For Want of a Relic: Butterfly Effect

by f0xh0undvix3n

Summary:

Waver Velvet is ten years older and fervently hoping he's at least a little wiser, because the Fifth Holy Grail War is about to begin.

(Sequel to For Want of a Relic)

Chapter 1: Prelude

Silver whistled through the air , aflame with the last fading glints of an orange sunset. Gripped in the calloused hands of a man born to end human life, death itself took form in the form of a blade descending as the claws of a falcon swooping down on helpless prey. Escape was impossible, no matter how fast or how far the swordsman's target could run. At any second, that blade would claim his life as it had surely done with too many others to count. Blood would stain the courtyard's ground, and the Fifth Holy Grail War would be over for at least one mage before it even began.

In the space between frantic heartbeats, the sword swung for his neck and Waver Velvet wondered how he had miscalculated this badly.

---

Mages did not often live for a notably long time, unless they were either exceptionally powerful or particularly noteworthy. The former were best able to protect themselves; the latter, too much of a political hassle to get rid of. But the man who occupied the office of Lord El-Melloi (the second) was a mage of neither remarkable power nor a family name worth quite enough to outweigh the benefits some would have in seeing him dead.

The fact of the matter was that in the Mage’s Association, people like him were easy targets. Stepping stones to another’s advancement, or worse, an outright obstacle to the same.

In the event of my death-

On a logical level, knowing this did not bother him. Having lived to twenty-eight was already what he would consider a surprise, and when he considered what was yet to come, it was only prudent to have his affairs in order. But on the emotional level that no mage would ever in a thousand generations admit they had, seeing the words in plain black and white written by his own hand as the pen glided across paper without hesitation  twisted the cold hand of anxiety in his chest. Clinical wording, cold and detached--the official last will and testament of a mage, should the worst happen.

-material wealth in my name and not that of title and family therein implied hereby rendered to Maria Thompson, to be used or distributed as she may see fit.

That sounded right. Anyone tracking down the alias Irisviel used for travel would be led directly to the ever-vigilant Maiya, who could handle the rest. If the worst happened to him in the conflict to come, then they would know to cut their losses and escape. He could leave the pair of them and Ilya with what pitifully little he had to his useless name, but it would be more than nothing at all.

...Then again, he thought as the pen halted for a brief moment of realization, if they failed that meant the world might just end. In that likely event, this whole formality was an exercise in futility.

As he considered whether or not to even continue, the door to the office made a cacophonous noise as it was thrown open and the doorway darkened by a young woman with all the friendliness of an early winter’s frost. That was enough to get the professor to continue what he was doing, not flinching at the sound and barely even looking up. That door had survived worse intrusions, and it would probably survive a few more.

“Reines.” he said by way of greeting, the young woman closing the door behind her with an ominously loud click and advancing on his desk wearing a thin smile that looked the way he imagined a rattlesnake’s tail sounded. Which, upon reflection, was not a new look for the girl to wear. It just never meant anything but more trouble for him. 

“You’re actually planning on going through with this?” she challenged in a manner shaped vaguely like a question.

“No, I just thought I might play an elaborate joke on you. Maybe throw some confetti at the last minute.” he countered, briefly looking up from his desk with an utterly deadpan stare in green eyes. 

“And you think I’m just going to allow you to-”

“I do, actually.” the professor shot back, pen starting to move again. “I understand and respect that I have responsibilities here and to you specifically. But we had a deal, Reines.”

This was the truth, of course. Years before, a young mage had come to the future heir of the Archibald house from god only knew where and brokered a deal in carefully chosen words not just of a mage, but of a strategist that had rehearsed and planned that exact situation back and forth. In apology for killing the former head, he would see the family out of the tangled mess left by an unplanned loss as well as act as the hand of the future heir until she came of age.

In return, he had been given the power of a lordship in the Clock Tower--and he had asked only one thing more.

“You cheated.” Reines hissed with ice in her eyes and that knife edge smile still on her face. 

“I cheat constantly , it’s how I’m still alive.” came the immediate sarcastic response.

“ Waver! ” The smile nearly cracked like thin ice, but even when fuming mad Reines’ composure held even as she snapped her adoptive brother’s name. “You are not going to run off to Japan and die like this. The family won’t survive the same catastrophe twice.”

It wasn’t just about the family, he knew. Reines was cold and cruel, but not heartless. But it was what a mage would default to first; the practicality of a knight taken from the board at a critical juncture. On that front, she was correct; gallivanting off certain of victory was what his predecessor had done, and the result had nearly obliterated the Archibald house down to its foundations. Whatever human or sentimental cost there might have been tied up in the second El-Melloi’s hypothetical death would come as a distant second, as it should have to people like them.

“I’m not Kayneth--I rather pride myself on that point, in fact. But if you’re so worried, then I’ll just have to live, won’t I?”

-any recovered body and Magic Circuits rendered to Kairi Shishigou, to settle any and all debts incurred-

“But even if I’m just as careless as he was,” he added after his pen reached the end of that line, “you’re nearly of age as it is. You don’t really expect me to be around forever?”

“I expect you to honor our agreement, elder brother.” 

“Odd, I was about to say the same. Remember my sole condition: ‘I will fix what my actions damaged, but in return-”

“‘-if there is a Fifth Holy Grail War in my lifetime’,” Reines finished in sharply biting words, “‘-then I will compete in it as an independent mage.’ Of course I agreed to that, there wasn’t supposed to be another one for decades.” Folding her arms as the smile faded to a bitter resignation, cold blue eyes scanned her underling as though searching for an answer to something she’d never thought to question. “You knew somehow, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t joking.” He folded the sheet of paper and tucked it neatly into an envelope, which disappeared into an inside pocket of his jacket. Working out what to do and who to leave it with was a problem for later. “I cheat in every imaginable way I can without compromising my own limits. Being impossible to predict and ten steps ahead is how I stay alive.”

