Chapter Text
Diarmuid ua Duibhne was many things, but he did not think himself a fool. Even so, all the wisdom in the world would not give one the ability to understand that in which they lacked experience. Before Ilyasviel had spoken to him—as another’s memories tangled inextricably with his own in a whirlwind of fire, bloodshed, and heartrending anguish—something he had no such experience with began to unfold itself like an elaborate puzzle at last joining together piece by piece. Witnessing himself through another’s eyes.
‘By the power of my Command Seal, Lancer… -defeat Berserker—!’
Hearing another’s voice tearing itself from his throat in defiance as the branded seal burned off of a Master’s hand.
‘S...Saber, Lancer, it doesn't make a difference. He would never...fight beside someone like you.’
Feeling another’s rebellion kindle in his chest like an ember became a wildfire.
‘I couldn't let that happen to you again.’
Thinking only of the unshakable fact that his Servant could be trusted. That his Lancer would lose to no one. That even if it cost the mage’s life, they would win against the enemy he needed to defeat above all others rather than cower in fear for an instant longer. But that feeling, that ironclad and unassailable truth which led a frightened mage to place his life in another’s hands again and again…
What Waver Velvet had refused to recognize in his own heart, Diarmuid ua Duibhne scrutinized closely in a need to comprehend it. The strength of his conviction alone was dizzying—without condition or hesitation, even knowing this knight’s name and what he had done, there was not a moment’s question in the Master’s thoughts over whether or not to entrust his life to those blades. But was it the conviction alone that set Diarmuid to stumbling, or was it the pure sincerity of it? Without condition, without hesitation, that frightened yet resolute heart held only-…
Ah, but that was why he couldn’t grasp the meaning, wasn’t it? What ‘Lancer’ had surely come to understand as he faded upon a smoldering battlefield, ‘Saber’ lacked the experience to see both in life and in the past war alike. To entrust himself wholeheartedly to another, to believe in his Master’s word as the pair fought as one-
…The foreign sensation having taken root in Diarmuid’s heart now was the same that had burned in Waver’s own a decade before. What had manifested as one’s rebellion at the threat to his Servant…blazed as rage in the other as his Master lay mortally wounded before him. More than loyalty, more than truth, it was the all-consuming desire to stand and fight together; striving to each see the other’s wildest dreams realized.
A feeling unbound by compulsion. Untouched by regret. Demanding nothing, and asking even less.
“If you must so fervently guard this fragile heart…then give it to me. Entrust me with ‘Waver Velvet’, and I will give you ‘Diarmuid ua Duibhne’ that Saber may do what is necessary to see this through.”
To fight as one in mind, body, and soul—not only Master and Servant, not only lord and knight, but partners in this and all things.
So this is what it’s meant to feel like, he concluded at last. All the frustration, concern, fear, anger, all the passion and fury alike formed a whirlwind of tangled emotion with a single reckless fool at the center of it all.
“Trust me to guard your heart, and my own will be yours evermore.”
Even then, Diarmuid did not speak the words—but the meaning behind the newly sworn oath was crystal clear.
I’m in love with you.
His Master smiled with a spark of that resolve beginning to come to life once more, and for once Diarmuid spared not an instant’s thought to the mark beneath his eye as that newfound resolve seemed to shine like starlight.
When his Master awoke again several hours later—at the Servant’s own insistence he actually rest—Diarmuid stood barely a breath away for fear he might collapse.
“Are you certain you should be moving around-”
“Nope.” confirmed Waver, visibly attempting not to wince as he pulled on a shirt blessedly free of bloodstains. Diarmuid admitted to himself that it was a relief the mage was at least aware he was not back to full capacity, even if it was troubling that he insisted upon pushing himself. But…that was a necessary evil, wasn’t it? Time was not a resource they would have in abundance, with many things left unknown and enemies both known and concealed still at work.
It made his stomach turn to acknowledge Fionn as an ‘enemy’, even knowing that to be the truth. He had spoken with frank honesty; this was the one situation he would never have wanted. To face his king in life-or-death combat was—had ever been—unthinkable. Yet he was forced to concede that Ilyasviel and Berserker were both right. He was furious with Waver, because he loved him. He carried a white-hot spark of disgust and revenge in his heart for Fionn because he had devoted everything to a proud, valiant king, and-…
…and maybe, he was slowly coming to realize, that feeling had started as the smallest ember of ignored resentment long, long before any of this. That was why he needed his Master—needed to entrust a heart trembling with uncertainty and hesitation to his lord, that Saber could do what was necessary should the time come that their hands would be forced. His Master would direct him as a sword, and keep his human heart safe against the weight of what would follow. Diarmuid’s side was chosen the moment he was summoned, loyalty to the man beside him taking precedent over the past without question. He would protect Waver from any who opposed them—even the one enemy he dreaded facing.
