irisviel.” Contrary to the woman’s unsure words, Archer’s voice was dangerously low and quiet. But she didn’t back down, which to her credit was probably quite an accomplishment.

    ”So why make it worse? We should withdraw and plan before continuing this fight.” Something seemed to occur to her, and the woman called Irisviel quickly followed up with: “If he’s committed such a grave offense, wouldn’t a grander stage be better to set an example?”

Archer seemed a little more interested in that, if only in the near-imperceptible relaxing of shoulders and fading scowl. Maybe that was what passed for casual conversation with him.

    ”Lancer.” Waver put a hand on his Servant’s arm, speaking in an undertone. The added 'let’s get out of here' was unsaid, but understood. In no more than a second, Lancer quickly put an arm around his Master’s waist and used every bit of that inhuman speed to escape before things took another downward turn.

    It had been a trying night already, Waver would later think to himself. This had been a harsh initial lesson on what kind of battlefield magi fought upon and what kind of place this Holy Grail War was. Later, the concept of just how difficult and trying this process could be would finally cross Waver Velvet’s mind. But at that moment, guided by his agile Servant and practically sailing through Fuyuki unseen…well, he was mostly just concerned with the height of the rooftops they were traveling between.

Chapter Text

“Does it hurt?”

    “I’ve had worse.” Sighing, Waver quickly flipped through one of the many books scattered across the floor, squinting in the dim candlelight (it was too much to hope for that an abandoned house had electricity). Once they returned home, he’d realized Lancer’s arm was still injured from fighting Berserker, and he’d set himself to fixing it.

Unfortunately, as many things in the Clock Tower constantly reminded him, Waver was no skilled magus. Healing magecraft was difficult for him even though it was part of the basics for most.

    “Just…give me a couple minutes. I’ll figure this out.”

Fortunately, Lancer didn’t complain. Waver might not have known what do do if he’d been seriously hurt; it occurred to him that maybe he should have looked this particular magecraft up beforehand. Green eyes scanned page after page as Lancer only watched in patient silence…eventually, however, he did dare to interrupt his Master’s thoughts.

    “I should apologize. Here I had the perfect counter to Berserker’s offensive maneuvers, and still I was unable to finish him quickly. Truly, I fear I may have failed you.”

It took a second for Waver to process what Lancer was saying; he was only half-listening as he read through healing techniques. Once his words finally did compute properly, Waver looked up in stark confusion.

    “You call that a failure?” The words were more blunt than he’d wanted them to be, but this was patently ridiculous. What kind of idiot was he talking to?

    “An unfinished fight is a failure in itself. More so is the fact that I held the power to end it were I only capable enough.” His gaze was lowered to the floor, in deference more than shame. It seemed that Lancer had accepted his perceived mistake and was willing to accept condemnation for it.

    “You’re an idiot. Hold still, I have to concentrate.” Waver held his hands over the cut on Lancer’s arm, and with the faint glow of prana it began to close itself back up. He couldn’t believe how backwards his Servant’s logic was. Anything less than some unattainable ideal of perfection was failure, was that it? Waver glanced from the healing wound to his Servant’s face; quiet resignation. it was obvious he was unhappy with the result, but that wasn’t right. Sure it wasn’t ideal, but they’d gained a lot more than they lost. Finally, Waver lowered his hands; there was no more than the faintest mark left now. Not bad compared to how much he could’ve screwed up. “How’s that?”

    “I should be able to fight at full capacity. It was no more than a superficial wound in the first place.”

    “…Tell me whether it hurts or not. How well you can fight with it can come second.” Lancer faltered at that, as though aware he’d misspoken somehow.

    “It…doesn’t hurt, Master.”

    “Good. Now tell me more about Berserker…you said you had the perfect counter. I saw what he did with that tree and Archer's sword, so how did you stop that?” Lancer straightened up at that, his explanation coming in a patient voice careful to elaborate so his Master understood.

    “My lances are cursed blades; one carries the ability to inflict unhealing wounds, but the other is exactly what can cancel a skill such as that. You see, when the blade comes in contact with a form of prana—in this case, Berserker’s own covering an object—it cancels it out. So that blade meeting with anything in his hands is bound to win every time, perhaps with the exception of Archer’s swords.”

Lancer paused, seeming as though he wanted to ask a question of his own; with an expectant look from Waver, he continued.

    “…Do you not already know this?”  Now it was Waver’s turn to falter. Of course…if he’d planned to summon this Lancer he should have known all about his true name and identity. That must have been why he never stated it—Lancer assumed Waver already knew who he was. But since the relic used wasn’t one he’d sought out… “I see. I confess I had my doubts of one who would seek me out specifically…so you don’t know who I am.”

There was no accusation in Lancer’s voice and no critical look in his eyes, but somehow Waver felt a deep sense of shame. Averting his eyes, he turned to close the book at his side; distracting himself rather than face Lancer directly. All that faith his Servant placed in him was worthless now; he’d trusted a thief only in the war for personal gain and revenge.

    “Excellent.” That was not what he expected to hear. Turning around with his face twisted in confusion, Waver was met with an apparently content Lancer considering this. “If even you don’t know, that serves our purposes well—I confess I dislike the secrecy of class names, but if it is a necessity of the Holy Grail War then I will play along.”

    “Wh…what’re you babbling about?! Aren’t you angry? I stole Kayneth’s relic just so I could summon a Servant and show him what I can do!” Waver snapped, throwing his hand forward and pointing at Lancer accusingly.

    “What reason have I to be angry? Have you already forgotten my words? Your reason and desire to participate in this war is yours alone. I have no right or wish to pass judgement upon you or your methods. All that matters to me is fighting for my Master’s honor.”

    He was ridiculous. He was really, really, impossibly ridiculous. If Waver punched him in the face he’d apologize for hurting his Master’s hand.

    “Don’t you have any opinion that’s actually your own?! You don’t care what kind of person I am?!”

    “No.” Lancer shook his head, speaking with finality. “You are my Master. As such I will follow you to hell and back if necessary. Now if you do not know my name, that serves us quite well—it will surely be more difficult for the other Masters to discern if even my own is uncertain. And there is no great technique or Noble Phantasm knowing my name would unlock, so it takes nothing away from us either.” Giving up on the larger problem for now, Waver pressed a hand to his face in exasperation and sighed heavily.

    “Kayneth probably knows who you are.” Waver confessed, lowering his hand to his left pocket. “It was his relic to begin with, so he probably sought you out for some reason.”

    “I doubt he’ll tell anyone; he seems not the type to relinquish an advantage. Even if he does know it, it does little to help Berserker’s chances.” Lancer shrugged his shoulders in a remarkably casual gesture for him, thinking further on the matter. “It’s just as well, I should think. I have the strangest feeling he and I would have trouble coexisti-…what is that.”

    Waver had taken the relic used to summon Lancer from his pocket as the Servant spoke, causing his sentence to end in flat…alarm? The splintered object was small and light as ever, and Waver felt an ever stronger sense of disbelief it could have called the knight in front of him.

    “This was what Kayneth was after. I ran into the delivery in the hallway and kind of…stole it. I didn’t know what it was—I mean, I still don’t, really. Can you tell me what it-…Lancer?”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off the tiny shard in his Master’s hand. There was an almost undetectable measure of shock on his face, seen only in the smallest twitch of the corners of his mouth or the slightest widening of impossibly-colored eyes. Was it shock, or was there something else to it? it felt as though Lancer was thousands of miles and even years away at that moment, lost completely in his own thoughts.

    “Lan….cer…?” The Servant blinked, coming back to reality and looking to his Master.

    “It is a fragment of a boar’s tusk, Master. No more or less than that.” The small smile on his Servant’s face only unnerved Waver more; was that the look of someone trying to express that they were alright when they really weren’t at all? Waver had certainly seen that look in the mirror often enough to know it.

    “…If I asked you who you were, would you tell me?” Waver’s question was met with a firm nod of confirmation. “Even if you say you’re not a hero and even if you think I’d look down on you for it?”

    “I can not change who I am or what I have done. There is no regret in my heart that would lead me to truly conceal my name from you.”

Waver wanted to know. It was driving him crazy, not knowing what kind of person Lancer really was. But there was no way he was a mass-murderer or something; he was too damned nice for that. And at the moment, strategy outweighed his own curiosity. In the silence that passed while Waver turned to blow cobwebs off the cracked shelf against the wall and place his books on it, he decided to drop the subject.

    “Listen, you did really well today. Thanks—I mean, no one’s ever stuck up for me like that. And you fought like…it was amazing, Lancer, really amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing his companion’s demeanor visibly brighten at a few small words of praise. “So do me a favor and don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s only the first night.”

    “Yes, Master. I will not fail to bring you victory.”

Chapter Text

"Know your place!" A gold-armored fist slammed down on the table before the Servant, wood beginning to crack and splinter beneath the pressure. Of the three others in the room it was only Irisviel who raised a hand to her mouth in alarm; the woman in black stood rigid as a tin soldier against the wall, and the unkempt Master in a dark trenchcoat did no more than light a cigarette. "Who are you to disregard me, you worthless wretch?!"

"Maiya." Archer's Master took no notice of the blazing crimson eyes now fixated upon him, speaking only to the soldier standing at attention. "Berserker's ability is going to be a risk: we should focus on his Master first. Sending Archer after him is only going to be a risk."

"Impudent mongrel--!" Archer was at his own Master's throat in a second, grasping the other man's shirt collar and forcing him back against the wall. "I would have you executed for such disrespect! You dare insinuate a mere mad dog could be beyond my ability?!"

Archer snarled in a manner not unlike an enraged canine himself while behind him, Maiya's hand moved slowly to a holster resting at her hip. Irisviel shook her head in response behind Archer's back, trying to dissuade her.

"Anything that can counter Archer's Gate of Babylon is something we should eradicate at the source--Maiya, track down Kayneth's base of operations and report back when you find it." Even held off the ground by his own Servant, Archer's Master hadn't even lost a step in his train of thought.

"Archer-" Irisviel stepped forward, gingerly placing a delicate hand on the Servant's free arm. "-Kiritsugu may have a point. It would be beneath you to deal with someone like Berserker, wouldn't it?" The irate crimson gaze was focused on her now, from over Archer's shoulder. "So you should let him take care of it with Maiya and concern yourself with those worth your concern."

There was a tense moment of stillness in the room, during which Kiritsugu had to confess he was slightly impressed. Allowing Irisviel to handle Archer primarily had seemed...complicated, given who he was and the kind of personality that entailed. But it appeared she had learned how to speak with him to achieve the desired result quickly. Sure enough, the blond Servant lowered Kiritsugu to the ground none too gently and dematerialized his armor. Now in a loose white shirt and snakeskin pants, Archer crossed his arms and tilted his head, glaring down his nose at Kiritsugu.

"In my infinite grace as king, I will allow you a second chance, Emiya Kiritsugu. But know that I will not tolerate your failure. If you return without having eradicated Berserker's Master, I may not be so kind again. Consider yourself and your pawn dismissed." With a vague signal from Kiritsugu both he and Maiya were out the door.

Irisviel von Einzbern watched the two of them leave, eyes slowly drifting to Archer who glared at the door as though to set it on fire through will alone. Kiritsugu had told her from the start this was going to be trying on their patience. On the night they had looked upon the fossilized snakeskin granted by the Einzbern patriarch, worry had settled into the shadows upon her husband's face. A relic beyond value was meant to summon a spirit beyond comprehension, one who stood higher than all others throughout history. Kiritsugu had known that individual would never be able to coexist with him (or anyone else, for that matter), and so he'd asked Irisviel to act in his stead. She carried the empathy and patience he never could, and even if she was not nearly as subservient to Archer as she acted it seemed to be enough.

This hero would never stand for one who called themself his 'Master', for there were none alive that he even thought to call 'equal'. The Archer-class Servant that Irisviel now saw glaring at a doorway as though daring Kiritsugu to walk back in was no less than the first and the greatest hero to ever live, whose story thousands of others in ages since could trace back to in one form or another.

"Do you think that you were too hard on him, Gilgamesh?"

"No." Archer snapped in return, finally tearing his eyes off the door and crossing the room to a cabinet. "Were I to be 'too hard on him', you would be cleaning his blood from the walls and floor." His rage passed as suddenly as it had come, and as the King of Heroes rummaged through a cabinet throwing empty bottles over his shoulder he paused only to glance back at Irisviel smugly. "You would side with your precious husband, then?"

"It's not that. I wish he would actually try not to provoke you like that, but he does--" She quickly sidestepped an empty wine bottle Gilgamesh discarded, narrowly avoiding having it strike her. "-...he does mean well. Kiritsugu isn't trying to get in your way."

"If that should be so, I might dread to see what it looks like when he tries to obstruct me." Having found what he was looking for, Gilgamesh poured himself a glass of wine from the specific bottle he'd been after. (Irisviel had needed to buy some less than an hour after their arrival in Fuyuki, on Archer's demands.) "Or perhaps he should be the one dreading it."

"You two really can't get along, then." she admitted with a regretful sag of her shoulders. "I was hoping you two would at least try to work together."

"Hah! I've no reason to lower myself so far as to put forth effort in coexisting with a wretched fool like that." With no verbal offer made, Gilgamesh slid an empty glass a few inches in Irisviel's direction as he took a drink from his own. "...tch. This world has no taste for wine."

"If I could ask, King of Heroes..." Irisviel half-filled the glass for herself; turning down what was an unprecedented offer on Archer's part would have been suicide. "...what is it you want from the Grail? Kiritsugu--he has a wish he would have granted. You two should have at least that in common."

Gilgamesh stopped, wine glass half-raised to his mouth when Irisviel's question reached him. He slowly arched an eyebrow as if to wonder why one would ask such an obvious question, and then the first among heroes did something unbelievable. He set down his glass and began to laugh, shoulders shaking with the eager and unfitting sound of it. Whatever it was that had caused such a reaction from the golden king, he seemed genuinely amused by it. Holding her own glass delicately, Irisviel wasn't sure whether to be pleased or very, very unnerved.

"I who possesses all the wealth of the world, have a wish for the Grail?" he finally responded with a devilish smile. "No...of course there is nothing I do not already call my own. To think there should be any worldly possession I still desire is truly laughable."

"Then...why--"

"It is as I say. This world is my domain and all within it belongs to me. That includes the Grail itself." The smile on his face grew predatory as he spoke, red eyes narrowed as though he was focused only on his ultimate goal and nothing else. "To see others proclaim war over that which belongs to the king of all the world is a grave insult. I will crush all those who lay claim to even the Holy Grail, and unlike the worthless masses I shall need nothing from it."

Kiritsugu had known he would be a difficult Servant. But it was only then that Irisviel began to comprehend how difficult. There was something very dark behind that smile, something which could not be defined by the word 'insanity' and yet was nowhere within the realm of 'humanity'. The chill traveling up her spine heralded a warning of how truly twisted one had to be to wholeheartedly believe such logic.

"Tell me then, Irisviel..." His tone was almost mocking in how calm it sounded. Light and conversational, but with a very sinister air to each word. "...what is it Emiya Kiritsugu desires so highly as to stake his life against me as well as any other?"

"Kiritsugu wants to bring an end to the suffering of this world." She straightened her back and stood strong even in the face of the intense pressure Gilgamesh seemed to radiate, calm and fearless. "When he reaches the Grail, he wants to use its miracle to bring about world peace." For just a moment, it looked as though Gilgamesh might break out laughing again. Something in his eyes seemed to flicker like candelight, corner of his mouth twitching in a sarcastic smirk.

"That is truly the most shortsighted of dreams." he remarked, draining the wine glass. "If he wishes an end to humankind's squabbling, perhaps he should be less trouble to me. Were there anyone able to exact his will over that of the people and silence their disputes, should it not be I who has power over all?"

This was going to be a very long Holy Grail War, she concluded.

...And she'd need a lot more wine.

Chapter Text

    A pen tapped against a notebook on Waver's desk as he looked over the notes he'd taken on the previous night's events. The time was a few hours past sunrise, and he hadn't bothered sleeping despite Lancer's concern. It was more important to organize what little they knew and determine what they could about their enemies. On the page before him in a neat script was:

    Berserker
Kayneth's Servant. Some weird fog around him obscuring just about everything. Black armor; some kind of knight? Corrupts objects and uses them as his Noble Phantasm (?) Countered by Lancer's spear (red).

    Archer
Servant of woman in white ('Irisviel'). Wears gold armor; must be someone wealthy (royalty?) Summons and throws swords as ammunition. Each of them looks like a Noble Phantasm. (impossible. No one has that many. So why does he?)

Better than nothing, for one night's work. There must have been some clue to their true names there, so Waver just had to look a little harder and recall whatever he could. But all he could think of had already been written down, so hesitantly he glanced over his shoulder before turning the page and writing something else entirely.

    Lancer
Cursed mark causes women to fall in love with him (Mystic Eyes?) Two cursed spears, red and yellow. Well-spoken, patient (to a fault) and disturbingly subservient.

Was it prying to try and determine his own Servant's identity behind his back? Guilt tugged at the corners of Waver's mind as he looked over his own handwriting. Without a doubt Lancer would tell him what his true name was if Waver only asked, but that felt wrong somehow. Even if he said it wasn't a matter of shame, there was a sense of dread that hung in the air around the subject. Did he not want Waver to know who he was, or was whatever made him 'not a hero' so terrible that he couldn't bear to face it? Was someone like Lancer even capable of any crime so unforgivable?

Waver leaned back in his chair and thought things over. Last night had truly marked the first time anyone had shown actual faith in him, even stood up in defense when someone spoke against him. Compassionate Lancer had been a real contender in this war even as Waver had doubted him, and the fact that he ever had made the student want to kick himself. Did the so-called 'not heroic' heroic spirit doubt his Master even once since the moment he'd been summoned? No. Lancer had regarded Waver more highly than anyone ever had, and he'd doubted his Servant could even fight.

    "...idiot." he muttered, hands pressed to his face and teeth grinding together. "You idiot."

No getting around it, he'd have to pick up the pace. if every other Master was a thousand levels above him, Waver Velvet would have to start climbing and fast.

    "Did you say something, Master?" Materializing from spirit form, Lancer had apparently startled Waver from his thoughts--he gave a sudden shout and jumped, falling out of his chair and landing on the floor with a thud.

    "...N-no. Nothing. I wasn't talking to you." he fumbled quickly, trying to recover. Sitting back in the chair and trying to play things off as though his heart hadn't just leapt to about the level of his tonsils, he fixed Lancer with a critical stare and fixed his tie. "And I thought I told you not to call me that. It's one thing to call me Master on a battlefield, but nobody's going to overhear us here. You can just call me Waver, remember?" A slight nod was Lancer's response, though he appeared uncomfortable with the idea.

    "Very well, if you insist. What is it you were writing?" Lancer changed the subject as quickly as he dared, causing Waver to glance back at his desk.

    "Wh--nothing! Nothing, nothing at all, so don't worry about it!" The notebook was snapped shut and stuffed into a crooked desk drawer...not exactly the subtle dismissal Waver had hoped for. But if Lancer realized Waver was trying to figure out who he was? He couldn't picture his Servant actually angry, but he was sure it wouldn't go over well.

    "Are you feeling alright?" Instead of being suspicious at Waver's erratic behavior, Lancer only seemed concerned that he was acting strange at all.

    "I'm...I'm fine. Just forget it, okay?" Never was Waver actually grateful for Lancer's silence until that moment. The subject dropped, silence fell between them to be filled only by the stillness of the empty house and rustling of a newspaper placed on the mostly cleaned desk.

    "As you wish. I procured what you requested while I was scouting, as well. You were right, it seems one or two are published in English after all."

    "Oh-" That was lucky. Waver had more hoped there was a newspaper legible to him than assumed as much. Keeping track of such a thing would have been prudent, considering how far out from the city proper they were and how few familiars Waver could keep active at once. If there were reports of mysterious incidents or damage, it was safe to assume the secret world of mages was at work.

    -the bodies of eight children previously reported as lost were found in Fuyuki City on Monday night with reports coming in of five more listed as having gone missing. Police have yet to comment on a cause of death or people of interest-...

Waver wasn't certain why that caught his attention. Was it the unusually large number, or the specific location? Or was it the fact that Lancer reading over his shoulder looked like he was ready to put a spear through the desk, hands curled tightly into fists at his side? Startled, Waver looked up at his Servant in alarm--did he blow a fuse or something? Suddenly, picturing him 'angry' wasn't quite so difficult as the armored knight beside him radiated calm fury over god only knew what.

    "Lancer--Lancer, snap out of it." Waver stood up from his chair and put a hand on Lancer's arm (normally, he might have been annoyed that he had to reach up to do so). In a matter of seconds his Servant's sudden tension had vanished, hands relaxing and vicious stare turning mildly surprised.

    "What? I'm sorry, I was...distracted."

    "I noticed. What is it?" Waver lowered his hand from Lancer's arm; if his Servant tried to brush this off as nothing, it would be a strain on Waver's already limited patience.

    "You would surely have me speak clearly, so...I have a bad feeling about this. Instinct tells me there is far more going on here than a contest of magi."

That was easier than Waver expected. Maybe Lancer was finally catching on that he should just talk instead of worrying about offending--wait, what did he say?

    "Are you telling me you think that-" he gestured to the desk and newspaper laid across it "-has something to do with the war?"

    "It's only a thought. Perhaps I am wrong--no, I hope that I am. But if you are to again ask for my opinion regarding what to do, I would suggest extreme caution. Last night was much too close to disaster, and I worry that we may yet be taken by surprise again before this fight is over."

    Considering Lancer's words, Waver didn't answer for a minute or two. This was supposed to be a straightforward tournament, for a given value of the word. Seven Servants and Masters at each other's throats, fighting to the death. Conceptually, it was simple. Turning Lancer's words over and over in his mind, a slow realization dawned on Waver: Some competitions had cheaters. Would the world of magi that relied on elegance and dignity really have such a dark side?

There was no doubt that it would. People like Kayneth would do anything for the advantage they thought they deserved, Waver mused bitterly. Even something as dark as this war would have a side that was darker still. Opening his mouth to tell Lancer they'd be more cautious, he paused. Wasn't there something just as important he needed to say first?

    "...Thanks. I wouldn't have thought of something like that. If you think of anything else or just want to question any choice I make, say so. You can consider this a standing order if that makes it any easier." That would work, right? It seemed to serve its purpose, as Lancer was smiling when he responded.

    "As you wish, M-...Waver. I will remember to bring to light any concerns I have."

    "Don't forget. I need your help with things like this, I'm not exactly a master tactician."

    "You have my word. I swear to you I will provide support in all things on and off the field of combat."

    Finally, Waver thought. He might have been getting somewhere with Lancer, but the war overall felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. One small step in the wrong direction, and not even agile Lancer would be able to catch him.

Chapter Text

    Never was there a moment in which he was seen to suffer. Always the knight of dual blades wore a smile, and why should he not? In all the country he was the most well-loved among women, so to an observer he surely had no reason to lament. But just the same as beauty, happiness was in only the eye of the beholder. To those few who knew him closely, beloved companions in times of war and peace, he was known to suffer in silence. For never had he asked to be so treasured by women, nor had he desired it. Wherever he went they would follow, always a new lovestruck girl trailing behind the knight with a tinge of sorrow in his smile. And always he would treat them kindly, gently bringing them to the realization that no, he was not in love with them and yes, he was eternally sorry that they had been led to fall to a curse.

Why?

    Some answered with anger. Most answered with misery. All ended in broken hearts. Yet no heart ached more than that of the one to bear years of this cycle of love and anguish. It wasn't fair, he thought--not to them. He spared no thought for his own pain, but concerned himself only with those he struggled in vain not to hurt. Never did he lament his fate, curse the gods or demand to know why he was granted the burden of a curse to be loved. He showed only a smile to those around him, even those few trusted above all others. The knight would sooner risk death than allow anyone to know the weight upon his heart; for the one who was so loved by women in turn loved his friends so dearly that he would not have them take any part of that.

Why should you have to carry everything alone?

    Even when he wanted to mourn every heart broken in his wake. Even when their betrothed lovers cursed and fought him. When they called him 'womanizer' and came at him with intent to kill, he cut them down without a second thought. Long ago he accepted his fate and his curse, but he was not, would never be a womanizer. If he was, would he care about the women who had loved him? Would he remember each and every one, their names and faces as well as the pain in their eyes when he rejected them?

Don't be stupid, it's not fair to you either--!

No one had any right to use that word against him. Yet at the same time he would never explain himself to those who cursed his name, never admit to everything being the fault of a divine curse. He would apologize, he would accept their hatred, and he would defeat them in combat. Admitting fully to the reason behind it all...then they would understand how much it hurt. That was no fate they or any other deserved.

Idiot, idiot, idiot! It's stupid to be that selfless! How can you live like that?!

Death might even be preferable.

"...idiot..." Waver murmured, coming back to reality. His eyes focused on a ceiling he didn't quite recognize at first; his sight was still lost somewhere in dreamlike verdant fields and enormous stone castles lit by firelight. Green eyes blinked a few times, the magus snapping back to reality and sitting bolt upright in his bed. Right, he'd fallen asleep. Sure he had, it had been a long night. But what was that dream--?! There was a painfully tight sensation in his chest as the recollection came in sights and sentiments rather than anything truly coherent.

Those were...memories. Lancer's memories. Servant and Master shared a delicate spiritual link, and sometimes things like that could happen. Knowing it was possible hadn't prepared Waver for it in practice, however. This was like intruding on something private and even sacred, meant never to be spoken or even thought of.

I shouldn't allow myself to be seen by any women.

He'd thought Lancer had been joking, for god's sake! Waver was almost nauseated at the recollection of one of the first things his Servant had told him. And he had only brought it up because he thought it would hurt their chances?! Half of Waver wished Lancer would materialize so he could shout at the knight for being so monumentally stupid! Think about yourself once in a while, what's wrong with you?!

    "Maste--er, Waver? You look pale--"

    "Lancer, you...!" Any objection or angry declaration Waver wanted to make died in his throat. As far as he could tell, Lancer was unaware anything out of the ordinary had transpired. Waver would have to explain why he was shouting at him before actually shouting at him. Even then it seemed futile. What was done was done, and demanding Lancer stop functioning like he apparently always had would have accomplished nothing. "You...you...

    "Have I misspoken? Perhaps I should have woken you sooner..."

It was like kicking a puppy. A stupid, selfless, ageless puppy that fought with power humans couldn't even imagine. So not entirely like a puppy at all.

    "It's not...forget it. I just had a nightmare, I guess." Lancer looked at Waver as though expecting him to say more, but he didn't dare elaborate. Could he really explain something like that? No, and he certainly wasn't about to try. "Don't worry about it."

    At the same time, Lancer was fighting a silent conflict of his own. What Waver hadn't yet considered was that their spirit link went both ways. And had he asked, Lancer would have admitted to having seen something just as vague and frustrating. The knight tried not to give it much thought, but the image of a child alone among thick tomes of arcane magecraft was still firmly engraved in his mind. With it had come the strong sense of that which Lancer knew well--loneliness. The kind which that solitary figure had been far too young to know, and yet hung in the air around him like a dismal stormcloud. Imagining his Master having ever been so alone was something which caused the Servant's heart to ache in a way that defied proper description.

    Should he have done the right thing and admitted to seeing something so private as a memory? Or would it spare his Master embarrassment and shame to remain silent?

    "...What? What're you staring at me like that for?" Waver interrupted his Servant's thoughts, sounding annoyed. Perhaps it was truly annoyance, or perhaps he was being defensive. It was difficult for Lancer to tell one from another with someone like his Master.

    "I was only concerned for your health." he quickly responded. "But if you say it is nothing, then it is nothing. " Too quickly, Waver's suspicious look seemed to say.

The understanding that both knew more than they were willing to admit hung in the air between them, and yet they said nothing. Whether that was to spare each other or themselves...that remained to be seen.

Chapter Text

Halfway across the city, the patriarch of the ancient Tohsaka line was regretting several decisions made in recent weeks. And like the Einzbern camp, his own wine cellar was quickly running dry.

"This is a nightmare. A disaster. How were we to know the legendary King of Conquerors would be so...so uncooperative?!" Elegance was the Tohsaka way, and yet Tohsaka Tokiomi's aggravation was reducing him to anything but. "Perhaps with a thousand Command Spells, I could begin to convince him to listen to me, but as things are now it is simply impossible!" The claret-suited magus stalked back and forth as he spoke, clutching a ruby-topped cane so hard his knuckles were ashen. Watching the tirade, a stoic pair stood against the far wall--one, a man in the clothes and crucifix of a priest, and the other a small blonde woman dressed in the long white and deep blue of a nun's robes.

"Where is Rider now?" ashed the priest in a steady voice, unfazed by Tokiomi's frustration.

"Emptying my entire wine cellar, Kirei. Can't you have Saber speak rationality into his head?!"

"I can not." The woman shook her head, emerald eyes trained upon Tokiomi. "The king of Macedonia will answer to no other, even if he should defy rationality in doing so." Turning to Saber's Master--Kotomine Kirei--Tokiomi seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Silently he seemed to ask what in god's name do I even do with him, and after a short contemplation the priest spoke in response.

"Using your Command Spells would most likely worsen the situation. I doubt Rider would tolerate one who tries to exert their will over him, even if that one is his very Master." Saber nodded in agreement, otherwise quiet at Kirei's side. Contemplating his options or lack thereof, Tokiomi sank into a chair with his head in his hands. How, how was he ever supposed to win the Holy Grail with such an impossible and unreasonable Servant--?!

"I do not think we are quite lost yet, if I may." Saber said calmly, as stoic as the Master beside her. "Kirei having sent me as a scout-" and there was the smallest tone of disdain in her words at the concept "-served its purpose. I would say we have learned a great deal about the other two knight classes as well as Berserker." Tokiomi looked up as though waiting for her to continue, but it was only upon signal from Kotomine that the blonde spoke again. "...We know the Einzberns are located in the forest outside the city, and that their servant is an Archer. One who seems to specialize not with a bow, but with blades as projectiles." 

Green eyes met with her Master's for just a moment; by now she knew to recognize the nearly imperceptible changes in Kotomine's expression that designated actual emotion. Specifically it was the smallest raising of the priest's eyebrows that designated 'interest'...Saber didn't understand why he was so interested in the man of the Einzbern camp that Tokiomi had intelligence on, but perhaps it was none of her affair just yet.

"Furthermore, Lancer is one skilled in the use of two spears--an unusual ability, to be certain. I would doubt it hard to determine his true name with only a little more detail. His Master seems inexperienced, but Lancer himself is unlikely to be a simple opponent if he stood against Berserker."

As she spoke with the full attention of both magi on her, it occurred to Saber that she was beginning to dislike this role. Scouting and subterfuge...what an unfitting position for a knight. Small wonder that Tokiomi's Rider would rebel so carelessly, yet Saber's sense of duty far outweighed any desire to argue at the moment. She'd give the strategy devised by her Master and his ally a chance, but much more of this lurking in shadows and she would have to voice her dissatisfaction.

"The lack of information on Berserker is information in itself; clearly his identity is that of someone who has done well hiding it in the past. I could barely even get a clear view of the armor he wore. And his Master...he was smart enough to stay in the shadows and remain mostly quiet from what I could discern. I would assume he intends to capitalize on his Servant's veil by keeping one himself as well."

"So essentially, we know nothing but the barest details."

"Would you rather the barest details or none at all?"

There seemed to be tension in the air, Tokiomi's eyes narrowing at the perfectly calm Saber as her Master said nothing. The blonde swordswoman held no obligation to him on her own, and so had no problem speaking openly in what could be called a defiant manner. Her only allegiance to Tokiomi was that which her own Master asked of her, and nothing more. The standoff between the two lasted less than a minute before the magus scowled and stood up once more.

"I need to try and talk Rider into some semblance of cooperation. Kirei, have Saber try to monitor Berserker and his Master." Straightening up and apparently collecting all the dignity he could muster, the thoroughly hassled Tokiomi walked out.

"Shall I-" She paused upon seeing her Master's expression; Kirei Kotomine was staring intently at the door through which his teacher had just walked through. It seemed to Saber as though two separate thoughts were at war within his mind, and in that moment she felt concern for the Master to whom she had sworn her blade. He spoke rarely, but so much of him seemed...conflicted, behind stoic eyes and a steady voice. Her Master was a man Saber did not yet comprehend, yet it pained her to see him so...lost, in some way. "...Kirei?"

"...Stay near the forest. Keep an eye on the Einzbern camp's movements." So, a direct contradiction to Tokiomi's wishes. That was unexpected, but if that was the decision of her Master, so be it.

Nodding in confirmation, the girl turned to leave as well, intent upon the direction of the forest rather than going on a hunt for a mad knight. Saber held no allegiance to Tokiomi Tohsaka; she followed the orders of her own Master without question. Yet even as she did, she wondered if their most worrisome opponent would be an outside force or perhaps whatever battle was being waged behind her own Master's eyes.

Chapter Text

Had Waver Velvet known that he was part of one of the few Master-Servant teams with no unrest or discord between them, he might not have been so uneasy. Having one's enemies running around like decapitated chickens was an advantage in itself, maybe even if one wasn't aware of it.

      "We saw Archer here," the student began, tapping the map on the desk between them, "so it's a safe bet they're located around here." He marked an X on the area of the forest.

      "But confronting them on their own base would be suicide." Lancer spoke in response, apparently getting the hang of the 'question me, you idiot' sentiment Waver kept expressing. "In fact I fear confronting Archer at all would be suicide. Do not mistake it for humility when I say without doubt I simply can not match someone like that."

Waver had been afraid of that. But if it couldn't be helped, it couldn't be helped.

      "That's fine. To tell the truth, I'm not too eager to face Kayneth. Maybe we should hope Berserker and Archer focus on each other for now..." Waver's gaze shifted back and forth across the map in a moment of hesitation; he hadn't really wanted to admit that much, but of course Lancer said nothing in judgment on the matter. "Walking headlong into a fight would be stupid. I don't have the ability to stand up to another magus in a fight, and if any more Servants are on Archer's level you'll be in trouble too." He quickly glanced up to see if his Servant was upset by the possible implication of weakness, but Lancer hadn't seemed to notice this time. He was focused on the map before them, as if trying to determine their best course of action through that alone. Relieved that Lancer hadn't taken it personally, Waver continued: "Listen, I've got an idea. Can you do something for me?"

      "Of course." Lancer looked up as Waver marked off a number of positions in a straight line down the riverbank, noting them alphabetically as he did. Once that was done, he reached down to the floor next to him and picked up a small case, placing it on the desk.

      "There's some glass vials in here--I labeled them last night to match the points on the river I just marked down. What I want you to do is get a sample of the water from the river at each point. Got it?" Lancer seemed confused as to just what the purpose of his Master's request was, but of course he agreed with a simple nod. "...I'll explain it later, it's a little complicated." Waver stood up, picking up the jacket that hung on the back of his chair. "While you're doing that, I'm going to the bookstore to see if I can find anything useful. Can you be back here in two hours?" 

      "I can be finished in half that, easily." Lancer had practically jumped at the question, causing Waver to stop halfway through putting on a jacket with a look of surprise that bordered on comical. His Servant was a lot less reserved than usual right now, wasn't he...? That was strange--not really in a bad way, Waver had to admit, but strange. Where was this sudden confidence coming from?

      "U-uh....Right. I just don't want to be caught out after dark again." Waver muttered awkwardly, pulling his jacket on the rest of the way. "I don't think anything will go wrong in broad daylight, but if it does we can still communicate through our spirit link. And I'll use a Command Spell to call you if there's an emergency. Okay?" 

      "Of course, Master. I will do my best to be sure I am here when you return." Lancer gave his Master a slight bow (no matter how much Waver wished he would cut that out, it looked like a habit that was tough to break) as the magus walked out with an exasperated sigh. He just had to accept that he'd summoned someone that was just flat-out weird sometimes.