-catalysts and reagents not owned by the Clock Tower or Archibald family hereby divided evenly among my own students in the Modern Magecraft department-

Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi had treated victory like the natural result of his actions and choices. He’d believed it had been owed to him by virtue of his high status. That was his greatest--and fatal--mistake. Aristocracy came with its share of problems, Waver would admit, but at the same time they could not conceive of struggle or true failure; ‘rock bottom’ for people like Kayneth was still as high as the stratosphere for those beneath such a station.

Waver Velvet had clawed his way to everything he now possessed. Had he always stood on the moral high ground in the process, of course not. But he did what it took to survive in a cutthroat world. Stolen and fought, bled and suffered, sold his soul to that very society’s political machinations all in the name of his own advancement. Ten years of maneuvering and a lifetime of tireless work was all cascading and coalescing into the shape of the immediate future. All of it built brick by brick so he could stand atop his life’s work and reach his hand out just a little further to grasp the result he desired. 

This world would persist and the looming threat of a calamity would be defied. Then, he would reshape this miserable society of mages to make sure no one else would ever have to fight as hard as he did to justify their existence. 

“If you never trust me again, Reines, trust me now.” He finally looked up at her in all seriousness, lifting dark sunglasses to rest on his head rather than obscure sharp green eyes. “I’m not doing any of this lightly--in fact, this is probably the most serious I’ve ever been. I can’t and won’t promise you I’ll come back alive, because I don’t know that I will. But if it happens that I’m fucking off and dying, then I’ve made plans for that. I’ve also made plans for not doing the stupidest thing imaginable. I’m not Kayneth, and I’m not leaving you in the same miserable position, with the Association being the tank of bloodthirsty sharks that it is.”

Lord El-Melloi’s successor was nothing like the original. He wasn’t owed a damn thing by an unjust and unfair world, and he wouldn’t expect it. The second Lord El-Melloi would do exactly as he always had.

“...But I have to do this. I’m going to do this, and neither you nor anyone else is able to stop me. There’s someone I made a promise to long before I even met you, and I’m not about to disappoint him.”

Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

Notes:

i'm gonna level with y'all, i don't have quite enough planned out or prewritten to make restarting this today a wise decision; i still have at least two interquel bits to write and post over in fragments and only the rough wireframe of where this goes and how to end it

but also it's the tenth anniversary of the zero anime and i missed my last self-imposed deadline of 'waver's birthday' so like, fuck it. happy anniversary, christ i'm old.

updates will be as sporadic and unpredictable as ever. if you're here you know what you're here for and what to expect by now, i make this for myself and post it in case others want to enjoy it too

...also i changed the series name for no other reason than i felt like it.

Chapter 2: Brave Shine

Summary:

how can i destroy my weakness
‘cause it’s always in my way
if we learn to wield our flaws, then the future will be ours
and we can relight the stars

Long ago, a bloodstained killer had looked at a blank doll and chose to teach it how to be alive for the short time it was given. Once before that, the same heartless murderer had found a young girl on a war-torn land and chose to give her another chance at life. For all the wrongs he had done and all those he had killed, that man had been the reason for both of them to live. He had done what he believed necessary to save the world at large, no matter the cost to himself or others.

Whether that was 'right' or 'wrong' in a grander sense was not for Irisviel von Einzbern to pass judgment on. Neither could she, when the wish that had driven Kiritsugu Emiya was passed to her and Maiya Hisau alike to carry forth into the future. 'A world without conflict'...she didn't think the miracle that would have granted it was attainable now, but she did know that Kiritsugu would have done everything in his power to stop an oncoming threat to the world itself. So of course, those who inherited his dream could do no less.

Her body had remained static in the nearly ten years between then and now; no longer truly deteriorating, but still with all the frailties and faults of a not-quite-human homunculus. She guessed that this stagnation was a result of the Grail's state itself, an incomplete form that had not yet been truly realized even at the end of the fourth war. But though she had not changed physically, much had happened in the space between the past and present. She had been able to raise a beautiful daughter, above all else; even though Ilya's father had never returned, the pair of them had one another and Maiya in a patchwork family each reaching out to one another across the same void left by a loss of their shared meaning to live.

But at its core, the nature of humanity was dynamic and their capacity for change what made them truly alive. She had observed as much herself, in how Ilya grew into a precocious and clever girl with a mile-wide competitive streak. (Where she learned that, Irisviel would never know for sure.) She had seen Maiya's change in more subtle terms, witnessing her slowly uncoil from the tight spring she was wound into and even offer a smile on occasion. Though it was rare she would confide any deeper thoughts on their unique situation to Irisviel, the few and far between moments she did made the homunculus wonder if this was indeed how Kiritsugu himself had ever felt--dealing with a blank slate that was stumbling through learning how to be a person. 

She wondered how Kiritsugu would have felt about a lot of things, even now. Especially now, looking down at the phone in her hand. Would he be angry with her for how she chose to go about this? Breaking from the house of Einzbern, allying with someone that had become the sort of person the Mage Killer would likely run afoul of, and planning to overthrow the very foundation of Third Magic?

...He would, she concluded, understand it was for the sake of that very wish. That mage had kept his every unbelievable word made nearly a decade ago, with power and resources that otherwise wouldn't have been available to two renegade homunculi and a soldier. She'd taught him what she could--most of which he simply didn't have the capacity as a mage to fully realize, but both sides had kept their end of the bargain so far. 

And it was with that in mind that she dialed the same connection that had been made one way or the other countless times over the years; they had never truly been out of contact since the day their paths diverged after the war, no matter the distance. Perhaps that too was just another pair of hands extended to one another over the wide fissure of a shared sense of loss.

It rang once. then twice. Three times, and for a brief moment she was gripped with the mad irrationality that something terrible had happened already, before the war even began. But no, if she was this on edge before the start then there was no way they would get through this. Panic would serve no purpose, least of all panic with no grounding in reality.

"I'm here." came the voice on the other end, the same as always--the light accent of a faraway land she had yet to visit, turned rougher by ten years of age and an irritating smoking habit.

"It's me." she answered simply. None of them were ever much for greetings or small talk when the looming shadow of a dire situation hung overhead. "I wanted to reconfirm the current plan and make sure things were well on your end."