“It’ll be a problem if we get into a fight,” spoke his Master’s voice, cutting through dismal thoughts with a weary and faint smile, “but I can function well enough, and right now we just need to regroup and talk.” What Diarmuid elected not to point out was what Waver no doubt understood—if the castle was attacked twice, the mage wasn’t going to be able to back up Irisviel or Ilyasviel. Diarmuid sincerely hoped that outcome was a distant possibility and the wound inflicted to Archer had been as serious as he’d hoped, otherwise all likely outcomes looked to be disastrous. For now, the Servant merely sighed and kept the objection to himself; the concession that Waver would only somewhat push himself was the best they were going to get right now.
“First things first,” Waver continued as he stepped out into the hall with a click of his cane, “I need to get my phone back from Maiya and ask her to get Ilya and Irisviel. Then they can all call me whatever flavor of ‘idiot’ they like for a while. Once we’ve established I’ve earned that title, I’ll get in touch with—”
“Velvet, you dumb son of a bitch, what the hell is wrong with you?!”
“—Shishigou?!”
Approaching in heavy steps laden with furious intent was someone Saber didn’t recognize—but his Master certainly seemed to. The Servant’s hand curled around a sword hilt not yet in his hand as he evaluated Waver’s reaction in a matter of seconds; alarmed, but nothing fearful. Tense from a sudden shock, yet no sign of moving to defend or attack. On top of that, the unflinching use of his Master’s true name alone spoke to some measure of familiarity. Not a threat intruding upon the castle’s safe haven, but an unknown factor.
Regardless of sense telling him this was not their enemy, his presence alone set Saber on edge—to the senses of a Servant, he smelled like a thousand battlefields and all the blood and curses which came with them. Had he not been certain the man in black leather (tattered and repaired in several places, Saber noted) was as human as Waver, then the Servant might easily have mistaken him for a wraith far more dangerous than a mere mortal.
He wore similar dark sunglasses to Waver’s, but the similarities halted with that; to compare the two would be to compare the polished dagger that was his lord to an earthshattering greatsword capable of rending flesh and bone. And there was no need to see his eyes to understand the anger his his scowl, twisted further by three scars that lanced from forehead to jawline as though left by bestial claws. It suited his overall wild and dangerous appearance—seeming to tower over a stunned Waver despite only a few inches’ height separating them.
“Sh—Kairi, wh-what are you doing h—?”
“Shut the fuck up.” growled Kairi Shishigou (or so Diarmuid had quickly surmised was his name), jabbing a finger into Waver’s chest for emphasis. His Master’s mouth snapped shut immediately, the knight merely folding his arms and alloweing this to play out. If there was truly no threat here, then it was not necessary for him to intervene until there was. And he had the distinct impression this was not something requiring intervention. “I trusted you to know what you were doing, which was my first fucking mistake. Thought I’d keep my head down and stay on the sidelines off anyone’s radar, but with how screwed up this city’s getting…” He scoffed in annoyance, trailing off. Familiarity pricked at the back of Diarmuid’s mind, and as he tried to place its source he recalled what Tohsaka had relayed to them.
If someone else is out there beating us to the keystones, I don’t understand why. For one thing, they’d have to be able to find the damn things in the first place. So a better mage than me, not that that narrows it down. His Master had made that estimation in no uncertain terms. But any other mage in the war would be looking to fight it normally, not screw around with the leylines.
“It was you, was it not?” Saber spoke up pensively, unfazed by the scowl or look of surprise that focused on him from Kairi and Waver both. He turned the thought over in his head a few more times as if seeking a flaw in it, but to the contrary—it filled in several flaws his Master had believed the situation to have. Someone who could have known the Grail was something needing to be stopped, or at minimum some form of ally. “Caster’s Master spoke of a figure she glimpsed upon finding a keystone damaged. She believed it to be someone astride some form of monster.”
“…you didn’t.” Waver spoke in a tone of abject horror as he looked back to the other mage, barely louder than a breath. “Shishigou, you’re not-”
“You’re a hell of a lot smarter than your Master.” remarked Kairi with a sound that might have been a laugh if not for how furious he still looked, gesturing to Waver before holding up a right hand marked in crimson. Wide and angular, the three sigils almost resembled the head of a beast—and to Diarmuid and Waver both, that solved the remaining mystery of whether the Master of Rider would show themselves.