      The truth of the matter was that Lancer was beginning to experience something he'd almost entirely forgotten could actually live within his heart. The night prior had been an unusual one, certainly. But that aside, there was something hopeful beginning to form. The gradual understanding of just what kind of person his Master was brought with it a slow and cautious hope: This just might work. They just might be able to reach the Grail together, this barely-a-hero Lancer and this so-called amateur magus who seemed to regard Lancer like they were naturally supposed to be on equal ground. Which was of course nearly unthinkable for someone like Lancer, who more or less believed his entire function was as his Master's shield and sword. From the first moment Waver had approached him as another human, he'd been thoroughly confused. But after a day or so to get used to the concept, Lancer was starting to notice...they worked well together. Had they really conflicted on any matter or even hinted at the possibility? Hardly. There was a part of him that wished Waver would perhaps be a little more certain in his actions and orders--sometimes it seemed like his Master was being cautious with his words so he didn't come off as critical of his Servant. But if he'd taken any misstep, Lancer thought, wouldn't it be better if his Master was critical and corrected him?

Maybe it was just one of those things he'd have to live with. Compared to the possibilities, it was a very insignificant problem to have. With no one around to see it, a very satisfied smile played across Lancer's face as he picked up the case Waver had left. One step at a time; he wasn't about to fail when his Master had only asked such a simple task of him.

      Meanwhile, Waver could only wish he was feeling that same confidence. Walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, the sentiment that currently overtook his mind was something more like worry. He knew he'd been lucky to get a cooperative Servant, and he was glad Lancer could take on someone as strong as Berserker. But Lancer was just so unusual. Waver was starting to wonder if he even could understand someone like that. His mind kept drifting back to that dream...the memories of someone who bore unendurable suffering without a single thought of complaint for himself. Even if Lancer wasn't happy with the role of a Servant, he'd never say a word. Even if Waver asked--even if he was truly concerned about whether or not this incomprehensible knight was happy--there was no way Lancer would ever complain to his Master.

      "...stupid." he muttered under his breath, lowering his gaze to the sidewalk. Yes, he was fortunate that Lancer listened to him and did everything he asked...but Waver would probably have preferred if he tried to have an opinion of his own. Why wasn't he that same confident person outside of battle that he was during it?

     As long as I still have strength enough to move, there is no enemy that can touch you.

Why was he remembering those words now? Waver shook his head as though he could just dismiss that thought with one motion. Strange or not, Lancer had stood up for him against Kayneth's threats. No one had ever done that for him before--why should they? He was nothing and no one in the eyes of anyone with half a Magic Circuit. The name of 'Waver Velvet' would neither be remembered nor worth any notice at all in the history of the Clock Tower. Except...to Lancer, he had no parallel. To that Servant, Waver was every bit as respected as he'd ever wished he could be. Unlike anyone else, Lancer listened when he spoke. Some ancient knight, listening and taking orders from an insignificant student? The idea was ridiculous, unbelievable...

...a little frightening? What right did he really have to order around some knight from a lost age? What if he screwed up and got Lancer seriously hurt, or worse even than that? If he made a mistake would Lancer really question him and say it was a stupid idea?! Waver pressed both hands to his head with an aggravated shout.

"He's so stupid--!" Mid-outburst, Waver stopped to realize...hey, wasn't this the middle of the day on a city street? 

Sure enough, there were a number of people staring at the weird teenager that seemed to be shouting at no one. Wishing he could just disappear into his jacket, a tomato-red Waver quickly ducked into the bookstore and away from the number of strange looks he'd earned.

Chapter Text

    'Effort is everything.'

Such a mindset was alien to the world of mages--a world the Velvet family had no real hand in. Their Crest was a mere three generations old, but it held barely even the strength of a first-generation mage's. For all intents and purposes, that was what it was. The first knew such practices only secondhand; her daughter merely choosing to study on occasion to hold to a connection with her mother. But, thought the third generation, what if they tried? What if he tried? If he possessed talent normal people didn't, did it not fall to him to refine such an ability with everything he had? From a young age he surrounded himself with his mother's books of magecraft, studying furiously--harsh on his each and every mistake, treading and retreading his own work to be worthy of bearing a Magic Crest. No matter his mother's warnings that the world of mages was one her son would surely hate, he remained insistent. However many times she tried to dissuade him from seeking proper magic tutelage, he would insist every single time, convinced that no matter how hard it was, effort would win out.

Magi operated upon the law of equivalent exchange; that which is received must be paid for with something of equal worth. Even the most basic magecraft followed that rule. So didn't it make sense that hard work would always yield results? Didn't it stand to reason that if someone worked as hard as they could, they would earn a worthwhile place in the world? For all that magi spoke of equivalence...that wasn't the case. No, the world he'd been so fascinated with was one of bloodline and inheritance. If you weren't born into a worthwhile line, you were nothing in the Clock Tower. No matter how loudly he declared his accomplishments, they were still only the accomplishments of a mere third-generation magus with no ancestral line, no talent, and no future. His mother had been right all along, and now it was too late to tell her so. But even though that was the case, he didn't stop. He couldn't stop; having sacrificed all he had to come this far meant no turning back.

You must have been unhappy, weren't you? Does that mean nothing at all?

What did it matter? He'd show them all, somehow. There was no way he was going to just keep letting people like Kayneth walk all over him with every condescending word they spoke to his face as well as behind his back. Disgracing his family name, disgracing his mother and grandmother with every snicker behind their hands, what made them so much better? Who cared about some omnipotent wish-granting chalice? Wishes and dreams were worthless unless one was willing to give their all to attain them. All the recognition he wanted was just within reach, if only he could just have the strength to work a little harder--

    "Lancer?" The hand on his shoulder hadn't been necessary; Lancer had immediately awoken at the sound of Waver's voice. Had he really been irresponsible enough to fall asleep at his desk upon returning? Was he not drawing enough magical energy in his efforts to avoid burdening his Master?
   
    "Wh--M-Master, I..." Lancer fumbled for a moment or two, then quickly trailed off before looking at Waver as though he was trying to determine the right way to continue. He had to say something, after seeing all that. Wouldn't it have been right to confess himself a witness to what was obviously only meant to be private?

For the second time since his summoning, Lancer was speechless. And for the second time, he cursed his own cowardice.

Chapter Text

    "If I'm asking a lot of you, you just need to say so." By now he knew full well that Lancer wouldn't say a word in complaint even if he was being pushed to the brink of death. But he still had to at least try to convince him otherwise, and with that remark aside, Waver took the case of glass vials and set it on the floor, sitting down and starting to inspect its contents.

    "No, it is no such thing. I-it's of no importance, Master." Lancer quickly waved a hand to dismiss the subject, moving to sit across from Waver and hoping he didn't press the subject. "What was it you wanted me to collect all this water for, exactly?" Waver raised an eyebrow in what resembled suspicion, but looked back to his work with glass and liquids soon after.

    "I'm going to try and determine if there's any traces of magic in the water. It's kind of a longshot, but the river runs straight through the city. If there's a Master located nearby, this might help us narrow down their location." Lancer hadn't yet realized he was staring at Waver as he explained things, and so focused was his Master on the task that he hadn't yet noticed anything unusual either. It was beginning to seem even more fortunate that Waver had summoned him specifically--such experiences were things that could be understood by a knight who disliked his own bloodline, who believed wholeheartedly in the value of working for what one wished to achieve in life.

    "So it's...some form of alchemy?" Lancer asked, the question forming with no real thought behind it. Speaking on autopilot, his mind was a thousand different places at once.

    "That's right." Waver answered, impressed. "How did you kn-...Lancer? Hey, what are you looking at me like that for?" From the young Master's perspective, Lancer had been acting weird all day--weird even for him. Now Lancer was staring at him in--was it concern? He seemed distraught about one thing or another, enough that Waver was definitely worried now. "What's wrong?" Lancer opened his mouth to respond, a great number of things lining up to be his potential next words.

I won't lose. If success is your only wish, then I will give all that I have for your victory.

    "I-"

-can not express how grateful I am to fight by your side.

"...-have never seen someone use alchemy before." the knight finished halfheartedly, uneasy gold eyes glancing to the side.

    "That's it?" Waver asked with a flat look. "Geez, you looked like you were really upset or something." Shaking his head and muttering something about Lancer having a weird expression, the young magus looked back to his work. From the eyedropper in his hand, he placed a single drop of some clear solution into each vial; Lancer watched in silence all while mentally kicking himself over not speaking his mind like Waver wanted him to. The water in the first few vials turned a pale shade of red--no, they weren't quite all the same. As the two of them watched, each vial Waver added something to turned darker than the last. Lancer wasn't certain just what that meant, but the increasingly serious look on his Master's face seemed to say it wasn't quite the expected result. A tense silence followed until Waver stopped--the last vial he'd added the solution to was still perfectly clear, yet the one before it was so deep crimson as to be mistaken for blood.

    "M--I mean, Waver? What does that mean?" Lancer watched expectantly as his Master carefully inspected the last two vials, eyes narrowed and mouth turning to a frown as he contemplated that same question himself. The last colored vial was the one labeled H, and it was that mark Waver pointed to on the map lying nearby.

    "Hey, Lancer. Tell me about this spot here: was there anything that stuck out? A building, structure, anything at all?" Glancing over the map thoughtfully, it took Lancer a minute to respond.

    "Ah--now that you mention it, I did see something. It looked like a drainage pipe of some kind, though I couldn't begin to guess where it could lead. Does that hold some significance?"

    "Yeah." Waver shook his head, exasperated. "This was a little more effective than I thought. The concentration of magic traces in the water is too high for a Master and Servant to just be passing by, or even a couple miles out. Something like this-" he held up the vial with deep crimson liquid, "-has to mean that they're practically sitting on the riverbank. And I'd bet anything they're hiding out somewhere in there."

There was a look of sheer amazement on Lancer's face, and his lack of a verbal response made Waver fidget uncomfortably. Say something already, will you?! "...What? What is it this time?"

    "You located a Servant that easily." he stated, voice quiet but audibly impressed. "Why do you act as though you're dissatisfied with this result?"

    "What--what are you talking about, this is nothing. Any real magus would be able to get the same result with a less simplistic method. Doing something like this, it's--i-it's the kind of thing an amateur would need to rely on." Stammering, Waver quickly began to pack up the case of vials as though that should have been the final word on the matter. For about half a minute, it was; that time was what it took for Lancer to find his own voice to express his thoughts honestly.

    "But does that not make it even more impressive?" Waver stared at him, eyes narrowed in confusion. That didn't make any logical sense, for an amateur method to be impressive because it was amateur.

    "What? Don't be stupid, there's nothing impressive about this. It's kind of pathetic." Haltingly--just short of making Waver think the words were physically painful--Lancer continued.

    "I think th...that you're wrong."

Waver nearly dropped the entire case at that, fumbling and flailing around to prevent everything inside shattering to pieces. Lancer had just out-and-out rejected Waver's words, something the teenager almost hadn't thought possible. His Servant had contradicted him, and Waver stared in openmouthed shock.

    "K-keep going, don't just stop there!" responded Waver urgently. God forbid he start to backtrack after doing something so unprecedented.

    "With all due respect, you see...as you've said, the method is simple. I have just watched you exert nearly no energy in this, and yet you located a Servant's probable location. If this is the amateur method, an expert would have perhaps covered a wider area and yet spent far more magic in doing so." Listening to Lancer's reasoning explained, Waver was suddenly very aware of himself. The quickening of his heart. Grip tightening on the case he still held. Breath catching in his throat and face steadily turning a bright shade of pink. "This is beyond any development I could have expected from your initial instruction this morning." Nodding sagely as if in conclusion, Lancer looked to Waver with an eager sparkle to his eyes and a genuinely proud smile. "Simple or not, your method and its result are truly worthy of praise."

    "Gh--" A choked noise left the Master's throat, as if he wanted to call Lancer an idiot yet couldn't force it past the breath he'd been inexplicably holding. The rush of heat to his face was a sure sign of deep scarlet embarrassment, hidden by an awkward fumbling to stand upright followed by turning on his heel. The case was shoved in a bottom desk drawer which was slammed shut so quickly the rusted handle fell off, Waver's back to Lancer as he scrambled to steady himself.

Could that have been the first time Waver Velvet's skill had been praised by anyone but his parents?

    "You haven't fallen ill, have you?" Lancer asked, smile faltering as he got to his feet and stepped closer. From his perspective, it must have seemed as though his Master had just choked on thin air and started having a fit. Great job, Waver, he cursed inwardly, really subtle.

    "I'm f-fine!" Rounding on a surprised and confused Lancer (who he made sure to point at for emphasis), Waver snapped with his face still a light shade of pink. "Y-you're really kind of an idiot, you know that?! Geez, what kind of person th-thinks an amateur can do something better than an expert?!" The wounded look on Lancer's face made Waver almost immediately regret his reaction; meanwhile there was a very different conflict going on in the Servant's mind. His Master had a tendency to react with anger at the most unexpected things. Praise and compliments, for example. In this specific instance, he had frozen in place and very nearly begun to apologize profusely for...something. When it occurred to him that 'something' was poorly defined, the knight of the lance hesitated. Of course he must have said or done something unsatisfactory, yet...this was anger, wasn't it? Could it have been a little less simple than that? Waver seemed irritated and even angry, yet there was--thankfully--nothing like hatred in his stare. At best Lancer could sense annoyance, so what if this overblown reaction was just that--a discontented ruffling of feathers, an unspoken warning to back off for whatever reason?

It made sense, he silently concluded. After all...his Master was (perhaps above all else) lonely, wasn't he? Who knew better than that knight how such a thing could vary? One might desperately seek praise and fervently hope to draw in the attention of those nearby...and then one might not know what to do with such a thing when they received it.

    "Perhaps just an idiot who appreciates efficiency, Master." Lancer spoke at last, the tense line to his shoulders relaxing and a light smile crossing his face. The best course of action in this matter was to leave things as they were. To push the matter might be provoking his Master, and retracting his words was something Lancer simply couldn't do.

    There was far more he had to concern himself with than figuring out how on earth his Master's mind worked, anyway. Shaking his head, Lancer picked up the map of Fuyuki as Waver occupied himself with reorganizing the stack of books he'd brought with him...all the while muttering one thing or another about an idiot Servant.

    "What are we going to do about this?" Waver stopped in the middle of placing everything in a pile, hand hovering in midair as he considered what Lancer might have been asking about--oh, right. The Servant hiding at the riverside.

Now who's the idiot, you forgot all about that. The idly hovering hand went to Waver's face as he exhaled a deep sigh.

    "Right, that thing. We should probably look into it; no way someone like Archer or Kayneth would put up with a drainage pipe as a hideout...so there's really no way of knowing for sure which of the others we could end up dealing with. Assassin, maybe?" Going into a fight mostly blind sounded like a bad idea, but Waver was pretty sure the element of surprise was a god thing to have. Wasn't it? "If you're up to it, we can investigate the area tonight."

Even as Lancer responded eagerly and Waver knew his Servant was ready for a fight, there was a terrible feeling growing in the pit of his own stomach. Anxiety before a battle, probably. Opening the nearest book, he silently prayed that was all there was to it.

Chapter Text

    Overwhelming silence was broken only by the faint splashing of a half-inch or so of water underfoot. Neither Lancer nor Waver had spoken since entering the long and dark pipe that functioned as a concrete corridor; they were both quiet and alert, the student a few steps behind his armor-clad Servant.  As they progressed the small amount of light back at the entrance grew more distant, and with no end in sight Waver was beginning to wonder if they'd eventually just be fumbling around in pitch darkness. ...Not that he was afraid or anything. Oh no, that would just be ridiculous. Just ahead, Lancer seemed to have no trouble knowing where he was going; Waver assumed the vision of a Servant was probably better than that of a human's, or at least he sure hoped it was. This wasn't the kind of place where the blind leading the blind would end in anything good...a creeping sensation of dread was coming up on him now. Maybe it was just because his Servant seemed tense, or because of that strange unidentifiable smell that Waver had forced himself to ignore even as it grew steadily more pronounced. Or that pressing atmosphere that filled the air, thickening it with traces of prana and a nauseating sensation of this place is wrong that Waver didn't dare acknowledge. Instead he quickened his own steps, walking closer to Lancer with a dissonant splashing of the water they walked through.

He may have opened his mouth to speak once or twice as they went, but a single look at his tense and serious Lancer stopped whatever thoughts were forming in Waver's head. A Servant was likely to be far more aware of the sensation that grew steadily stronger around them: that which Waver could not put a name to, Lancer was sharply alert and aware of. So if his Servant was concentrating so intensely upon what was ahead, Waver wouldn't interrupt for the sake of their own safety.

Eventually  the narrow passageway opened up to a wider space, though it was as dark as ever. Lancer stopped in his tracks and Waver did the same, staying near the knight's side and squinting uselessly into the darkness.

    "We shouldn't be here." It was then that Lancer spoke at last, saying something Waver didn't really understand. Yes, everything down to the air around them felt oppressive and yes, there was that deepy nauseating smell hanging in the air, but any actual enemy would have attacked long before now. Waver had chalked the sensations up to residual magic in the air; he assumed by now this was a magus' workshop, or even that of a Caster-class Servant.

    "What are you talking about? There's no one else here right now." Waver countered, rummaging in his pocket as he spoke. "As long as we don't hang around, we'll be long gone by the time whoever established this workshop gets back." Completely still, Lancer didn't look back at his Master as he broke a small object open with a cracking noise. As he tossed it into the air, it became a pale green light source...and Waver immediately wished it hadn't.

The vaguely shaped shadows against the wall and scattered across the floor were outlined in the dim light his magecraft had created, and thus were shadows no longer; it was clear that which were shapes in the dark were corpses in the light. No, not even that--pieces of corpses, dissected and torn apart. Waver could all but feel the floor violently yanked out from beneath him when realization hit like a sucker punch to the stomach: there was no water on the floor, or had not been for some time since their entrance. Instead, the liquid that was underfoot even now was deep crimson, originating from the countless chunks of flesh and bone that were only barely recognizable as having once been human--and young at that. Did even one he could place as human look a day over ten years old?

    "Gh...hrk--" Choked sounds were all Waver could produce, falling back against his Servant's side to stop from collapsing to his knees on a blood-soaked floor. Both hands flew to his mouth as everything in his stomach threatened to present itself violently. Yet even as Waver trembled and frantically tried to get himself under control, Lancer was just as still as when they had walked in.

    "I did try to tell you." he remarked, tone even rather than admonishing.

    "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Waver heard himself snap as soon as his stomach had stopped its horrible turning. "How can you--how can you just stand in a place like this and not even--...n-not even..." The reprimand was never finished, trailing off as Waver caught sight of the trace of scarlet on his Servant's own hand. Still as he was and calm as he sounded, there was an immeasurable tension in every inch of Lancer's stance; his hands shook from what was unmistakably rage, curled so tightly into fists his own blood had been drawn. While the show of emotion was a relief in one way, it was terrifying in another: Lancer could actually get angry? According to the burning murderous rage in gold eyes, the answer was yes. His own indignance silenced, Waver placed a hand on Lancer's arm to steady himself as well as try to bring his Servant back down to a less foreign level for him. "...destroy it. Please. Please, just...I don't care how, I'm not strong enough and we can't leave things like this."

Lancer's response was a firm nod of conviction that caused Waver to lean against the knight in exhausted relief. Not to say he expected Lancer to deny the half-sobbed request, but for a moment he feared it impossible. A Lancer-class wasn't one with the physical power of some others, but if this Servant was so certain he could manage...

    "As your sword I shall carry out the will of my lord gladly; if you wish this place demolished, it will be done." Even more relieved to hear no anger lacing the frustrated tension in Lancer's voice (what would it even sound like? Nothing he wanted to hear, certainly.) Waver looked up at him as the armored knight continued. "However, first there is something that needs to be attended to." Lancer's eyes that seemed to almost glow unaturally in what measure of the light they caught were directed off to the side, towards a dark corner Waver's magecraft hadn't quite reached. As he stepped away from his Master's side to approach it, the magus staggered back--had he just seen something move over there?

    "What...Lancer, wh-wh-what is that?" The tremor in his voice would have been shameful if Waver wasn't completely terrified.

    "Another Master." Seriously and yet with no sense of urgency or concern, Lancer said something that didn't pacify Waver's racing heart in the slightest. "If my assumption is correct...Caster's, I should say."

    "Wh--why didn't you say anything--?!" The interjection echoed off the walls, fear channeled into manifesting as some sense of anger. "You knew there was an enemy Master here the entire time, why didn't you tell me?!"

    "Because I do not believe him to be human any longer." That shut Waver up instantly, mouth hanging open as the entire English language died in his throat. "At the absolute least, he is not aware of our presence." On the edge of the pale light's reach, Lancer knelt down beside a vague dark shape. Waver took a few halting steps forward before stopping awkwardly, stuck between approaching what seemed like death or staying in place and doing nothing.

    "Should I...what should I--" Waver was a miserable healer and he knew it, but squinting into the dark he could see what looked like a pitiful and broken form. Even an enemy didn't seem to deserve that.

Lancer had a better view of things from where he was at the other Master's side; 'pitiful and broken' didn't seem to do this justice. Not that he would link the word 'justice' to this in any form, of course. Lying before him was a figure the pallid gray of a corpse, yet still he drew breath through some twisted miracle. A discarded blue sweatshirt laid out forgotten on a worn wooden table, beside it god only knew what manner of bloodied mess. The barely-conscious Master's ashen skin was crisscrossed with clumsily healed wounds, thin lines stained with blood. Some kind of...vivisection? What purpose could that possibly serve? Lancer thought as quickly as he could, processing all possible circumstances so that his own clever Master wouldn't have to. If another enemy was responsible for this, they surely wouldn't have bothered with the vague attempt at healing. If I am indeed correct and this is Caster's workshop and Master...no, it couldn't be. Lancer raised a hand to his head, in deep concentration as he tried to comprehend the idea forming in his mind. Why would any Servant take apart their own Master? No, what kind of monstrous Servant could?

    "Forgive me for asking this of you, Master...if you can, could you tell me what is on that table?" Processing the request for a moment or two, Waver moved with jerking and hesitant motions to where Lancer had indicated, squinting in the dim light to register what rested upon it. The glint of small silver knives were stuck vertically throughout a small gray mass, mostly shapeless for how it had been cut apart--oh god those were little sharp teeth

    "I-I don't know. What the...what is that thing--?!"

So his Master didn't know either. Lancer contemplated for a second; the conclusion, grim as it was, seemed to be that this half-dead magus before him must have held something of interest for Caster. If indeed it was a traitorous Servant that had done this work (and regrettably Lancer could see no alternative) then that was the only reasoning he could see. Sighing quietly and closing his eyes in resignation, Lancer's right hand closed around a golden lance that materialized with the faintest fluctuation of magic in the air.

    "Lancer..." Waver muttered apprehensively as he turned to face his Servant, "...what are you doing...?"

    "The only thing that we can do for him." came the steady reply.

    "What--what, no, no, you can't just kill him like this--"

    "...What is it that you consider this? Not merely this specific situation, but all of this--what is a war to you if not lives lost one way or another?" For the first time, there was something admonishing in Lancer's voice as he looked to his horrified Master. Waver retreated at the coldly intense stare with which he was now fixed, stopping when he felt the splintered wooden table at his back. "Were you to heal him, I fear that would be far less merciful. Whatever this man's circumstances, it's clear to me life such as it is would be torment beyond imagining, or has been for some time now. If you would have me stop, then I shall. But if you give that order, do so knowing this is the reality of war; there are some places where that which others call 'compassion' is not sparing a life, but taking it as an act of mercy."

Lancer stopped for a moment, then continued in a softer tone as though recalling some experience Waver couldn't even begin to guess at. "Understand this, Waver. In doing the right thing, others may be hurt. There is rarely a situation in which everyone can be happy with the results of one's choice...whatever you decide, make it with conviction. So there can be no room for regrets. Look back on this moment saying 'I did the right thing, even if others may blame me for it,' and stand by your decisions no matter what. Do you understand me?"

    A deep sense of shame gripped at Waver's heart. Even the smallest reprimand from Lancer felt as though it were an absolute condemnation, in the same voice that had so earnestly praised his skills earlier. His hand gripped at the fabric of his sweater in an attempt to calm his still-racing heart, eyes lowering to the crimson stained floor.

    "...yeah. Y-yeah. Do what you have to, Lancer. Take care of things here, I'll--I-I'll wait out at the entrance." he managed to get out, staggering away from the table and turning his back on the entire scene. As he started to walk away, Waver thought he heard Lancer's voice again, quietly: was he speaking to the half-dead magus on the ground? There wasn't much time to give it thought. Almost immediately after came the sound of a blade cutting through flesh and bone straight through to the stone floor.

Instead of daring to look back, Waver closed his eyes tightly and ground his teeth together, taking off running down the long and dark path through which they'd entered.

Chapter Text

    Amidst the sounds of supports crumbling and the beginnings of fire crackling, Waver had done nothing. When Lancer finally did come out after a time that had seemed endless and noted it was no longer safe there, his Master did nothing but stand from where he had been sitting with his knees held to his chest. Coherent thought had been forced back and locked away. If he dared to contemplate what had transpired so far, the student feared he might snap entirely.

But it was hard to think of anything else now, even as they moved further and further from the river. What more could he focus on--how high above Fuyuki they were as his Servant's agility carried them from one rooftop to another? No, the height itself was terrifying. If Waver focused on that, he might outright faint. Concentrating on how embarrassing it was for their easiest transportation method to be Lancer carrying him wasn't a better option, either. Really, did they have to be this close? Sure, the alternative was falling to his death, but with how the evening had begun to unfold? Terminal velocity was a little tempting.

...but on second thought, was it so bad in this case? Lancer's hold was secure without being constricting, and despite the lack of anything else separating him from a sudden encounter with the Fuyuki streets...despite everything Waver felt an odd sense of safety building itself as the solid framework to scattered and chaotic thoughts. It was that he held on to, distracting him from the lingering smell of blood and the memory of broken corpses.

Unexpectedly, Lancer came to a sudden halt atop one of the city's higher buildings and set Waver on his feet, staring with that calmly serious expression that hadn't left his eyes since they'd stumbled on Caster's workshop.

    "Wh-...what? What is it?" Waver faltered under his Servant's gaze for only a moment before crossing his arms.

    "You don't look well. I thought it better we stop for a moment so you could catch your breath." Did Waver really look as bad as he felt? Taking a deep breath, he made a concentrated effort to steady himself...with little success. Up as high as they were, Fuyuki's nighttime winter air was freezing as it blew past; that must have been why Waver shuddered and held a deathgrip on his own arms crossed over his chest. Of course there was no other reason. He certainly wasn't scared out of his mind, not one bit. And he definitely wouldn't admit as much in front of anyone, lest of all Lancer. Instead he shut his eyes tightly against the night's circumstances, painfully aware that Lancer was still watching him with that same focused gaze.

    "I-I'm fine. I don't know what you're talking about, just forget it!" Waver snapped without thinking, desperate and scrambling for something that would just undo this entire thing. Waver would have almost preferred returning to a life of mockery and obscurity in the Clock Tower to whatever hell this entire competition was. He'd been stupid, this whole time. Stupid to think entering and winning the Holy Grail War would ever be simple, stupid to think someone like Waver Velvet could compete and survive in a world of magi and monsters and things he couldn't even comprehend. Waver might have flat-out broken down crying if he thought despair would help matters. Even knowing it wouldn't accomplish anything didn't stop it from being a very real possibility.

    "...I'm sorry." Lancer's apology was something Waver was used to by now. ordinarily, he might have dismissed it angrily if not for just how it was delivered. His Servant had knelt down to meet his Master's eye level as he'd been admonished for in the past. But this time Lancer had paired the action with something completely unthinkable: his arms rested around Waver's trembling shoulders in a secure although awkward embrace. Blinking in openmouthed shock, the teenager's own arms dropped uselessly to his sides.

"Had I only been more cautious--no, had I been attentive at all I would surely have been able to bring an end to this before it began." Lancer's own voice sounded unsteady, and though they were too close for Waver to properly see his Servant's face, a startling thought sparkled in the back of his mind. Could it have been possible...was Lancer every bit as distraught about that workshop as his Master? Had he been hiding what he really thought the entire time?

Never was there a moment in which he was seen to suffer.

    "It's...it's not...j-just shut up, idiot." Waver muttered halfheartedly for lack of knowing any other way to react. Stupid, stupid Servant that only knew how to fake a smile or force himself to stay calm. Stupid hypocrite Master that only covered everything he felt with anger and insults. "Don't go saying this is your fault. If I had thought to look by the river earlier--no, forget it. Just forget it." Shaking his head, Waver stood a little straighter. That seemed to be enough to get Lancer to let go of him. "We should be more worried about Caster. They should've disappeared without a Master, right?" Lancer was silent, that in itself already worrying. It was a simple question with an obvious answer: if a Master died, their Servant lost its connection to the world and vanished. There were class skills that provided exceptions, but those were nothing a Caster should have had. All signs pointed to Caster being defeated without a fight, so what was Lancer thinking about?

    "I am not certain, Master. Yes, it is likely Caster no longer has a Master and as far as we know, no other active contract. Yet something still bothers me about the matter." Lancer stood up as he spoke, hand brought to his chin in contemplation. Saying nothing, Waver just waited--by now he knew Lancer was just as smart as Waver himself with the added bonus of thinking calmly under pressure. There was no doubt that if Waver had missed some detail, Lancer surely would manage to think of it.

"Why take so many victims?" the knight said at last, distaste of the concept coloring his words. "I admit I wouldn't have counted them even if I had been able, but a precise number isn't necessary. There is no doubt his Master had little to no time remaining--Caster must have known that. If he took them as a secondary source of magical energy, then it is likely he is on borrowed time of his own even now."

So he could still be out there, Waver thought but didn't dare say. A shudder went down his spine, shaking him violently...wait, was that only a shudder? Lancer immediately went rigid, turning sharply to face the direction of the river they'd just come from. A split second later, Waver felt the same thing that had set his Servant on full alert. The faint tremors that reached even the rooftop upon which they stood could have easily been mistaken for an earthquake, but the sharp and heavy fluctuations of prana contradicted that immediately. Waver rushed as close to the roof's edge as he dared, squinting in the direction Lancer had turned; towards the bridge that joined Fuyuki's two districts. A thick violet miasma was beginning to gather over the water, something unspeakable building up beneath its surface. The river stirred and seemed to boil at the motions of something within it, some dark source of prana as suffocating as that within Caster's workshop. Thrashing figures churned the water, rising as an enormous figure seeming to be from hell itself; a terrible and indescribable thing of countless tentacles and who knew what else silhouetted by the thick fog.

    "...Damn it. I hate being right sometimes." Lancer muttered under his breath, annoyed but mostly unfazed. Such a thing had been presenting itself as a likely option: on such little borrowed time, a drastic action to eliminate Fuyuki itself and with it all the other Servants was not out of the question for an obviously deranged mind.

    "Wh-what are we going to do?" Waver swallowed his disgust and horror, turning his back on the monster and facing Lancer instead. Steady as ever, the knight shook his head.

    "That is not my choice to make." he replied, gold eyes focused on the summoned monstrosity. "...I can ensure your safety, certainly. Take both of us well out of Caster's reach and wait either for his exhaustion or for another Servant to defeat him. Such a matter would be simple."

    "You're not serious...!" Waver interjected, stomping one foot in anger and raising a hand in an accusatory point at Lancer. "What about that thing, are you just going to let it destroy the whole city? And if it kills anyone else, if Caster just keeps getting energy from killing humans, what if it doesn't stop?!" The corner of Lancer's mouth twitched into a thin smile, glancing to Waver for only a second before returning to watch the leviathan upon the river.

    "A lesser man might have prioritized his own life over others. Facing what must look like certain death to you, I have to confess that I feared you would wish us to run. That was my mistake--I forgot for a moment what kind of Master I was granted." Lancer nodded just slightly to punctuate his thought, satisfied. "Forgive me...but it is still not my place to tell my Master what action to take." He turned to a stunned Waver, confident and unafraid. "Give me an order, and no matter how impossible I will see it done."

There it was again; Lancer had faith in him. Even after assuming Waver would want to run from this fight--what sane man wouldn't be running full speed out of Fuyuki--his Servant had corrected himself on the matter as though it was an obvious misstep in logic. The sky was blue, the earth was round, and Waver Velvet was a Master worth all the faith Lancer could spare. What a strange, deluded world his Servant lived in.

    "...Can you fight it?" Waver asked in an uncertain voice. He trusted Lancer, of course. But it was just as he said; that monster was death. There was no way around it, no way even his fast and powerful knight could--

    "Of course I can." Lancer's voice came without hesitation, holding out his hand. "With my Master at my side, we will find a way. It is not possible for me to lose." Dumbfounded, Waver looked from Lancer's extended hand to the knight himself.

    "Wait, you...really want me to come with you?" he asked, realizing it was a stupid as well as badly timed question. Didn't they have more important things to be doing?

    "It's too dangerous to stay this far away. While it's a risk to be so close to the battlefield as well, I can better protect you if you stay within reach." Lancer actually smiled as he spoke, tone even light in the face of the monster ahead of them. "You need not worry about your own safety. There is no threat I will hesitate to guard you from."

Waver wanted to believe that--he did believe it, but what if Lancer failed? For all his confidence...no Servant was perfect, right? Waver himself had been confident when the war started, and he didn't have to look around to know it had done nothing but land him in unthinkable trouble. Lancer wasn't infallible; there was no way that any Servant was.

...But that applied to Caster just as much, didn't it?

Waver took a deep breath, hardening what little resolve the night had left within him and extending his Command Seal-marked hand to take Lancer's hand before doubt had a chance to cut the young Master down any further.

    "Let's finish this together, Lancer."

Chapter Text

    "Why?!" Outside the Tohsaka estate, the blonde Saber's indignant shout echoed through the thick night air. "Why do you hesitate, Kirei?! My power combined with that of Rider's would prove enough to obliterate that!" she gestured to the summoned creature which had begun to tower over buildings and could now be seen from even their position.

    "Tokiomi wishes you to stay behind." Kotomine answered evenly, staring up at the creature with unshaken stoicism. "Your presence would only serve to agitate Caster further. Did we not learn this lesson in the blood of innocents spilled when last he appeared to lure you to fight?"

"Kirei--! The devil with Tokiomi's orders, have you not been acting behind his back all this time?!  As much as I have watched the movements of this Kiritsugu Emiya, I have seen yours as well, and your inaction speaks volumes more than the orders of Tokiomi Tohsaka!"

Kotomine neither spoke in response to his Servant nor did he take his eyes from Caster's summoned monster. The anger of a heroic spirit seemed hardly enough to even make him blink. But why did he so hesitate? Caster now more than ever was an unholy existence which slaughtered and sacrificed the innocent. Should a priest, of all people, not have the greatest desire to halt the work of some earthbound devil? It was his duty both as a man of God and as a human being.

Yet here he stood: silent. Captivated. Captivated by the hellish mass of death given animate form. Kirei Kotomine now more than ever felt himself lost; standing upon a raft which drifted further and further down a path he would not dare even attept to name.

The heretic Caster, this aberration and blight upon the earth...it was clearly something he should have taken upon himself to destroy. One of the Church's numbers was the remedy for such things, the blood to turn back the plague.

Black and white. Good and evil. Heaven and hell. Simple.

So why now did it seem less and less so as Kirei contemplated it? Although his methods were that of a heretic, did not Gilles de Rais seek to accomplish a holy crusade of his own? 'Jeanne', he had incorrectly named the King of Knights at the priest's right hand. Claimed her 'memory loss' was punishment from God he sought to cleanse and undo. To this Servant whose Master may as well have been Lucifer himself, no matter how bloody his actions, they were 'good'. In bringing them to a halt, it would in Caster's mind be Saber and by extention Kirei himself that would become 'evil'.