" Well is a little much to ask for, but nothing's gone catastrophically wrong yet." There was a sound of movement, punctuated by a background grinding noise of metal on stone. "But fine, I'll go over it again. I made it to Fuyuki in one piece. Once the summoning's complete, then per Maiya's instruction we'll survey the city and then go to the castle. Check it for any threats, make sure the boundary field is still in place, the whole thing. I know she'll want to clear the place again the minute she walks in the door, but we'll be thorough. As soon as that's done, I'll get back in touch and give you the all clear to make your way here yourselves. We'll keep in close contact until we meet in person, just so you know I'm not dead--again, per Maiya's insistence. When all that's done, we meet in the castle and start planning where to go from there."

Above all else, Maiya was meticulous in her planning. She'd learned caution from Kiritsugu, and learned it well--the approach was strategically sound as an opening maneuver to re-secure their base before the war began. Even though Waver had insisted 'anyone who thinks a plan is foolproof hasn't met a sufficiently lucky fool', even he ended up agreeing it was the best course of action. That grinding noise persisted...no, she realized, it was chiseling. The image that came to mind was almost comical: a Clock Tower lord hand-carving a summoning circle into the floor of a workshop. Without conventional familiars, there weren't many other options but manual labor that she couldn't imagine mages like the Einzberns ever doing anything but recoiling from.

"Are you going to report to the Church?"

"I didn't last time, but they'll get touchy about it if a proper Association mage doesn't bother to notify them. Won't have much choice if I want to act like I'm a normal participant." Irisviel felt her mouth press into a thin line with a discontented hum at the response. "...What? There's no way in hell that priest survived, if that's what you're worried about."

" We did." she pointed out, and briefly there was no retort past the sound of carving a summoning circle into a stone floor.

" Okay , okay." the mage conceded, sighing. "But I can't walk in acting like I suspect something; the last thing I want is to get tangled up with the Holy Church prematurely. We're making enough trouble for ourselves as it is."

"I know, Waver. You still need to be cautious. I still don't fully understand why Kiritsugu was so afraid of him, but..."

"I'll keep my eyes open and stay alert, I promise. I seriously doubt any of his enemies will give a damn about me of all people."

Which was a good point; if Kirei Kotomine was still alive then they had the advantage of surprise on how to deal with him, or so she hoped. Even trying to set that aside in the pause that followed, an issue more present than the looming shadow of the Church bothered her about the situation.

"Our catalyst is likely still in the castle. You could..." She trailed off, not out of uncertainty in her own suggestion, but because the chiseling sound on the other end had stopped.

"That won't work." The answer cut through the line with a chilled edge, sounding as though he expected this conversation and rehearsed the same answer until it sounded exactly right. "I don't have the magic capacity to support a Servant like Gilgamesh. And if the mana drain didn't kill me, the personality clash would."

"...You know how the ritual works." she confirmed gently, twisting loose silver hair around her free hand in a restless and uncomfortable motion. "He won't..."

"I know." A sigh of resignation came across the line, followed by the dull thump of someone sitting back against a solid wall. "Having the same catalyst and the same summoner is no exception. Servants don't retain memories of prior wars, so Lancer won't be 'Lancer' as I knew him."

"Waver..."

She wasn't sure what it was she wanted to say in response to that. Over the time they had known one another their cautious trust had eased to something far more genuine; her worry for his safety with the Church was an earnest one, and this was no different. 

They had both changed, of that she was sure. Irisviel had grown in mind if not body, steeling herself as best as she was capable in the face of an oncoming storm. If the war was to be stopped, she could do no less. If Ilya was to be kept safe rather than suffer a horrific fate, then her mother had to gain a will of pure iron and resolve to protect her at all costs.

Although no matter how well forged that resolve was, there would always be something beneath it. That dark and deep void that echoed with loss had never truly lessened, though Irisviel, Maiya, and Ilya alike reached across it in support to one another. Kiritsugu's absence ached every day for the past years, and she would have been foolish to not have learned that a completely different wound had been suffered by another in the same aftermath. Another fissure, one that no one could have reached across in understanding.

She shouldn't have asked the question, and she knew she shouldn't have. 

But it was beginning to feel like it should have been asked much sooner.

"You-...a-are you sure you can handle this?"

...It wasn't that question. She'd balked at the last moment, hastily pulling up before causing a collision between them that there could be no recovering from. Those words couldn't be unspoken once brought to light, and she more than anyone knew the weight that pressed down upon one's heart from such a loss. To question whether he truly saw the depth of the cracks in his own heart, even out of compassion, was something she could not bear to do.

"...Yes?" On the other end, Waver sounded clueless as to why Irisviel chose to ask that question. "My magical energy was enough to manage ten years ago, so the same should hold true now."

Was it possible that he didn't know what Irisviel had seen written all over the face of a miserable teenager years before? She froze up to realize that possibility might well have been fact. Even she could pick out the critical fault in the immediate plan, but if Waver himself couldn't, how could she even hope to try to address it?

Allies and co-conspirators as they were, Waver would never-- could never be Kiritsugu. Mages were cold and ruthless by design, this was something she had been told many times. To lack a human heart was a positive trait to them, while someone like Kiritsugu suffered under the burden of a loving heart forcibly closed off and locked away in the name of 'do what must be done.'

The child who had brought Irisviel back to her senses in a burning wasteland and guided her to safety was neither of those things. The student who cursed his own inadequacy in the same breath he would praise Ilyasviel's skills, the teacher who she had heard time and time again speak of his students like a proud if overworked parent, the man who even now risked a Sealing Designation or worse to help her end a broken ritual...

He couldn't have sealed off his heart if he tried, and he was looking one step too far ahead to realize it might be necessary.

"If...you're certain." she managed to get out. Regardless of whatever might have transpired next, they were in far too deep to start backpedaling. He would understand that in time as she did now--he would have to. Their shared conviction wouldn't allow for any less.

...But placed beside Kiritsugu who felt joy and pain alike and chose to close himself off from both, and Irisviel herself who felt everything human life had to offer without restraint, it seemed beyond all understanding that one could know their own heart so little.