“What were you thinking?!” Waver came halfway to shouting, voice cracking from either stress or exhaustion. Probably both, but the objection was shut down in an instant:
“I thought you’d get some common goddamn sense in your head and talk to me!” The metal tip of a cane clicked against the floor once as Waver stepped back, speechless and wide-eyed. “At the rate things are going to hell here, even breaking the keystone was just to buy some time until I could figure out what to do or shake the goddamn truth out of you for once! For god’s sake, Velvet, you told me what this ritual is, you said you’d need my help, you kept asking me stupid cryptic questions like whether or not any mercenaries are active here—why didn’t you just ask me to come with you?!”
Momentarily forgotten in the wake of a conflict that he had very little involvement in, Diarmuid instead realized he and Irisviel were far from the only people Waver had brushed aside in his reckless insistence upon shouldering so much alone.
“I-I didn’t want…you to get hurt.” was the admission, the shorter mage suddenly looking smaller still with how he seemed to shrink back under justified fury. “I was going to tell you, last time I called you I-”
“We’re way past ‘hurt’ and you may as well’ve called me with a fucking suicide note, I thought you were dead, Waver!” snarled Shishigou, to which Waver’s response was to flinch as if he had been struck and stare at nothing with eyes downcast. As Diarmuid began to wonder if he should speak up again to spare any further escalation, the taller man scowled and let out a sigh while pushing wild brown hair from his face.
“…Anything broken?” was all he said next, gravel-voiced but far more even with concern.
“I’m-…I’ll live.”
“Good.” A sudden motion and a resounding thwap followed the assertion, a calloused hand glancing sharply off of the back of Waver’s head. The mage stumbled, stunned as he quickly regained his balance and rounded on Kairi with a spark of life swiftly fanned back to a flame.
“That hurt, what the fu-”
“If you ever scare me like that again,” interrupted a growled and simmering anger from the man who smelled like the overpowering aura of death, “you’re gonna wish all I did was-”
Whatever threat was about to be laid as a terrifying baseline, neither Waver nor Diarmuid would find out. A click of heeled boots on the floor rang like a funeral knell, and Irisviel von Einzbern rounded the corner of the hall like a gale-force winter storm.
Even before she had fully closed the distance between them, as her foot touched ground in a last step, Irisviel’s hand snapped up and across Waver’s face in a crack that echoed through the hall. He staggered for half a step, Diarmuid reaching out to steady him—but he raised no objection to the fuming woman in front of them. That was a conflict entirely for his Master to handle.
“If you ever do anything that careless again,” she echoed; unlike Shishigou’s roaring fury, Irisviel’s words carried all the quiet tension of a wire pulled so tightly it might snap. “I am not healing you. Do you understand.”
“Y…yes.” His Master sounded like nothing so much as he did an admonished child, hand pressed to a blossoming red mark on his face. “I’m sorry, Irisv-”
Irisviel turned sharply to Diarmuid, and as he watched her it seemed as though that tense anger was replaced by something more placid and no less insistent. It certainly demanded his full attention, at the very least.
“Saber,” she gestured to the newcomer with a hand now bright red from the force of impact, “it seems you’ve met our unexpected guest. Would you mind showing him the direction of the second floor library and waiting there? The rest of us will be along in five-…” A glare shot out of the corner of her eye at his stunned Master. “-maybe ten minutes.”
“Of course, my lady.” Diarmuid answered as he tried to repress the smallest smile. It was no longer a wonder to him where Ilyasviel had learned such a perspective on love and anger; her mother’s temper boiled on a flame of care and concern. Beside her, Shishigou raised an eyebrow in thinly veiled amusement—and how reassuring to know his Master was supported by several capable hands that felt much the same burning frustration as the knight himself. “Please, take all the time you should deem necessary.”
“Hold on a second, Irisviel, what’s-”
“You are coming with me.” interrupted Irisviel, taking Waver by the wrist and stalking off down the hallway in long steps with the taller mage stumbling along behind her. With an aggravated call of “Maiya, Ilya, he’s awake-”, the pair disappeared around the corner.
“…‘Scourge of Mage Society’, more like scourge of my fuckin’ patience.” Shishigou muttered in quiet exasperation…then turned to the Servant with a smile like the flash of sunlight off of a sword. “‘Saber’, huh? Kind of expected somebody taller.”