The line of thought was in itself absurd, and even as he pursued it to that conclusion Kirei knew it to be so. But he had pursued the fleeting thought to completion all the same--why? Why seek to understand a mind long since lost to madness? Caster surely thought nothing of morality, so contemplating 'morality' itself in application to such a man was futile. But the idea that such unthinkable acts could be seen as 'good' in any perspective? That concept lingered in Kirei's mind; simultaneously it fascinated and terrified him. One committing bloody sacrilege, who raged against God in manic hatred, and who now defied Him by drawing up a monster from Hell's deepest pits...could think themselves a saint in their own right. .Was that envy that now tugged at the priest's mind? Envy of a child-murdering monster?

...Yes, he concluded. As necessary as Kirei knew it to be, morality was a heavy chain which tethered most to their belief in what was 'good' and 'right'. Did he not see that displayed by his own Saber? So chained to the ideals of truth and purity was Arturia Pendragon that she had dragged herself down unto her last breaths. Unfettered by the 'morality' that Kirei contemplated even now, untouched by the hesitance and questioning that gripped the heart of Kotomine Kirei with doubt's icy hand was this Caster...this monster who held no doubt in his path no matter how bloodstained.

It was that absolute lack of second-guessing or hesitation that Kirei Kotomine envied deeply.

To be so firmly rooted in one's actions that they should be only natural. To never question what path to take and merely take it. To him, there was little that seemed more appealing.

    "Saber." he said at last. Not once had he moved from the spot to which he was rooted or even spared a sideways glance to the woman. At a word he held her full attention, and at his next few he took her by surprise entirely: "Go. Stop Caster if you will. But do not use your Noble Phantasm--not unless I order otherwise. Is that understood?"

She found it strange, but understandable. The sword Excalibur was one that could be linked to but one hero, and to invoke its name would be to relinquish any semblance of secrecy. All those who heard its name and saw its light would know her as King Arturia Pendragon. But why had Kirei changed his mind so suddenly. And 'stop Caster if you will'...did he regard the situation at hand with such apathy? As though it didn't make a difference whether Saber brought this to an end or not?

No matter. The important things to contemplate now were Caster, his monster, and the eradication of both. She could question Kirei's motives and wording later, and it was with that in mind that Saber raced off with the utmost speed.

Her Master made no move to follow. Not yet, at least. He watched the knight's retreating back, questioning his own choice as much as his Servant would have liked to. Again he had directly opposed Tokiomi's orders...to what end? What purpose would it serve? Perhaps it was that which he sought to answer. A question of 'if I were to act without thought or hesitation, would those actions be what I truly desire'? Humans were meant to be rational, thoughtful creatures; could one ever operate on instinct alone? And if one were to try, to simply run forward on the path ahead with no thought for obstacles or divergent paths...where would it take them? Could they perhaps run off the heavy weight that dragged down those such as the King of Knights, or would it be that moral leash which stopped them cold and forced them back?

Perhaps the only way to find out was to start running.

Chapter Text

In life she had held a name, but only for a time. What name and identity the woman once carried had been lost when she was still but a child. It had been shed, abandoned, and left to sink into the darkness which she embraced and became. The child Atalaya had disappeared, and from the remains slipped the shadow called Hassan. She had become another iteration in the line originating the term 'assassin' itself, and nothing more or less.

"Man...did you just get a chill?"

And now, she was answering to one who could be charitably termed 'an idiot'. Their Master had ceased in his wanderings (he lacked a home, much less a proper headquarters) and leaned back against a railing that overlooked the Mion River. On his face was a frown like that of a confused child trying to piece something together. Behind her white mask, the Assassin in hidden spirit form rolled her eyes.

"No, my Master. I am, as I said before, in spirit form to avoid detection."

How frustrating this makeshift Master was, how unbelievably weak and unskilled. Death was something to be dealt out with a swift hand and purpose in one's mind. But this person, this Ryuunosuke to whom she had been contracted...to him, death and the inflicting of pain were some manner of sport. He drew joy from it, and not merely the satisfaction in defeating one's enemies.

"However," the shadow continued, looking out over the water, "there is something out there. A fluctuation of prana somewhere upriver, I believe...though I can not discern the source."

Childish confusion remained on Ryuunosuke's face, the serial killer tilting his head as though Assassin had used one too many large words for him to comprehend. Silence passed in which the shadow came very close to regretting every decision she had ever made which resulted in this specific situation.

"There is likely an enemy Servant at work in the river." she explained flatly.

Ryuunosuke grinned in understanding, looking over his shoulder to the water reflecting the night sky. "Soooooo..." He stretched out the vowel sound with the tones of someone who was distinctly fishing for the right way to keep the conversation going. In other words, this Master of hers knew nothing of anything. Though she--several of the Assassins, in fact--had explained Servants and the Grail War to him in excruciating detail, he was more interested in his own 'recreation'. Often he asked each of them about the methods they used to kill, only to be disappointed upon hearing a long list of efficient methods from poison to decapitation. These lines of questioning continued until he nearly exhausted his prana reserves trying to keep so many manifested, and for the moment it fell to only one Hassan to function alone as his Servant.

What a terrible job.

"So." she repeated, word stabbing like her knives. "We--that is to say, you and your Servants--" She stressed the plural form; aside from one instance in which he'd wasted a Command Spell on a 'game' of competitive child murder which the shadow decided was best left forgotten, her Master didn't seem to realize how effective multiple Assassins could truly be. They were one in the form of many, and under competent command could act as a force to truly be reckoned with. "--may either choose to scout out the cause of this disturbance, or even simply engage it if you wish."

Humming to himself as though considering the idea, Ryuunosuke opened his mouth to answer. But as soon as he had, a heavy pulse went through the air and carried with it a thick wave of purple mist that washed over Assassin and Ryuunosuke alike. The latter was nearly knocked flat on his back, dark eyes widening and darting wildly as he spun around to find the source.

Before them, the water began to churn furiously, stirred by a great existence coming into being below the blackened surface. Thick tentacles broke the surface as it emerged, arising in a writhing motion that reached towards the dark sky as if to claim that as well as the river. Though the miasma obscured its form in detail even from where Ryuunosuke and Assassin stood, the Master stared openmouthed as he took in the horrific sight. From further down the bridge, the horrified and stunned screams of passerby could already be heard. As Assassin braced herself in preparation of an attack, the amateur mage that had been knocked to the ground looked from left to right. The creature, whatever it was, had inspired absolute terror by simply appearing...that was something he found truly admirable.

Uryuu Ryuunosuke was one to whom the mere concept of death held true fascination. For a fleeting second, he recalled the day he'd seen blood's true color for the first time--as it spilled from the body of his sister. Why now did he recall the first of dozens of murders he had committed?

Because, the serial killer realized, because this was an even greater experience than the one which initially opened his eyes to death's thrilling nature. Whatever this thing was, it exuded--no, personified death. Could that be this monster's entire nature, to murder and kill and continue on doing so?

Ryuunosuke sprang to his feet, hands clenched into fists and eyes alight with pure, undiluted joy. Even Assassin was taken aback, half dropping her stance to look at him in what could have been disbelief behind the white skull mask.

"That's...so...cool!" he shouted, fists pumping enthusiastically. As people ran for their lives around the pair, Ryuunosuke turned to the female Assassin with a grin of true and genuine happiness on his face.

"Mas...ter...?" she inquired, hesitant. The woman had never seen such elation on her Master's face--indeed, not on the face of any man or woman whose hands were stained with blood as Ryuunosuke's and Assassin's own were.

"Okay!" he chimed in a near singsong voice. "You want to do something, right? You're restless or something like that, yeah? Here's my order as your Master or whatever!" He threw one arm out towards the river, pointing at the unholy abomination that already seemed to be trying to move downriver. "I want you to follow that thing! Go along with it, and if anything tries to stop it, take them out!"

What a truly horrifying person she had been contracted to. Even for Assassin, Uryuu Ryuunosuke was an incomprehensible creature. But...this creature would surely draw out the other Masters, and if it didn't kill them, then Servant Assassin would have the chance to do so themselves.

All that mattered in the end was the Grail. Whether or not Fuyuki remained standing at the end was none of a shadow's concern.

Chapter Text

 Lancer alighted on the riverbank as though he hadn't just leapt from a towering skyscraper, Waver's head spinning as he was placed on his feet beside his Servant. The resolve to fight was one thing, but the question of how rang deafening in both Master and Servant's mind. Through the choking miasma of magical energy rolling along the water and thickening the air, the colossal thing could just barely be seen--a shapeless mass of writhing flesh that whipped and churned the waters, smelling of blood and rotting fish. Waver coughed against the thick cloud of malice and magic alike, shaking his head to clear it. Think. Think, damn you. His mind raced against the pounding of his heart and the shrieking of a thousand doubts, struggling to piece together what to do. Lancer couldn't reach that thing, out in the middle of a massive river as it was, not without flying or suddenly learning to walk on water. A distance downriver was the bridge for a vantage point, but...no, even from here he could see the movement of people gathering on it. If this monster reached within range, then Fuyuki, Japan, maybe even the whole world would be lost.

The Association was going to be pissed, said a voice in his head too shellshocked to reach any other conclusion.

"How do we do this, Lancer?" Waver dug his heel into the ground in a silent reminder not to back down and turned to his Servant, who already held the longer crimson spear in hand.

"Unless the servant Caster is that creature, I think it likely to be a summoned monster--most likely powered from the harvested magical energy." Lancer spat the word as if it was poisonous, gold eyes narrowed. "If it is a summon, there may be a catalyst in the form of a Noble Phantasm in some form. And if there is-"

"-then you can cancel it out!" finished Waver, looking to the lance that had interrupted Berserker's magic, however briefly. But that was a microscopic scale next to this. Cut off the monster from its summoner, its magic battery, and it would at least surely no longer be able to move, if not vanish utterly. (Or so Waver fervently hoped.) To cut a connection between familiar and summoner was different, such things took time and effort. Time that could be used to kill Caster outright before the Servant could-

Before he could follow that thought to its ending, something collided hard with Waver's shoulder and knocked him to the ground, the sharp sound of a knife cutting through air barely missing his head. Above him, a flash of shadow and a flurry of motion ended in a red streak through the air--was it the lance, or the blood of the human figure that dropped to the ground without a head? Something rose in the back of Waver's throat that was either a scream or the contents of his stomach, but shock froze him in place too well for either. The figure was a human-shaped shadow in tattered rags, the head falling nearby in a skeletal white mask stitched in place.

"W..." As the figure--the Servant--vanished into shadow, Lancer stood over his Master with both spears at the ready. As he came back to himself and processed that Lancer had just saved his life from an attack no human could see coming, Waver was aware of how close to death he'd come: a thin scratch from a thrown knife had opened on his cheek, a breath from slitting his throat or landing in his eye.

"Assassin." snarled Lancer, looking around as if waiting for a second attack.

"But...you just...you just killed him, like it was nothing. An enemy Servant, as easy as-"

"No. Assassin should not be a Servant meant for close combat, but even so that was too easy. Something else is at work here." Waver stood on trembling legs at Lancer's words, wiping blood off his face and putting his back to his Servant. Now they had to worry about Assassin as well? Why did Waver even let himself be brought here, he was just a target and a liability; under normal circumstances if the Master died, then so did th-...

"Lancer. Find Assassin's Master." Even as he said it the words sounded critically stupid, but somehow he forced them out under his Servant's disbelieving stare. "Go. If you defeat him, we won't have to fight Assassin and we can worry about that." 'That' being the monster in the river Waver threw a hand towards.

"I can not leave you here-!"

"I'll only slow you down!" Waver interrupted, conviction finding its way into his voice to counter Lancer's frustration as adrenaline pounded a deafening rhythm in his ears. "Defeat him and I'll look for Caster--when I find them I'll call to you, now trust me and get going!"

Now was not the time to argue. At any instant another attack could come, if Lancer was right--and Waver didn't doubt for a second that he was. Worse still was the indistinct monster in the mist, and the water churning at the edge of the river in a manner Waver distinctly didn't trust. But he was sure this was right; Lancer was fast and deadly. He trusted in that Servant who could stand against even the monstrous Berserker, and hoped against hope that Lancer was reckless enough to trust someone who had nothing worthwhile behind his declaration. Could Waver find a way to get to the creature, and would he live long enough to try? He didn't like his own odds. But if he was going to die in a war for honor and prestige, then-

"...Be safe, Waver." With no more than that, Lancer disappeared in a flash and Waver swiftly found his feet under him and started running. Along the riverbank, parallel to the water--there had to be something, some clue or hint to where the magecraft-wielding Servant was. He knew damn well it wasn't the workshop where his Master and victims had been, so it had to be close. Had to be, because if it wasn't then Waver signed his own death warrant on a hopeless gamble.

Distantly, he thought he saw something on the water, amidst the corroding fog burning in his lungs: a figure running on the river in a streak of silver and blue. Lashing tentacles cut apart and regrowing as the figure swung...something? Nothing. They held nothing in their hands and yet the creature's advance had been slowed by the offense slicing away at it with only air. Another Servant, and that made four in play now. Maybe they'd be lucky and the rest of the Masters would have sense enough to deal with the building-sized problem first, but he still had to try--

And fail, crashing headlong into something bearing the same smell of blood and rotten fish. Waver staggered back, falling to the ground again and blinking against the miasma...then clamping both hands to his mouth as he realized what had blocked his way. 

From the river was coming a handful of things at least four feet tall, things not quite starfish and not quite insects, bearing tentacles and far, far too many legs--mandibles where mandibles did not belong, compound eyes scattered along tentacle-like arms and far too many teeth grinding and scraping against each other...and one turned in Waver's direction. There was no real face, no way of knowing for sure where it was looking, but he knew it looked straight at him and saw its next meal. Fear and disgust paralyzed him, Waver unable to even think quickly enough to pour energy into his Command Seal and form the words 'save me'.

"Shape ist Lieben!"

A woman's voice called out, and a white-blue light shone as something whipped through the air to collide with the monster advancing on Waver and tackle it clear back to the river. An...eagle? No, a construct of one, formed from magic and wire. And at the wire's end, a pale white hand hauling Waver to his feet by his arm.

"If you sit around like that, you'll only make it easier for Caster." said the same woman's voice, Waver looking up and trying to catch a stunned mind up to what had just happened. He recognized this woman, didn't he--silver hair, red eyes, the telltale signs of an Einzbern homunculus? Hadn't he seen her somewh-

'If he’s committed such a grave offense-' A pleading tone turning to placation, a woman speaking to a golden Servant on high--Archer's Master, pulling an enemy to his feet after narrowly saving his life? Waver couldn't have asked for his luck to be better; not only had he been right that the other mages saw the real threat, but he'd found a temporary ally already.

"R-right." He straightened up and planted his feet more firmly, back to back with Irisviel. He could barely fight, but at least she could help him earn the breathing room to think. Strategize a way to break through, and watch out for Assassin on top of that? Why not just keep tasking himself with what felt impossible tonight, after nearly dying twice in five minutes at most? 'We will find a way', Lancer had said with absolute conviction. So...Waver just had to trust him as he'd asked the Servant to do in turn.

Wings of a golden airship cut a streak through the night sky above, and wings of light circled the mages below to slice through the abominations crawling out of hell itself.

Chapter Text

Find Assassin's Master.

An easy enough task on its surface; there were few Heroic Spirits swifter of foot or sharper of eyes, and only Assassin himself could strike a killing blow with more efficiency. The problem presented itself in the execution of said order. Leaping from building to building within sight of the river, he could see the gathering of bewildered onlookers; if they drew much closer, they would prove themselves nothing but targets. Worse, they'd serve as a supply of energy to that monster if it reached them. How could he pick out a single human as being a Master like this, when any smart mage would have blended in to such a group? Lancer had to narrow down his search and fast if there was any chance of cutting off Assassin at its source. All the clear vantage points would be swarmed in moments by innocent people with little understanding of the danger, and the enemy Master would vanish from all sight like his Servant.

...Vantage points. The answer was obvious, then--the clearest view of the river was not from its banks, but the bridge spanning across it. If, and Lancer thought this with no small amount of dread, if Assassin's Master had chosen to work in tandem with Caster or his unfortunate wretch of a Master, then it stood to reason they would want to see the monster and those who endeavored to stop it. As soon as that conclusion was reached, he turned sharply and headed downriver. No matter how he wanted to pause to scan the riverbank for his Master, there was no time. His reckless lord might have been in mortal danger at that very moment, but Lancer had been given an order to carry out and the word of his Master was absolute law beyond question no matter how Lancer himself might have hesitated. The faster he did it, the faster he could see to Waver's safety.

The creature's advance seemed to have slowed, Lancer noted as he rushed in the direction of the bridge. Chancing a brief look revealed the probable reason; a silver-blue figure rushing along the surface of the water, bright even in the thick clouds of miasma rolling along the river's surface. Fast though the figure was, the creature lashed out at them with its tentacles--only for them to split and fall as the small figure swung...something? Nothing. The figure swung nothing with both hands to cut apart the monster's strikes with the very air itself. A Noble Phantasm of some kind, no doubt. Which meant they weren't the only Servant and Master looking to stop this catastrophe..no, there was more. Something flew overhead, a crackle of electricity and creaking of wheels as a chariot bearing two riders passed by him. A tremendous wall of a caped man holding the reins, and a smaller one wielding what looked at a glance to be a cane, issuing forth bursts of flame at the creature as they circled around it.

A reassuring confirmation that they weren't alone in this, as he leapt to land on the red metal of the bridge and high above the street spanning along it. No one would chance a look skyward, not with that abominable wretch before their eyes. From up here, running along the top of the bridge's arch, he could scan the baffled and confused spectators with no fear of detection. Look closely, Lancer thought, for anyone out of the ordinary. As though their surprise should be an act, or as if they should be too focused on-

A burst of manic laughter amidst the chaos fell squarely into the latter category, Lancer skidding to a halt and seeking out its source on the street below. It was far from difficult to track, the laughter as obvious as the young man with bright red hair leaning over the bridge's edge in excitement. Reveling in the abomination's actions, and if he looked closer to confirm...yes, traces of Command Seals upon the back of his hand gripping the metal railing. Revolting, truly. Was the world of mages and the wars they fought all so lacking in honor? There was no time to contemplate the matter, and Lancer resolved to think on it later. For now it would be nothing at all to be rid of him so long as Lancer acted before Assassin could realize their Master's peril. The golden spear manifested in his grip, and in no more than a breath-

Bang.

The world felt as though it slowed to a crawl at the sound like thunder, distant and yet so close. With a spray of red the exuberant Master's head jerked back unnaturally, a grin fixed on his face and light fading from wide eyes. His body arched back, falling limply as Lancer watched in stunned silence. With a thud and the frantic screams of a few surrounding civilians, the presumed Master of Assassin fell to the ground with a neat hole in the center of his forehead.

"What-?" He looked out to the river, not quite as far as the mystery Servant or the terrible creature they fought. Straining even his own sharp eyes, Lancer could almost make out a small dark shape on the water. A small boat, and a figure within it...someone had made so accurate a shot from that distance?

No--that wasn't important. Assassin's Master was dead beyond a doubt, regardless of who had struck a killing blow. His Master would be pleased with that result either way, so long as Lancer got back in time to keep them both ali-

▂▂▃▃▅▅ーーー!!

A deafening shriek of madness split the air, and the world suddenly moved much faster.

'Disaster' was a word that Waver Velvet had now decided was vastly overused. Because it did not even begin to brush the surface of everything this night had chosen to be, much less the current state of the Mion River. While Lancer was jumping between rooftops seeking Assassin's Master, Waver and his newfound ally were back to back against an encroaching mass of crawling terrors spawned from Caster's monster. Fear and adrenaline burned with every frantic beat of his heart, and for a moment he wondered if sending Lancer away was basically suicide.

"Can you fight?" called out the woman at his back, snapping Waver out of his panicked thoughts. Could he? Not exactly, certainly not like how she'd manifested a giant bird from wire to knock aside and cut down these monsters closing in on them. But...he had to. If Waver Velvet couldn't prove himself on this battlefield, in a war fought by mages, then what was the point of coming to Fuyuki at all? If he failed now, then Waver's ambitions, his family's name, Lancer's faith--he would be burning it all to the ground.

"Not really." He raised his right hand and braced it with his left, fingers together and pointed at the nearest shambling malformed thing. Gandr was the simplest of simple curses, but rune magic wasn't Waver's field of study. Combined with his limited magic capacity, he may as well have been throwing rocks at the creatures. Even so... "But I can watch your back and slow a couple of them down." The sharp but quiet sigh from Irisviel told Waver all he needed to know about whether or not she liked that answer. 

"Where's your Servant?"

"I sent Lancer to find Assassin's Master, I don't think it's all that interested in stopping this thing."

"Assassin?!" 

So she didn't know? Assassin must have targeted the weakest Master first, Waver concluded. That or Lancer was wrong and the Servant really had already been defeated. No time to think on it--he fired a blast of magic from his fingertips at a creature shambling too close. The impact or lack thereof just seemed to confuse it, for whatever given value it could even think.

"On your left-!" As Waver called out, the eagle circled around two monsters, wire pulled tight to break them apart in a fountain of violet ichor smelling of decay and making his head spin. 

"We can't stay here, we need to regroup." The wings of silver light spread, cutting a path through the not quite fish and not quite insect familiars. The woman--Irisviel, he remembered Archer had called her--gripped Waver's extended hand and took off, in long strides that he stumbled and failed to match.

"C-Caster--do you know where he is? If we can find him, my Servant can-"

"We know Caster's location." she cut in. "Look no further than his monster, the Servant himself is deep within its core." That time it wasn't Waver's feet that faltered, but his heart sinking straight into the muddy ground of the riverbank. If Caster was inside that thing, then Lancer's plan was shot down in a matter of two sentences. "The creature's only healing anything done to it; we need to get to safer ground."

Waver looked back to the monster; at its base was the determined figure bearing the very wind in their hands, hacking and slashing at the monster with immense effort just to slow it down. 

"So how do we kill it?!"

Irisviel's hand tightened on Waver's arm, something strained and forced in her already unnaturally pale face. She didn't know either, he realized. If a mage from a real lineage--one of the eldest--didn't know what to do, then how were they getting out of this alive?

"Come with me." she said insistently, as though he had much of a choice. But then she halted in her tracks, Waver crashing into her and nearly falling over. He opened his mouth to question what she was doing, but it was abundantly clear immediately as she drew in front of him and the wire birds illuminated the hazy air around them.

Living shadows stood before them, human in form but varying in shape and size. A man, a woman, a hunched over creature in a tattered cloak--five or six of them barred the path from where Waver could see, each in the same skeletal white mask. Assassin really was a Servant suiting its class, Waver sure as hell hadn't sensed them until they'd appeared, and it was obvious Irisviel hadn't either. The downside of that was they were caught off guard, and each Servant held an arrangement of the same throwing knives Waver had narrowly avoided earlier. Forget the plan, forget what he'd said earlier, it was either he called Lancer now or they both died. In a panicked rush Waver poured energy into his Command Seals, but before he could even think an order a flurry of motion interrupted him. Fire spread from behind the Assassins, rushing along the ground to block off the monstrous familiars' approach and set the Assassins alight in an instant conflagration, the wave of heat stinging Waver's eyes as he stared in shock. How many times was he going to narrowly avoid death tonight?

Distantly, amidst the noise of cracking flames and unearthly shrieks of the burning Assassins, he thought he heard a sound of thunder this time from the river itself, sharper and more abrupt. Was that....a gunshot?

He wasn't going to be given time to look for it; without warning the burning Assassins just...stopped. Frozen briefly in place, macabre statues locked in agonized poses lit too well by the orange flames incinerating them as their spiritual forms...vanished, all at once. Had it been the fire and the mage standing ahead of them with a ruby-tipped cane, or had Lancer found the unknown Master?

"Einzbern, I presume." spoke the cane-carrying mage, a well-kept man in a scarlet suit. Waver looked around Irisviel from where he'd been pushed behind her, blinking in the fading firelight. "Who is that with you?"

"Lancer's Master." she stated plainly, one arm held out slightly as if to separate Waver from the crimson mage. Was she...trying to protect him?

"...Is this a joke?" The mage approached with a severe frown, stopping a few feet away to scrutinize Waver with piercing blue eyes. "One of the three knight classes, summoned by a child?"

Of all things, that was Waver's boiling point. Caster's workshop, his barely-alive Master, the unholy terror that crawled out of hell itself with its terrible insect-fish familiars, the end of the world as he knew it? All of it had burned through him as panic and adrenaline set his mind into overdrive to the point where he could barely function past a few weak Gandr shots. But one more mage amidst dozens sneering down his nose brought Waver back to the moment like a slap to the face and set that panic into anger. He stepped out from behind Irisviel with all the fury of an angry teenager, snapping without thinking:

"I'll have you know I'm with the Spiritual Evocation department, and I-"

"And I am Tokiomi Tohsaka."

I don't give a damn if you're Zelretch himself, you can either stuff the act and say something worthwhile or you can get out of my way!

It was only when he saw the cold look in Tokiomi's eyes turn to something quietly murderous did Waver realize in muted horror that last thought had actually left his mouth. 

"Enough," said Irisviel in an exasperated huff, presumably saving Waver's life yet again. "Fuyuki falls under the jurisdiction of the Tohsaka clan, so I would hear what you plan to do about this." Tokiomi's eyes narrowed at Waver as if resolving to handle him later, before ignoring him entirely and turning to Irisviel.

"...It must be destroyed, all at once. Reaching Caster at the core and leaving nothing to regenerate. But that requires a Noble Phantasm of exceptional strength. Anti-Army at the bare minimum, but even that may not be enough. We would require an Anti-Fortress Noble Phantasm to be sure it was fully eradicated." Tokiomi looked back out at the river, to the silver-blue Servant running along the water's surface. It looked to Waver as if he were weighing his options, or maybe just debating a question he disliked the answer to. It was impossible to say, and he was too out of his depth to contemplate deeper motives right now.

"And Rider doesn't have one." Irisviel said gravely. It wasn't a question, and that made Waver feel sick to hear it. "Otherwise, you would have shown your hand by now. Even if it cost you an advantage, it would be ill-suiting a mage of the Association to ever let a secret war between mages become such spectacle."

Tokiomi said nothing, hand gripping the cane until his knuckles went white.

Anti-Fortress...that was way beyond Lancer's capacity as far as Waver knew. From the tense silence and grim looks on the two mages' faces--Tokiomi watching the river, Irisviel looking skyward--he felt like the world was falling apart underneath him. No way. No way this was just hopeless, was it?

Lancer, can you hear me? Instead of speaking up, he closed his eyes and focused inward. Things aren't looking great, are you coming back--



...Lancer?

Chapter Text

Lancer had hoped that there wouldn't be further altercations tonight, or that the rest of the Servants and their Masters would recognize that the very war itself paled in comparison to the threat dwarfing the city skyline. Perhaps, he realized now, that had been optimistic. There were few better times to strike when an enemy was distracted, and distracted he had indeed been. A critical and shameful error he was now paying the price for, as the mad knight had closed in on Lancer swinging clawed gauntlets like a feral beast. 

While the smaller Servant could block the incoming assault with the golden lance's shaft, he had been put soundly on the defensive--given no room to swing even the shorter of his blades and no time to disengage without leaving himself wide open. Every step he tried to back down, Berserker followed with lightning speed. His hands held no makeshift weapon now, opting instead to strike with crushing blows half-obscured by the black mist overtaking his form--there was no chance to manifest the spear that could dispel such magic, having been attacked openly holding the shorter golden lance which could do little against an opponent so fully armored. Truly careless of him, to fail to plan for more danger than expected once more. Hopefully this time the shorter spear would be enough against a charging animal.

Berserker had learned since being so outpaced in their last encounter, and that unsettled Lancer. Could he possibly be possessed of awareness enough to even do that, or had his Master--the man his own lord feared so terribly--been able to instruct even a Servant beyond reason to follow strategy? Neither option was one he liked right now, swiftly retreating backwards up the bridge's arch and countering strike after strike as he was pursued. He just needed to find an opening, but of course Berserker's movements were unpredictable. Even the crazed Servant himself surely didn't know what angle he would attack from until his hand was already thrown. Lancer just had to scrutinize that much more, find some half-instant of time to dodge rather than block, to counter and cut through mist and armor in a single blow--

Lancer, can you hear me? 

--but he knew he couldn't wait long. His Master was awaiting his return, likely in danger himself. 

Things aren't looking great, are you coming back--

He didn't have the luxury of time enough to concentrate on an answer. Driven by his Master's call, Lancer chose to act then and there; he parried Berserker's swiped right hand with the yellow blade, dropping low to the ground and manifesting the crimson spear in his free hand, blade lunging forward with speed surely even the lunatic Servant couldn't match.

...Lancer?

It had connected, he was sure beyond any doubt the blade had hit its mark. The black mist had blown away for an instant as if in a breeze, and the armored knight had let loose a guttural shriek of what must have been pain. But in his haste Lancer had failed to strike an immediately fatal blow; the knight had turned to suffer only a glancing blow phasing past armor and into its side. The problem came with why he had pivoted, and that was to meet Lancer's motion with the other armored hand, thrown in a strike with no real concern for whatever injury the spear inflicted. Caught off guard and unprepared, Berserker's fist struck Lancer fully in the chest and threw the Servant backwards along the metal of the bridge like a stone skipping on a pond. Seeing stars and barely managing to evade falling clear into the river, he tried to grasp the situation; the wounds weren't fatal, but the wild punch had left him stunned and without enough time to find his footing. He cursed his own stupidity--again, again he'd failed against no more than a mindless charging monster, and again he would only prove a disappointment. Berserker's next strike would end it no matter how Lancer struggled to stop his reality from spinning.

Or so he thought, because no such strike came. The knight had frozen in place, hunched over as a low growl built from somewhere within the armor. He had turned with their last exchange, now facing the river and Caster's monster. Or... 

Lancer forced himself up on protesting arms, wiping blood from his face and struggling to breathe past what was likely to be a few broken bones. (Waver was going to kill him, if they lived.) Berserker stared not at the monster itself, but lower...at the river's surface, and at the barely distinct figure at its base. Only now did the haze-cloaked knight appear aware of the battlefield around them; of the monster circled by both lightning chariot and gilded ship, and most of all of the figure wielding the wind in their hands.

More beast than humanoid, the knight shuddered as if some horrid force overtook him, armor plates grinding as he bent and another deafening noise issued forth through the helm now lit with a bloodred glow:

"R̴̙̝̱̰̾̚R̴͉̼͙͒Ŗ̶̬̮̥̈́̾Ř̶̡̛̳̘R̶̦͍̒̆̑̚Ȑ̸̲R̵͕̮͆͒̌̋͜ͅR̵͔̝͎̪̿̐R̷̜͖̦͂̇H̷̦̯̬͘H̴̖̐̄̈́͝H̸̡̓̓̑H̷̲͓̀̏Ĥ̵̝̘͑͐̇R̶̤̽̀͝R̵̘̹̃̐̆̓R̴͉̣͌̈̃R̵̲̥̈́͊̕R̶̠̹̔̏͋͒R̴͕̰͉̋R̸̛̞̃Ȓ̴̡͉̫͜-̶̛̞̻̄-̷̡͚͜͝!̷͓̣̇"

The cacophonous noise shook Lancer near as much as the monster's attack had. There was something raw as a reopened wound beneath the echo of armor and the gurgling incoherence of insanity. Though he failed to place it, it felt...'familiar' was the only word which came to mind, but that was impossible.

The knight bent low, poised on all fours as if he meant to forget about Lancer entirely and throw himself clear to the river. Lancer realized it was too much to hope that his Master might have changed his mind and ordered an attack on the monster; more likely he moved to launch himself an impossible distance at the Servant at the creature's base. 

Unbelievable an idea as it may have been, Berserker held that position for a few seconds that lasted near eternity as though waiting for the perfect chance before throwing himself off the bridge. Not downwards toward the water, but leapt at a sharp angle, heavy armor streaking upwards propelled by sheer power and strength. As Lancer dragged himself to his feet, he nearly failed to see the mad knight's true target; for just at that instant was the golden airship flying by to circle around the creature again. He collided with its hull as the vessel streaked past, sharp gauntlets digging into its side.

"Don't tell me-..." That Servant could turn objects into his own weaponry, and Lancer's worst fear was quickly confirmed as the same black magical energy began to rapidly corrode the ship as Berserker clawed his way up the airship's side. It was suddenly flying much less smoothly, almost as though control for it was actively being fought over as it jerked wildly higher into the air and gave a turbulent shudder so violent Lancer almost feared it would break apart. He was sure he could here infuriated screaming from the airship, swords clashing with armor as the ship twisted and jerked higher and higher in the air only to stop once Berserker's black corrosion had overtaken the once-shining craft. It gave a final shudder as if in its death throes and instantly turned in an arc straight downward towards the creature--no, towards the Servant who even now hacked away tirelessly at it.

The collision was almost instantaneous once the ship had begun its descent, Lancer barely making out the shape of Berserker perched at its tip before a torrential burst of water splashed upward from its impact and the screeching of metal being ripped in two from the force alone, even forcing the colossal creature staggering back with a shriek that surely reached all the city in its unearthly agony. A spike of panic shot through the link with his Master, and an instant later came an undeniable pull:

By the power of my Command Seal, I order you, come to my side now!

Monster, torrent, ship returned to golden and breaking apart under the wounded monster's tendrils--all the world blinked out of existence briefly, only to return viewed from back at ground level. His legs nearly gave out beneath him, Lancer quickly planting the crimson spear into the ground to support himself.

"Lancer--!" Waver looked quickly from the mess in the river to his Servant, hands quick to support the taller man as best he could. There were two others within sight--Archer's Master and a second man Lancer didn't recognize. But if Waver wasn't concerned about them right now, that was a good enough sign to stand down. He was going to need more time to recover enough to be able to fight as it was. "Y-you didn't answer, I thought--what happened, what the hell is going on?!"

"...Berserker." he answered, straightening up as much as he could after feeling like he'd been hit by the airship himself. The displaced water was rushing along the river's edges, putting out what looked like remnants of fire and washing away horrid creatures neither insect nor starfish. He'd ask Waver to catch him up later, that wasn't important now. "That ship--Archer's?" A small nod from Irisviel, who didn't dare tear her eyes away from the broken golden pieces being taken into the creature as it repaired the hole ripped into its body little by little.

"Even that..." muttered Tokiomi, gripping his cane with both hands as if the stress alone would have him snap it in two. "Even such an impact wasn't enough?!" 

"We...we need to destroy it all at once." Waver drew still closer to his Servant, voice a hurried undertone he hoped wouldn't be overheard. "But that's..." He closed stinging eyes tightly and swallowed hard, gripping Lancer's arm like a lifeline. Even a sudden and unexpected kamikaze dive had only staggered the demon, and now there was no sign of the Servants caught in the blast. Caster against them, Assassin a dead wildcard, Berserker and Archer gone with what must have been Saber--was it down to nothing but two? Above, the chariot struggling to recover from an interrupted flight path; below, a wounded pair of lances. In front of them, an impassable wall to herald the death of all living things.

He couldn't ask any more of his Servant tonight. He wouldn't ask for what couldn't be done, and the words forced themselves free from where they stuck heavily enough in Waver's throat to choke him.

"...I don't think we have anything left, Lancer. I'm...I'm sorry."

His Servant didn't answer him. His Lancer, who had never done anything but trust and support him, who had saved his life and gotten hurt carrying out his own stupid reckless order. All that, and Waver had done nothing but call him into a war doomed to fail. If he was going to die, then...then Waver didn't care as much as he expected to, no matter how frightened he was. But it ached deep in his soul to die a failure. 