---

Following through on terrible ideas was something that had, through sheer freak chances and twists of fate, gotten Lord El-Melloi II very far in life. A sensible man would know when to cut their losses and live the rest of his life without taking life-threatening risks, would understand that doing one risky thing after another would get him killed or worse. (And 'worse' was best left not thought about.)

However, he was not what most would call 'sensible'.

It was admittedly rare that he knew something was likely to be a mistake while he was actively planning on following through with it regardless, but he'd concluded it was better to know something was going to be a disaster than to be caught completely unaware. At the moment, he had everything in the nearest future accounted for and planned out; further down the line the plan became broader strokes to account for those finicky freak chances rearing their heads as he knew damn well they would.

There was no less solvable variable to an equation, no larger wrench thrown between gears, and nothing less predictable than the factor called 'other people', and if he hadn't already known that much, then teaching Flat Escardos for an eternity's worth of semesters would have made it crystal clear.

He knew he was on the precipice of a 'mistake', in that he was about to do something utterly mad that would jeopardize his life, career, and everything in between all at once if that terrible variable made a move he couldn't account for--which they would, inescapably. There was no masterful plan that would see one through to the end of a Holy Grail War without fail, and 'dumb luck' was as much a factor as one's aptitude or Servant class.

The latter, he didn't bother lingering on; his catalyst was foolproof. The former...for now, he would set the question of his own aptitude aside. Leaving the stone storehouse where he'd engraved the summoning circle into the floor, Waver chose to spend what daylight remained getting a look at the city; the intent was to begin the ritual at sunset, considering Fuyuki would soon become a much different and deadlier place after nightfall.

...Fuyuki. It felt too surreal to be happening, and perhaps making sure it was real at all was the other reason he locked the outer gates and started off down the road as if he walked the same path every day. 

Perhaps in some respects, he'd walked it a thousand times. Remembering the sound of another walking just half a step behind him, in the chilled winter air he almost dared to look to his right and expect to see someone there. Almost, because that was futile beyond futility. Even if he were there now, he wouldn't remember--Waver himself had admitted that speaking to Irisviel. But that was fine, he admitted silently. I don't need him to remember. I don't . I trust him to be himself, someone I can trust with my life whether he knows me or not. That wasn't the first time he'd repeated that same thought to himself; he'd lost count by now. Briefly, Waver considered whether or not he was trying to convince himself of something...but that wasn't possible, surely. He was just on edge, and who wouldn't be in a situation like this?

His hand dropped from where he realized it had been fidgeting with the chain around his neck, a scowl on his face in a silent admonishment of his own foolishness.

His uneven steps paused around the shopping district--walking everywhere simply wasn't going to cut it this time. Which was his own fault, Waver conceded to himself; though Irisviel's healing magecraft had been leaps and bounds past his own, the broken leg he'd earned himself that night in the forest never healed correctly. Shooting up an extra thirty centimeters or so hadn't done him any favors on that front either--he'd have to figure something else out as far as transportation went. For today, it probably wouldn't matter; he was only planning to walk a little further before heading back.

Starting to walk again, he passed a familiar cafe--for just a brief instant Waver could almost picture four people sitting out front, two mages and two Servants nearly at each other's throats. A brief image no more tangible or lasting than the cloud of white smoke trailing behind him.

'Irisviel has a soft spot for children.'

The mocking jab from Gilgamesh had only served to irritate him at the time, but after all was said and done it made far more sense. 'Nineteen' felt a good deal older at nineteen than it did at twenty-nine, Waver rolling his eyes at the recollection of his own foolishness. No wonder someone with a child of her own would have extended a hand in aid to even an enemy. That said, had things unfolded any differently there was no doubt in Waver's mind that if Irisviel hadn't killed him, Kiritsugu Emiya would have swiftly put a bullet in his head. That was just the nature of the Holy Grail War--kill, or be killed.

Nowhere was that fact clearer than where his steps next halted.

The roads tapered off, cracked pavement and scarred land gradually overgrown by a layer of grass. It almost resembled a regular park, save for the deathly calm silence that seemed to cover the expanse of abandoned land like a boundary field. There wasn't the faintest distant birdsong, and any sounds of the city beyond no longer reached this place. Even the people avoided it by the look of things, whether because they remembered the disaster or because they innately felt what a mage could sense clearly.

He tried not to think about how many houses had stood here before hell descended on an innocent residential district. Tried not to consider how many people had died in a cursed conflagration, tried to forget the acrid smell of burning corpses--and just as he had countless times over the past years, failed utterly to set any of it aside. Time and again he'd seen this place aflame in countless nightmares, and seeing it with his own eyes now didn't do as much as Waver had hoped to set him at ease. Pushing back the sense of anxiety twisting in his chest and nausea tying his stomach in knots, he resolved to call Shishigou later; if the curses born that night were this lasting, surely a necromancer would have a better idea of what to do about that. Maybe he'd be able to reassure Waver that it wasn't a permanent change in the land itself.

...Maybe that was just what he desperately wanted to hear, as he turned and left the silent graveyard with no markers to speak of. He didn't consider risking a glance towards the darkening blue of late afternoon--part of him feared that if he dared look, the sun itself would be blacker than night and dead as the field below it.

'Are you sure you can handle this', she had asked. That question stuck in his mind like a pebble in one's shoe, a tiny thing just uncomfortable enough to be impossible to ignore. It wasn't like her to question his abilities like that; Irisviel knew the limits of Waver's magecraft better than anyone, except possibly Reines. Why even ask unless she had found some cause to doubt him?

Maybe she thinks I can't do it twice, he thought. Ten years is a long time. People change.

Not just people, either. The city felt much larger than he remembered, but not exactly in the way of a thriving metropolis. Rather, it brought to mind the way a space with far less people within it felt 'larger'. The very atmosphere felt uncomfortably still, as though there were wide swaths of empty space where life should have been. Probably because there were. Ten years was indeed a long time, and yet it wasn't long at all. Ten years was nothing at all when placed next to the amount of time it would take for the scars of an unthinkable disaster to heal--physical or otherwise. Few people knew how long such healing would take like Waver did; the Fourth had left its mark both tangible and otherwise, no matter how he opted to deny the latter existed.