Faced with the most powerful Servant class, a legend of ancient times, and that was his first observation? No, there was something else to it—irreverence and an affable smile veiled something more. Though his eyes remained obscured, the calm friendliness had a sharp edge. Calculating. His very demeanor radiated a calm sort of danger
Unexpectedly brazen of a mortal to stand there sizing up a Servant. Unexpected, and impressive.
“I have perhaps heard that, a time or two.” Saber answered with a sharp smile of his own, willing to meet that challenge and discover just what it was the apparent Master of Rider sought. “Shall we?” Knowing his own Master was in good hands no doubt delivering a thorough lecture, the Servant gestured down the hall before turning to walk in calm and easy steps—followed just as casually by the man smelling of blood and death.
“Gotta say, I’m surprised.” remarked Shishigou, hands in his pockets as he tilted his head at the surroundings. “There’s always been rumors goin’ around about him, but he never gave me a straight answer when I asked. Hell, he didn’t even tell me anything about the Holy Grail War until last year, and even then god forbid he bother with details.”
“My lord is simply cautious in matters of information.” That was a charitable way to phrase it. Saber glanced over to Shishigou; for the moment, the analytical edge was gone in favor of something genuinely casual. “…Rumors?”
“Oh, sure.” Taking a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, Shishigou acted like that was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was, given how his Master spoke of mages. “The crazier ones think he’s an assassin looking to kill the other eleven Lords and destroy the Association, or that he’s a secret bastard child of the Archibald family.” Chuckling under his breath, he added, “He hates that one. Can’t go around correcting it, either.”
Saber could imagine why that idea would disgust Waver, knowing what little he had seen of the previous El-Melloi in his lord’s memories. The former idea didn’t seem as far from the truth, albeit radically extreme given his lord’s gentle heart was unsuited for a bloody coup.
“I take it his reserved nature is nothing new, then.” To live like that in a world where secrecy was tantamount to safety was sensible, yet it left a bitter taste in the knight’s mouth. There was something he naturally disliked about the inherent lack of honesty, especially knowing where it had led them. Knowing stubborn adherence to that role had nearly killed his treasured Master, of course he reviled the idea. But a necessary evil was just that—necessary. In that way, he could understand the root of his lord’s reticence. “…But you must know my Master well, to so freely use his true name. And I doubt he would have asked you here had he not trusted you in turn.” Saber watched the mage out of the corner of his eye as they walked down an empty hallway, past broken and hurriedly covered windows.
Shishigou snapped a lighter closed, cigarette glowing faintly in the light of early afternoon through the remaining glass Archer hadn’t destroyed and Ilya hadn’t blocked out. Saber could tell those eyes were back on him now, even without being able to see them clearly—that sharp edge was back, the exacting assessment of a hunter with a deadly target in his sights.
“Trust is a pretty strong word on his side—since I’m learning a hell of a lot today—but yeah, I’d say I know Velvet better than most.” For a moment, their steps were the only sound; air thick with tension and the trail of smoke that followed them. Just what was his aim here? If the other Master was truly his lord’s ally, why did this feel so remarkably like Saber was being measured for whether or not he was a threat?
“…Well enough to know he can’t stand the idea of anyone getting to know him.” the mage continued. “Hard to picture anyone getting so much as his real name out of him unless they had a gun to his head.”
A hunter, indeed. Shishigou’s gravelly words fell like the creak of a bowstring being pulled tight. The tension of creaking wood, the silent motion of an arrow lifted towards its target.
“I’m afraid I can not claim to understand the point you seek to make.” Saber ventured in careful words, gold eyes flicking only briefly to the man walking beside him. There was something being sought here, some reason that an ostensible ally was so closely scrutinized as though a manifested legend was no more than a prey animal.
“…Your name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Diarmuid’, would it?”
The bowstring released, the arrow fired with only a near miss for how that casual remark startled Saber. But it showed only in a sharpening of his eyes, calculating in turn. Not a single step missed, barely a reaction given.
“Interesting, Master of Rider.” Ally or not, Saber wasn’t about to give away his name that easily until Waver confirmed it was safe to. “If you wish to discern my identity, then perhaps you should ask my lord once Irisviel’s finished lecturing him—if ever she is.”
“Spare me, would ya? I don’t give a shit about the war.” growled Shishigou in a way that made the whole ritual sound like an annoying inconvenience.