Without a word, Lancer gently pulled his arm free from Waver's grip, resting it over his shoulders instead. The student blinked bewildered green eyes that were surely only watering because of Caster's terrible aura, or so he would have claimed if challenged. But looking up at his Servant, injured and facing certain death...

The knight of the lance smiled, without a trace of melancholy.

"Master, I-"

"No." Irisviel spoke up, loud enough for all of them to hear. Her eyes hadn't moved from the wrecked ship, standing straight and without the slightest indication of faltering compared to Tokiomi's fury or Waver's despair. "It wasn't enough, but there's still one more thing."

"Wh...what? Are you saying th-...?" Lancer's arm tightened on Waver's shoulders at his Master's barely-formed question, staring intently up at the bridge where he had only just been. Waver followed his line of sight, but of the two the Servant could see it more clearly...a golden figure in scuffed and dented armor, soaked to the bone and pushing wet blond hair back from his face.

Even at this distance, there was a silent murderous rage written in every inch of his stance and the surely unblinking stare of crimson eyes. It was the look of a man pushed much too far, and furious about what he would do in response.

"Go." Irisviel snapped, turning on her heel. "Withdraw now or move from the riverbank, just get away from the water and Caster's monster."

Tokiomi shot her a sharp look but didn't seem to question it--he stepped away and waved a hand, the drifting chariot diving to the ground in a bolt of lightning. Its driver, Waver noticed, seemed to be having far too much fun tonight; Tokiomi could be heard snapping some very inelegant words as he was lifted by the back of his suit jacket into the chariot before it took off to the air a distance away.

"Can you...can you walk, Lancer? If you need to go into spirit form-"

"Not with the enemy Masters still so present. We may be uneasy allies, but there have been two Servants too many breaking such hesitant trust tonight." Lancer's spear vanished, the Servant straightening up and backing away from the river itself. Eyes locked on the bridge--on Archer, wary and uneasy of what might happen next.

Waver paused only a moment in his steps as the wind changed direction and gained power, nearly knocking him off his feet if not for Lancer's hand returning to his shoulder to steady him. Even had he held no Magic Circuits at all and with it no ability to sense the flow of mana, he knew he would have felt that. The clouds of miasma began to churn and roll in a slow vortex that looked to span clear across the massive width of the river, purple-toned clouds of magic and malice slowly traveling as though it were an assemblage gathering beneath the bridge...no, beneath the Servant himself.

"Awaken, Ea. Speak the truth of this world to worms unable to hear it."

He began to speak with his spiteful words carried on the wind, or perhaps it was his voice that stirred the very wind to action. Waver gripped Lancer's arm again as a gale blew past them, the miasma with it rising like supplicant hands pulled up by the strengthening vortex and reaching up towards Archer. Towards the point where the wind seemed to gather--a point above his hand, raised to the sky as an object began to be drawn from thin air to rest within his grip. Waver opened his mouth to ask Lancer what it was, but something stopped the words from leaving his throat. The strength of the wind, or the awestruck terror of a calamity forming before their eyes?

"The elements coalesce, amalgamate, and bring forth the star that interweaves all creation."

Cloaked by the wind that spanned so far a distance was a segmented weapon, cyclical with a golden hilt. Not a sword by any known definition, and yet to look upon it was to know something so great and terrible that it locked Waver in place and turned Lancer's blood to ice. The vortex ever-growing in ferocity gathered around it, power beyond measure being brought to bear upon the planet and all that stood upon it.

In arcane lines of crimson it glowed and began to spin; segments rotating in opposing directions. Above, even the clouds had begun to swirl and turn in concert with the winds below. Heavens and earth turned and twisted Caster's cursed miasma, with the golden king standing tall at the storm's eye.

"Behold, you undeserving wretch, the blade you stain unworthily with your death! Behold the crushing might of my Sword of Rupture!"

A pulse went through the air, through the powerful vortex and clouds above; magical energy beyond compare sent out in a shockwave that blew the clouds of cursed mist away in an instant. Away from Archer, from the monster, from the river--all of it, obliterated and the air crystal clear for the first time that night. Part of Waver dimly told him not to look at the uncovered malformed abomination in the river, but even if he had wanted to there was no choice. He stood transfixed, unable to tear his eyes from Archer...from the oldest legend known to all humankind.

The King of Heroes spoke, and the Star of Creation was brought to bear.

"Behold..."

The spinning weapon was swung downward with absolute conviction, a sentence of absolute death in a great and terrible storm of light and wind. The winter night became bright as a summer afternoon, earth shaking down to its very core beneath their feet. Amidst his complete awestruck shock, Waver was barely aware of someone's arms around him in the blinding light, shielding him from the world's very ending for all the good it would do. He shut his eyes tightly against the wind and the tremors; if death was coming, he'd much rather have not seen it.

"--Enuma Elish!"

"...r...-aster...? Waver, can y....r me?"

Waver's ears were ringing when he awoke lying on the ground somewhere, a pouring rain falling from a sky with no trace of clouds. Lancer's concerned face was slowly coming into focus hovering over him, disheveled and bloody but focused entirely on his Master--whose head was spinning violently. Had he passed out, was he concussed, was it over?

"Lancer?" His voice sounded muffled to his ears, dulled by the constant ringing he really hoped was going to fade. "What....happened..."

The answer was clear as Waver sat up; they were a good distance from the river in the cover of some trees, in view of a massive fissure where Caster's monster had been. Silhouetted in a cloud of mist and dust that would take ages to settle was what was left of that section of the Mion River. Shattered earth exposed where a good deal of water was blown clear from its course, jagged rock and stone of the riverbed broken and piercing the river's much lower surface as though a meteor had struck it. The bank itself was misshapen and in rubble on the side closest to them, and no doubt it would be in just as bad condition across the bridge. World-ending damage, but aimed and executed with as close to 'pinpoint accuracy' as any such devastation could be.

"Then...this rain is-"

"The river itself, yes." Lancer confirmed grimly, his Master standing to stare at the sky in a blank speechlessness. "I feared you wounded by the impact--I am relieved to see you unharmed."

Unharmed. Forget unharmed, he was just grateful to be alive. Lancer was hurt and doing his best to hide it, of course--Waver knew that they had come out far from unscathed. But they were alive. Having gone so far into mortal terror and exhaustion so many times in the course of one night, he had no energy left to focus on anything else. Waver slowly looked to his Servant with an impassive stare so unlike him that it even felt like wearing a mask. His whole body seemed to move apart from the student himself, his own voice speaking as if miles and miles away. 

"...You...thanks. I'm...sorry." Forming sentences was difficult, even when every inch of his consciousness was on sheer autopilot with no adrenaline keeping him in a panicked overdrive. How did one respond to any of what tonight had been? Killing a man barely alive, fighting for their lives all night and witnessing the near end of the world take two separate shapes at once? "Take spirit form for a while and recover, okay?"

"Master...? Will you be able to walk home-"

"Lancer." Waver looked to his Servant in something impassive; unable to understand even his own thoughts, for once his mind felt utterly blank as he reached for something to focus on and came up empty-handed. Save only for the ghost of a thought wondering if this was what shock felt like. "Thank you. ...I'm glad you're okay. I just...need to think."

How could anything stand against power like that? How could Lancer, his Lancer who trusted him with no question, ever stand against something that would rend the skies and crack the stars?

Waver Velvet faced the end of days that night and came out on the other side feeling nothing, knowing only that he was a coward signing the death sentence of a knight who could smile at the end of the world.

Chapter Text

Waver didn't quite remember how he'd gotten home, as much as the run down estate was 'home' right now. He vaguely recalled struggling through healing magic as the two caught each other up on what had happened while they had been separate, the worst of Lancer's scrapes and bruises repairing themselves enough for the Servant to be able to function. But if he did or said anything else, it eluded him the next morning. Awakening to silence, a fatigue-addled mind concluded Lancer must still have been in spirit form. Obviously he wasn't gone gone, because the Command Seals were both still present on his hand.

...'Both'? He rubbed at his eyes with his left hand while looking at the crimson sigil imprinted on his right; a shape vaguely resembling a pair of wings with a blade in the center. One of the wings had faded like an old scar, the impression of it visible with barely any of the vivid color.

That was right, said Waver's common sense as it caught up with him. Last night, he'd called for his Servant after a few seconds of radio silence too many, as a blackened airship crashed to earth. An absolute order to twist space and instantly bring his Servant to his side; now there were only two more absolute commands he would be able to give before the war ended.

Oh, well. he thought as a yawn was stifled behind his hand and pulling himself to his feet. It isn't as though I need to use them so he'll listen to me. So long as another emergency doesn't happen, it should be fine.

What was less fine was determining where to go from here...if indeed anywhere at all. Though the fear had passed and the numb sense of shock followed, now he found himself at a loss. They didn't even know how many Servants were left after the disaster of the Mion River. If only Archer had survived the crash, then that brought the number of active Masters to three: himself, Tohsaka, and Einzbern. The thought was almost an exciting one; a third-generation mage standing against two of the Three Great Families was unprecedented. Though...the happiness he should have felt was crushed beneath the strength of Einzbern's Servant. Gilgamesh, of all heroes? Clearly established mages didn't go halfway.

Speaking of established mages, something Lancer had described to him sounded a wrong note in his mind now. Kayneth Archibald was a lot of things, but none of them were 'stupid' or 'incompetent'. It sounded like he'd lost control of Berserker; commandeering an airship wasn't quite his style. Not to mention the tactically stupid approach of targeting Lancer instead of the obvious target, Caster.

It makes sense if... Waver paused in the middle of replacing empty glass vials in their case on the desk. If he was to assume Kayneth had control over Berserker at first, then there was only one logical reasoning his drifting mind could settle upon.

...If he was trying to take me out of the war.

Quickly shaking his head to dispel a thought that sent a chill down his spine, Waver snapped the case shut and shoved it onto the nearest shelf more abruptly than was perhaps necessary. That was something to think on later; no doubt there would be little if any activity from the other Masters for a day or so. Especially not Archer and the Einzbern master; they would be smarter to pull back and recover magical energy.

His thoughts trailed off into the mundane as Waver straightened up the room to keep his hands busy. Checked his pockets, checked the pockets of the clothes he'd been wearing, searched the broken desk drawers--

"...damn." He usually kept a short knife on his person; ostensibly for self-defense, a typical thing carried by mages. In reality, it was more often used for alchemical reagents or prying off the stoppers of particularly stubborn vials. But if a cursory search was any indication, it had gone missing. Probably lost one place or another in the chaos last night, and it wasn't worth tracing his steps back to the river and the workshop to find out.

"Lancer." Sure enough, that was all he needed to say; the Servant materialized from thin air near-instantly. "Are you okay?"

"Berserker struck only one blow, Master. I assure you, I am unharmed thanks to your help." There was a brief hesitation, but then Lancer continued. "Are...you feeling better?"

He wasn't. It was only a matter of time before he cracked and gave up on this useless endeavor, or died trying.

"I'm okay, thanks to you." 'Alive,' in other words. Whether he was going to be able to continue for much longer seemed a foregone conclusion, but saying as much to Lancer seemed an even more impossible task than winning the war. 

Huffing out a short, annoyed sigh, Waver ran a hand through his hair.

"Come on--we're going into town. I need to pick up a few things, and if I don't get some coffee within the next hour I might turn into Berserker myself."

No city as big as Fuyuki should ever have been so quiet. Amidst the chill of winter there hung a tension to the air, the stillness of shock after a brutal strike. Even the ordinary people of the city would know something horrific had taken place, though they possessed no possible understanding of what or how. 

So far from the river, the shopping district held signs of life; the few that assumed an earthquake had transpired beginning to cautiously resume a routine, and those who didn't care going about as they would otherwise. Still, there were less people than one might expect--no doubt most had elected to stay at home until certain things were definitely safe.

If they ever are at all. Waver wasn't all that optimistic, after the previous night. Hopefully there's still a Fuyuki by the time this is over.

"Are you quite certain being out in the open is safe today, Master?" Lancer's questioning drew him back into the present moment out of thoughts of the night prior, and he answered with a small nod.

"Yeah. If it is just the three of us left now, then Tohsaka and Einzbern will both know better than to fight in broad daylight in front of witnesses. That's not how mages are supposed to operate, and besides--after all that, even they'll need at least a day to regroup." In that much, he was confident. The Association (and by extension, Tokiomi) would be busy working on a cover-up, and Archer would need time to recover magical energy after that display.

"Then why is it I can sense another Servant?" 

"You wh-?"

"Excuse me!" A familiar voice called out to them, and Waver felt the shift in Lancer down to his very soul. The knight's stance became rigid, hands held low and prepared to grip spears that hadn't yet manifested. The sensation of alertness prickled at the back of Waver's mind through their contract, and even if the voice hadn't been one he recognized he would have known who to expect before he turned to look

A small cafe sat just down a corner the pair had been walking past, with a few outdoor tables lining its front. At one such table--positively covered with what must have been nearly the whole menu--sat a silver-haired woman who raised an unnaturally pale hand to beckon them over. Beside her, jabbing a fork into a slice of castella cake, was a man with blond hair brushed back out of his face, in dark clothes and a long white coat bordering between 'extravagant' and 'ugly'.

"It's okay." Waver's trembling hand moved slightly; held low to the ground in front of Lancer in a silent order to stand down. Even if he had just finished explaining how it would be insane to fight in broad daylight today, the sight of Lancer had frozen him to the ground as he quickly calculated the possibility his assumption was wrong. Archer had seemed to take no notice of either of them, but Irisviel looked to be smiling in a perfectly normal greeting worn by an unnaturally perfect face. At this range, he was certain beyond any doubt--this was no ordinary human mage, but a homunculus created by the Einzbern magecraft. What that meant for him and the war, he wasn't sure. "...She didn't have to save me from those things. If she has something to say, the least I can do is hear her out." His Servant relaxed, but only enough to assure Waver he wasn't going to attack on sight. Tense and silent, Lancer replied with only a small nod. "But stay close, and keep an eye on Archer."

Neither of which he even had to ask, Waver forcing his unsteady legs to step forward and approach the pair with Lancer a breath away at his right hand. Irisviel reached into a pocket of her coat as they drew closer, Waver's blood running cold as she pulled out...

...a sheathed knife, handle extended towards him.

"This must be yours. I found it lying on the ground last night, but the two of you left so quickly that I couldn't give it back to you."

Waver blinked, then blinked again. He looked from Irisviel to the knife, then back again. It was recognizably his, and he couldn't sense any magic that might have been laid upon it to trap or curse him. But if it wasn't a trap laid by an enemy Master...

"...You needn't worry." she said, holding out the knife a little further. Her smile faded to a serious expression, gentle voice becoming something less cordial. "I think we have each other at something of a stalemate, with our Servants out in the open at this range. Your Lancer and my Archer could each kill the opposing Master at a breath, but the first mage to strike would surely die in turn. Besides that, no one really wants further witnesses to the Grail War."

That both did and did not reassure him. For one thing, the derisive snort from Archer made his own opinion of her estimate clear; but on the other hand, Waver knew she was right. Lancer was certain to be faster, but Archer was vastly more powerful. Mutually assured destruction in the middle of a shopping district was the worst case scenario in this meeting, and both of them wanted nothing to do with that.

"...Th...thanks." If Waver Velvet held the Holy Grail in his hands at that very moment, he would have wished to go back in time five seconds and try that again so his voice didn't tremble like a startled child's. Since that wasn't going to happen, he settled for glancing over the knife once more to be sure it wasn't enchanted somehow, then reached out to take it back and pocket it. "I...was looking for this. Sorry for the trouble."

Her face settled back into a small smile, and her now-empty hand gestured to the table crowded with an absurd amount of food. 

"Won't you join us for a moment? Archer went out of his way to order a little too much, and this country's snacks are too nice to go to waste." Her invitation earned a sharp glare out of the corner of crimson eyes, but Waver realized she'd asked at a critical moment; the Servant had just taken a bite of the cake in front of him, so objecting as loudly as he surely wanted to meant looking absurd or choking. Clever of her, if it was intentional. Waver exchanged a brief look with Lancer; the threat of mutual destruction still hung overhead as both a sanctuary and a sword of Damocles. For all the student knew, she was either going to propose some kind of alliance or lay out an open challenge. Whichever option was less likely, he didn't know, but the half-second of Lancer looking to him from the corner of golden eyes was enough to keep Waver from bolting away as fast as he could run. 

They were probably both going to die regardless, by the Master's estimation. Taking a risk like this wasn't going to help or harm that fact, so the pair of them settled into chairs across the table.

"Foolish." said Gilgamesh at last. "To think I would dare order any more or less than absolutely necessary, Irisviel--you presume much. How can one expect to avail themselves of such an era without partaking of as much as one possibly can?" This had to be a joke. The same world-ending Servant from the river, the oldest and greatest hero in all recorded history, acting like the fate of the world hinged on a bunch of cake? "Although it would seem the result is the same regardless of sample size; lacking, through and through."

"What's wrong with it?" The instant crimson eyes locked on him, Waver realized with muted horror he had again spoken his thoughts with no pause between the two.

"Need you someone to explain everything, mage? Very well." As Archer spoke, behind his sunglasses Lancer's eyes were trained sharply on him, daring the Servant to make a move against his Master who shrunk back against his chair. "It is a simple matter which eludes a mere human such as yourself. The world is something the value of which may be weighed and measured, in straightforward terms. From its people to the quality of the lives they lead, to all that in which they choose to indulge and devote their lives."

Irisviel, looking almost relieved that her Servant's attention was on someone else for once, waved over a bewildered and overworked waiter to order four cups of coffee. Ignoring this, Archer gestured with a stick of dango at the general area of the shopping district as well as the few people bold enough to be out in the city after the night before.

"Indolence and cowardice have become this era's standards. Laziness with no effort, reflected in every inch of humanity. It is unspeakably ugly to my eyes. But...then again, perhaps that is well in its own right." Explaining nothing more of such an incomprehensible statement, he ate a piece of the apparently substandard snack whole with a look of smug superiority.

"You hold distaste for an era of peace?" Wearing a fixed affectation of a polite smile that didn't reach eyes as sharp as his blades, Lancer spoke up and mercifully drew the king's attention off of Waver. "Those sound more the words of a tyrant than a king, Archer."

The overworked waiter returned, took one look at the two Servants staring each other down like they were seconds from coming across the table to strangle each other, and wisely chose to set down four cups of coffee on the table's limited free space and escape.

"...Perhaps water would have suited you better than coffee." was the cutting response, causing Lancer to turn completely still for an instant. Waver knew his Servant well enough by now to see he'd been rattled by Gilgamesh's words, even though why eluded him. Swiftly as it came, the moment passed and Lancer offered a sharp smirk with his answer.

"Why, have they no week-old bread to suit your own preference?" 

We're going to die, came the annoyed thought paired with an elbow jabbed into Lancer's side. Having the two provoke each other was only going to make everything worse. But it occurred to him...had Gilgamesh's taunt been a remark at Lancer's true name? The response sniping at Gilgamesh's own legend seemed to indicate as much; was it so obvious that even the enemy Masters knew by now? He chanced a quick look at Irisviel, who was turning a taiyaki over and over in her hands while studying it.

...Compared to the Master with wings of light and Servant who tore the skies, the difference now was literal night and day.

"Oho, so the lapdog has a will of its own. You may prove entertaining after all." Before the two could continue throwing insults at each other, Irisviel put the taiyaki down with a sigh and looked across the table to Waver with a swift change of subject.

"You told Tohsaka that you were with Spiritual Evocation. That makes you a student, right?"

Ah, there was the catch. Regardless of whether or not these two knew Lancer's name...they didn't know Waver's, and between mages that was a critical oversight. One could easily know the strengths of a Master by their name and lineage: Tohsaka's fire magic, El-Melloi's Volumen Hydragyrum, or the Einzbern specialties in alchemy and homunculi. For a complete unknown to enter the war and summon one of the three knight classes was, as Tohsaka had shown, unprecedented.

"Does that matter?" he answered, posture rigid and hands curled into shaking fists hidden beneath the table. They had seen each other fight firsthand, and Waver realized with a sense of dread that he'd shown his hand too soon--or his lack thereof. She knew he couldn't even muster up so much as a worthwhile Gandr, and he was very aware of the danger this woman posed to him.

"...I was curious." she admitted in a voice that was almost sheepish, pale face bearing the smallest smile. What kind of game was she playing, Waver asked himself in the midst of frantic thoughts. "I've never seen anyone snap at Tohsaka like that, and I wondered what kind of person you were."

Yeah, right. You must think I'm just as stupid as Tohsaka and Kayneth do if you think I'll fall for that.

"Well, what about you?" he countered, surprised at how calm his voice was now. If he as going to die in a war fighting for recognition from mage society, he was damn well going to act like it. "The Einzberns helped to create this ritual in the first place, sure. But what kind of person are you, and what do you want out of it?"

Silence.

Red eyes stared at Waver in a manner to make it very clear she hadn't expected the tables turned on her abruptly. He'd delivered a question that cut deeper than he'd intended and he knew it. Even Gilgamesh had elected to watch his Master now, from the corner of his eye as he slid the last dango off its stick and popped it into his mouth. Irisviel watched the other mage intently, and for once in his life Waver didn't back down. Meeting that gaze with his own, he was as steady as the Servant beside him. If this was some kind of challenge, some evaluation of him and his place in this war, fine. Let her evaluate as much as she wanted and think whatever she wished to, because Waver was here for a reason.

"...Irisviel," the silence broke with Archer's mocking voice, "has a soft spot for children."

"I'm nineteen--" Waver, realizing midway through his sentence he was about to snap at a man who had split heaven and earth maybe twelve hours beforehand, stuffed the nearest rice cake into his mouth before he could say anything else to get himself killed on the spot. (Maybe Archer had a point--red bean paste tasted terrible after all.) Lancer, god damn him, stifled a laugh and barely concealed a smile behind a drink of his coffee.

"My Master is young, that is a fact that can not be argued. But it would be a lethal mistake for the both of you, should you underestimate him." 

He said that with such confidence that it made Waver feel sick--even if he was here for a reason, even if he had gained the recognition of the Grail as a Master...what was there to underestimate? Waver was nothing and no one, that was the real answer to Irisviel's question. He could--would stand his ground, but the will to hold steady did nothing to stop that ground from crumbling beneath him. They would both die, likely by the hands of the Master and Servant before them, and still Lancer's faith was unshaken. Still this knight would smile in the face of death and destruction, and still his Master would lead them both to a meaningless death all the same.

"I think we should get going." Waver managed to say after finally swallowing the rice cake and swearing off red bean paste for the next week or so that would amount to 'the rest of his life'. He rose from his chair as did Lancer after him, the mage offering a small nod in Irisviel's direction. "Thank you...for this, and for last night."

Irisviel, who had said nothing since Waver's question, regarded him with that stoic look for a second or two longer...and then allowed a small smile to cross her face.

"It was nothing, really. This likely will not be the last time we meet, but...would you tell me your name?"

Why bother?  She knew all she would need to know already, or she was patronizing him. He didn't know which, and didn't care. By the time this war was over, his name would still mean as little as it ever had. So he merely shook his head and turned to leave, Lancer following a step behind.

"Sorry. But my name doesn't really mean anything."

Archer watched the pair leave in what passed for interest with him, gaze drifting to Irisviel once both Waver and Lancer were out of sight. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile bordering on 'devious', words almost sickly sweet with twisted amusement.

"Would Kiritsugu not object, were he to know of you sharing such polite audience to an enemy?"

"...Maiya and I operate on Kiritsugu's behalf. That does not mean I need his permission to act, Gilgamesh." Irisviel sighed as she corrected the Servant, who now slouched in his chair with an arm slung over the back. "My husband understands that I know what it is I am doing; and that was already more information on Lancer's Master than he could discover before this war began. Lancer was right about one thing; he isn't one to underestimate. If I hold the right understanding of mages as Kiritsugu tells it, a less sensible student would have given away more information, or at least flaunted their name."

"Oh...? Is that all?" Still slouching like a lazy wildcat, the king leaned forward with his elbow on a small empty space at the table's edge. "For I hold to my words: you possess a weakness when it comes to children. Will you be able to kill him should the time come, or will your beloved be the one to dirty his cowardly hands as with Assassin's useless Master?"

Irisviel stewed in silence; Gilgamesh had done nearly nothing but test her patience since all this began, and she was reaching limits of it that a homunculus had never been allowed to be aware of before.

"Make your point, please, Your Majesty." she answered.

"You," he gestured with a fork that had speared a notably green bit of mochi, "did something very amusing today. Whether you acknowledge it as such or not is irrelevant--perhaps you are not even yet aware of having done so. I might even confess myself harboring a note of pride in you at the moment, having gone so far against the intent of your creation."

"My creation-?"

"Ah, I must spell the matter out for you as well. That is fine." He ate the snack slowly, leaving Irisviel to wonder if he had taken a cheap shot at the homunculus for a long and agonizing moment. "What you have done today, in calling out to that child? You made a decision, Irisviel. One all your own, that even Kiritsugu Emiya might have taken issue with. Oh, surely you can tell yourself it was for a matter of information, discerning the enemy's motivation and strategy...but that's not the case, is it? You chose to call out to that mongrel brat for reasons even I can only guess at. Reasons belonging to 'Irisviel von Einzbern', and directed by that will alone."

Ah. That was what this was, wasn't it? Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, looked upon a plain porcelain doll...and chose to weigh its value as well as that of the world and all things within it. All this time, beneath the guise of an untouchable and indifferent king on high...he had been watching her every motion and listening to every word. And now that the question was spoken aloud, Irisviel had to confront it. Yes, she had wanted to gain whatever intelligence she could for Kiritsugu to use against the other Master and Servant, even if Lancer's true name had been discerned by them already. Who else could it have been, after all? But his Master...that was an unknown factor, and Kiritsugu detested gaps in his tactical knowledge.

Irisviel, though? She had looked her enemy over and saw a stressed and exhausted child that looked like he hadn't eaten three straight meals in his life.

It was an inevitability--the Grail would go to Kiritsugu Emiya, and she would give it to no other. To be a mage and the vessel of the Grail...she couldn't be human in this war just as Kiritsugu couldn't. But the heart he had given to her, the will that made her 'Irisviel'...felt the smallest pang of sadness that someone like that would end up another casualty.

Enkidu, you who do not know how to live,
I will show to you Gilgamesh, a man of great mood and emotion--

"...As I thought." Gilgamesh concluded, chuckling. "You should be glad, Irisviel. You truly have served to fascinate me."

She shook her head, clouds of heavy thoughts barely clearing with the faint sound of irritation that left her throat.

"Head or tail first?" she asked, picking up the taiyaki she'd been examining. Gilgamesh threw his head back with a raucous but short wave of laughter, golden earrings glinting in the late afternoon sun.

"Fuhahaha--! Head, naturally. Where else does one strike to kill?"

Chapter Text

In some parts of Fuyuki, it would have been easy to forget a terrible cataclysm had occurred only the night before. On the road the pair walked, only the highest metal arch of the bridge was visible and none of the ruined earth or scarred river beneath it. Somewhere, people were no doubt working tirelessly to repair damage from a source they could not even begin to understand. Somewhere, the Mage's Association and the Holy Church were probably in complete chaos struggling to cover up the night's events lest the existence of the world of mages become common knowledge. Somewhere, mages and heroes were planning to again fight and kill one another.

But right here, on an empty road illuminated by the pink-orange glow of a beginning sunset, things were peaceful. He could almost forget that there was a war being waged in the shadows and that the Masters who remained were regrouping to continue the war until only one remained.

Waver could, for just a moment, forget that this endeavor was a hopeless one.

"Master?" Waver had stopped walking as he became lost in thought, staring out at the distant Fuyuki skyline under drifting gray-purple clouds. A few steps ahead Lancer halted as well, turning with a look of concern. "What is it?"

What wasn't it? Ever since last night, he'd felt...hopeless. Waver had already been in over his head without knowing it, and the afternoon's encounter with Irisviel and Archer--with Gilgamesh--had only served to pull him down further. Now he was drowning in a situation of his own making, and all he had managed to accomplish in this Holy Grail War was to take someone else down with him.

"I'm...sorry." he managed to say, staring out at the city rather than at Lancer. "This is...I couldn't have planned for this. No one could possibly plan for any of this. Maybe Archer is right and the war really was over the minute it started." Lancer took a step or two forward to lessen the distance between them, frowning in a look of confusion and lifting his sunglasses up to perch on his head. 

"Have I...done something that you've lost faith in my ability, my lord?"

"No--geez, that's not the point." Waver pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, which was admittedly a better feeling than 'nothing'. "You're...you're great, okay? You're fast, clever, and you don't even require a lot of magical energy. For someone like me, you're the perfect Servant." A hand marked by two remaining Command Seals fell away from Waver's face, curling into a fist. "But that's...just it. You're..."

Waver took a deep breath and finally looked at Lancer, who seemed for all the world like he was bracing for a slap to the face.

"...I'm holding you back." Waver finally admitted, his Servant's mouth hanging open in shock. "You--you have a wish you want granted, you have to. I-...you're going to lose your chance for that because I'm your worthless Master."

"With all respect, my lord, you are not holding me back from that which I do not desire." Lancer interrupted, meeting Waver's gaze with a calm intensity as the initial surprise vanished from his face. "The single desire in my heart...it is not a wish for the Holy Grail itself, but something that has already been fulfilled."

Then it was Waver's turn to be stunned into a brief silence. That...was impossible. Servants were able to be summoned because Heroic Spirits held a reason to fight for the Grail. Even a demon like Caster must have desired some impossible wish only a miracle could fulfill. In his heart Waver knew Lancer wouldn't dare lie to him, and there was nothing but sincere resolution written all over the spearman's face. But if that was really true, then...

"Then you're...then you're just fine with this?! You're alright with fighting and dying for nothing?! If that's-i-if that's the case, why are we even here?!" Pressing both hands to his head, Waver realized everything was crashing down at once; all the prior night's events flooded back as if played on a record with an uncontrollably jumping needle. Gilgamesh, the workshop, an eagle of light and wire, a barely-living discarded corpse...what was it all for? Recognition? Was gaining the recognition of the Clock Tower even worth this at all? 

"I can't do this, Lancer." he admitted, strength draining from his voice. "This is more than the fight between familiars I thought it was. You're...so much more than just a familiar. You actually listen to me, you keep encouraging and praising me even when I screw up, and I can't just let you face someone like Gilgamesh knowing it's a losing battle." His gaze dropped to the ground,  "If I die in this war, then...fine. Living and dying like something worthless is probably what I deserve, but I never wanted to drag anyone else down with me. Least of all someone like you."

The Servant shook his head briefly, clearing it of some thoughts the likes of which Waver had no ability to comprehend. He gave his Master's outburst serious thought, a hand brought to his face in deep contemplation. Above, as silence stretched in the empty space between them. pink and orange had begun to roll into the distance, fading to deep silver-blue with the hint of stars blinking far overhead. Finally, Lancer spoke:

"...I do not believe that to fall in this war is 'dying for nothing'." 

Before his reaction or the very simple answer could be questioned, he turned to walk the few steps to the edge of the road, swinging long legs over the guardrail to sit down upon it. "Maste-...Waver. Sit with me a moment; I would like to share with you something that was once told to me."

Lancer, asking him for something? Barely even asking, that was the kind of request a normal person would make. Struck speechless, Waver made his way to the guardrail so fast he nearly fell and rolled down the hill on its other side. He scrambled onto it until he was as close to settled in as one could get sitting on cold metal, and while he did this Lancer's eyes were turned skyward to the first hints of twinkling stars in the early evening.

"There is...a story of my homeland that has ever been dear to my heart." There was something unusual in his Servant's voice now, gradually losing the stiff formality he held when speaking to his Master and becoming something...wistful. "It was part of a tale told to me by my father, and older than any legends in which my own name might be found."

His...father? That made sense--even heroes had to have parents, even if he couldn't imagine Lancer as a kid. Waver nodded quickly, not daring to interrupt; something about this felt oddly sacred, a moment that could never be repaired if the fragility of it was broken.

"Long ago, there was a boy far younger than you are now, who dreamed of being a warrior. He traveled to a fort in which young soldiers were trained, and with his incredible strength did he easily best them all in combat. Father used to claim his physical prowess was excelled only by his reckless nature, for he so loved to fight that he was something of a terror to all those around him."

Laughing under his breath, Lancer raised a hand and pointed skyward, tracing a line across the darkened starlit sky with one finger.

"Dawn's edge crested the horizon one morning, and a falling star did cross the sky over the fort. It was a sign of prophecy, that a warrior who chose to take up arms upon that day would have fame everlasting." His hand fell away to rest back on the guardrail as Waver watched, entranced. "Yet to do so would mean the warrior's life would be as that very star; to shine brilliantly and be seen by all who walked the earth, but soon to burn away."

"S...so..." Waver's voice was a near whisper when he dared to speak up in the heavy silence that followed, Lancer's gaze drifting from the stars to his Master beside him. "...So he'd die young, but be known for all time? Did he...no, you wouldn't be telling me this if he didn't do it anyway."

A small nod was the answer, Servant of the lance looking back to the night sky. There was nothing shooting across it tonight, whether star, airship, or chariot--but he watched it all the same, golden eyes behind dark lenses seeking out familiar constellations with little success.

"He did indeed insist upon it. It was not that he disregarded the prophecy, but invited it. It came to pass that he lived a life full of combat and conquest, an adventure with its joy, fury, and sorrow alike. When the time came that he was to meet his end...some might say he had curses of his own placed upon him, or rather that they were broken in such a way to cause him to weaken." Looking briefly to the mark underneath Lancer's eye, Waver opened his mouth to ask but swiftly closed it again. Something was piecing itself together in the distant part of his mind not listening attentively, and he'd have to address it later.

"From there he met his end upon the field of battle, standing proud and tall even in death. No doubt his name is carved deep on the Throne of Heroes now, for it was such tales that inspired myself as a child to walk the path that I chose." Finally pulling his gaze from the sky, Lancer looked to the young mage at his side. "Do you understand why it is I tell you this now?"

There was a point to it? Waver swallowed hard and fumbled for some explanation--to him that sounded like the definition of 'dying for nothing'. That hero didn't have to follow such a prophecy, but he'd sacrificed a long life just to be well-known long after it was over; for a reward that he would never seen.

"I-I...no. I don't think I get it." Waver shook his head, looking from Lancer to the sky as if he'd find some answer there. The Servant smiled in response, pulling the sunglasses from his head and idly turning them over and over in his hand like a treasured charm.

"Everyone has something they live for; an ideal, a person, a cause. Yes, perhaps some are monstrous--I hold no doubt Caster was possessed of his reason to fight no matter how revolting, and though his Master surely would not have wished to die in such a terrible manner, it is certain he entered this war for a purpose worth gambling his life. Even-..." He trailed off for a moment, the knight sounding as though he had actually faltered. "...even if one's death is something considered shameful, is it worthless if they lived their life according to their own beliefs? To say it was not would be a disservice to the very act of living."

"Take Archer, if you would. He and I are sharply different in personality, status, and what we consider worthwhile. But someday soon, all that we are--our lives, our dreams, our wishes, may clash to the death. Does the fact that we are enemies that can never agree or coexist mean that his life holds no value? To think such would make us no better than Caster, whose own goals were horrific beyond measure and his methods that of a demon. But to be summoned into the Holy Grail War--to be a Master in the Holy Grail War--means believing your cause worth living and dying for."

"But you said you don't have a wish. Why are you...here, then?"

"Because you called for me." 