The antique key turned in the outer gate which started to open with a creak--Waver didn't exactly have an abundance of wealth, but the formerly ruined estate in a city tainted by death had managed to be worth it. He was going to need a base outside the castle anyway, lest someone catch on he was involved however tangentially with the Einzberns. On paper he was just a mage of the Clock Tower entering a Holy Grail War, and keeping up appearances was vital for now.

More selfishly, no matter how long he'd spent in the castle, it was this place that was 'home' to him in Fuyuki. An empty and isolated estate that had been relative safety to a child and his knight held an oddly comforting nostalgia to it that made Waver's choice in location an easy one. 

...I'm not an arrogant kid too stupid to think twice about consequences anymore. That much was something he couldn't help but acknowledge; the Fourth War had been survived on sheer chance as he stumbled through it. She and I both know I'm pathetic as a mage. One misstep and this whole plan's shot. Dumb luck won't last forever this time.

"You mages really are something else. This is so easy it isn't even fun."

And on day one, before the Fifth Holy Grail War had even begun in earnest, Lord El-Melloi II’s dumb luck ran out.

Notes:

i don't have anything fun or witty to say this time but prepare to never see my ass again once endwalker drops in two weeks

Chapter 3: this illusion

Summary:

if there was someone right by my side
it won't grant me the peace i wished for within my mind
look deep within yourself to find out what you must do
and don't close your eyes to the truth

"You mages really are something else. This is so easy it isn't even fun."

At only a few simple words the pressure in the air became unbearable, killing intent as thick as the smell of freshly spilled blood not yet staining the ground. Waver knew this kind of presence; rather, he remembered it like one 'remembered' the primal fear of a force beyond human reasoning. The fear of death, the primal terror of deep darkness, the mortal horror of a mad knight bearing down on him with greatsword raised.

The fear of witnessing a Servant poised to spring on a defenseless mortal.

He didn't dare turn fully to face who had spoken, slowly looking over his shoulder and upwards towards the voice. Perched on a streetlight stood an unkempt man in a dark hakama and haori, ragged around the edges. A single scarlet eye stared down at him from behind messy black hair, vicious smile half-hidden by the thick scarf around his neck. In the fading glow of twilight the immaculate blade in the Servant's hand glinted with red sunlight, as if it were already stained with blood the instant it had been unsheathed.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid to second-guess himself and hesitate to go through with the summoning ritual. Worse still to have been out in the city in broad daylight. Which mage from the Association saw and recognized him? Who had told their Servant to be rid of the ‘scourge of mage society’?

"You sure don't waste time." Waver muttered half to himself, frozen to the spot by carefully masked terror as his mind raced through a hundred thousand calculations that all ended with him splattered on the pavement. The front gate was open enough for him to get through, but the bounded field was made for concealment and threat detection--not as a proper barrier like the one Irisviel laid in the forest. Given he was already well aware of the present threat, it was beyond useless. Even if it wasn't, no one could outrun a Servant. He'd die the instant he moved, and forget having time to speak the summoning incantation. Ten lines? He'd be lucky to have ten seconds . “Bit early, isn’t it? There’s still a few minutes until nightfall.”

...As terrified as he was, as fast as his heart was racing, there was no panic to it. His mind was clear even while calculating countless possible paths and failures in an instant, even as he locked eyes with the disheveled Servant staring back with the eyes of a falcon watching its prey. Yet it wasn't the Servant he saw for a brief instant--it was a decade-old memory of Kayneth, smirking in certain victory before his crushing defeat. For a fleeting second, Waver felt exactly the same now as he did then. His enemy’s victory was assured, and that made way for the utterly unpredictable to still transpire.

"Yeah, well." The raggedy samurai answered with a carefree shrug. "I'll be long gone in a second, not my proble-- hey!"

Thank god for overconfidence. Waver took his chance while the Servant was midsentence, darting in through the open gate. There was no time for reinforcement magic; he'd just have to bear with the sharp pain of running full-tilt on a leg already crying for mercy. If it gave out, he was dead. If it didn't, he was probably dead anyway. The only magecraft he could spare the breath for was a quick incantation in three words.

" Shape ist leben! "

The lethal blade sang through the air with deadly precision to remove its target's head--which it would have, had it not been slowed in its motion by the faintly glowing bird it met in midair. Tiny sparrow wings erupted into a tangle of wire that would no doubt only stall the Servant for an instant, not that Waver even considered looking back to confirm any of what had just happened. If he lost his arms, his legs, if he was cut wide open with no hope of survival in the next instant, there was not a second's thought spared to the possibility. All he focused on was making it the last few steps to the storehouse and its engraved summoning circle.

My will creates your body and your sword creates my destiny, I hereby swear I hereby swear I hereby swear -

No time to even breathe, much less speak the words aloud. The sword whistled past him by centimeters and took a chunk out of the storehouse's door frame, hilt still tangled by wire and its wielder enraged to the point of carelessness. Maybe there was still a little dumb luck in his favor yet. Waver dropped to the floor and pressed both hands to the carved outer lines of the summoning circle, heart pounding so fast he could barely breathe as he poured all the magical energy that he could into the arcane sigil. Around his neck, the shard of ivory floated loose from beneath his collar with the aura of magical energy buzzing in the air; the catalyst was foolproof, it had to be , because failure now would be a thousand times worse than simply dying. 

The back of his right hand felt as though a brand of red hot iron had been pressed into his skin, and through the adrenaline and burn of his own Magic Circuits alike, Waver's mind went blank except for one thing. 

Behind him, the silver blade flashed…

I hereby swear I’ll do it right this time-

…and was driven back by an overpowering tide of magic. From the circle came a blinding white light and torrent of wind, everything in the storehouse not nailed down sent immediately flying. Waver raised his right arm to prevent being blinded even through his sunglasses--catching sight of the old scars on his hand glowing anew in the brilliant crimson shape of a blade and wings. The wind seemed to gather and take form even before the circle's light had begun to fade, rushing past in a storm of green and blue. Sparks and the harsh sound of blade striking blade drove back the katana's next killing blow and sent the enemy Servant flying back outside, Waver struggling to catch his breath and come back to himself enough to process what had just happened.