…Where was this going? Saber could still feel the tension in the air amidst the already present frustration, but why? It wasn’t making sense, even taken as a Master speaking to another’s Servant. But no matter how he examined the situation, he couldn’t place it. Was this hostility at failing to protect Waver? That seemed the most sensible, yet-
“Besides, it’s that dumb jackass I heard the name from in the first place. He mentioned it once after a few too many drinks, and with how much he hates talking about himself, it stuck in my head.”
“Is that so? And what, might I ask, did-…”
Saber trailed off as Shishigou halted in his steps, pausing to turn and face the scowling mage.
“It was just a stupid joke—we were talking shit about each other one night, and I asked if he had any friends other than me. Figured he’d just tell me to fuck off like usual, but he got all quiet and thoughtful about it. Stared into his glass for a minute, then he said: ‘my first friend’s name was Diarmuid’.”
“Ah-” The second shot struck home, Saber freezing in place as something twisted painfully in his chest. Of course that would be the case—a child who felt his only worth was in his magecraft and what little could be accomplished with it, a young Master willing to throw his life away in a war for the Holy Grail, and now a full-fledged mage who would rather have died than risk seeing another’s heart broken.
Of course someone like that would have lacked an abundance of friends, and grow to value what he did have far more than his own life. And with that understanding did the situation become clear; Shishigou’s bristling was the same vigilance that Saber himself possessed. The very same desire to protect, no matter the risk.
“…That’s what I figured. So, Diarmuid, I’ll quit the bullshit and get to the point.”
Even if it meant a mortal was confronting an ancient hero and the strongest Servant like they stood on equal ground; no, now that the reasoning was becoming clear Saber had to admit he truly did respect that tenacity.
“Waver’s an idiot. He’s the most reckless, self-destructive bastard I’ve ever met, and he cares about everybody except himself. He’d burn himself out like a bad circuit in a second if he thought it would give somebody else a few seconds of light. And knowing he’s contracted to a Saber, that’s something I can’t just let happen without speaking up.”
“You think him lacking in the strength to properly sustain my current vessel. Is that the issue at hand?”
Saber could sense it in the very foundations of their connection; while there had never been a lack of magical energy, while he had a steady enough supply to manifest and fight, it was not a resource he possessed in abundance. Now more than ever that source felt diminished, given his Master’s injuries and the energy used in whatever attempts he had made to defend himself.
“I don’t think, I know damn well that he doesn’t have the Circuits for that. Whatever your Noble Phantasm might be, using too much power carelessly might just kill him—and I know he’d rather let that happen than admit he can’t handle it. Because in his fucked up little head, you matter more than he does.”
That latter point was not in question. Waver risked his life trying to remove an obstacle from their path; when that failed, he would have let himself be killed rather than ask Diarmuid to fight against Fionn mac Cumhaill. His Master knew he was weak, and had cursed that weakness for all the years he had been sharply aware of it.
“…Perhaps you are right to worry, Kairi Shishigou.” Saber said at last, carefully considering the matter at hand. His lord was weak, but not helpless. “I assure you that I share your concerns; my Master has far more courage than sense. Despite that…” He shook his head and looked back to the harsh and severe man before him, placidly meeting sharp eyes hidden by dark lenses. “…he is as you say. If he cares for all but himself, then it should fall to me to look after him when he will not. If that should mean fighting his battles in a manner suiting a mage who can do only so much, then I shall do so without objection.”
If utilizing his full power put his Master at risk, then it was very obvious what needed to happen. Saber would have to be infinitely cautious, to fight at a fraction of his strength until the alternative became absolutely necessary. Such was no easy task given the mounting threats against them—but then again, cleverness and evasion was his very nature.
“If anything else happens to him, I’ll-”
“-‘kill you’?” Saber finished calmly. There was no true challenge in his voice, but a relaxed acceptance. A mortal could do less than nothing against a Servant, and yet that fact was not thrown back in any defiance. Why would it be? If he did cause his Master harm, then what else would a traitor deserve? “I would expect no less from one who so values my Master. If I should prove so unworthy in your eyes, then I shall welcome the best you have to offer.”
The matter seeming settled as Shishigou answered with an irritated growl but no further argument, Saber merely turned and started back down the hall. There would be no need to tell his Master about this conversation, least of all with how Irisviel and the others were no doubt ten times as furious with him at that moment. Once that air was cleared, they could all begin to pull together and look towards the larger conflict lurking overhead like a rapidly growing shadow.
Although I wonder, passed a thought the knight did not give voice, how long you’ve been in love with him.