The long explanation was followed with a very simple answer, Lancer's smile bright as the sun that had vanished beneath the horizon. "You, Waver Velvet, called forth a Servant because you had something you were willing to fight and die for. If you think yourself an unworthy mage, that is fine; you reached out and an hero unworthy of the term answered. My only desire was that which I have already been given: to fight in the service of a Master who believed in my honor and loyalty. You, no matter how unworthy you call yourself, are all I could have asked of even the Holy Grail itself."

Something pricked sharply at Waver's eyes, his throat feeling painfully tight. He felt those gold eyes on him still, heard the gentle smile in his Servant's words, and yet all of it seemed too impossible to believe. A third-generation mage who couldn't do a single thing right, who had stolen a catalyst and entered the Grail War out of spite and anger...held the value of a miracle to this knight who stood unflinching against even the Star of Creation to protect him.

"I tell you this that you might understand: life holds meaning and purpose, from the worst monster to the greatest legend. Death, then, is no different. You are no different from that hero in this respect; both of you hold the will to choose what battlefield to fight upon, and for what cause or reason is worth giving all that you have. Now--it's terribly late, I fear myself to have spoken far too long. Shall we return?"

Satisfied with that conclusion, Lancer swung his legs back over the guardrail and stood up, looking back to Waver whose eyes were still skyward with a pensive stare.

"My wish..." Waver heard himself speak, staring out at the stars in the early night sky. "I just want to be acknowledged. The world of mages hinges upon ridiculous things like family and bloodline, and people like me...no matter how hard I work or what I accomplish, in the eyes of bastards like Kayneth and Tohsaka it's all worthless trash. I stole his catalyst and entered this war so that...so that I would either win and prove everyone wrong, or I would die trying. I thought it wouldn't matter if I died--there isn't anyone who would miss me. Now I'm just...afraid. If the Holy Grail War is the last thing I ever do, then...fine. But that doesn't make me any less afraid to get myself killed."

Something changed in Lancer's expression at Waver's words; his smile turned into something nostalgic, seeming for all the world like he were looking at his young Master and seeing a distant echo of something ages past.

"And what is wrong with that? Many heroes fear death, Waver--even Gilgamesh himself chased immortality when faced with the inevitable. Fear is not some flaw for one to be rid of, but an innate quality of mankind; one must decide for themselves what to do with it. Whether to allow it to rule you, or to recognize your own fears and master them. Stand your ground against all that frightens you, or give in to it. If and when such a time should come...I feel that you will know how to overcome that which plagues you." Lancer held out a hand, Waver finally looking back at his Servant. He felt...calmer, somehow. Waver was still fully expecting that this war would be the end of him, but listening to Lancer speak? It felt like things would work out one way or another. That even if they lost...this meant something.

Waver let out a slow breath, taking Lancer's steadying hand as he pushed himself off the guardrail. 

"I don't want to just lie down and die here. I think...I think I want to win the Holy Grail War. If we can't--then that's fine, too. I don't want us to end up dying, but I want to learn to understand what you mean. What's...worth living and dying for." His grip on the knight's hand turned, becoming a firm handshake. "So keep fighting with me...and I'll try not to give up again."

All this time--they had wanted recognition, validation, for someone who could look at them and say you are worthwhile. However Waver examined it, the fact remained...their wish had always been the same. One born of selfish desire, the other desperate for atonement, and both screaming out for a hand to reach to them in understanding.

"I swear this on my honor as a knight. We shall see the end together, whether that end is ours or our enemies'." There was something different about Lancer tonight, or perhaps just right now. Almost as if he were content in some way that went unsaid. His smile was a gentle one, hand gripping Waver's securely before letting go and turning to continue along the road.

Once his back was turned, Waver raised his right hand...and smacked himself in the forehead. Idiot. How had he never put it together before tonight? He'd been so wrapped up in his own stupid problems that he hadn't given it enough thought at all. Any idiot could have pieced it together, and he cursed his own blind stupidity.

A knight of Ireland, bearing a curse of love upon his face and wielding two cursed spears--the Crimson Rose of Exorcism and the Yellow Rose of Mortality. 

...Who would ever be more subservient, more fearful of upsetting their Master, than a loyal knight who had died because of the grudge of his lord?

A few steps ahead of him, Lancer carried himself a bit straighter than before, head held high and no doubt still smiling. Greater people than Waver had chased after him in life, braver knights and heroes than he could ever dream of. Each and every one of them had been found wanting, and even in turning on his lord had that knight held to as much of his honor as possible, even to the point that the great hero he had betrayed ended up giving in to a moment's vengeance.

'If it be here I am fated to die, I have no power now to shun it.'

"Di-" The name was cut off by the choked sensation in his throat, coming out as a nearly inaudible breath.

If Waver Velvet started running and never stopped, not for the rest of his life, could he catch up to the man who had been pursued endlessly? Could he live on past this war, and even become someone worth leading that knight?

Lancer paused to look over his shoulder, tilting his head at the road before them with a bright smile. Let's go, he said without words, and Waver felt something spark and burn in his chest.

Maybe they would fail, and both of them die in this fight. Maybe they would win and claim all they ever wanted. It no longer mattered which outcome met them at the end of their path. No matter the fear or uncertainty that would plague him along the way, Waver would run until there was no breath in his lungs and no strength in his body.

Even if the Grail slipped beyond their reach...tonight, he felt victorious.

Chapter Text

 "Answer me, Kirei!" Raising her voice was all the woman could do to express her frustrations; lashing out and striking a wall would do nothing, least of all with her wounds still healing. Such would do little to reach her Master, so untouched and unfazed by the world as he was. 'Why do you not speak to me?!"

The young priest, predictably, said nothing. Dark eyes downcast, as if in either submission or bowed by the weight of the unimaginable pressing down upon his shoulders. The two were alone now, deep in the basement of the church. Neutral ground not to be trespassed upon by any Master and Servant--which made it the perfect place to hide one wounded and in need of recovery. Saber had been called away by a Command Seal as Berserker's commandeered airship struck, though damage had still been done; the worst repaired itself beneath the capable hands of a Master with a specialty in spiritual healing, but to return to the battlefield so soon would be careless. Better, Tokiomi had told him, if the others assume Saber to have perished. Return to the church, and we will begin to plan our next move.

All in the name of securing the Grail for the Tohsaka patriarch, to reach the Root as a true mage deeply desired. Kirei Kotomine operated at the whim of his teacher, and nothing more.

"Kirei-!" She snapped his name again, crossing the room to close the distance between them; a full foot shorter, Arturia Pendragon stared up into those downcast eyes and saw...nothing. It was as if she wasn't even there to begin with. "I did not object when ordered to continue concealing my true Noble Phantasm, even at risk of the city and her people. But to this, I must stand my ground--I can no longer sit by and see my Master made a pawn. I will not see my own quest for the Grail smothered in its cradle because you are made naught but Tohsaka's right hand! "

"..."

What did it matter if he was a pawn? To do nothing but the will of others was Kirei's only understanding of the term 'selfless'. Holding no opinions, agreeing and falling into step with that which served a greater purpose. His father wished that Kirei's hand would help to bring about the miracle of the Third Magic. Tokiomi wished the aid of the Church is securing the Grail to he who believed himself the most deserving. That was all that mattered.

That should have been all that mattered.

Kirei Kotomine evaluated his own actions taken to date in the war and categorized them as 'careless'. Monitoring and pursuing a man that might--might, on no more than a hunch--have possessed an answer to a question Kirei had never put into words, to hold back Saber's Noble Phantasm from destroying the abomination against God and humans alike in the river...those were not actions falling under the category of a selfless man of God, and he felt himself struggling to repair something that had cracked within him. Like a locked door that slowly but surely began to come loose at the hinges, beneath the pressure of a terrible thing without name sealed beyond it.

"Why are you here, Kirei? Speak the truth, if not to me then to yourself." Saber demanded, staring clear through him. "Is it or is it not your desire to fight as Tokiomi's hand? You were chosen by the Grail, and as such you have the right to reach out and claim it for yourself!"

To claim something for himself...

Something stopped in the priest's mind at that thought process, an emergency switch flipped to prevent something terrible from being realized. No, spoke the voice called 'reason', to claim something for myself is abhorrent. I can not continue on in this manner.

But what would happen if he didn't? A miracle had recognized seven deemed worthy to fight for it--seven, not six. The miracle called the 'Holy Grail' had taken him by the hand and left its mark upon him three years prior. Most in the Holy Church could never truly say they had been recognized by a miracle--least of all the Executors of the will of God, hands bloodied by their own devotion. His father and Tokiomi alike seemed convinced that Kirei's being chosen as a Master was no more than a gift to ensure the victory of the Tohsaka head. 

...How do they know such a thing with certainty? asked a small voice within him, from behind that locked door. Even should the Grail be a falsification of the true holy relic, nothing but a path to the Root, it remains a 'miracle', does it not?

Acts of God were indiscriminate. A great flood would destroy all before it, a fire burn people and buildings alike, an earthquake swallow whoever fate had brought to stand where the earth would split apart. 

Then, spoke the terrible voice behind the door within Kirei's heart, what kind of miracle would favor Tokiomi Tohsaka over six others?

"Kirei--" Saber stopped as her Master's right hand moved, those blank eyes looking to the Command Seals on his skin. They were patterned in a swirling shape he had never thought much of, but as he stared at them now it felt as if looking into a vortex in the endless dark of the ocean--as if he stood upon a precipice from which he could fall and fall until he reached hell itself.

"...Kirei," she tried again, hand reaching out to take his with no resistance. Thin fingers wrapped tight around the calloused hand of an Executor who had killed and killed in service to God and His will, the swordswoman staring him down with a power and intent that was shaking the very foundations of his hollow stoicism. "Father Risei and Tohsaka can not see this as I do, and I must speak my concerns clearly now rather than allow this to continue unfolding. For I look upon you and see myself, as things once were."

Still, the priest said nothing. But his gaze shifted to actually look at Saber then, watching her with the same impassive stare he held for all the world around him. Not once had the Servant seen her Master smile, even at the encouragement of his own father or teacher.

"There was...a knight, once. He left the Round Table and indeed Camelot itself, claiming for all to hear 'the king can not understand the human heart'. There was naught I could do to change that, for the king must be just and impartial. The king must be more than human, without will or desire of his own." She squeezed his hand, not enough to hurt but seeking to emphasize her point to a man that felt like speaking to the very stone that built the church around them.

"You must understand, Kirei Kotomine. To live in such a manner is not the responsibility of ordinary people. It is mine, and mine alone. Speak, damn you, and speak your own desires lest this mantle of nothingness you wear destroy you! Will you or will you not fight to claim the Grail with me?!"

...That...is right, the voice named 'reason' reluctantly admitted. Arturia Pendragon had lived a completely selfless life, to the detriment of her own 'self'. Tristan had seen her mask for what it was in truth; a twisted thing which defied her own nature as a living person. 'Arturia' had ceased the moment her hand wrapped around the sword of selection for the distant, unreachable 'King Arthur' to take her place.

What then, spoke the voice locked away, is my desire? 

It was an answer he knew already. Of all the questions he held, that one bore an answer that trickled out from those locked memories.

'No--you do love me.'  A voice from three years ago, and yet so distant as to be near-forgotten. Kirei Kotomine had known that day what his desire was, knew it was something in defiance of God and malformed beyond any concept of 'humanity'.

But the Grail had chosen him all the same.

If to lock oneself's desire away was to destroy their true nature as King Arthur had destroyed Arturia Pendragon, then...

Slowly, he tugged his hand free of Saber's and lowered it to his side. To destroy one's 'self' was a sin against God and His creation, that was the obvious line of reasoning. But what if that creation had been damaged from the outset? Behind those locks and barriers he struggled to keep up did words began to form from the hollow emptiness within himself. A question that had up to now been something felt in only sentiment--the awareness of something missing which never existed in the first place--now took a shape as something which could be expressed. All questions, logic told him, possessed answers that could be given in turn. Even if the answer seemed an impossible thing to reach, or could only be granted by something akin to a miracle.

For the first time in as long as he could recall, Kirei Kotomine was aware of harboring a desire for something. If to offer a single prayer more would produce a result in the form of a miracle, then was it wrong for him to pursue it as a Master in his own right? Would it be a terrible sin to go against his father's and teacher's wishes for a single selfish desire--to seek a false relic and discover if an answer to his own heart laid within it?

The priest raised his head just enough to look his Servant in the eyes, as blank and impassive as he ever was. But finally, he spoke:

"...We have work to do, Saber."

Chapter Text

'Renewed determination' was the only real way to describe Waver the rest of the evening as well as the next morning. (Lancer had insisted he sleep at some point, and begrudgingly his Master had agreed to.) But a new day dawned, and Waver had returned to work in a flurry of pages, vials, and all manner of things Lancer didn't quite grasp even with the knowledge imparted to him by the Grail's summoning--Waver's attention so focused that the run down house could have burned to ashes and he might not have noticed.

Chapter Text

 'Unfortunate' was the word Lancer wanted to use for this situation, but even that felt too light a term. The mad knight was at his peak now, no matter the damage sustained to his broken armor following the crash of Gilgamesh's ship. When makeshift Noble Phantasms proved worthless against the cursed spear, he had struck again with empty gauntlets with marginal success. Now that Berserker had been largely outpaced and damaged, it seemed his Master would take no more chances. 

"You've learned since this began." Lancer remarked with a bitter smile. Berserker's motions reached a speed to match his own, sword brought down again and again with brute strength far surpassing the spearman's. In a battle of parameters alone, the winner was clear. How fortunate, then, that only one of them was possessed of lucidity. Leaping back from a swing of the blade and into the nearest tree for a better angle, the smaller Servant vaulted past Berserker to land behind him for a strike only for crimson spear to be met with a corrupted sword.

"Truly, your skill is magnificent even in such a warped state."

That was no mere sword he faced now. Lancer had heard his Master's shocked recognition and understood the truth of this battle the instant it began. He knew the name of this knight, and knew his legend both in that which was imparted by the Grail and in a way carved in ancient marks upon Lancer's very soul.

'Tragic' was a better term for this. A tragedy and injustice down to its very core, that the honor of such a Heroic Spirit would be twisted so far into madness. Would that this could be a proper fight, but there was nothing of the joy of battle and victory that could be found in this...only a deep, deep sadness and sympathy even for a mindless enemy. The mad Servant roared and charged again, blade parried to avoid a fatal blow and drawing blood in a shallow cut along Lancer's shoulder. No doubt this couldn't go on long; either his Master would have to emerge victorious, or Lancer himself would have to think just a bit quicker on his feet to bring this to a swift ending.

"Very well. Berserker-...Sir Lancelot of the Lake, I accept your challenge!"

Sensing the construction of a bounded field was easy enough--finding its source was less so. But, it occurred to Waver as he ran far enough for the sounds of combat to fade...it didn't matter. 

Berserker had targeted Lancer that night on the river, against all reason and logic when a greater enemy was right before their eyes. And just now, it wasn't even Lancer the black knight had raised his sword against first...it had been Waver who was targeted by the blackened blade of Lancelot himself. Now, the air was still even with the collisions of metal on metal heard in the distance. Too still, Waver knew as he stopped running. Even possessed of no combat instincts as he was, he knew exactly what was coming next.

He didn't need to find Kayneth at all. Because now that he was separated from the protection of his Servant, he was being hunted down himself.

Something whipped past Waver's head so closely that he heard the wind whistle past his ear in a flash of silver and flurry of motion. A whiplike tendril cracked, silver cleaving a deep gouge into the ground inches from where the mage was standing.

"Do you have the faintest concept-" came a familiar voice that chilled Waver's blood in much the way the threatened attack had rooted him to the spot in sheer terror, "-of what you have done?"

From the shadow of a tree, Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald stepped onto the forest path a short distance from Waver, carried with all the dignity and arrogance of a lord of the Mage's Association. At his side was the source of that violent introduction--a mobile shape of reflective silver liquid. Waver knew instantly that it was the fabled Mystic Code of the Archibald bloodline; Volumen Hydragyrum, the crowning achievement of weaponized alchemy.

For Kayneth, the ultimate weapon. For Waver? Death incarnate. It could take his head off at barely a gesture, and would if he didn't think fast. Fear overtook every inch of Waver's body and soul, an icy grip around his throat to strangle any words he could form and scarcely allowing him to breathe.

This was suicide. He was going to die in the very next instant, unless he could think of something. 

His teacher smiled, and perhaps that was more terrifying than an order to attack. There was nothing truly cordial about the expression; if Waver had been possessed of any thoughts that weren't utter panic, he might have compared it to the spider inviting the fly into its parlor.

"You have singlehandedly ruined a perfectly laid plan to win this war." Kayneth continued, the mercury Mystic Code gradually shifting--a spherical thing becoming a form almost serpentine, silver reflecting the dark sky and moonlight barely visible through the trees. Coiled to strike at its master's indication, and yet for the moment he simply continued to speak.

In a haze of the fear of death, Waver began to recognize something. Gilgamesh's weakness was overconfidence, but the same could be said for anyone having more power than common sense. 

"That catalyst you so thoughtlessly stole was to summon a Saber beyond parallel. And you, you third-generation wretch, you couldn't even do that right!" The smile twisted into a snarl, Volumen Hydragyrum lashing out again. Not at Waver just yet, but the tendrils smashed against the ground like the tail of a great and terrible dragon ready to open its jaws and scorch the earth.

And yet, Waver felt himself move as if from a great distance away. Felt his heel dig into the ground, felt hands curl into trembling fists, and heard his own voice speak in defiance.

"What could you possibly want from the Grail?" Even now, something didn't add up, and whenever that happened Waver could only seek answers as any researcher should have. "You--you have everything a mage of the Clock Tower could want. What the hell do you need a miracle for?!" 

"Obviously." Kayneth folded his arms, frowning in much the way of one looking at a mouse scurrying across the kitchen floor. "To be a mage is to work ever onward, expanding one's reputation and body of work. Reaching the Holy Grail over six other Masters, and defeating the Three Families in doing so? No one could ever question the prestige such a victory would bring."

...It was the last answer Waver Velvet ever wanted to hear from the man he hated more than he hated even himself. His own words pounded in his head with all the force of a sudden migraine, stupid child that he was.

'I just want to be acknowledged.'

The ground felt like it had abruptly fallen out from beneath him. He couldn't even see Volumen Hydragyrum for how his sight was laser-focused on the mage before him, the threat of imminent death wiped from his mind as it went blank. Impossible. Impossible, he couldn't have been doing all this only to be exactly like Kayneth. What kind of person--what kind of Master was he, and what had ever given him the right to be so self-centered?! Before him, the path he had wanted to run and the knight at the end of it seemed to stretch on into eternity. Catch up to him? Waver didn't even deserve to stand on the same ground as someone like Lancer, and now he knew it beyond any doubt. He was just another mage looking to prove himself and trample everything else in his way.

"Now, if we're quite done, perhaps you might at least die with dignity while Berserker rids you of that worthless Servant--"

Before the words had fully left Kayneth's mouth, Waver again felt himself move independent of the deep despondence that had overcome him. Whether he was aware of it consciously or not, those words alone sparked the lingering embers of resolve within him.

'Stand your ground against all that frightens you, or give in to it. If and when such a time should come-'

Selfish or not, Lancer believed in him. Lancer had trusted him with this fight, and was meeting Berserker right now in a life and death fight of his own because his Servant, his knight believed in him. If--when they survived this, Waver would apologize to him for being such a selfish child. He'd find something to wish for. They both would, and they would take the Grail together. As long as they fought together, Waver knew in his heart they could survive and even win.

'-I feel that you will know how to overcome that which plagues you.'

His hand moved, either quicker than Waver thought he was or Kayneth didn't in his wildest dreams expect a counterattack. The thrown flask shattered at his teacher's feet, alchemical reaction bursting out of broken glass in a thick cloud of smoke. With that obscuring the shocked and spluttering mage's vision for a moment, Waver turned and ran off the path and into the forest as fast as he could. To evade pursuit, to outsmart those stronger than himself and emerge victorious...his Servant's ancient strategy could be his Master's own salvation, if he could just force back his fear and think. Find a better vantage point in the seconds before Kayneth recovered, and plan the next step from there. Though he was pretty sure he'd never climbed a tree in his life, fear and his own racing heart decided he was going to figure it out pretty damned quick.

"Impudent brat-!" Mercury whipped through the air to dispel the cloud of smoke, Kayneth stalking off after his wayward student with the twisting silver serpent just as agitated behind him. "You still insist upon resisting--did you really think any of this would work?!"
 
A crash of splintering wood resounded as the Mystic Code lashed out, cutting a deep slash in the nearest tree. Waver swallowed hard against his heart pounding in his throat, taking another vial from his coat--the honey-colored liquid that Lancer had watched him crafting. That was the best weapon he carried right now, and there were only a few.

Think, damn you. How do you counter a Mystic Code that's too fast to outpace and too strong to overpower?

'You didn't' was the only immediate answer Waver could think of. He barely understood its function or capabilities as it was, only that it was made of mercury.

...Wait. An idea was beginning to form, but it was an utterly mad last-ditch effort. Better to target the person wielding it first, and then turn to the crazy plans if all else failed.

"Were you so foolish as to believe that pathetic excuse for a thesis paper?! Honestly, I almost thought it a joke!" Kayneth snarled--it was bait and Waver knew it, but he wasn't stupid enough to fall for it yet. Not until he got just a little closer and presented a clearer target. His hand curled tighter around the flask of liquid; without weaponry of his own, basic alchemy was all he could do to fight. 

"You want to upturn everything about mage society? Wander on in proclaiming yourself an authority, putting forth such lofty dreams and pretty ideals that so conveniently posit that you would ever be my equal? A child with no experience, no body of work, and no hope to become worth anything?! All you are is a tragedy, Waver Velvet, and a cautionary tale about what happens to those who don't know their place!"

Volumen Hydragyrum raged against the ground, the trees, everything within sight as Kayneth went on his furious tirade. Even hidden in nearby branches and clutching his only weapon to his chest with a shaking hand, Waver had to admit...there was some truth to his enraged professor's fury. Even if Waver was right--no, even now he was sure he was right--obviously no one would listen. Waver's thesis had challenged the foundations of mage society, in a way so antithetical to the Association's 'reality' that it would obviously have been written off sight unseen. Especially coming from a nobody with barely a Crest to speak of. A worthless name attached to an insane rationality; no matter how right Waver could have been, nothing of a flawed status quo would ever change if all he did was shout at the top of his voice about how wrong it was.

But none of that mattered right now. The only thing at the forefront of his mind was throwing the flask in his hand at Kayneth's damn head as hard as he could, and a second later he got his chance.

Unfortunately, the moment it left his hand everything turned into complete chaos. Volumen Hydragyrum acted the instant something came at the mage controlling it, knocking the bottle out of the air. It crashed to the ground a few feet away in broken glass and a flash of fire--not nearly enough fire, Waver realized in stunned horror, he hadn't used enough powdered pyrite to do any real damage whatsoever-

Ice blue eyes locked on to where the thrown flask had come from, a cold sort of victory written all over Lord El-Melloi's face. In the fraction of time between beats of Waver's terrified heart, the forest erupted in chaos; Volumen Hydragyrum split into multiple tendrils and lashed out in a deadly dance of silver, the crashing and cracking of splintering wood deafening as the Mystic Code laid complete waste to the immediate area with Kayneth standing tall in the center of rapid and unpredictable motion. The tree branch Waver had been precariously hidden upon creaked and snapped as it and the entire tree itself gave way; the world as he saw it inverted, spun, and abruptly stopped in two harsh collisions. One impact of his body striking the ground knocked the air from his lungs and left him seeing stars--then a second harsher crash sent a burning shock of pain through his body with a crack far different from that of the broken forest. 

He scrambled to catch his breath and get away--only to find he couldn't move, and trying only made everything hurt far worse. In the abrupt and rapid destruction had a splintered chunk of tree landed squarely on his right leg, and it momentarily registered that he lacked any ability to feel it. Pinned like a frog on the dissection table, his teacher smirking down at him, and a pathetic noise echoing through the forest that the injured student barely recognized as a pained scream in his own voice.

"Groveling much better suits you."

This was the kind of power a real mage possessed, so of course this would be the result. Utterly humiliated, Waver coughed harshly as he tried to find air enough to breathe; looking up at Kayneth with vision blurred by the pain rushing through his whole body with each heartbeat. He had gambled and lost against someone who outclassed him completely, and now he was a crumpled mess on the ground at his smirking professor's feet. 

"You're...right." he choked out between gasping breaths. He thought he saw Kayneth tilt his head in something like patronizing interest, but it was hard to tell while he was trying not to pass out. "You're...right. I can't--I can't change the Clock Tower. The way I am n-now...I can't...change anything."

"Oh?" Blue eyes sparked in amusement, cold smile returning in full force to Kayneth's face as he smoothed ever so slightly disheveled blond hair back into place. "Now this is a pleasant surprise. Either something I've said has finally sunk in, or you've learned enough to try begging for your life."

Using a Command Seal would only bring the clash of Servants down on top of them and get all involved killed. But if he could just stall long enough for Lancer to find a way to win--then his Servant would save him. Lancer would return to his side and protect him from certain death looming in blue and silver.

"Perhaps...oh, I have quite the idea. We'll commemorate you finally learning your proper station with a gift. I have far better mages to utilize my resources on than you, after all. To stain my inevitable victory with the blood of a defenseless commoner would only be a mark against my accomplishment--better to be seen as the magnanimous victor once I reach the Grail. So I think I may just let you live, despite your countless insults against me."

It was too good to be true. 

"Yeah...? Wh-what's...the catch?"

Kayneth brought his heel down sharply on Waver's right wrist, the spike of pain tearing another strangled cry from his throat. It hadn't broken yet, but a little more pressure could change that in a second.

"Withdraw from the war with some semblance of grace and someone might actually mistake you for a real mage." His smile was as sharp and bright as the Mystic Code twisting around him in an unspoken threat of what would happen if Waver refused. "Use your Command Seals, and order your failure of a Servant to commit suicide. Be quick about it, else I can't promise either Berserker or myself will just get rid of you here and now."

The mage took his foot off of Waver's wrist, which was quickly clutched against the defeated teenager's chest. Every inch of his body hurt worse than he had ever known a person could, he was trapped with what must have been a broken leg and utterly at the mercy of a man who had very, very little. The words came shaken and afraid, but Waver made himself speak them regardless.

"Swear...on your honor, on--on your Crest, your title, all of it...that if I do this, y-you and your Servant won't kill me?"

"I do indeed. A small price to pay for my victory and your complete humiliation, after all."

Waver's breath rattled in his chest as he drew it, magical energy bringing a scarlet glow burning to his two Command Seals like the growing awareness of a terrible pain in his right leg. In the dim light he was sure he saw Kayneth's face in an expression of victory dripping with arrogance; the self-assured and confident smirk of a mage who had never in his life had any concept of what it was to struggle or falter. Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald had never once felt the fear of death Waver did now, and never truly would.

The answer was as obvious as the color of the sky. No--this wasn't even a choice, since Waver knew he could do only a single thing when presented with such a demand.

"By the...by the power of...my Command Seal, Lancer-"

His voice shook uncontrollably, vision of the scarlet sigil on his hand blurred by tears. He forced himself to take another ragged breath to speak, and Waver Velvet shouted two words to the night air.

In the distance, a crimson rose bloomed beneath the starlight.

Chapter Text

Berserker-...no, Lancelot had indeed improved over so short a time in the course of this war.  No matter what angle Lancer attacked from, Lancelot was prepared to parry and counter as though he could see it through a veil of insanity. It was a magnificent thing to behold, or it would have been were this a duel of knights. It was the furthest thing from it, and the state of the man-turned-monster before him left Lancer furious at the sheer indignity of the matter. A once blessed sword swung at him again and again, and moved to parry when he thought there could be an opening to strike back, all the battle instinct of a great Knight of the Round Table...all of it twisted and corrupted by darkness and hatred. Clash after clash lit the night in sparking metal; the crimson lance scoring a glancing blow past black armor here and there, the massive Arondight missing the knight's throat or sides by inches time and time again.

The broken helm had fallen away in the motions of their elaborate dance, and Lancer only found he hated the situation more to look upon the face of Lancelot himself. He barely resembled a human at all now, eyes unfocused and those horrendous roars torn from a face twisted in rage beyond comprehension.

Just as the knights before them once had, so too did the Round Table collapse beneath strife and infighting. And so too could such a sad tale be traced back to one inciting incident; of a man who stole his lord's betrothed, and split his oathsworn comrades in doing so. Loyalty and love were the greatest strengths a knight possessed to Lancer's perspective, and yet it was those very things that had destroyed the noblest of knights and the oaths to which they swore themselves. 

Lancer understood too well the tale of Lancelot and Guinevere...for it was his own that drew the path they followed.

The greatsword was brought down upon crossed lances and stopped in its tracks, the impact reverberating along the length of cursed weapons and briefly making the spearman's hands go numb. The rage of a Berserker was part and parcel of the class, but there was more to it here. There was sense to the madness, strategy enough to learn and enough to seek weaknesses in an enemy's defense rather than overwhelm with blind brute force.

What was it that you hated so much?

...Lancelot had harbored rage all along, rather than had it forced upon him by such a summoning. That was why the sight of him upset Lancer so much--a once great and noble man, trapped in the moment he was at his worst. To ask Berserker what he felt about it was beyond futile, and yet Lancer couldn't stop himself from wondering even in the midst of a duel to the death.

Was it your lord you resented, or your love?

Could Lancer say that he regretted what he had done? It was a situation that had forced his hand, to be sure. He hadn't been happy with it by any means--at first. Ultimately he had fallen in love with that woman in turn, even to the point that his noble lord had despised him and his friends fallen to infighting in the aftermath of Lancer's own demise. All because of a curse and his inability to stop his own traitorous heart.

He was no hero. If he had ever once dared to truly regret his fate, he would have become just as the shrieking knight before him--driven to exile and madness by a heart torn between love and loyalty. Maybe, he thought, that would have been better. Maybe then his lord and brothers would be united in despising him, and their camaraderie would have long outlived the man who died on that hill. Maybe then his lord would not have fallen so far into his own spite, and stayed the honorable knight so many had sworn their lives to.

Or...was it only yourself that you detested?

Deeper in the forest, Lancer heard the terrible cacophony of trees splintering and collapsing. Following it swiftly was a jolt of panic along their spirit link, and a very audible scream that sent a harsh chill up his spine. The half-second of realizing his Master was in danger was a critical mistake that Berserker immediately rushed to capitalize on--though mismatched spears quickly moved to recover their wielder's defenses, the halfway-deflected Arondight still cut a gash in Lancer's side. It was all he could do to avoid it being fatal outright, the golden lance lashing out wildly in answer. Blood splattered along the ground, Berserker clutching his face with a terrible scream and Lancer staggering back in an attempt to stay on his feet. This was the worst outcome; the link to his Master was sounding alarms in his head, crimson staining his armor and providing a glaring weak point. 

Lancelot's bloodied gauntlets lowered, the knight hunched over like a wounded boar--the blade of the gold lance had cut a deep line from jaw to forehead, across one eye in the process. It was hard to say which of them had come away from the exchange worse for wear, but it was no question that only one wound would heal given time. Violet hair was already streaked red, blood pouring from Lancelot's face and ruined eye. The knight of resentment was dazed, screaming in pain and fury alike, and half-blind. Lancer thought quickly--he could risk escape, lose Berserker amidst the trees, and ensure his Master's safety. They could retreat, and his lord would survive with only a wounded Servant and irreparably damaged enemy to show for it.

Eyes locked on Berserker as his body arched back unnaturally with a garbled roar, Lancer slowly began to adjust his stance to run--

...but before he could move, the magical authority of a Command Seal exploded through his entire spiritual form.

"By the...by the power of...my Command Seal, Lancer-"

His voice shook uncontrollably--from the blinding pain he was in, not uncertainty. The sight of his Command Seals and Kayneth looming over him was blurred by tears of neither regret nor sorrow...but complete fury that such an offer had even been presented. Even more enraging that he believed Kayneth was telling the truth; to swear by his Crest and title so easily, expecting his student would comply and save himself as if a Servant were nothing but a weapon to discard.

A life bought with his only friend's blood wouldn't be one worth living.

Through the pain of a weak and injured human body with barely a Magic Crest to speak of, past the terror of knowing his death was sure to follow, Waver shouted to the forest even knowing his knight wouldn't need to hear the command to follow it:

"--defeat Berserker!"

Volumen Hydragyrum writhed like a wounded animal as Kayneth sharply waved a hand in its direction, bright silver mercury beginning to separate from  dull gray amalgamate. In fading senses, he thought he could just about make out a sudden rush of red and gold...then a strangled cry of pain and dull thud paired with the distinct smell of blood, followed shortly by someone desperately calling his name.

Oh...that was right, he owed Lancer an apology, didn't he? He had been wrong, after all. Entered the war selfishly, acted like a mage bent only on his own success and recognition--that had been too cruel to the person calling his name, checking his pulse and pleading with him to stay awake. To the person that would disappear once his idiot Master died to win a fight he shouldn't have gotten into. Hopefully he would at least know that his Master didn't want to be a selfish fool like the mage who had surely just been cut down in a single strike.

Diarmuid?

His voice wouldn't come to him any longer, and fading consciousness reached across an endless void, over the link between Servant and Master on which their thoughts and emotions could be understood without speaking. Before his body gave out entirely, Waver could only manage one thing:

...I hope you can forgive me.

Chapter Text

So this was what dying felt like.

All the vaunted strength in his body had left it, drained away with the blood staining the grass of the mountainside. This conclusion was decided the moment he'd left home that morning, or perhaps years and years beforehand in a curse he had never known until that day. 

"Would that all the women of Éire could but see you now, your beauty brought so low as it is."

Standing over him...a man in silver-blue armor with blond hair streaked gray with age, wearing a smile with nothing cordial or kind behind it. There was no honor in his actions, and that bore far more sting than any mortal wound ever could. The  pain was barely comparing to the twisting anguish in his heart at the sight, or the knowledge that it would spell the end of the Fianna. If the greatest of them all, their wise and chivalrous leader could give in to his resentment and spite...then there really was no hope for his fellow knights or their oathsworn bonds anymore. It was already starting; Oscar was shouting something, threatening his grandfather that only one of them would leave this mountain at this rate. Gods knew he meant it, there would surely already be a hand upon the hilt of his sword.

Was it truly all his fault? Allowing things to unfold as they did, carrying a curse upon his shoulders and falling in love with someone he never should have? For the bravest knight he had ever known to express such cold resentment, surely that meant the failure lied in the target of that anger. In love and loyalty alike--the two things he valued more than life itself--had he failed completely, and in doing so had destroyed all he ever cared for.

If he could have just one more chance to be the ideal knight he wished to be, he wouldn't fail again. If he deserved to wish for anything, then...

A sound that was either the splashing of water falling to the ground or the quiet clatter of a sliding door brought Waver Velvet back to his senses. Not quite awake just yet, but slowly becoming aware of himself in a thick haze of pain and exhaustion. The ache of a mortal wound that had never been his was gone now, replaced with the dull throb of bruises and the sharper sting of something broken and tightly bandaged. He didn't even have the energy to wake up properly at this point, eyes closed even against the warmth of sunlight filtering through the house. Familiar footsteps were quiet on the floor, Lancer's presence clear to him even without opening his eyes to look.

"I hope I didn't take too long." Had he been gone? More importantly, Waver had never heard his Servant sound so...tired. Low on magical energy, maybe... that sounded possible, but something in that voice felt worn down in more than merely the physical. Waver was sure he spoke after that, so quiet as to be nearly inaudible to anyone but Lancer himself and bearing a deep despondence that felt painfully unlike him. "...gods, this is entirely my fault."

A gentle hand brushed dark hair out of the barely-conscious mage's face, brought to rest on Waver's own--over the single Command Seal he had left, his Servant's touch calloused by a lifetime of fighting with sword and spear alike. The contact was a warm reassurance that he was not in fact dreaming, dead, or hallucinating--it grounded him back in reality, Waver struggling to kick his hazy mind into waking up. This was no time to be sleeping, not when his own Servant had done so much to make sure he survived.