Staggering to lean on the storehouse's doorway feeling as though he had just run several marathons, the mage pulled off his sunglasses to see more clearly in the vanishing light of evening--green eyes widening at the sight before him. 

Blades clashed at speeds a human couldn't hope to truly follow, the man in the ragged clothes (surely an Assassin, now that the enemy’s statistics were quickly becoming clear to him) forced on the defensive. But even so, the katana was catching up to the red and gold steel that struck against it as though its wielder was learning to track his enemy’s movements. As he watched, Waver realized it wasn’t merely ‘tracking’ movements but copying them; the Assassin met his opponent blow for blow with a strange fluidity to his motions that was not truly his own. Not that it seemed to help; no matter how fast Assassin adapted, his newly summoned opponent moved with a more practiced grace backed with sheer strength. Copy those movements all he wished, one katana could not duplicate what two blades could accomplish.

Outmatched and overpowered, the katana-wielding Servant scowled, electing to jump back to the outer wall and then again beyond it--escaping in a flash of ragged cloth. And of course he did, because there was no chance an Assassin stood against one of the three knight classes in an open fight with no element of surprise.

But the knight's parameters weren't at all as Waver remembered; they were higher . Stronger, faster...something had changed. Was it a shift in Waver's own magical capacity, or…no, that wasn't what mattered at present. Nothing mattered except who was before him right now.

Beneath the last rays of sunlight in the estate's courtyard stood a knight. His verdant clothes were so close to familiar, but this time accented with light armor of deep blue and bronze. Amber eyes watched his retreating opponent vanish beyond the walls, a cooled early winter breeze rustling wavy black hair. In his hands were blades of red and gold--not roses of exorcism and mortality, but swords of passion and fury. Waver felt a chill in his spine that had nothing to do with the weather and even less to do with the fact that he’d narrowly escaped death yet again as he began to understand the full gravity of what had just transpired and who he was faced with now.

The words 'a Saber beyond parallel' echoed in his memories, but he was too dazed to remember who had said the words or when.

"I come in response to your summoning," spoke a voice that caused the mage's racing heart to screech to a halt in his chest. He knew that voice as well as his own name--no matter what changed, Waver Velvet would always know that voice. He would always know the man who turned to face him standing straight and proud, would always know those bright eyes and confident smile, even when there was no recognition on that knight's face in turn.

"Servant Saber--Diarmuid ua Duibhne, at your command, my lord."

As his heart wedged itself inextricably somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, Waver realized he’d really gone and fucked up this time.

---

Summoning was no great shock or disorienting thing. It bore little difference from merely awakening in the morning, with the simple awareness of a great many things; one's purpose, the language of the region, base knowledge of the era. He knew this to be Japan in the year 2004, that there would be six other Servants to fight and defeat, and that the winner would claim a miracle. What this sudden intuition did not prepare him for was the abrupt nature not of the ritual itself, but of the situation he found himself in. A mage kneeling before the arcane circle that had brought about the ritual, and a second Servant bringing down a blade towards the former's neck--

Well, what else could one do but draw their own conclusions and take immediate action?

Moralltach shrieked through the air in crimson, knocking back the opposing katana and its wielder alike--the Servant half backpedaled and was half thrown out of the storehouse. This transpired in no more than an instant, the knight followed with speed beyond all human perception, pressing the attack into the courtyard and bearing down on the enemy's defenses. He was an accomplished swordsman, to say the very least; Saber recognized his instincts were unlike any other, as though he adapted his motions to mirror those of his enemy’s. ‘Skilled’ was too light a word to describe this Heroic Spirit, whoever he was. But what was accomplished with two swords could not truly be mirrored by one, and an Assassin was no match for a Saber–few Servants could be.

The man in the ragged clothes snarled, red eyes flashing with anger as he no doubt realized to continue under such an assault would be his death. He was fast, that was beyond doubt. But Saber could tell this was not a man suited to being on the defensive; such quick and precise skills as these required the first move, and he had lost that advantage.

The assassin deflected a swipe from the golden blade Beagalltach and leapt backwards, glaring death at the knight as he opted to retreat--and was allowed to, as there were more pressing matters to attend to. The immediate danger having vanished, he turned to face the mage who had summoned him.

"Servant Saber–Diarmuid ua Duibhne, at your command, my lord."

...The mage in question, however, looked like he'd seen a ghost. Eyes wide and unblinking, a pair of dark glasses held in a trembling hand, he stared at his Servant in something akin to utter disbelief. It left Saber unsure of what he was thinking–if something was wrong, or if his Master had been injured prior to his summoning.

"Dia-" His Master took a step forward as he started to answer, interrupted by his right leg buckling immediately and sending him dropping to his knees in the courtyard with a stricken look and a harsh curse.

“Master–?!” At his side in less than an instant, Saber knelt down beside the mage who was muttering to himself in frustration. “Are you wounded?”

“...so much for a first impression.” He swiftly put on the sunglasses still in his hand, not quite looking at Saber even with eyes obscured. “No–I mean, it’s nothing now.” His Master reached over to pick up a cane that had presumably been discarded somewhere in the chaos of his Servant’s summoning, pulling himself to his feet with some effort and swiftly turning his back on the knight with a flourish of long black hair. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just get inside before anything else happens tonight.”

He had mentioned first impressions, and Saber was certainly forming one in his mind. A mage who spoke in words sounding clipped and even strained, who stood straight and walked tall no matter how unsteady or uneven his steps. Brushing off that death itself had been descending on him only moments earlier, and meeting his Servant with the winter’s chill of a demeanor that the knight could not yet name. Disappointment in a hurried ritual? Or could it have been that he was merely that focused upon the task at hand, to ignore all else?

For all he knew immediately upon being summoned, there was infinitely more he did not. And while it was not for him to question his Master so, Diarmuid quickly concluded he was called by a very strange person indeed.