"Lancer? How...how long was I...?"

"Waver-?" The world faded into existence as the mage forced himself into consciousness properly, Lancer's hand moving to the mage's shoulder. "Don't move--you're still wounded." His tone changed in an instant, the audible exhaustion and despondence thrown aside for surprise and an immediate recovery into the calm tones of a Servant recounting the situation for his Master. "It has been a day and a half since we defeated Berserker and his Master."

Sounded about right. No wonder Lancer had sounded so worn out; no one else could have carried Waver back home and seen to his injuries. Just his Servant, who came into focus sitting beside him with sunglasses perched on his head and a first aid kit close at hand. Of course, the moment Waver had processed that did he make the critical mistake of shifting in an attempt to sit up. White-hot pain darted up through his lower leg and coursed through his body like an electric shock, stars bursting across his vision with a pitiful shout of pain and a couple choice expletives.

"Master, please don't try to-"

"F--just--j-just shut up, please, I can't think--" Waver pressed his hands to his eyes, shuddering breaths drawn through clenched teeth. Apart from the kind of aches and pains that came with bearing a Magic Crest, the student had never been severely injured a day in his life. He had prepared for it as far as supplies went, but mentally preparing was another thing entirely. "Th--i-in that case with--w-with everything else.  H...hand me the cloth envelope in th...the left side pocket."

Lancer's speed was as fast now as it was on the battlefield; what he'd asked was in his hand almost the instant the words left him, thankfully. Waver fumbled with it for a moment; that was where he kept most plant-based reagents, a good amount of them meant to be used in painkillers. As it was, doing what he was about to--infusing a small amount of painkilling herbs with a weak trace of magical energy and all but inhaling it straight--was likely to make him temporarily lose feeling in his arms and legs soon enough. Which, at the moment, sounded great.

"Forgive me," Lancer dared to speak up again once Waver's immediately dire situation seemed to have passed, "I set the break in your leg as well as I was able. Fortunately it appeared to be fairly clean and not as severe a wound as you might have suffered. But you'll not likely be able to walk on it for a fair while."

Well, that wasn't going to work. At this rate, 'a fair while' would be long enough that the war would come to an end, and sooner rather than later the weak boundary field around this place wouldn't do a damn thing to hide them.

"...Additionally, there was something you should know about that transpired while I was out restocking medical supplies." Following that with an afterthought, spoken quieter as if almost embarrassed: "I'm afraid I am only capable of the less magical side of healing wounds, and you had a fair few of them."

"It's okay, Lancer. If it's not an immediately dangerous problem and you're not hurt, it can wait and we'll go over it later." Waver muttered in defeat, an arm draped over his eyes. They'd have to figure something out and do it fast, but he needed at least a little time to collect himself first. It was still daylight, they could work out the rest once the sun went down.

"My thoughts exactly. Your recovery takes priority, I can detail the rest once you're prepared to hear it." Lancer dropped the subject for now--deferential as he was, that still told Waver whatever he was going to speak on could wait. Probably not another battle or anything so cataclysmic, then. Reassured only as little as one setting aside a problem for later could be, the mage took a slow breath. Silence passed between them, Waver's mind starting to race as the lightning sharp pain receded further. There were at most four Servants left now, and at least one Master completely sidelined. Irisviel was going to steamroll him, to say nothing of Tohsaka or whoever the hell Saber's Master was. He couldn't even stand up, so how were they going to finish this?  

"I-...I should be the one to apologize." Lancer said at last. "It was never my place to ask so much of you, and because of my own carelessness you-"

"Stop." The Servant's mouth snapped shut abruptly as if Waver had used his last Command Seal, golden eyes downcast and waiting for some reprimand or condemnation. At first, the single word was all Waver said; he pushed himself to sit upright far more carefully this time, watching Lancer and trying to string the right words together. Any doubt in Waver's heart or mind regarding Lancer had long since ceased to exist; the outcome of that fight had set something in stone for the mage, and he wasn't sure if he could clearly define it.

"You made the right call. Protecting me and fighting Berserker both at once was impossible." Waver's words came out short and sharp, each remark meant as a knife to cut down a thousand possible arguments and self-deprecating faults. "I would have been a target, and it was better to let me hold Kayneth's attention rather than have him be focused on his Servant."

"But...Master, you're--"

"Alive." Plain and simple. Their victory had been far from absolute or decisive, but they had won. That was all that counted right now. "I'm alive, because of you. He was going to force me to waste a Command Seal anyway, and I trusted you to use it to take care of what I couldn't. Lancer, you did everything I needed you to, don't you get it?"

Lancer raised his head as Waver spoke; this time, it was the knight's uncertainty shaken by the mage's determination as their eyes met. The resolve of that night was still written clear on Waver's face and in the stare now fixed on the Servant beside him; one pair was alive and the other was dead. Unscathed or not, they had still won against an obstacle Waver had once believed insurmountable.

"Sure," the student continued insistently, "things could have worked out better and we'll have to find a way to deal with this. But that's my fault, not yours. The fact that I'm still breathing is all I could have--no, it's more than I could have hoped for. It's an impossible outcome you made reality. You saved my life, you dumbass, and I'm--I'm really glad that we won. So don't start beating yourself up after a victory, what kind of hero does that?"

Stunned by the most positive tirade Waver had gone on to date, Lancer merely stared as words utterly failed him.

"Y...you...what do you mean he was going to force you?"

Then it was Waver's turn to avert his eyes, busying himself with the envelope of disorganized herbs and plants. The memory of Kayneth's smug face was conflated now with another he'd seen in his dreams, confused with the same blond hair and insufferable superiority, and for a moment he wanted to tell Lancer to forget about it entirely.

"He wanted me to kill you."

But Waver had no ability to lie to him now. Not to his only partner in this miserable ordeal he'd been stupid enough to get into.

"I couldn't-" The mage's voice started to fail him, those carefully pieced together words falling apart with no ability for him to stop himself from talking. "I couldn't--I didn't care if he killed me, it didn't matter if you would have died with me, I couldn't let that happen to you again."

That last word was one too many, and though Waver wouldn't dare look up from his own trembling hands he knew Lancer had frozen in place in much the same way as he had at a cutting remark from Gilgamesh.

"...How long have you known?" No accusation came with his words, no apprehension or even the slightest defensive tone. The question was spoken softly, the Servant's hand reaching out and hovering as though he wanted to place it on his Master's shoulder before the motion was frozen by mere hesitation.

"I should have known this whole time. I tried to figure it out once or twice, but I was so damn caught up in my own stupid self that I just...didn't stop to think about it, not from the second I stole that bastard's catalyst! I've been stupid, careless, and selfish, and I need to apologize to you, idiot!" Waver shook his head, still refusing to look at his bewildered Servant. He was...just like Kayneth, after all. He'd entered this war for an idiotic reason, not grasping that his entire approach had been wrong from the start. From the outset he'd been a spiteful child, and he'd pulled someone into following along with his own stupidity.

Son of a god of death itself, raised by a fey of love and poetry. Wielder of twin spears and twin swords, he who had outrun and outmatched countless knights. The first, the greatest, the most loyal of the Fianna led by Fionn mac Cumhaill himself. Blessed with friends, cursed with love, and killed by a grudge. With his death had the Fianna cracked and splintered, collapsing into ruin--and now he answered to an idiot teenager. 

"Your name-...you're Diarmuid ua Duibhne."

"...I am." he answered plainly, hand lowered back to his side with a quiet sigh. The name and its confirmation hung in the air between them, Waver trembling from pain, frustration, or something else he couldn't name. For a few seconds stretching into what felt like days, Diarmuid waited for him to say something more; when the mage came up with nothing, it was the knight who continued. "...He offered your life for mine, that you would relinquish your claim to the Grail and allow his path forward to continue. Is my understanding of the matter correct, my Master?"

No answer came except for a shaky nod. The less Waver thought about that exchange, the less likely he would be able to actually process any of it. He knew that if he stopped for even a second to consider the hundreds of possible ways that night could have gone, he would only find that horrible ice-cold terror sneaking back in to take root in his heart and freeze out the small determined fire he wanted to keep going just a little longer.

"You knew who I was when you issued that order to me, and yet your thoughts were with my fate before your own. You-...your very life was at stake, and you would have sacrificed it rather than-"

"Obviously! What kind of person do you think I am?!" His shoulders hitched painfully as the harsh words left him, sight having started to turn blurry as something burned harshly behind his eyes. As if this conversation wasn't already difficult enough, now Waver was going to end up driving himself to tears like some kind of dumb child. He'd already made an idiot of himself in front of a great legendary hero enough times over the course of the war, this wouldn't do anything to help.

No answer came in response to Waver's frustrated words, and as the mage stared at his own hands and the single remaining Command Seal he wondered if maybe that was it; that he'd finally said or done something that would make even his loyal Servant upset with him. He quickly ran over the whole preceding tirade in his head; he just wanted Lancer to understand what this really was to his Master. Even injured and facing death, he'd felt like he never had before; like he was reaching out just far enough for his fingertips to brush the understanding what it meant to live and die for something. He had felt victorious, afraid to die but accepting of the inevitability, and beyond grateful to know his crazy gambit had paid off through the actions of a steadfast knight.

His knight, whose arms settled around the overwhelmed mage's tense shoulders using the utmost caution to avoid irritating myriad scrapes and bruises.

"I know what manner of person you are, Waver. Now, more than ever before, do I know that."

"H-huh?" The last time Lancer had done this, they had been in an underground workshop saturated with death and anguish. Since then Waver had started to grow a little more accustomed to the idea of human contact after living on his own for as long as he had; whether it was in a hand on Lancer's arm to keep one or both of them grounded in the moment, or flying between rooftops in his Servant's arms as though the pair of them were completely weightless.

This was different, Waver's racing mind going blank save only for the awareness of his own heart pounding in his chest and Lancer--no, Diarmuid's voice speaking to him in a patiently heartfelt tone that Waver had only heard beneath the stars in the not yet distant past.

"You're a truly wonderful individual. Even the greatest of knights and kings have flaws; selfishness, cowardice, anger, whatever else any ordinary person would possess. To harbor such things and even at times to act upon them is no unforgivable crime. To recognize one's own faults, however, is a rare thing...more so to apologize and seek to change them. An inherently selfish person would not have given the kind of order you did, or even said what you just have now. Were you truly such a self-centered man as you claim to be, I would be dead right now and this conversation would not be happening."

That...was right, Waver slowly realized. A pragmatic mage would have sacrificed their Servant to protect themselves, without a second thought. Someone like Kayneth would have-

...If he hadn't acted out of self-centered anger that day and lashed out in the only way he could, then that tiny shard of ivory would have fallen into Kayneth's hands. Even the brief thought of this Servant, his Lancer answering to someone like that ('again', he wanted to think, but that brought with it the unclear figure that was part his own memory and part his Servant's) made him abruptly feel sick. Waver moved before he could think better of what he was doing, arms wrapped around Lancer and hands clinging to the fabric of his jacket. 

"Waver-?"

Not a chance, never, no way he could regret that one selfish action if it meant keeping Lancer out of a disastrous contract and having the chance to understand how stupid Waver himself had been. Risking death, seeing the kind of catastrophes and bloodshed he already had...all of it took a backseat to this, right now. What mattered more than anything else to him was the way he had felt knowing he had won against Kayneth even if it meant dying in turn. The way he had felt trusting in someone else for once in his life.

"You're...really an idiot." he choked out past the intangible feeling of something jammed harshly in his throat, blurred vision ignored with his face hidden against the Servant's shoulder. "I don't give a damn who you are or what you think you've done wrong or whatever else. Don't ever let me hear you say that you aren't a hero again, got it? And I won't...I won't disappoint you, or at least I'll try as hard as I can not to."

The indistinct face from his dream was going to haunt him for a long while, Waver knew. Whether he remembered the bitter smirk of Fionn mac Cumhaill or the cold arrogance of Kayneth Archibald more clearly, only time would tell. More important was the conclusion he drew: that he'd sooner be dead than resemble either of them even when at his worst.

Lancer drew back after a brief silence, his hands lingering on Waver's shoulders and a gentle smile on his face. Idly, Waver realized he must have been one hell of a pitiful sight, injured and on the verge of frustrated tears--but at this point, even that didn't matter.

"If such a courageous Master is to call me a hero, then whoever am I to argue? But, in return--if a hero should think you courageous, or your accomplishments worth praise...perhaps it would not be the end of the world were you to accept it?" Waver felt himself flush scarlet at the genuine words, quickly looking away and occupying himself with attempts to bring healing magic to bear on his broken leg.

"A-and that's another thing! Quit calling me 'Master' unless we're around an enemy!" Waver's defensive reply tumbled out in a rush, all force and no substance to the indignation. "Just keep using my name, and I'll...you know, use yours."

If Lancer thought the declaration strange, he called no attention to it. A quietly thoughtful hum left him as the knight considered something, and a question was raised:

"It occurs to me...how did you discern my true name?"

"It's not like you were subtle about it." Waver shot back. It was as obvious as a neon sign backlit by fireworks; not like there were many other Irish dual-wielders with a cursed mark under their eye. The only reason he'd taken so long to add one plus one was due to being wrapped up in his own problems and catastrophe after catastrophe demanding their full attention. The fact that Lancer had just come out and told the story of Cú Chulainn as a hero that came after him was just the last proverbial piece of the puzzle.

"Subtle about--?" Lancer's stunned repetition of the answer cut off with a sudden sound, hand brought to his mouth to stifle it...with no success whatsoever, because the next thing Waver was aware of was a startling sound he had never heard before, stunning him into silence as he watched something amazing unfold.

For the first time, his Servant had burst into genuine laughter with a wide and honest smile; it was contagious, because Waver felt a hesitant smile sneaking across his face in response. It was hard not to, when faced with a smile as bright as a meteor shower and laughter the most straightforward show of emotion from a knight he'd thought far too reserved for it. It was confirmation that they were alive, breathing and able to find something so stupid was actually funny, and Waver heard himself start to laugh as well despite the dulled ache in his entire body at the action.

A coward who faced death and a traitor who personified loyalty. What a disastrous pair they were, sitting in a ruined house laughing about the foolishness of their own incompetence and in relief that they had survived to do as much. 

The rest of the Holy Grail War could wait a few minutes more, if only to hold to the exhausted relief of that laughter and the feeling of the pair of them being alive to and share in their small victories in whatever way they could.

Chapter Text

 It was a troubling situation that Servant Lancer had found himself in. Much as Waver's injuries weren't fatal, his condition was dire enough to cast their lack of medical supplies in a harsh light. The last thing he wanted was to leave a defenseless Master unguarded, but at this point he had to play with the troubling cards they had been dealt. Considering how close the shopping district was, as long as he was away for as brief a time as possible then it would hopefully present no significant problem. If nothing else, getting a better first aid kit was no difficult thing.

"-hold on, Diarmuid, did you steal my wallet?"

"'Borrowed', Waver, and that's slightly beside the point right now."

As he'd stepped back outside, Lancer pushed his sunglasses more securely into place with a small sigh. This was all his own fault to begin with; asking his Master to fight a battle in which the mage had been so outclassed was never his place. It was  down to luck that Lancer had been able to cut down the enemy mage before the final strike landed, nothing else. On top of that, his own injury sustained from Arondight had yet to fully heal; he hadn't dared take spirit form for an instant since bringing his Master back home. While he could function far better than Waver at the moment, it would still prove a problem if he encountered another Servant.

...Naturally, no sooner had he thought those words did he sense an unfortunately familiar presence paired with a bored and derisive voice.

"Imagine meeting you here again, stray mongrel."

On edge in an instant, Lancer turned to see none other than Archer standing a few feet away, golden hair hanging in his eyes and looking as inconspicuous as someone like him could in a black tracksuit, one hand on his hip and the other carrying a small bag. Both Servants stared each other down for a moment, each almost in unison glancing to the empty space at the other's side.

"Abandoned another lord, have we?" Archer remarked with a tilt of his head. "You've not run particularly far, if that's the case."

"Oh, and here I was preparing to ask you if your lady allowed you off your leash." shot back Lancer, straightening up with a smirk. Although...something felt wrong about the enemy Servant today. Arrogant as his words were, those red catlike eyes were humorless and cold, with no trace of a mocking smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. If anything, he looked...tired of all things, his jabs at Lancer almost performative in nature. Worse yet, he seemed not to even react to the spearman's own counter; just stared for a second or two before his eyes drifted back to that empty space at Lancer's side.

"...Where is the useless whelp today?" he asked as if musing to himself rather than speaking to Lancer himself. True, he'd barely left Waver's side for an instant since his summoning, and the absence must have looked as strange as it felt. But Diarmuid was, if nothing else, far from stupid enough to give away such critical information to an enemy.

"I scarce see how that should matter to you, Gilgamesh. I may as well ask the same, removed from your Master as you are."

"Overlooking your interest in married women, Irisviel has taken ill at the moment."

The smirk on Diarmuid's face froze in place, knight having to quickly remind himself that no matter how disinterested Archer seemed to be it was clear he loved to provoke others in any way he could. As much as snapping back at him would be justified, the other Servant wouldn't give the golden king the satisfaction he seemed to desperately want.

"I'm sorry to hear that." That much was sincere, no matter how strained his politeness. Enemy or not, Waver's life had been saved by the Einzbern family's Master, and Lancer had seen for himself that she was a good deal more civil than her egotistical Servant. "I do hope it nothing lasting; it would bring me no satisfaction to defeat you in such a distracted state."

"Distracted?" Some life seemed to spark back to Archer as he spoke, Lancer noted with a small amount of satisfaction. "Fool. To destroy you utterly neither requires nor deserves my full attention." Archer glared daggers at Lancer with that, followed by a brief pause in which something seemed to occur to the blond Servant. Pieces to a puzzle Lancer wasn't aware of clicked into place, crimson eyes widening ever so slightly with disbelief.

"...It was you, wasn't it? Making all that unsightly mess and noise in the forest the other night. You're the one that killed the rabid dog."

Impossible, Lancer narrowly stopped himself from voicing aloud. How would he possibly know--could it be we were closer to the Einzberns than we thought? Ridiculous, all I did was choose a position advantageous for us. Even if he did know there was a battle, how does he only know Berserker was involved? Lancer struggled to put together a line of logic that made sense to him--Waver would have been able to, no doubt.

"That's easy enough to explain. If the Einzberns really are stationed in that forest like you think they are, they probably mistook the wrecked part of the forest for the kind of collateral a Berserker would cause."

"Reasonable as that is...you're likely correct, but something of it still bothers me."

"...Yeah." Waver agreed with a slight nod. "It sounds almost like he only knew a Servant was killed, somehow. It would have made more sense to just assume a battle took place and not automatically think one or the other died."

"As I thought." Archer seemed to take Lancer's stunned silence for the confirmation it was, disbelief turning to a small frown. "So that's where the brat's gone. Couldn't hold his own on the front lines, so he turned tail and hid somewhere?"

"Shut your mouth, King of Heroes." The forced civility cracked in an instant, gold eyes bright and deadly behind dark lenses. "You know nothing of my Master or of myself, and I have no patience to hear your childish mockery. I have done naught to insult your Master, so either you extend the same courtesy or we can settle our dispute with blades."

Archer said nothing, at first. He considered the statement in silence, and when he appeared to reach a conclusion it was as though he found whatever satisfaction he sought in provoking Lancer. A small smirk colored his dismal mood, in opposition to how Lancer bristled with sudden aggression.

"That's better. I see no point in wasting time with a trained dog that has no bite to it." Archer chuckled under his breath, tilting his head back slightly; Lancer was just barely taller, but still the golden king somehow managed to look down his nose at the spearman. "I've taken an interest in seeing how things unfold from here. See to it the brat lives a bit longer, runaway. I've more important things to do today."

"And is that your interest, or that of your Master?" It was plain as day to both Lancer and Waver that Irisviel's attention was on the latter for one reason or another. Trying to put them under some manner of surveillance seemed like a plausible next step.

In whatever higher spirits he had found in the exchange, Gilgamesh had already moved to walk past Diarmuid. At being addressed, he paused and reached into the bag he carried...pulling out a taiyaki and taking a bite from its head while smirking at the other Servant almost pointedly.

"...You don't want my Master's eyes on your whelp. Irisviel looks at that panicked child and sees no more than a charming pet, at best. When next our paths cross, I eagerly anticipate what she does about that."

A sharp retort quickly smothered in his throat, Lancer thought better of doing anything more than let the King of Heroes leave. Continuing to fall for his jabs would serve no purpose but to bring upon a fight neither Master nor Servant were prepared for. Besides that, he'd already been away from his Master for long enough. 

One Servant walked away in a notably better mood, and the other in a far more unsettled one.

"...I don't get it." Waver muttered to himself, the flickering attempts at healing magic finally fading as a different quandary drew his attention. "Einzbern's sick? Can homunculi even get sick?"

"I'm sorry, 'homunculi'?" Diarmuid questioned the term with a small tilt of his head; the Grail's information granted only so much.

"She's--at least I'm pretty sure she's an artificial human created with magecraft. It's some incredibly advanced alchemy, the Einzberns are known for that kind of thing." From what Lancer was telling him, it was strange enough that she was ill. Stranger yet that Gilgamesh of all people sounded annoyed about that, but he didn't really know what to make of their dynamic from what little he'd seen. As far as he could tell, Irisviel was only exasperated by him, and Archer didn't seem to care much for anything on such a level as to be irritated by its absence.

"Waver...there's something I was considering on my way back here, and I can not quite place if I am remembering incorrectly or not. It is ultimately a small detail, so perhaps the current situation has colored my recollection, but..."

"Yeah? Go ahead, it's fine." He looked up at Diarmuid's carefully chosen words, the Servant deep in thought himself. Even with the encouragement, it took a few seconds longer for him to speak again.

"It's about Command Seals. Are they always on the back of a mage's hand?"

"Huh-?" Waver raised his own right hand into clearer view; both sides of the sigil on his hand had faded into something resembling scars, and only the crimson blade in the center remained. "I...think so? I don't remember reading anything that said otherwise. Why are you asking..."

He trailed off, beginning to catch on to the Servant's line of thought. A small detail, easy to miss but taken for granted by anyone that would know what the sigils meant at all. And now that he thought back to that night with benefit of crystal-clear hindsight, the jagged pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit were cast in a harsh spotlight. Lancer had told him about the indistinct figure that shot Assassin's Master, an unknown factor they had yet to see again. Meanwhile, Tohsaka had determined a Noble Phantasm of incredible strength would be needed...and to the best of Waver's recollection, he had never heard Irisviel issue the order to Archer to reveal Ea and use Enuma Elish. He had done that himself, in the fury of a disrespected tyrant.

"...she didn't have them, did she? Back at the cafe."

"I can not say for certain I noted their absence; my attention was on Archer that day. But neither can I say I noticed their presence."

If Irisviel, in some mad and impossible hypothetical, wasn't Archer's Master...Waver found himself drawing a blank for how to finish that sentence. Then what, exactly? How could they deal with the possibility of an unknown factor? And, Waver's quickly running mind continued, could it potentially to do with that figure Lancer had spoken of that shot Assassin's own Master back on the river? That was the only complete mystery factor he could think of, save only for the Saber with the invisible weapon and their complete mystery of a Master. Likely enough their unknown sniper could be that Master, too...there were nothing but questions buzzing around the mage's head desperately seeking some semblance of answer that didn't yet exist.

Their situation hadn't yet gone from bad to worse, but with four Servants remaining they were becoming pressed for time to calculate so many unknown variables. Even without the concerned look they exchanged, both Master and Servant knew this war was going to reach its end sooner rather than later. 

And that left little time to prepare for whatever would next shake Fuyuki down it its foundations.

Chapter Text

But the world cared little for 'should'. Things unfolded as they would, injustice and unfairness and cruelties all laid out as time ticked on in its ceaseless rhythm. A young mage and his knight discussed strategy over a map of the city, the latter pointing out advantageous locations and the former tracing out leylines in anticipation of the war's final days.

Far on the city's east side, in a chapel a priest examined options he had once assumed to be beyond unthinkable. In a dimly lit room apart a king among knights paced like a caged lion, frustrated beyond frustration.

I will claim the Holy Grail, thought the latter.

Have I any claim to the Holy Grail, thought the former.

Casting a shadow over that thought in the priest's mind and in the shadow of the knight's own laid a question: what does Kirei Kotomine desire? If he were to act on mere impulse as people often did every day of their lives, what would be the result?

Though the knight had no way of seeing what laid down that path, deep in his heart the priest already understood where that would lead. Behind the locked door within himself, some part of him forced away and intentionally forgotten knew what would transpire.

'You do love me.'

A woman with a failing body had taken her life to prove to the man she loved that he was capable of emotion, and died content at seeing him shed tears over her. But just as Arturia Pendragon had assumed Kirei's desires (and oh, how he knew she had assumed, for no one so chivalrous would demand he chase them had she understood) so too had Claudia Hortensia made a terrible error. For the tears shed that day, if there had truly been any at all, were not out of grief at the life lost or at the passing of a loved one.

No, spoke the voice behind the door in his heart; the true self that had thought his own desires over his wife's corpse, it was disappointment.

For only an instant, he had known his desire. Known that if her life was to end in that moment, then he would have preferred to be holding the knife that had plunged into her frail heart. Known beyond any doubt that 'Kirei Kotomine' was someone beyond even God's salvation, his desires and happiness an unthinkable thing.

Could that be true? For if his very creation was 'wrong', that defied the absolute truth of an infallible God. Yet if he were meant to exist as he was made, then what manner of God would create such a wretched thing in His image?

'Speak, damn you, and speak your own desires lest this mantle of nothingness you wear destroy you!'

The Holy Grail. The absolute wish-granter, the miracle made manifest, the singular goal of all who bore the Command Seals. If he could but reach out his hand, bloodied as it would be, and take it...then all would be clear. He would understand why he was such a creature, why even now the prospect of bloodshed made his heart skip a beat as its rhythm picked up. To betray his teacher, to kill all other Masters in his path...

"Kirei?"

At his side, the sound of his father's voice. Speaking something--some mention of Tokiomi and Rider, but Kirei was no longer listening. The door that had locked away such understanding of what actions needed to be taken to achieve his desperately needed understanding now shattered under the force of sudden and newfound conviction. Crimson handles were between his fingers in less than half a second, the practiced motion of an Executor proving no slower now than it ever had been. Three blades formed from nothingness, glinting in the fiery orange of the setting sun through tall windows.

And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver--

The dark fabric of a nun's habit was alight with sparks of magical energy, changing swiftly to silver-blue armor as Saber sprinted through the church at speeds no human could ever reach. It had been only a brief flicker like a bolt of lightning, but for one single instant was her link to her Master truly clear for the first time. 

Killing intent, as transparent as the swirling wind around the blade gripped in her hands. No matter how impossible it should have been for a conflict of Masters to transpire in this ostensibly neutral ground, what she felt was undeniable. And for her stoic and calm Master to feel such a thing, the situation must have been dire. An attack from the blackened Berserker who held such bloodlust for her? Impossible, for how quiet things were. Her mind raced a thousand times faster than her feet, and yet not a single line of thought would ever have led her to predict the sight before her as she reached the chapel.

Impossible. Impossible. Surely there was some illusory magecraft at work, for the sight before widening green eyes was beyond inexplicable. A man in the garb of a priest, lying in a pool of blood that had only just begun to spread. He coughed once, a terrible sound that sent droplets of red across the floor...towards the right arm that laid cut off several feet away. He--Risei Kotomine--shuddered harshly, and then moved no longer. 

Standing over him, holding no regard for Saber's arrival with three bloodied Black Keys gripped in a hand, was his only son. He seemed to watch his father's last seconds of life with the same interest of one viewing the leaves of autumn falling from the trees; an ordinary sight that yet held a quiet beauty to it. He was calm, and there was not so much as a twinge of despair along their spirit link now.

"Ki...rei...?"

As the blades dissipated into thin air, the Executor turned to face the King of Knights fully--was it a trick of the twilit evening, or was there a spark of life in those dark and empty eyes now?

Kirei Kotomine smiled, and a jagged shape forming along his right arm began to glow crimson.

Chapter Text

Provoking a runaway knight in the shopping district had brightened a foul mood, but only for a time. The walk back to the castle had been one in which a king wearing both a black tracksuit and a look of dissatisfaction was left with his thoughts; while across the city Lancer spoke with his wounded Master, Servant Archer walked an empty corridor of the spacious Einzbern castle in the forest.

This war was nothing but a formality to he who owned all the world's treasures. An inconvenience, but not one of significance; the Grail belonged to him just the same as all other things. Therefore, the entire war had been decided the instant that the golden king had manifested. So then if that was fact as he knew it, why was the outcome so disquieting in the shape it had begun to take? It was all inevitable, after all.

...But what in heaven or on earth was more detestable to Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, than the inevitable?

Deliberate steps had brought him to a simple door in one of countless empty corridors; this one flanked on either side by an Einzbern maid--two homunculi in white, with blank red eyes that saw little. 'Dolls' was almost too good a term for such an empty and listless form of existence, and they were ignored as if they were no more than decoration. Instead he simply stared at the closed door before him, as if crimson eyes alone would cause it to buckle and yield, or as though the answer to why he was even here would appear writ in gilded lettering upon its unremarkable surface.

Silence was the only response, predictably. He raised his hand and rested it upon the door's handle, turning it only after a small sigh of resignation escaped his lips.

Within was an enclosed windowless room; something about less magical energy leaking out, Gilgamesh hadn't listened to the details. The concerns of this world's mages--if mages they could even be called, weak and atrophied as magic itself was in this age--were well beneath him. It had at one point been some manner of storage room, made of stone and relegated to a corner of the opulent castle. Its darkness was lit only by the occasional candles and the pale blue glow of magic circles inscribed on floor, walls, and ceiling. He'd seen the girl assist in inscribing them--Maiya something.or other, Kiritsugu's silent pawn.

In the center of the room, in the center of the sigil upon the floor, laid the mage who had needed such help with her ritual, long hair splayed out along the floor in a way that left him uncomfortable for reasons he refused to linger upon. She was a pitiful sight, as far as he was concerned. Had he known the fact of matters at the outset and understood what lengths mages had gone to in order to conceal his Holy Grail, he might have just murdered everyone involved in his summoning.

A wise tactical maneuver on his Master's part to hide the truth, if a vexing and infuriating one.

A shining portal briefly illuminated the room as it opened to an endless treasure beyond, and from it emerged....nothing more than a bag of taiyaki. Naturally the king would kneel to no one, and now was no exception. No such pitiful and pathetic sight or purpose would bring him to his knees for even an instant, instead leaning over to place it just within reach in the magic circle-

--Pale fingers hooked weakly in his sleeve, curling urgently yet with no more strength than a spring breeze. Gilgamesh's eyes widened, a hissed intake of startled breath cutting through the room's stagnant silence.

"Kiri...tsugu...?"

...He forced the sudden tension in his body to leave it, uncoiling and steadying himself. A king was not so easily rattled, neither was he errand boy to another man's wife; least of all while her husband seemed to ignore her very presence entirely. 

"Ah..." Irisviel's eyes focused on him fully then, and in a tired voice she corrected herself. "...Archer."

"You waste your breath, finite as it is." Calling out for a man too coward to face the cost of his goal. Who claimed to love this doll and yet chose to ignore her when she began to break. "Have you even the capacity to eat, or did you request this of me merely as a test of my patience?"

"I...think so." Her movements were labored and heavy, a frail body looking to weigh as much as the Bull of Heaven itself from how she pulled herself to a sitting position. Pitiful, he thought again. And though the first and greatest king would never be brought to kneel, from the Gate appeared two opulent cushions; on one he chose to sit down, the other emerging from a portal beside Irisviel herself.

"These accommodations are dismal." he sneered, lounging as though the walls of stone were his own throne room. "Your vaunted husband can do no better than this?"

"It's...better, this way." mused Irisviel, between bites of a fish-shaped pastry held in a weak grip. "In a place like this...I can be 'Irisviel' for as long as possible."

She had been failing from the outset; had been made to fail in order to fulfill her purpose. The vessel of the Grail was given will only to see the ritual to completion and defend 'herself'--that was, the Grail--until the chalice could fully manifest. With each and every defeated Servant, the personality called Irisviel von Einzbern grew faint as a flickering candle.

"And I am to understand this is 'mercy'?" Gilgamesh frowned, eyes sharp and unblinking as he watched her. "Prolonging this state is kindness, from a man who refuses to even bear to look upon you?"

As a king must know all of what transpired in his dominion, Gilgamesh had observed in silence. Observed as Kiritsugu's words exchanged with his wife grew fewer, his time with her dwindling to fleeting moments and then, nothing at all.

"He has always known...his wish would come at a price. A world at peace..." Irisviel's words were slow and labored, but spoken as impassioned as she could muster the strength for. "...is worth the blood to be shed so this war is the last war. Acceptable sacrifice, so no one else...has to be sacrificed at all."

"And for this he cowers from the price itself?" A snarl was the immediate response. "He makes such choice on behalf of the world, and speaks not to those who suffer in the name of his crusade?"

"He suffers more than you know. The coldness he wears...is his armor. Against the pain in a gentle heart."

"Fool!" A scowl twisted his features, eyes seeming to blaze in the dim light. "You speak to me of his compassion? The 'gentle heart' of a man whose own pain proves so mortal a wound that he foregoes even passing by his wife's side before casting her body on the pyre?!"

Why was he so enraged about this? Gilgamesh realized this was unsuited to a king. He was above all of this; above these pointless modern humans and their petty struggles. They led wasteful and indolent lives compare to that which he had once known in an age long passed into carvings in eroded tablets. To be angry or indeed to care much at all would be akin to giving weight to the actions of ants milling about the cracks in the road. Yet here he was, every inch of him bristling for reasons he didn't understand and refused to consider. Burning with fury down to his very blood.

Labored breath rattled in the silence, and the sound of it only brought tension coiling in Gilgamesh's shoulders as Irisviel's now empty hands slowly lowered to the stone floor.

"My life was always going to end this way. That I found purpose...in my functions along the way...is worth everything to me. Whether you see the heart in Kiritsugu's actions or not...doesn't change that it exists. That without him, 'I' would not exist."

Halfway to shouting, Gilgamesh opened his mouth to say something that withered in his throat as he looked upon the woman before him. At some point he had moved as well, leaning forward in challenge to Irisviel's words...and now he merely stared. Porcelain skin had become ashen with exhaustion, dark circles wearing beneath red eyes--even so, the hint of a smile lingered on her face. Something about the sight shook him to the core, breath frozen in his throat and a deep pain beating in his chest. 

Listen, my friend, said a long-lost voice in his memory, to the dream that I had last night.

The king to surpass all others, first and greatest of legends, was struck speechless for long enough that the doll crafted by the hand of man rather than gods spoke again.

"You said...that you were proud I made a decision of my own will. So while that will is still within reach..." Shakily, she raised a hand to press against her heart. "All the world's treasures belong to you, right? If I may decide to ask something of you...would you share this one with Kiritsugu, just for a short time?"

No, no, damn the gods to the deepest pits of the underworld, no. This was not the same, and this repulsive uncertainty sitting as a block of ice where his heart should have been only served to anger him further. But Gilgamesh was not so far beyond his own control that fury would rule him at the moment; least of all when it would be seen as such a useless sentiment wasted upon insects.

"...If he should prove capable of worth in my eyes, I may yet take such an offer under consideration."

A task impossible beyond impossibility itself. He had taken the measure of Kiritsugu Emiya's worth and found him wanting. Each passing second in this very room only confirmed it, Sinking to the floor in palpable relief with the last of her energy, Irisviel laid on the cushion he had granted her.