Notes:

man endwalker sure happened, i told you so

i may not always answer but rest assured i'm reading everyone's comments and that's what's keeping me chugging along, i can't thank y'all enough for being so sweet and supportive of this fun little project i do for kicks and giggles

by sheer coincidence there's a saber dia banner up in fgo, go figure

Chapter 4: This Is Gospel

Summary:

if you love me let me go
'cause these words are knives and often leave scars
the fear of falling apart

Fuck.

That was the prevailing sentiment on frantic repeat in Waver Velvet’s mind, amidst the cacophony of an internal scream of perpetual horror and self-loathing.

‘You still need to hear it from somebody who gets where you're coming from: you're making a mistake.’  

He and Shishigou alike had meant that the war itself was a mistake. Suicidal, and that was in the best case scenario. But the sheer scale of the mistake Waver had truly made took full form in his heart now and made his blood run with the boiling fire of dizzying panic. Shishigou had been right to warn him, Irisviel had been right to remind him and right to wonder if Waver was capable of handling this, because the man himself saw meticulous plans laid out ahead threatening to crumble to dust and yield to the apocalypse.

All because he’d met Diarmuid’s eyes for an instant and felt a decade of heartache crash down on him all at once. Which he found almost ironic in a sickening sort of way. Waver had put himself under a curse of his very own making, and unlike Gráinne before him, this was entirely his own fault.

The alchemists of Atlas had a technique known as Memory Partition, the ability to maintain multiple thought processes in parallel. Continue or cut them off as needed, operating the human mind like programs in a computer. It wasn’t a skill Waver possessed or had the skill to learn, but one he modeled his own thought processes after all the same. If one thread yielded no results, cut it and travel a parallel one further to its conclusion. Simple, cold logic separated into the thin strings of cause and effect. Summon a Servant, enter the war, fight, live, die, save the world or fail and let it burn-

He would have given damn near anything to cut every single thread tangling itself in his mind right now. 

<Are you quite certain you should be walking?> came the too-familiar voice from thin air beside him; his Servant in spirit form, unknowingly threatening to shatter a forcibly held poker face. Small mercy that Waver couldn’t see him right now; he needed the respite.

“I’ll live.” Waver answered briskly; the pounding ache in his leg was keeping him grounded in reality rather than let him get fully lost in his own head. Could Diarmuid see the white-knuckled grip on his cane? Certainly it wouldn’t escape his notice, but with any luck he’d attribute it to pain rather than his Master’s desperate hold on sanity.

<Master, is there…something about me you find dissatisfactory?>

“No.’” he heard himself say in a quick and sharp denial. Then he repeated it, a little calmer. “...no. You did well, and I’m fortunate you answered me.” More fortunate than he could bring himself to say. “And you can just…call me ‘Professor’. Most people do, and there’s no point in such formality.” 

It would have been more truthful to admit that if he heard his name out of Diarmuid’s mouth, he would crack and shatter to pieces on the spot. But instead, he elected to ignore that fact. Brush off the twisting agony in his chest, ignore the screaming realization that he really might not be able to do this, anything rather than do the sensible thing and truly explain himself. There would be difficult conversations and time to have them later. Right now, he had to refocus himself and adhere to the framework they had set out before he came to Fuyuki. One step at a time, carrying himself through the city and forward to a fate now very uncertain.

“Can you wait out here? The Church is neutral ground; bringing a Servant any further would land me in trouble.”

<Will you be alright?>

“Neutral’s neutral , that’s ironclad.” Waver shook his head; even if Diarmuid was intangible right now, he could practically see the concerned look he would wear as clear as day. “No one’s going to try to kill me in the boundaries of the church grounds. Keep watch out here and let me know if you see anything; if I’m wrong, I’ll call you.”

Taking a slow breath to steel himself, Waver passed the open iron gates and walked towards the silent church under a dark night sky. Irisviel’s other concern rang distantly in his mind now; while Waver remained mostly convinced the three of them were the only ones to survive Fuyuki’s disaster, ‘mostly’ was a heavily load-bearing qualifier in that statement. She was right to point out that they had survived, which made survival itself possible. Even if Kiritsugu and countless innocent bystanders had perished…that didn’t mean everyone had.

But that wasn’t his concern, or rather it wasn’t the concern of a mage in the fifth war. As far as anyone– especially the Church–was aware, he knew nothing of the prior war’s conclusion. If Kirei Kotomine was still alive, then Waver had the advantage of knowing he was a threat while the same would not be assumed in turn. Whatever came next would be for Irisviel and Maiya to take the initiative to plan.

Silence and stillness hung like a heavy mist in the church itself, the mere sound of a cane clicking on the floor echoing as loud as a gunshot. The only illumination came from dust-speckled streams of moonlight through the windows and the occasional flickering candle. All in all, it was about the sort of dismal and unsettling image a mage might call to mind when speaking of the Holy Church in either hushed tones or thinly veiled disgust.

“If you come for confession, I fear the hour is terribly late.” 

Waver’s entire body went tense at the sudden voice, clear as a bell accompanied by footsteps out of the darkness behind the altar at the far end of the room. The figure enshrouded in shadow stepped forward, just barely out of reach of the silver light through a window–just enough for him to make out the broader details of who had spoken. She wore the dark clothes of a church adherent, flaxen hair hanging straight and loose around her shoulders. It was difficult to say if the dim light was responsible, but from where Waver stood her skin looked pallid: if Irisviel and Ilya could be said to be unearthly pale, then this woman was deathly so.

…Something felt strangely familiar, the faintest shadow of déjà vu tugging at the back of his mind. But that was impossible; he had never been anywhere near the church before. The stress of a chaotic night must have been wearing on him.

“I come to report to the Holy Church.” Waver said, speaking with practiced authority and holding up his right hand bearing scarlet Command Seals. “I am the second Lord El-Melloi, entering into this Fifth Holy Grail War as a Master independent of the Archibald house and name.”

“I see.” the woman answered coolly. “And your Servant’s class?”