"This will be..." Her voice grew quieter, trailing off breathlessly.

"...the last time we speak." he finished, Irisviel answering only with a small nod as Gilgamesh finally stood and turned to leave. There was no point to this discussion, and likely had never been--no more or less point than a ruler's benevolence to a fleeting companion.

"Gilgamesh-" He stopped at the whispered address, eyes again glaring a hole through the closed door from the other side. Behind him came a few more shallow breaths--he didn't dare turn around now. If he did, who could say what he might think he saw? Silver hair, or verdant? Scarlet eyes, or emerald? A woman made by the hand of mages to shelter a trinket, or a body crumbling to the dust from which it had been crafted? 

"Even if..." she spoke again, and even in whispers he could hear her clear as the midday skies of Uruk, "you find this world distasteful...I hope you found something worth the time we spent."

"...Farewell, Irisviel." He made no further comment on her final remark or anything else, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The heavens cried out and the earth replied, and I was standing between them.

The maids, useless dolls they were, hadn't moved an inch. No notice was even taken of them now; the air in this castle felt stifling, and it was that lone thought which guided his steps through a mind fogged over by too many thoughts to focus upon or understand. This war was far worse than mere formality--it had become infuriating.

"Archer."

When next a voice cut through myriad thoughts and pulled him back to awareness, Gilgamesh found his wandering had brought him to the courtyard. That pawn of Kiritsugu's--Maiya's flat voice had spoken, and the sharp smell of a burning cigarette was a sure sign he had walked past his Master without even realizing.

"We're preparing to mobilize." she spoke again; her words sounded recited as though she was nothing but a machine to relay information. A doll in her own right, he thought, but perhaps one unaware of being such. 

"The two of us will launch an assault on the Tohsaka manor." Then Kiritsugu himself spoke, and that bristling anger began to return to him out of a haze of complex thought and memory. "If necessary, I will summon you by order of a Command Seal. In the meantime you're to investigate each location suitable for the Holy Grail to fully manifest and eliminate any remaining threats. Once one is narrowed down, Maiya will bring Irisviel-"

Archer's arm snapped like the tail of a scorpion, connecting with Kiritsugu's jaw in a sudden blow. The cigarette fell in a trail of smoke, crushed beneath the Servant's heel. The authority branded into his Master's right hand prevented Archer from slaughtering him on the spot--fortunately for one of them, there was no such rule in holding back the immeasurable power of a Heroic Spirit so that such contact would do no more than hurt.

Their eyes met, the steel gray of an oncoming storm facing down the red sun to burn away the clouds. One glaring in defiance and the other daring him to utter even a single word. Maiya felt her jaw clench under a pressure unlike any battlefield, impassive eyes darting from one to the other as if waiting for some indication of what to do...and then, Archer turned to her, snapping 

"You may inform that wretched mongrel that I will do as necessary until the war's conclusion. Until then, I shall not suffer the irritation of his presence a second longer, and the next word he speaks to me will see him lose that impudent tongue." The point made perhaps too abundantly clear, Gilgamesh turned on his heel and stalked out of the courtyard.

Damn this worthless, wretched age. Damn this world and every last person in it.

Damn this pointless war, and above all else damn its inevitable outcome.

Chapter Text

Even injured and mostly unable to get around (healing magic having accelerated but not completed the process), Waver was showing no signs of surrendering their Holy Grail War. If he wasn't preparing a refined and replenished alchemical arsenal, then he was frowning intently at a map. His hand would dart across the paper with a line in one place, a scribbled note in another across the river, question marks and circles scattered across it in the organized chaos of a contemplative mind. But no matter how he planned for as many hypotheticals as he could, no matter how long he and Diarmuid went back and forth about Rider, Archer, or their chances in a fight against either, they were getting nowhere. Rider was a complete unknown when it came to true name or Noble Phantasm, and they knew too much about Archer to the point of understanding a fight on that front would be suicide.

Try as they might and strategize as they did, all the pair could come up with was a clear understanding that there was no plan which would serve them well in advance. Waver had to begrudgingly admit that every time they tried following through on one, it ended up going straight to hell almost immediately. If that was the case, Diarmuid had offered, then perhaps it was better to change their terms. Not to chase a battle openly or seek out their opponents, but to scout from on high and take whatever opportunity may yet arise. Throw caution to the wind in the long term and approach from the short term? Waver couldn't think of a plan that suited him less...but he wasn't the one fighting. He could form a strategy and do so well, but Waver lacked the experience earned on a hundred battlefields and as many harsh decisions made upon them.

That was how the pair wound up sitting high atop the city's bridge, overlooking both the city and the shattered Mion riverbed; the water had started to move to the ocean a little more steadily now, but the deep scars in the earth were going to last a long while even if it were reconstructed. Waver was trying his best not to look down, but a quick glance or two was already too much of a reminder of what kind of power they were dealing with. Archer was death and destruction incarnate, and if or when things came down to it, the King of Heroes might just be the death of both of them.

"...It's actually quite a beautiful place, isn't it?"

Snapped out of morbid and dismal thoughts, Waver looked up to the knight in civilian clothes beside him; Diarmuid was looking out at the city's skyline, the sun sinking lower to a horizon broken by clusters of buildings on either side and painting the sky in tones of orange with silver-purple wisps of clouds. For possibly the first time, it occurred to Waver just how far he'd traveled for all of this--and yet, in the brief time he'd spent in a distant foreign city, it had begun to feel strangely like home. The wind was harsh so high above the ground, but it carried the smell of the ocean and the chill of winter in a way that felt so normal in the midst of wildly abnormal circumstances.

"Almost easy to forget the whole city's a warzone, at least." Waver mumbled in response, glancing back down to the river for a moment.

"Almost." Diarmuid echoed with a small smile. "If we're lucky, then perhaps this city and her people need not suffer further damage before the end."

It still felt impossible that this was what a hero like Diarmuid thought was worth so much. That a stupid mage like Waver Velvet could be the manifestation of a wish that even the Grail's miracle was unnecessary to grant. That he could look out at a sunset and smile like that without a trace of fear even as their days were numbered in single digits at best. Though Waver felt an idea forming in his mind of what he truly wanted to accomplish if he lived through this, it was a daunting concept at best to have his own mortality standing behind him raising a scythe before such an ambition could even fully form. Would there ever have been a time he could face his own death and seem so happy with the circumstances?

Three Servants remained so far as he could tell, Waver reminded himself. Archer, Rider...and Lancer. Victory was a small speck on that distant horizon, a drop of water in the wide river that ran to the ocean. Tiny as it was and impossible as it was to grasp, it still existed. But win or lose, live or die--either way, in even the best possible situation only one of them would be left in this world when the dust settled. Assuming a miracle happened and Waver Velvet survived to witness the sunrise on a Fuyuki City without a raging Holy Grail War...then he would see it alone. His Servant would disappear with the war's ending like a dream before dawn, and the thought ached in his chest more sharply than a broken bone.

"...What's wrong?" Waver realized he must have been staring as gold eyes met green, Diarmuid lifting dark sunglasses off of his face. "You look upset, have I said something?"

Quickly, Waver shook his head and snapped his gaze straight ahead. The orange and purple of the sunset had begun to fade to blue and black, stars twinkling into sight overhead. And for as cold as the early evening wind was, he couldn't help noticing how unusually warm his face was at the moment. 

"N-no, it's nothing. I just-"

If he was going to be able to give voice to anything he was thinking, neither Waver nor Diarmuid would find out. The wind abruptly picked up and changed direction, blowing from the east and carrying with it a shockwave of magical energy that turned Waver's blood to ice and his resolve to porcelain. Diarmuid's hand was on his shoulder immediately, gaze sharp and focused on the distance; he would be able to sense better than Waver what had happened, maybe even see some indication of what was going on. 

"Something's coming." was all he said, words as sharp as his intense stare.

"Rider-? No, this doesn't feel right." Waver murmured hurriedly; there was no sign of lightning or an airborne chariot, just that ominous wind picking up in strength with every passing instant. But it wasn't Archer, either--this wasn't the sky-splitting power of Enuma Elish or the pressure of Archer's unearthly magical energy. Something else, then, but--

Waver didn't need to give an order, not that he could upon looking at the expression his knight was wearing. Something was tense and uneasy; he'd just had something confirmed that he hadn't wanted to believe, Waver suspected. In a flash there was an arm around his waist and they dropped down to the edge of the bridge's empty street. 

Anything the mage was going to say was choked off by the oncoming storm, the air itself trembling as some terrible force drew closer and closer. There was no need to issue any order when the conclusion was obvious: if that force was another renegade Servant, then it would have to be halted before it tore the entire city asunder. Waver gripped the bridge's railing to keep himself standing upright, looking from Diarmuid to the distance where he could make out a silver-blue streak rushing across the rooftops straight for the bridge.

"...You know what to do." he managed at last, resolve finding its footing in a pounding heart and hand with a single Command Seal held close to his own chest. Nothing else needed to be said: the city had seen enough casualties for a lifetime.

"Understood, Master." Sparks of magical energy turned ordinary clothes to green and black armor, lances materializing in their wielder's hands in flashes of gold and scarlet. The wind howled and screamed as it blew with the force of a maelstrom, Waver gripping the railing tighter for fear of being blown away--

In an instant, the storm descended with a crashing impact not of lightning, but of silver-blue armor; the road cracking from the strain. Blinking against the cloud of debris and overpowering gust of wind, Waver could barely make out the first strike; a blonde woman gripping an invisible weapon cloaked in swirling air, stopped cold by crossed lances held by the spearman not having lost so much as an inch of ground.

Saber, Waver realized in horror. That was twice he'd made the mistake of assuming a Servant was dead following the incident on this very river, but this time they weren't going to get outmaneuvered. He had to keep his eyes open, keep watch for her Master's likely attack or sense another mage's presence if he could, but no Bounded Field went up, and that was indication that either no Master was present, or just that they no longer cared about alerting the entire city to the war itself.

The woman--Saber charged again moments after the pair broke apart, wind whipping around the bridge with that concealed blade at the center of the storm.

"Lancer-!"

"Understood." All but reading Waver's mind, Lancer shifted his stance; the golden lance was stabbed into the ground in favor of its crimson partner, moving in quick parries and keeping the other Servant at a distance. Each rapid-fire clash was too fast for Waver to truly see in detail, but with each contact the wind slowed, glimpses of something gold and silver in the woman's grasp. If the cloak was wind magic, Waver had correctly surmised and Lancer had proven, then Gae Dearg could cut through it to reveal the truth it concealed.

But something was wrong. Not with the blade, but the conflict itself. Lancer knew better than Waver did, he could tell; where the mage expected a confident smirk he saw only a look of cold fury. The same quietly enraged look his Servant had worn in Caster's workshop, as if he was witnessing something unforgivable beyond measure.

Saber's motions were wrong; they lacked the fluidity Waver had barely glimpsed during the fight on the river. She moved stiffly, with no finesse and all the sheer force of a hurricane, like some kind of machine. Like she'd been programmed, or...

...Or compelled, Waver realized with a horrified look at his own last Command Seal. That didn't make sense, why order a Servant to fight when such an order shouldn't have been necessary? Unless...unless her Master was trying to force the others' hands? The class of Saber was supposed to be the most powerful, so it stood to reason that she might have the brute strength to steamroll most Servants, Waver reasoned as his mind raced as fast as Lancer's blade, but...but if that was the case this was unconscionable. In the brief flashes he could see of her face, all Waver could make out was an expression strained and horrified, aware that her body's movements were simply not her own anymore. Could they--was it even right to defeat someone like this, if it was possible at all?!

A final fierce wind blew as the cloak of air was dispelled, and Waver instantly forgot to breathe at the sight of what it had been veiling.

The recognition of Arondight had been death bearing down upon him, and yet even that paled in comparison to the silver-gold blade held in gauntleted hands. Lancer must have known it as well, having a much closer vantage point as well as the knowledge of the Grail--that blade couldn't be mistaken for any other.

"That's..." Waver breathed in abject terror, unable to bring himself to even speak its name. The light now radiating off that blade was the light of the sun twisted into something monstrous; the shining hopes and prayers of a thousand knights, and the light of dawn to illuminate the corpse-ridden fields those dreams had died upon.

The light at the end of the world was raised high over the woman's shoulder, poised to be swung down and split the very earth itself. Scowling, Lancer gripped Gae Dearg as if preparing to stop her, but...this was probably the end, wasn't it? Everything seemed to freeze in place, Waver suddenly hyperaware of many things; the blinding light of the woman's sword, the sheer power and force that radiated from her, Lancer's own calculating expression as he changed position to spring forward for a head-on assault in the next instant, Saber's stricken horror and wide green eyes, and the sound of thunder rolling and roaring as it drew closer and closer.

...Thunder didn't sound like that. And it didn't shout in a familiar voice:

"Gate of Babylon!"

Around them, the air lit up with golden light not only from the blessed blade, but a dozen haphazard portals flickering to life and sending as many blades crashing into the ground between the two Servants in a sudden torrent. With a longsword in one hand, Gilgamesh was circling Saber on an obnoxiously yellow motorcycle, parrying the blows that followed with a sharp and cold grin on his face. No longer the immediate target of either, Lancer retreated to Waver's side.

"Did...is this really happening right now?" It was, even if the disbelief on Lancer's face mirrored what was in his Master's voice. Another wave of swords descended, Saber's blade swinging to parry and cast them aside. The compulsion driving her movements seemed to have shifted focus now, and with a sharp laugh Gilgamesh revved the engine and took off, silver knight in hot pursuit even on foot. As he passed, for less than a fraction of an instant did the King of Heroes meet Waver Velvet's eyes--the former looking to the latter with a deathly seriousness that the mage could only guess at the reasoning for.

Irisviel, echoed a brief and unbidden memory, has a soft spot for children.

Sounds of blades clashing and a thunderous engine began to fade into the distance as the two crossed the bridge to the west, and Waver had the distinct impression they had been allowed a single instance of mercy solely because of an enemy's faint wish.

"L-Lancer, come on, we have to--I don't know, we have to do something--" He heard his own voice speak up frantically, struggling to stand on both feet as his leg began to ache again. "They're liable to destroy the whole city on a rampage like that, and that Servant, she--"

"...Arthur Pendragon." The confirmation was no shock, but the grave look on Lancer's face as he stared intently in the direction the two left did little to set Waver at ease. "King of Knights, leader of the Round Table, and chosen by Excalibur."

"I'm English, Diarmuid, I know who she is!" he half-shouted, beginning to tremble uncontrollably from the realization of how close they had come to complete obliteration. The odds of two of the Round Table being summoned into one war by sheer chance was about as low as their chances of surviving to see the next morning. Especially if the Servant of the sword was compelled to be some kind of killing machine taking the end of the war by force.

"It must be agony to be compelled so." the knight answered, hands curled into fists that betrayed the anger barely touching his voice. "Not merely in the physical toll, but a fatal wound to her pride as a knight to be brought so low. If ever I have burdened you with my selfish desires, Waver...know that it was not my intent. But as my Master...if I could ask but one thing of you--"

"You want to help her. Even if it means killing her, death would be better than that." The question didn't have to be asked at all; Waver already knew what had to be done, as well as he knew that he hated how pained and upset Diarmuid was about the whole thing. A knight could not stand by in the face of such disrespect to the code and conduct of the chivalrous. Reaching out to help another, even if 'help' was impossible, that was worth chasing an impossible fight to the man beside him. That was something worth dying in the name of, and through Waver's own fear that made sense. Against another Master, another mage treating their Servant like a piece on the board...it was another moment when Waver cursed ever having wanted prestige when 'prestige' in the world of mages belonged to the heartless and cruel alone. Something clicked in his head with that realization, as if the two final pieces of a puzzle he'd been struggling to assemble finally found their place. Now, of all times, he understood something that he could only have seen the vague shape of until this instant.

Archer and Saber would be clear across Fuyuki tearing it apart in their clashing, Rider would more than likely join in if Tohsaka was still in the war, and the Fourth Holy Grail War would end before the sun rose over the horizon. It was now or never in every sense of the phrase.

"Diarmuid. We don't have any time left, so I need you to listen to me."

Waver had stopped shaking with fear, making that declaration with no tremor in his voice as he gripped his Servant's hands with both of his own. In the night his final Command Seal glowed like the last spark of a fire not yet ready to go out.

Chapter Text

Diarmuid had held a faint suspicion as to what hero Saber was ever since he'd understood Berserker's true identity. He doubted even Archer had seen the real target of his forcibly commandeered airship, but the knight of the spear's sharp eyes didn't fail him. Whoever Saber was, it was someone Berserker despised. And knowing Lancelot's true name narrowed that down considerably. Logic said it could have been Gawain or several others, but his heart spoke another truth entirely--for if it were Diarmuid himself driven mad beyond reason, who would he curse in his deepest resentment? None more than his own lord, and the conclusion was one he hadn't the heart to explain to his Master now.

Part of him hoped it would not have been a necessary piece of information, but in facing the compelled woman on the bridge he just felt disgust. At Saber's unknown Master for such cruelty, at this war which allowed such circumstance to twist the noble battlefields between knights...at himself for remaining silent then and being so helpless now. No words were exchanged between them; he wasn't even sure if Saber could force words from her throat at this point. Her every blow was earthshaking, lances shuddering beneath the strain of blocking and deflecting. He'd have to go on the offensive as soon as he found an opening, but even a microsecond's misstep would be fatal. Half a dozen possibilities unfolded in both the instinct of a warrior and the mind's eye of a Servant, and almost none of them were favorable outcomes for him. Least of all with his Master well within range of collateral damage, but then that was just another reason to fight with all his body and soul.

Even as revolted as Diarmuid felt, even as sympathetic as he was to Arthur Pendragon's suffering and how badly he wanted to bring it to an end...a deeper part of him was relieved that he could trust his Master at his back. That mages like Kayneth and Saber's faceless lord existed disturbed him to no end, and his summoning had truly been luck beyond anything he could expect. 

The golden light was raised, and a thousand calculations stopped. Death was a certainty in the next instant, but if he could act quickly enough it would be a mutual destruction. Gae Dearg was longer than Excalibur; a straight charge would be unexpected, and a strike to the heart would kill her in the same instant that brilliantly shining Noble Phantasm was released to destroy him in turn. The grim conclusion set Diarmuid's features into a scowl--it wasn't something that would guarantee his Master's survival, but it was the best they had. Were it not for Saber's horrific circumstances, he might even have been smiling. Yet the King of Heroes called out before the fight would be decided, and fate seemed to craft other plans for them on the spot.

Though he again chose not to speak of his own thoughts, Diarmuid found himself torn; this war was a truly abhorrent thing if so many mages were like Berserker's and Saber's Masters. If the society of mages truly was as his lord spoke of it, the world had become a wretched sort of place in the past ages. And yet...people like Waver still existed. Through his anger and frustration, that stuck in his mind as irrefutable proof that this war hadn't been an utter waste. That he could still protect and fight for someone valiant and kind; that he could regain what was lost long ago, to prove his own worth to another and to himself.

Though all chances to stop Saber's forced charge were infuriatingly disappearing into the distance, everything was forgotten with a pulse of magic and a glow from that very Master's hand.

Saber and Archer had torn off into the distance, god help any civilians or structure in their path. The war was crashing down around them, and it was because this was sure to be the end that Waver had to be sure everything that needed to be said was put between them as quickly as possible. The final seal on his hand glowed in the darkness of night, and he looked up at his Servant with the knight's hand clasped in both of his own.

"I-I'm not...I'm not worth any of this. Not yet." Waver said, words hurried but ironclad even in the face of the knight's stunned speechlessness. 

There was so much he had to say, most of it slipping away from his ability to articulate the idea at all. Diarmuid opened his mouth to answer and Waver squeezed his hands lightly, urging him to wait just a moment longer. Another moment they barely even had. Shaking his head, the alchemist threw out a thousand tangled words and concepts and reduced the whole idea to its basest element.

"I'm not going to be the knight looking at the sky and deciding to chase a shooting star. I'm going...I'm going to be the star itself."

A hero once looked to the heavens and decided he would flare up briefly yet brilliantly. Waver held that story in the back of his mind; and now he had finally put it all together. To embody the bravery and heroism of a knight, to act for someone other than oneself while also seeking one's own ideals and recognition...the two were not mutually exclusive. Selfish desire didn't need to be only selfish; what he wanted would take endless hard work to deserve the kind of power he would need, power that would be used to help both himself and countless others. But he couldn't do any of it thinking like the Clock Tower expected of him.

Something pricked and burned in his eyes to blur his vision, but Waver pressed onward no matter how embarrassing he thought he sounded. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard, continuing with renewed determination:

"If I can live through tonight, I know what I want to do...what I want. I won't--I can't be like Kayneth or any other mage, I'll make things better. I'll reconstruct the whole Association from the ground up, piece by piece. And I can't do that alone, so I have to become someone worth everything you've said about me and done for me all this time. I need to be worth following on my own merits and accomplishments. So I...I can't be your Master now. I need us to stand on the same ground before I ask you something, and that's why I'm giving you this last order."

His battlefield would be one fought not as a mage, but as Waver Velvet. 

"If you can't follow me as I am now...that's fine. Then I want you to go on ahead. Win the Holy Grail, and find something worth wishing for. But if...if you can, then let me finish this war at your side whether we live or die. I order you, Diarmuid ua Duibhne...to do as you believe is right."

A vague command with no true force or compulsion burned the glowing blade off of Waver's hand, leaving only faint scars where once had been the threefold mark of a contract. That was that; while the link of Master and Servant remained, any authority Waver held was gone with no chance of recovery. Ordinarily the loss of authority meant that a Servant would kill their Master to seek another, but there was no fear of that. Why even consider something beyond impossibility?

A tense silence spanned a frozen instant; if time passed at all, Waver was no longer truly aware of it, the city, or the sounds of swords clashing in the distance. There was nothing in the world but the two of them right now.

...And without warning, Diarmuid started laughing; the same relieved sound Waver had only heard once before in the wake of their fight with Kayneth and Lancelot.

"Wh-what's--?!" Before he could recover enough to be angry about such a reaction, he realized the knight had dropped to one knee before him.

"I would dare go so far as to say my lord is a bit foolish this time around. But if I must outline what is obvious fact, I shall: in your every compassionate word and determination to see it through, you you exemplify the creed of the Fianna with courage and brilliance. You are already more than worthy to be one of us, Waver Velvet...and I would be proud to finish this fight alongside you." He pressed a light kiss to the back of Waver's hand where the faint marks of Command Seals remained, and it was either that or the glowing praise that set his head spinning as blood rushed directly to his face.

...One of the Fianna? Waver snapped his mouth shut before asking if Diarmuid was sure; there could be no doubt of that now. There was no obligation of a Servant to his Master any longer, and no possible reason for the knight to praise the boy in front of him unless that praise were truly sincere. There was nothing left for Waver to question at all; though the path before him was an unclear one, it was laid out before him to run as fast as he could. Not just to catch up with Diarmuid, but to surpass him completely that the first spear would have to catch up himself.

He opened his mouth to give an order--one knight to another, no seals or compulsions would ever be needed between them again--but before drawing a breath an explosion shook the city to the west, far in the distance but rising in a pillar of black smoke all the same. The pair looked to the horizon and then back to each other, resolve hardening in an instant as they took off with all the swiftness of a comet streaking across the sky.

Their destination was clear, and the vantage point high between Fuyuki's rooftops narrowed down the source of the explosion in moments for Waver who had so extensively studied the city's maps and layout. The Tohsaka manor laid in smoldering rubble, its remnants a beacon of the war's imminent ending to the only Master and Servant pair not already present.

...No sign of Rider, or of the fire-slinging mage himself. Waver didn't know if he felt relief or not at the possibility of only three remaining Servants rather than four. But there was no time to focus on that as they landed on ground level; the battle raged twofold, with the ruins of a motorcycle lying discarded near where a knight in silver armor clashed with the king in gold. The Gate of Babylon was thrown wide, blades littering the ground and sparking in the air like fireworks when deflected by Excalibur where they might otherwise have struck home.

"What do we do?" At Diarmuid's question, Waver quickly shook his head to clear it. Forget the 'how' and the 'why' for a minute, he told himself. 'What' was going to be the question that decided how tonight would unfold.

"Engage Saber; help Archer if he even needs it, we'll worry about dealing with him after the fact."

Phrased that way, victory felt so much closer than it looked. Even Archer's magic wasn't infinite, and Diarmuid's Noble Phantasms took next to none on top of being versatile. Maybe, just maybe this would work.

A staccato burst of noise sounded from beyond the Servants' fight, something whistling past Waver's head and several more somethings deflected off of Gae Buidhe in a shower of sparks. In the direction from which the stray shots had come were two men in black a distance from the Servants, nearer to the ruins and momentarily oblivious to both Waver and Diarmuid's presence. There was no doubt they were Masters and less doubt that they were fighting, but their motions were so impossibly fast that he couldn't possibly imagine them as merely human.

"Was that a gun, what the hell kind of mage--no, no, forget it." Focus, he reminded himself again. Act decisively, and worry over logistics as they came. "Never mind; I'll try to get a better vantage point on their Masters while you deal with Saber."

"Understood. An uneven fight is less than ideal, but..."

Out of time, out of options, and out of luck. The stage was set, the pieces scattered across the board as they had fallen, and within the hour someone would claim checkmate.

"I know. Just...hang in there a little longer. I know you can do it." Waver leaned over to pour what little reinforcement magic he could into his unsteady leg before turning and taking off in as quick a run as he was able. If he hesitated even a second longer, he knew his resolve was going to evaporate at the sight of that confident smile. 

If Waver Velvet thought for even an instant, he would be forced to realize that any word he said to Diarmuid might just be the last.

Chapter Text

"Just...hang in there a little longer. I know you can do it."

It felt for only a moment as if there was more his lord wanted to say, but no chance to question it. Perhaps even Waver himself was at a loss, knowing they tread uncertain ground together when every instant could be their last. Gods knew there was more the knight himself wanted to say, not the least of which was to express concern over what had happened when they last split up in a fight. But if Waver was so certain as to run straight into hell, his knight could do no less. Diarmuid turned as his former Master did, springing into action without hesitation.

Saber was charging through the Gate of Babylon's offense, darting between flying blades and targeting the armored man that stood beyond them, his arms folded and mouth curled in an arrogant snarl. Waver had been right, he likely didn't need the help. But an order was an order, and it would have been a disservice to the honor of the King of Knights to leave things as they were.

The next blade Excalibur met was that of Gae Buidhe, redirecting it and breaking her charge, forcing Saber to stagger and back off before swinging again.

"Worthless mongrel, did I grant you permission to-"

"That makes us even for the bridge!" The spearman called back only an instant, as Saber dodged his blade's counter, interrupting Gilgamesh's furious objection. "If you wish to kill me for such disrespect, then why don't we get this over with faster? Then we can tear each other's throats out at your leisure."

"Pathetic runaway dog...!" Insults were all the armored king threw at Diarmuid, instead launching more blades past him at the knight who moved with the speed and power of a hurricane.

"...My apologies, King of Knights. Would that I were able to-" He narrowly ducked Excalibur swung at his throat, backing off and discarding the yellow rose in favor of its crimson partner. He would have the advantage of range, but the rest would not be in his favor if this were one on one. "-fight you properly. Please endure just a bit longer--it will soon be brought to an end."

One way or another.

Clutching a vial of alchemists' fire to his chest knowing his life depended on it--god I hope I got the ratios right this time, he thought--Waver's attention was split. On one side, he heard the clash of Servants behind him and knew he had to keep his eye on it; if Diarmuid called to him for direction through their spirit link, Waver had to be aware enough to answer. On the other side, the two Masters continued their fight with only the barest acknowledgement of a third Servant having joined the battlefield. At such superhuman speeds, Waver could barely make out what was transpiring. One fired bursts from an automatic rifle, and the second deflected those shots with...with...

Wait, what was going on here?! 

There was no chance these two were anything but Masters, and yet they were the last thing Waver expected. If the mage with the gun wasn't insane enough, the other held weapons Waver had only ever read about. Dressed in the clothes of a priest and flashing the thrown blades of a heretic hunter, Waver was left in deep confusion as to what in god's literal name the Holy Church was doing. They were supposed to be neutral, was it possible he'd gotten his estimation wrong? But then, who were these two if not Saber's Master and...presumably, Archer's? Because at the same moment it occurred to him he saw no sign of Irisviel anywhere in the chaos. Not a single wireframe or flash of silver hair on the battlefield, which only served to cement the idea in his mind; she'd never been Gilgamesh's true Master at all.

Whatever had become of her (and Waver would later admit he felt something like 'worry' at the thought) this was something leagues beyond dealing with Kayneth. He had to back off and focus on Diarmuid who actually stood half a chance, instead of involving himself in a fight where all he would do is be killed instantly.

As he began to step back and further out of sight, a stray deflected bullet sliced through the air and grazed Waver's arm; without thinking, he recoiled and cursed in pain. The Master in the coat registered an intruder on their fight with that same accelerated speed, connecting the appearance of a third Servant to Waver himself. With all the speed and destructive power of lightning, Waver registered the gun changing targets and a finger tightening on the trigger.

...For not the first time in the Fourth Holy Grail War, Waver thought this would surely be the last thing he saw before he died. 

It should have been, logically speaking. But the priest had taken no notice of the interruption, with cold calculation seeing only a distracted enemy and a weakness to exploit. In the same instant his hand...no, his entire arm lit up in a scarlet pattern as he spoke in words Waver didn't hear. A shudder traveled through the air, and the gunman forgot Waver in order to answer with a Command Seal of his own.

Overhead, the pillar of smoke was wrung out and torn apart by the rush of wind that followed, the sky above glowing in a rapidly forming spiral of crimson devastation and golden brilliance.

"I wouldn't expect you to be having such trouble, King of Heroes. Don't tell me your treasury's exhausted."

If it was, it wouldn't be the only thing. Though the battle hadn't been raging for long, Saber the way she was now proved a difficult opponent even for two Servants. All three had their share of wounds, Lancer having been pressed onto the defensive with his back to the golden king's own. A network of chains from golden portals littered the field, slowing Saber's charge as she darted between them and dodged their attempts to ensnare her.

"One more word and I may yet throw you at her next." snapped Gilgamesh, gripping the hilt of a dragon-slaying blade from his treasury. 

Honestly, that might not have been an entirely terrible idea. Unpredictable, certainly. Given how much time had passed, Diarmuid was willing to bet Waver wasn't able to cut off the problem at its source. His lord being able to kill her Master would have been an unexpected shock on several fronts, and perhaps it was better somehow if he hadn't.

"Give her a clear path through on this side. I'll meet her head-on and you can catch her off guard."

"You want to die so desperately?" Archer sneered. 

"You have a better plan, Your Majesty?" Looking over his shoulder, Diarmuid merely smirked. Did he want to, of course not. Was he afraid to? Absolutely not. Failing to counter that and clearly wanting to be rid of the spearman regardless, Archer's empty hand shot out as he called to the chains themselves:

"Enki--"

And then he stopped. The very battlefield stilled, Saber's wild and furious rush frozen in her tracks like a puppet whose strings had been pulled harshly.

"...Archer?" Closer at hand, the king was trembling as he resisted a force beyond the very idea of resistance. A cursed blade fell from his grip and clattered to the ground before vanishing into shining sparks with all else from the king's treasury as the Gate of Babylon slammed shut...except for a single opening that brought with it an incomprehensible sword, Gilgamesh's hand wrapping around it as his face twisted in fury and scarlet eyes burned in pure hatred. Overhead, the smoke and clouds had begun to twist as an unearthly strength gathered and a powerful wind kicked up--Saber had lifted her golden blade again, the light around it coalescing as though it sought to tear away all other light from the world itself.

"You...you..." Archer growled through gritted teeth, arm jerked skyward as Ea in his grasp began to spin and commanded the very skies to spiral with it. "May this command...be your death as well...Kiritsugu...Emiya--!"

The name rose into a harsh scream of rage torn from the king's throat, and the reasoning was clearer than crystal. The two had both been commanded to release their Noble Phantasms, and the compulsion of a Command Seal was beyond all free will of any Heroic Spirit to defy.

Do as you believe is right.

Diarmuid's own order resounded loudly in his mind before he even realized he was moving, pushing him to escape as fast as the body of a Servant could. The very air sparked with magical energy as the tearing skies and trembling earth threatened to tear the world asunder; with death itself about to descend on Fuyuki, there was only one thing to do.
 
"Enuma-"

"Ex-"

Hearing them call in unison only spurred him onward; for once in his life, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne ran towards his ending rather than away from it. What that order meant was much smaller than the fate of the war, the city, or the entire country. The outcome of the war was meaningless, and whether Fuyuki City stood or fell in the next instant was not his concern.

"-Elish!"

"-calibur!"

What was 'right' was only one thing: to protect just a single person, at any and every cost.

Waver knew he shouldn't have felt as calm as he did. It was the same unnatural blank feeling that had overtaken him in the wake of the Mion River battle, but he was admittedly grateful he felt nothing rather than the terror his situation called for. One second and then another ticked by in an instant that hung for eternity in the shuddering air thick with magical energy, death hanging overhead in a coalescence of swirling red and gold light. At a time like this, he expected his life to flash before his eyes...he was fairly sure that was what was supposed to happen in the seconds before someone died, but if his mind drifted at all, it was only-

'I ask of you, are you my Master?'

...It had been worth it. Even if he died here, dreams and ambitions unrealized, that was fine. Now that Waver stood alone on a battlefield, staring oblivion in the eyes, he could say that even for only a moment he held something worth fighting for. That he had fought with a great hero he could call a friend, their hearts and minds as one. Even if his accomplishments went unrecognized by those who had doubted him, they were accomplishments all the same.

He was already worthy in the eyes of the only person who mattered. Knowing that, even if he feared death, he could accept it without running or hiding in terror.

The very ground shivered in fear, and the terrible lights of creation and victory burned in the sky were at last brought down on the land below. The noise was deafening, roar of winds and rending earth obliterating all else...and then another breeze blew across the shattering battlefield, verdant lightning darting between fissures where the ground gave way. Dodging the sheer force of Anti-Fortress and Anti-World Noble Phantasms whipping through the air like a thousand blades.

Waver had no ability to stall for time against oncoming death now as he had in the forest. But it didn't matter, and maybe that was why an unearthly calm had taken point over fear this time. Calm, because live or die he knew they'd do it together. His right hand reached out to the oncoming rush of motion and he was swept up in an instant, the pair of them rushing away in a flurry of movement. The swiftest of the three knight classes could get them out of the worst of the imminent damage, surely. Surely, they would be safe now. And maybe, if all else was shattered, then the last pair alive would be the victors.

Something struck them with a shock of force as the calamity behind them shattered the earth and began to fade as only an act of divine power or a natural disaster could, his knight's footing lost and the two crashing to the ground. Coughing with the air knocked from his lungs, Waver saw the world spinning dangerously as he struggled to stand. A concussion, maybe, he felt a superficial wound on his head beginning to drip blood past his eye...but he was alive despite all reason saying he should have died. The skies were a twisted mess of clouds tangled in unnatural shapes from being pulled every which way, the ground where the Tohsaka manor had stood and the forest beyond torn to ruins. From a further distance away, he could see the ground as damaged and broken as the Mion riverbed; Fuyuki might never truly recover from this war. Maybe the Grail could-...surely they were all that was left, weren't they? Then again, given how often Waver's initial hypothesis was wrong, it was just as likely they weren't.

"Are...you hurt?"

"I'll...I-I'll be okay, give me a second. What about you, Dia-?"

He struggled to fix unfocused vision on the out of breath Servant beside him, who began to stand--and then tilted to one side, Waver dropping back to the ground and fumbling to catch him on reflex. Unfocused vision cleared, and he realized what had happened in that final impact; whether in shockwave or direct strike, the pair had suffered a mortal blow and only one of them had paid for it. Black and green armor was stained pure crimson, pauldron shattered and a wound torn through his shoulder down his side that would have killed a mortal human already.

"Oh--" Abruptly, Waver's blood was replaced by ice and he was extremely aware of every single thing around them; the smell of smoke and blood, the pain setting in his body and pounding ache in his head, the smile of the knight dying in his arms and the absolute terror that there was nothing Waver could do to change that last point. The blank calm had shattered, replaced by a horrified panic that seemed far more sensible at a time like this. "--oh, god, don't--I c-can...I can fix this, hold on, I..."

He couldn't, and both of them knew it. Still, that unsteady healing magic was called to Waver's hands in a rush of desperation. If he could just stop the bleeding, if he could fix any of this... The light flickered and vanished, Waver cursing under his breath and struggling to focus it again. Again it sputtered out like a candle in a thunderstorm, and with his vision blurring from frustrated and despairing tears he forced his circuits to answer him a third time.

A sound interrupted Waver's concentration, hands shaking too uncontrollably to be of much help even had he the magic capacity for it. Covered in blood and barely able to breathe, the dying knight coughed out a pained and quiet laugh.

"St...stop that, idiot, hold still, I...I...wh-what are you laughing at--?!" The rambled insistence rose into a frustrated shout, the mage's fury entirely for himself and his own lack of ability. 

"...The fact that...you tried...is already more than enough."

On a hillside across the sea, the lord of the Fianna had given in to spite as his knight's blood stained the grass, holding the power to heal and refusing to utilize it. And now here was a half-baked mage desperate to use power he didn't have, with that same knight expressing his relief that such was attempted with no hesitation.

"You--damn you, stay with me, why did you-?!" Waver's voice cracked, something catching in his throat so harshly that he felt he might choke. Why bother saving someone like him when doing so had cost everything? As far as he was concerned, Diarmuid could have been clear across Fuyuki and out of the disaster area when those two Noble Phantasms clashed--even if his Master died in the process, being the last Servant alive had to count for something. He could have claimed the Grail and instead...instead they were both here. 

"It's...alright, Waver." A bloodstained hand was raised to rest against Waver's face, Diarmuid's voice faltering even while he met his lord's panic with a small smile. "You have...a lot of work to do yet, réalta eolais."

The endearment in a foreign tongue might have gone over Waver's head but for some combination of spirit link and the fondly wistful tone in which it was spoken; for a brief instant it called to mind the sight of a night sky far from all of this, deep blue lit in the silver guiding light of a thousand stars. Something about it calmed Waver's frantic mind, leaving only the pain wrenching his heart in his chest--but this was not the time or place to break apart. He swallowed hard, choking back tears and managing a small nod.

"Become the valiant lord that...I know you are. And if ever we meet again..."

"...th...then I'll sh-show you a star worth chasing." Waver heard his own voice speak, shaking and on the verge of collapse. "Everything y-you've done for me...I swear I won't waste it."

How could he? The young mage's resolve was already forged in fire, his decision made the moment they chose to finish this battle in one final charge. To go back on it now would be a betrayal of the highest order; if anything, it only reinforced his conviction to become someone deserving the immeasurable loyalty of the knight that had answered his call.

A smile was the only answer; stained in blood and yet no less earnest and heartfelt as ever it had been. Completely unafraid of death, absolutely confident in his lord's declaration, and with no doubt or hesitation written on the knight's face.

The fading warmth of a comforting hand and a weight in Waver's arms left all at once: as suddenly as he had appeared to answer a reckless summoning, Servant Lancer vanished into thin air without a trace.

Slowly, he looked to uncontrollably trembling bloodstained hands only to find the sight blurred by tears, burning hot from the frustration of his helplessness and the sharp pain of knowing his knight, his Lancer, his Diarmuid was just gone. A choked noise escaped past the painfully tight feeling in his throat, feeling as though the injustice of it all was throttling him. He wanted to collapse, to break into a thousand tiny pieces and never get up again...but of course, he couldn't. Right now, all he could do was press both hands to his eyes and scream, anguish and frustration and loneliness all manifesting in the only weakness he could allow himself. If he broke now, he would have to stand tall as a knight of the Fianna and repair himself stronger than before; he had given his word on that. His only friend had died believing in that dream, and giving up would be impossible now.

Deep below the ground came a terrible sound of thunder, something far in the distance cracking. A jolt of unrecognizable magic tugged sharply at the mage's senses, and he forced himself to raise his head to look--where the Tohsaka manor had once stood, a blackened magma bubbled forth from the earth. It hurt to look upon, as if the substance itself was fundamentally wrong to human eyes. Like a terrible wave it rose and crashed down upon the manor ruins, the resulting shockwave knocking Waver clear off his feet even as far as he was from point zero.

That was the last thing he would remember seeing of the Fourth Holy Grail War itself, blacking out as the final curtain in a battle of Masters and Servants descended on Fuyuki City.

Chapter Text

She awoke in nothingness.

The air was stagnant and still as to make one think time itself had no dominion over such a place, the ground a glossy obsidian black stretching into a distant horizon beneath an empty sky of unmoving overcast gray. 

"This is..." A soft voice fell flat in the air, traveling no further than beyond her lips. "...inside the Holy Grail?"

It could be nowhere else. Scarlet eyes lowered to pale hands, fingers curling and uncurling with no regard for how her body had lost all its strength and then ceased to be at all. That was the fate of the vessel, and all was as intended. Soon, a wish would be granted and the world would be at peace evermore. There would never be another conflict for the Grail, and her daughter could live free of the fate of such a vessel. 

So then, why were tears welling in her eyes now? 

Why, when she again raised her eyes to her surroundings, did she see corpses littering the ground? Pale limbs at odd angles, silvery hair splayed along the endless field blacker than a night without stars. Each of them stared with eyes she had seen in mirrors countless times, yet devoid of the spark of light. This was the legacy she was heritor to, for she was the vessel crafted after countless failures over generations.

Had any of those which came before her held a desire of their own? They had been designed to possess self-preservation, but had they wanted anything?

'I might even confess myself harboring a note of pride in you at the moment, having gone so far against the intent of your creation.'

Someone had said that to her once. Had it been wrong for a vessel to have desires?

Someone had offered to run away with her, before this all began. To take their child and escape, run fast and far and never look back. And she had known the guilt of abandoning this last fight would destroy that person, devour them from the inside until nothing would remain. Yet, if not for that...to run far away from all of this had sounded so good. To live as someone loved by that person. To take what he had shown her of the world and live within it.

There was so much to the world. So wide and colorful a place it was, vibrant and beautiful. She had listened as someone proclaimed it 'ugly', but in the same breath did he claim that such ugliness was as it should be. It hadn't made sense to her then, and in this place she was still not sure she understood it. But she knew that to look at that person and how he lived had taught her an emotion that none other could.

'Envy'.

Envy in knowing that so much was held just beyond the reach of her fingertips, that she had barely grazed the surface of the world her truest love would fight to protect. She wanted that man's happiness, wanted it so badly that she was willing to die that he would finally be able to stop fighting.

Yet so too did she want to share in that world and truly understand why he held it so dearly.

But that wish will be granted by your own hands--though the corpses at her feet said nothing, the blank eyes of one seemed to counter the woman's thoughts. 

Yes...that was right. Her love would live and her daughter would never shoulder this burden--

...Burden? Is that what she truly thought of her purpose? Of course, it was no easy thing to be the Grail's vessel. She had been slowly losing sense and feeling with each defeated Servant, life flagging from her body piece by piece...no, it had been agony. She would never wish it on another, least of all her own child.

Don't you hate it? another's vacant smile seemed to ask. 

She had never felt 'hatred'. Even if she had known it, that sounded wrong; there was no resentment in her heart at the nature of her purpose or the man who sought to bring about a miracle with it. All she felt about the matter was that unfamiliar envy and a flicker of desire for...something. 

'But what kind of person are you, and what do you want out of it?'

Something small and yet all-encompassing. A base desire that took root in a single point and expanded into wings that spanned all creation. She wanted the world beyond this terrible void, but to gain that she needed to desire something far simpler.

Those pale and lifeless hands reached out for her, and dimly the woman registered their cold grip tugging at her. One pulling on her wrist, another at the hem of her skirt, yet more at the ends of her hair. The obsidian ground rippled with the motion of a stone tossed into a still lake, her body beginning to sink. Her eyes instead turned skyward--time had begun to move again, and the overcast sky glowed with a light far beyond this closed world. Twirling like a maelstrom and shining with the red and gold of the dawn over a new day, yet here she was at the bottom of this endless well. 

To be human...was to love. To win and lose, to share in pain and joy alike. To experience all the world had to offer with that same selfishness, to love fearlessly, to desire for oneself the happiness which was desired for others. There had been someone who lived selfishly, who regarded all the world as something to be partaken of. Beauty, ugliness, good, evil, love, hate--to him it had all seemed something to celebrate. One man had taught her love and shown her the world beyond a winter castle. Another had taught her to envy that she could not reach, and from the golden king had she learned the desire that overcame her now.

The woman wrenched one arm out of the corpses' grip and reached towards the light high overhead. If her own wish was just beyond her grasp, then she would reach further. Claw her way out of the deep, dark well, and then break through to the world outside.

"I want..." She called to the star above, voice still falling too close in the dead air. Pulling herself inch by inch from the waist-deep void threatening to claim her. "...to go back. To the world Kiritsugu loves."

Still, she reached upward. Praying her voice could echo the ever louder way that blade sang, that mortal fingers could yet grasp the Star of Creation itself.

"I want to live!"

Irisviel von Einzbern's voice rang out in the endless void as the Sword of Separation howled its song, spiderweb cracks forming in the fabric of the world's existence like a pane of glass.

Halfway between 'awareness' and 'consciousness', the world was the black of a dreamless sleep pulsing red agony with the rhythm of a heartbeat. Every inch of his body hurt so badly that had Waver Velvet been fully awake, he might have only had the breath to scream. Everpresent pain in his right leg was joined by a pounding in his head, and both together were overshadowed by a white-hot burning threatening to consume him. Maybe this was going to be how it ended after all, dreams and ambition be damned.

Wake up-

A familiar voice was calling to him. From somewhere very close and yet miles away, he felt a hand placed on his forehead and the all-encompassing pain lessened like water poured on a flame. Whose voice was that? Not Diarmuid's, this voice belonged to a woman--his mother? Was he dead already? The way the unbearable pain became easier to bear was suggesting as much, yet the fact that some remained told him otherwise.

He couldn't die here. Not now, and not like this. There was a promise he had yet to fulfill, and so much work laid out ahead of him.

Please, wake up--!

Waver Velvet drew a sharp breath and immediately started coughing on thick black smoke and the overpowering smell of death in the air. His vision struggled to focus on the surroundings; the residential district surrounding the Tohsaka estate was obliterated all the way to the forest beyond, and where once had stood houses now was nothing but rubble and flames. It was hard to move without a sharp screaming pain in his back and arm, sweater charred beyond repair; either the initial blast had caught him harder than he expected or he had been unconscious on the blazing ruins too long; it didn't matter which.

What mattered was the woman sitting on the ground beside him, too-pale skin smeared with blood, dirt, and ash. Silver hair frayed and burned at the ends, and one hand still glowing faintly with the healing magic that had pulled Waver back to consciousness.

"I-I can't--" stammered Irisviel von Einzbern, scarlet eyes wide with fear as she brought those hands back to her face. "I can't find...Kiritsugu, Maiya, I don't know--I don't know what happened, no one else is--"

Alive, she didn't have to say. The overpowering smell alone was too similar to Caster's underground workshop; blood and death a thick haze in the air around them. It made him want to be violently sick, or perhaps that was the concussion. Likely both, not that it was important.  Struggling to hold his focus, Waver pressed a hand to his head. They had to get out of here, but Irisviel was in panicked hysterics and Waver himself was barely half a breath from the same. How could anyone survive in a devastated inferno like this? She might have had a chance if she left him behind, but...

What would Lancer have done in his position? Waver latched onto that with all he had; his knight would have set aside fear as a problem to be handled later. With someone before him in need of help, he would--

"Irisviel!" Waver heard his own sharp voice interrupt his thoughts, and the shrieking pain in his arm was all that let him register having put his hands on her shoulders. Scarlet eyes were wide, tears streaking clear paths through the ash streaking her face. "W-we can't stay here. Can you stand?"

Hurriedly blinking back tears, Waver watched as she tried to process what he was saying; he understood the feeling reflected in the shock on her face, barely sure of anything he was saying himself until it already left his mouth. But she nodded, seeming uncertain of what might come out if she spoke again. Instead, Waver kept going, faster than his thoughts could keep up. If he stopped to contemplate even a single instant of the circumstances, he knew he would freeze just as she was doing.

"I...I can't. Not well. But I might be able to--I've studied the city's layout, I-I can...we have to get away from the forest in case that catches fire next, at least. If we can head north and get away from this until it dies down..." Then what, he didn't know. But an uncertainty was better than waiting to burn to death. "...It's the only chance we have right now, but I need your help."

Irisviel swallowed hard and seemed to visibly steel herself, wide eyes gaining just a small spark of determination.

"...Tell me where to go." she said at last, standing and carefully pulling Waver to his feet--only now that he leaned on her shoulder did he actually register they were the same height. She'd looked so much taller on the river, as if that grace and combat prowess made her tower over an inexperienced Master. 

Though the ground seemed to tilt precariously underneath him, Waver looked skyward to figure out which way 'north' even was at this point. Past the rising smoke and a hellish orange sky, he was sure the moon had become a void blacker than the deepest darkness. But he blinked once and quickly rubbed at his eyes--the sight was gone, if ever it existed at all.

Fortunately, the damage did not encompass all of Fuyuki as Waver had tried not to consider it might. With Irisviel's support and his own guidance, they managed to half-drag themselves out of the edges of a disaster and back to the more intact roads of a city with an almost tangible despair woven through it. In the distance he was fairly sure he heard sirens, and that was reassurance enough that no, every living creature in the city was not in fact dead in the final clash and subsequent destruction. As much as Waver wanted to contemplate what in the name of anything had happened, he was far too disoriented at the moment to try. And rattled as she justifiably was, Waver was relieved for both their sakes that Irisviel wasn't seriously hurt herself. At least there was one aspect of this godforsaken war that made it more than a complete loss beyond all reckoning. Now he just had to get home without dropping dead in the middle of the street.

'Home' was a strange word for an abandoned ruin, but it came to mind without hesitation. Half-baked a base as it might have been, it was safety and security, and...

...And it felt so empty now, coming back to it feeling like half of his heart and soul had been forcibly gouged out. Waver sank into the chair at his desk, dropping his head into his hands as Irisviel cast a bewildered look around before slowly lowering herself to sit down as well.

"Sorry." he mumbled, trying to stop his vision from spinning. "Your base, it's back in the forest...? Won't stop you from leaving, but...it's probably safer to wait here until the fires die down." 

"You never told me your name." she observed, voice soft and distant. He practically felt the tone of it in his chest; detached and scrambling to latch on to anything grounded in reality rather than linger on the immeasurable horror that had transpired tonight.

"...Waver." he answered, pressing a hand to his eyes and carefully leaning back in the chair. "Waver Velvet. I'm a student at the Clock Tower...if I'm not expelled eight times over." Could they do that? Probably.

"Have...you been living here the whole time?"

"Huh?" He turned his head enough to focus on her; an absolute mess of frayed clothes, singed hair, and the ash of the end of the world all over her. Waver dimly realized he probably looked just as bad if not worse, judging by how he felt. "Yeah, so what? It's fine."

It wasn't fine, judging by how Irisviel's face got a little life back to it in the form of a furrowed brow and faint annoyance.

"I'll help you get your things together. You're coming back to the castle with me."

"Sorry, what'd you say?" Either he was in so much pain he couldn't comprehend words, or she had just proclaimed something ridiculous.

"Kiritsugu and Maiya will be back there soon, so I can't stay here." she confirmed, arms folding over her chest. "And your wounds won't heal in a place like this. We are no longer enemies with the Grail War over, and you did help me--you have my word you won't be harmed."

If they're even alive, he didn't dare say out loud. Quickly discarding the thought, Waver blinked a time or two at this explanation; Irisviel's words came quickly, like she needed to focus on something rather than have her mental state snap like a twig. That, or Waver was just projecting at this point, he couldn't tell. It sounded crazy beyond reason, but at this point...where else was he going to go? The hospital didn't really sound like a great alternative, where he didn't speak Japanese as it was and they were sure to be overrun with a chunk of the city in flames. It was either stay here (alone, he reminded himself with that same twisting pain in his chest), or gamble on the idea that she really did want to help.

"...Okay."

One step at a time. Before he could reach the stars, he had to make sure he lived long enough to go after them.

Chapter Text

On one thing, Waver Velvet had been correct: there was no way for either him or Irisviel to know who had or had not survived the end of the war or the catastrophic fire that resulted from it. 

As a thousand curses crashed down upon Fuyuki, a man torn apart by the death of his dream and vengeance of his Servant shouted in desperation to the world itself with his last breath. Whether the world answered or if it remained ever a cold and uncaring bystander, none but that man would truly know.

As a homunculus and defeated Master limped their way off the barren flaming battlefield, elsewhere amidst the flames a man in black laughed in jubilation and screamed in horror alike as he realized the shape of the desire he chased. Beside him, a Servant with the pallid white skin of a corpse observed with eyes blighted a pale yellow. The king would permit this of her subject, for this too was naught but a grim realization made upon a hill stained red in fire and blood.

Paying no heed to the terrible night it broke, dawn eventually rose over a Fuyuki permanently scarred, and when Waver awoke with no real recollection of when he had finally fallen asleep it was on a couch in an ornate castle...with a pistol inches from his face. The weapon trembled as he hurriedly tried to sort out if this was a very realistic nightmare, stammering furiously until another voice cut in.

"Maiya-!" Irisviel snapped that as she rushed in, either having detected an intrusion in the bounded field or simply heard someone come through the door. Cleaned up and in a change of clothes, a pale hand gripped the wrist holding the pistol and tugged it away. Waver could see her more clearly now; as haggard and scorched as the pair of them had been only a matter of hours beforehand, a woman with straight dark hair not terribly dissimilar from his own. Irisviel spoke in hurried and hushed tones to the woman in black, Waver very carefully sitting up and looking to both of them trying not to draw further attention to himself. He really hoped that would be the last time he narrowly avoided death for a while. Her eyes were dark and razor sharp as they focused on Irisviel in shock and disbelief. She carried the telltale signs of having been witness to the horrors of that corpse-laden conflagration, along with something wild and panicked as if she was no longer sure if anything was truly real or if she was speaking to a ghost.

Again, he'd been lucky she was there. Some insistent hushed conversations between the two women and some much longer ones between all three of them later as dawn wore onward into late morning, the trio sat around a kitchen table; Irisviel sitting placidly and Maiya a seat away staring daggers at Waver, who felt a migraine coming on that had very little to do with his head trauma.

"Let me get this straight." he managed in a voice strained by disbelief and stress, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're not only not Archer's Master, you're the vessel of the Holy Grail. And Archer's real master was the Mage Killer, who until ten minutes ago I was very sure was the kind of crazy rumor aristocrats made up to threaten each other."

Repeating it out loud only made it sound even less plausible, but the pair of them barely blinked.

"And you're the reason Lord El-Melloi nearly didn't enter into the war." That was the most he'd heard Maiya speak since she pointed a gun at him, and the words themselves made the color drain from his face. "Reports said his catalyst vanished and that he had to hurry to acquire a second." That explained a lot; would Kayneth of all people have ever summoned something as unpredictable as a Berserker unless it was the only option left?

"Yeah. I stole it and entered the war myself. But who the hell cares about what stupid things I did--Irisviel, if you're the Grail's vessel, then..."

He trailed off, and a grim silence descended. Waver knew what he had seen; or knew that he had seen something rising from beneath shattered earth--from a broken Grail, if all that Irisviel herself had seen was fact. The pair of them had seen the blackened moon that Waver thought he only imagined, a great and terrible silhouette looming over the ruin however briefly.

"Something..." Irisviel began hesitantly, pale fingers interlacing neatly on the table, "...isn't right. Not only with this Fourth War, but the very ritual itself. We're all in agreement that...thing, that force, whatever we're to call it, it was wrong. The ritual must have failed-...I don't know. Long ago, certainly. The wish of the Einzberns will never be attained with the Grail in a state like that."

The greater implications of the concept of Third Magic and Heaven's Feel had eluded Waver for now; a mere student wasn't exactly expected to believe the ritual was anything but the fight for a wish made manifest. But he could agree on one thing: the whole thing had failed catastrophically. Judging by Irisviel's words, it might have even been completely irreparable.

She pressed pale hands together, bringing them to her face in deep thought before looking to Maiya.

"...You're sure?" she asked, insistent as if it was the tenth time she asked for such confirmation. "You couldn't find any trace of him, anywhere?"

An impassive face growing only more stoic if such was possible, Maiya shook her head. The confirmation turned Irisviel's calm demeanor into something else Waver recognized in himself--sharply repressed anguish. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, slow breath taken from the quiet air as she calmly lowered both hands back to the table.

"We'll take a few days to recover and...and wait. Just in case. If Kiritsugu hasn't returned by week's end, then you and I are going back to Germany." Maiya paused at that declaration, mouth hanging open slightly as if to raise an objection. But she appeared to reconsider, and instead asked:

"Can we get through the forest's Bounded Fields?"

"We'll have to try."

The two stared each other down in a deadly seriousness Waver realized had flown over his head, but he did manage to connect the general idea of the matter.

"Wait--wait, wait, hold on, you're going back to the Einzberns?" he stammered, speaking more to Irisviel who he could tell was planning something rather than Maiya who was following far better than he could. "But--if you're not--if you don't have the Grail and the ritual's not going to work, then...are you...won't they...?!"

"I'm willing to take that risk. I won't be staying; there's someone I must return for, and I suspect that will be our breaking from the household from then on."

What did happen to failed homunculi? Waver could take a few guesses, and none of them were the kind of thing he'd wish on anyone. Least of all Irisviel, at this point. But her voice was steady, those unnaturally red eyes focused on Waver with a calm determination.

...It reminded him of Lancer, if only briefly. The steady resolve he held when they resolved to fight together; the look of someone fully committed to their cause and the reasoning behind it. With that brief image flickering before his eyes, he had no power or right to argue with her.

"If-...will you come back here, if you're able to?" he asked, an idea forming in his mind. Irisviel looked to Maiya, the two almost seeming to come to a silent agreement; a conclusion that if Irisviel couldn't return to the Einzberns and Kiritsugu was nowhere to be found, their options would be limited.

"I think so. For a short time, at the absolute least...but why?"

Her question was a fair one; most of this had nothing to do with Waver anymore, and the majority of it was a matter rooted in ancient magecraft and a ritual he had stumbled into like a complete fool. It would have been easy to part ways with them on kind terms now that Irisviel's magic had put him further from the brink of death. All involved could wish each other well and go their separate ways.

That would have been the reasonable thing to do.

But it wouldn't have been right.

"Wherever you're going and whatever you have to do," he answered carefully, "I know I probably can't go with you in this condition. And even if I did, I'm sure I wouldn't be of any use. But I want to help you. I don't--I don't know how, or what could even be done about all of this, but I can't leave things like this. As a mage, I'm pretty useless. Especially next to you--the Einzbern alchemy is beyond anything even an accomplished archmage could ever hope to reach." All he could do was keep talking until he found the point he desperately needed to express. Apparently, thinking before he spoke was a foreign concept today. "So I don't have anything to offer you except this. I'm going to return to the Clock Tower before long, and I have every intention of becoming a powerful mage with as much influence as I can put together."

Waver felt Maiya's eyes burning a hole through him, likely either daring him to say something foolish or debating if he was a liability requiring a bullet. Instead he focused on Irisviel, who wore that look of disarmed surprise he had seen once before--an eternity ago, outside a cafe with two heroes of legend at their sides.

"You don't owe me anyth-"

"It's not like that." Waver cut in before Irisviel could so much as finish the thought. "You saved my life and I saved yours, we're even. I'm not repaying a debt, I'm making a request."

He pushed his chair back and stood up, hands on the edge of the table to support himself. Standing as tall as he could and looking Irisviel square in the eye, he said:

"If--when you do what you need to do and come back with whoever you're going after...just for a short while, be my teacher. Help me improve even just a little with alchemy and--and healing magecraft, so I can go home and work to improve myself. If I can become influential enough of a mage...I can work to make sure whatever happened last night never happens again."

If Maiya's hand hovered over a holster, he refused to break eye contact long enough to tell. He focused wholly on Irisviel, determined and sure of himself--this was what he had to do, it was clear to him now. That terrible calamity could never be allowed to transpire again, but would anyone ever believe them if they told the truth of it? The Holy Grail War was broken, yet Waver of all people understood mages were not known for their common sense. A third-generation mage, a failed homunculus, and whatever on earth Maiya was, he didn't know--the point was that no one would hold any value in their word if they tried to prevent a fifth war and the unmitigated disaster that would follow. They needed power both of magecraft and connections among the world of the Association to do anything about that, and the only one of them in any position to try was the one already committed to chasing that distant dream.

She stared back at him for a long moment, startled gaze turning to something scrutinizing. Despite the frantic and half-helpless state they had both been in the night before, Waver knew it would have been a mistake to underestimate this woman. Irisviel could take his head off in an instant if she wanted to, to say nothing of the pistol-waving woman clearly ready to act at a single word. Even knowing that, and knowing that to assume otherwise merely because she'd showed him mercy before was foolish, Waver stood his ground without flinching.

"Do you think that's possible?" Irisviel asked evenly, eyes unblinking as she watched Waver like a hawk. "If you're at all able to do what you're saying you might, then we can make sure the Grail will never have to manifest again?"

That registered as a strange facet to focus on, but he didn't question it. Irisviel seemed to be asking for reasons other than merely the calamity, and it wasn't for Waver to fully comprehend why at the moment. The manifestation of the Holy Grail and that burning city were one and the same, and so too would be the result.

"I don't know." The answer wasn't one he had to think about, and without hesitation he concluded: "But I swear I'm going to try."

When Irisviel finally broke eye contact, it was to look at Maiya. From her, the answer was a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. Either the mystery woman didn't like the idea, or just didn't like Waver--he couldn't tell and it didn't matter right now. But the homunculus considered the idea, pressing a hand lightly to her mouth as those scarlet eyes calculated something only she was truly aware of. Weighing the situation and its importance, then seeming to latch on to something of the matter and coming to a conclusion with a small nod.

"...The matter Maiya and I have to see to takes first priority, you understand. But once it's been seen to...when we return here, you and I will discuss the matter further. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yeah. More than acceptable." Waver almost had trouble keeping a smile off of his face, but the gravity of the situation demanded he manage it. Maybe...maybe this was just mad enough of an endeavor to work. He'd have to play his cards carefully, every piece on a board laid out in exactly the right configuration with no room for mistakes.

Such was a highly unlikely team finalized in the wake of a broken Holy Grail War. A far cry from the knights of old, but no less committed to each of their goals; one to prevent another Lesser Grail from ever being needed, another pursuing an inherited dream of a peaceful world, and the third demanding no less than to ensure the world's safety as would be expected of a worthy leader.

The resolve to take action to match one's words, with the courage and strength to carry that action out.

'You are already more than worthy to be one of us, Waver Velvet.'

It would be enough. It had to be enough, and if it wasn't he would find a way to make his goal a reality. Not for his sake, not his or Irisviel's or Maiya's alone; but to see that no one else's wish would be met with bloodshed and despair. This couldn't be allowed to continue, least of all at so high a price.

To protect the weak and aid those most in need of it...the chivalry of a knight demanded no less.

Chapter Text

Time carried on in its rhythm; after Irisviel and Maiya's swift and purposeful departure, solitude descended on the Einzbern castle and time was spent in the company of an extensive library with peace and quiet the only company. Careful and thorough research consumed his time, and just as Waver began to doubt the two would ever return to Fuyuki City...two months had passed, and brought to the forest castle two haggard and tired women with a third companion in tow. 

That was how he learned what was so priceless a treasure as to become a fugitive from one's own family, and how Waver met who became his fellow student in healing and transmutation: eight-year-old Ilyasviel von Einzbern.

Outside the forest, Fuyuki's deep wounds began to heal and scar over much like the marks of a war Waver himself would carry the rest of his life. Weeks turned to months as the four of them settled into a strange routine: the careful mapping of city leylines, understanding the potential locations the Greater Grail could manifest again, and trying to devise methods to cut off the ritual at its very roots. In between he learned more about alchemy than Waver could ever have hoped to understand at the Clock Tower; it wasn't as if the secrets of Einzbern thaumaturgy were common practice. He may not have had the capacity to put all he was taught into practice, but the knowledge alone was in itself a vital tool to be kept in an arsenal and utilized in whatever way he might somehow need it.

Two years passed in such a way, until eventually their paths had to split; Irisviel, Maiya, and Ilyasviel would go into hiding and off the radar of the Einzberns and the world of mages alike, while Waver would return to the Clock Tower to fight their battle on the only front he could.

...It was, to be sure, bittersweet at least for Waver's part. He couldn't speak for how the others might have felt (and frankly, still suspected Maiya didn't like him much) but he was far from heartless enough to see them as the means to an end. Irisviel had saved his life, and the work they did together had, he suspected, been something all sorely needed to heal the aching hole in their lives where someone had been torn away.

Waver didn't look back the morning he left the castle. The air was warm with the spring breeze of life after winter's chill, the sunlight shining through newly sprouting leaves, and a long path set before him.

The back of his right hand bore three faint scars in the shape of wings and a blade, and in a gesture meant for no one did he bring it briefly to his lips with a smile.

"...Let's go."

Nearly a decade did very little to change the status quo, and on that point Kayneth Archibald had been fully correct. Upheaval of concepts old and outdated required time, effort, and endless work; for now, tradition was law and class hierarchy the enforcer in the Clock Tower.

Several years beforehand, the rapid decline of the Archibald house had been abruptly halted by the actions of a mage coming to broker a deal with the young heir. The exact terms were a complete mystery to all but the two involved, and often the topic of heated rumor and discussion. Yet the mage himself both promised and got results; that which Kayneth had left behind was reorganized and formed a structure for the house to adhere to in the following generations, their scrambling resolved by careful maneuvers and assurances that the heir herself would be given full jurisdiction over the house once she came of age. Many claimed the one who emerged from that wreckage was nothing but a puppet of the future family head, or that he held no real talent of his own.

'Lord El-Melloi' was the title he carried by decree of Reines El-Melloi Archisorte, and 'the second' added by the mage's own insistence.

Regardless of what anyone believed, the fact remained that there were few the establishment loathed more than the instructor of a lecture hall in the Modern Magecraft Theories department, where both scions of accomplished bloodlines and misfits of little prestige studied on equal ground. Though there were many who detested him and his methods, as hated as he was by the more traditional of the Association...he was adored in exactly equal measure by his students past and present. Their professor was harsh and strict, but endlessly fair to noble and common blood alike. He expected no less then the hardest work and best possible results within his students' capacity, and never forced one past their limits--instead, he pushed them to surpass themselves by their own will and determination.

In appearance he was the very definition of an anachronism to the traditional (to him, a kind word for 'archaic') look of the university and its faculty; black clothes and a dark green suit jacket, long black hair tied in a neat ponytail, and dark sunglasses perpetually on his face. 

His office, at least, was hardly different from that of his colleagues' at first glance; akin to a room of a neatly-kept library, he sat behind a desk with a black cane leaning against it, ending in a silver handle shaped like a rose. But unlike any other mage's office, the phone on the desk went unused in place of the ringing cellphone he pulled from a pocket. Glancing over the number that came up, he sighed before answering it in sarcastic exasperation.

"I'm not lucky enough for this to be a social call, am I?"

"We both know that'd be too good to be true." came the rough voice on the other end of the line, his smirk practically audible. "Know much about what's going on in Spiritual Evocation?"

"The department is a power struggle cleverly disguised as something functional. We're not in close contact; Reines isn't on good terms with the Sophia-Ri house, and the head's sister has it out for me--don't ask. Long story. Why, did Sola-Ui finally hire you to just shoot me?" He tilted his head to hold the phone against his shoulder, hands occupied with a lighter and pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

"Not this time. Did get a possible job from her, though; offered to cover travel and cost of materials, usually I have to twist a few arms for that much. That was the first thing that made me think something was wrong with it."

"And you're calling me so I can tell you if you're getting underpaid? Come on, you would know that better than-"

"It's not that, Waver." interrupted the voice on the other end. Something in his tone was grave and serious now, cutting off Waver's train of thought and sending it along several other tracks simultaneously. If the Sophia-Ri house was calling in an outsider to handle something that wasn't his or Reines' assassination, then- "She warned me not to let you specifically know about it. Then she said if the terms of the job got out, the catalyst might get stolen again."

"Fuck." That was all the professor said as his blood turned to ice water, lighter clattering to the desk and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"Oh, so it's that kind of bad." The response was darkly amused, acknowledging that a reaction like that could only mean disaster.

"Did you take the job." the professor hissed in a way that was not remotely a question. "Because I'll tell you right now, Sola-Ui's understanding of it probably just scratches the surface."

"Said I'd give it strong consideration." the rough voice answered. "You know, the kind of thing that usually earns an increased offer a week later if a client starts sweating. Then I called you because I'm not stupid enough to go along with someone up to shit behind your back, of all people."

The confirmation was a relief, Waver letting out a sigh and leaning back in his chair to uncurl the harsh tension that had found itself in his shoulders. More than a relief, this was ideal. He had worked tirelessly to establish connections both over and under the metaphorical table, and now it had come back to him better than he could have hoped. This was exactly what he'd planted himself in the Clock Tower for, and a slow confident smirk began to unfold across his face.

"I owe you one again. As it happens, I just had a job open up myself--I need a necromancer's expert consultation on something I've had in the works for a while. I can't pay you what the Sophia-Ri house can afford, but I think we can work something out."

"I might be in town for a while." The confidence was met with a note of mock conspiracy, as if there was any real doubt what offer was going to be given more weight here. "The usual place, tomorrow night?"

"Hell, I'll even pick up the tab. I'll get in touch if anything changes, I have some work to do. See you then, Kairi."

Waver's hands were shaking as he set down the phone--it wasn't a fear of the realization that had turned his blood cold, but the sharp and sudden acknowledgement that gears were beginning to move in the grand machine that was a laundry list of plans to avoid disaster. It was the spring of 2003: Irisviel von Einzbern, Maiya Hisau, and Waver Velvet alike had been aware they would surely be running out of time. Ordinarily the cycle of wars equated to one every generation or so, but the magical activity of Fuyuki's ground as well as the unnatural way the fourth war had ended all drew an unclear but shorter timeline to them.

At some point, trembling hands had picked the phone back up and dialed a number that reached god-only-knew-where. It rang twice, followed by a click and wordless silence.

"Always with the warm greetings, Maiya. ...Yes, I promise the line's as secure as it's been every time for years." 

He had sworn to them and to himself that he would do everything in his power to prevent the calamity that brought hell down upon Fuyuki City. He had sworn to be a knight worth following, and years of connections and influence would finally come into play on a chessboard with immeasurable stakes. 

"Listen, can you get Irisviel for me? The three of us need to talk."

Waver's other hand reached up to his collar, toying idly with a pendant around his neck as he spoke. With every day that passed, 'preventing' the war was sounding less and less possible...which meant the more likely option was going to have to be the last ditch effort of taking the entire conflict by the throat and halting it before it could see a conclusion.

Fulfilling the oath of a knight could ask for no less than a miracle, and the catalyst for one was nothing more than a small and broken piece of ivory worn close to his heart on a silver chain.