“Saber.” He nearly had to bite his tongue against the automatic Lancer, reminding himself that wasn’t the case now. The woman frowned slightly, or so he thought. It might have just been a trick of the dim light. A beat of silence passed, and then she spoke again.

“Understood. Your participation in the war to come shall be noteworthy, I am sure.”

‘The war to come’? Interesting. Could it be that all seven hadn’t yet been summoned? Wouldn’t she claim the war had officially begun were that the case? That made sense enough to Waver, but then again he had no idea what these agents of the Church were ever thinking. Besides, he didn’t want to linger here more than necessary with that strange unease pulling at his mind. Mages and the Church didn’t mix and shouldn’t have crossed paths more than absolutely necessary, that was what he concluded the nervous prickling in his skin must have been coming from.

That had to be all it was, right?

Until he stepped back outside into the cold winter air, Waver hadn’t taken notice of how stagnant the atmosphere in the church felt. Merely leaving felt like a terrible pressure off his shoulders, and no sign of Kirei Kotomine anywhere. Irisviel would be just as relieved when he told her that, no doubt.

<Master–ah, Professor?> No sooner had he stepped beyond the perimeter of the grounds did Diarmuid’s voice echo in his head. <With all respect, you don’t look well.>

He didn’t feel well, honestly. Cumulative stress of the day aside, he’d been on his feet quite literally all day and well into the night. Leaning back against the stone of the church’s perimeter wall, Waver reckoned with the fact that they still had to make it to the castle in the forest, which was on the complete opposite end of town. By the time he was able to walk that far, it would be dawn if not midmorning. And that was assuming he didn’t fully give out halfway there. Using reinforcement magic on his leg again would only take him so far after the evening he’d had.

“I’ll be fine. We just have to get to the castle and make sure no one’s gotten past the barriers.” But there wasn’t a choice. He had to discard and ignore human limitations; that was the nature of being a mage, and that was how he was planning to survive against six other mages out for his blood.

“I can see you won’t be swayed.” Saber conceded as he manifested from spirit form, Waver suddenly finding an empty spot a distance away fascinating to stare at. “I would not dream of contradicting my Master, but if you should insist upon this course of action I would at least offer aid in any way I can.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Waver saw a small motion from his Servant, yet what it felt like was the ground yanked out from under him for the second time tonight.

“Huh-?” He looked up and felt his heart again endeavor to lodge in his throat and choke him to death. For all his preparation, this was something he could never have planned for. It was a factor no mage took into account, and in this instant that unquantified variable was his downfall. Because now he finally saw Saber–saw Diarmuid clearly, standing within arm’s reach with a hand held out in silent offer of help and a gentle smile that made golden eyes as bright as the stars overhead. 

For an instant he was nineteen again, sitting on top of Fuyuki’s bridge with Lancer. For an instant all he could see was the sunset on the final day of the war, and for that instant he could feel something left unspoken for too long to have the chance to say ever again. If he took that hand, Waver knew he wouldn’t be able to come back from the step he would have taken. Yet there he was, hand steady but hovering over Saber’s in paralyzed indecision before Waver realized it had even moved.

Mages could not account for what they lacked, and the human heart was the ultimate variable.

With the lightest touch–as if Waver feared his Servant would vanish at any second–he accepted that offer, and with a devilish smile did Saber’s hand close around his and his other arm wrapped around the professor’s waist.

“Hold on.”

“Wait, wh–”

Sure enough, an undignified yelp of surprise was lost on the wind as a fleet-footed Servant sprang into the air to leap from rooftop to rooftop with a mage holding on for dear life.

---

Strange person that he seemed to be, his Master appeared full of contradictions. Saber stood outside the church in spirit form, frowning as he attempted to piece together what sort of man he was contracted to. He didn’t seem cruel in so many words, certainly. ‘Cold’ was a better way to phrase it; the clipped and brief phrasing had continued, even though the mage’s words themselves lacked malice or derision. Yet in near the same breath he had expressed gratitude towards his Servant, the professor had also deflected from so much as giving his name. 

He wouldn’t even look at his own Servant directly, and that cut harshly in a way Saber had not expected.

It made no sense , and left the knight fully at a loss for the correct way to proceed. Was his Master just masking disappointment in some aspect of the situation? And if that was the case…if not his Servant, then what? Saber was certain he had made no missteps or false moves in the scant hours they had known one another (he retraced every minute action several times over in his head as they ventured across the city) but something was off. And if the professor was not dissatisfied with his actions, then Saber himself was going to be dissatisfied until he worked out the piece he was missing in this strange puzzle.

A very stubborn puzzle. For when his Master returned the mage looked pale as death, standing on legs that looked ready to give out at any instant. Upon further reflection, Saber conceded it had been a trying evening at best. Perhaps it was not entirely fair to attempt to make such assessments at first glance. To estimate one’s character in the space of a single night was foolishness at worst, overeager at best.

He extended a hand both in immediate aid and the desire to make a second attempt at camaraderie…and finally saw his Master look at him straight on in a way that was difficult to define. Stunned? Awestruck? Embarrassed? It could have been all three, or his face could simply have been turning red from the winter air. His nameless Master reached out in halting motions, gaze falling to his Servant’s hand; the glow of a moonlit evening caught just right for Saber to discern the mage’s eyes behind his sunglasses, and in the hesitation that followed he wondered idly what color they were. The thought left him as swiftly as it arrived, the professor’s hand settling feather-light into his own. An accepted offer, if a tentative one having required thought. That, he concluded, was enough for an initial meeting.

And perhaps…just a little, it was a strange relief to be met with the very human reaction of his Master making an unholy sound like a strangled chicken and clinging to him with an iron deathgrip as they took off into the night from streetlight to rooftop.

Notes:

this is the chapter where i fully date myself by how i format telepathic speech

if you know, you know

Chapter 5: Setting Sail, Coming Home

Summary:

i set my sail
fly, the wind it will take me
back to my home, sweet home

Waver was endlessly grateful that the next little while passed largely without incident. Once they’d gotten to the castle and Saber helped to confirm the entire building was not in fact inhabited by anything worse than a thin layer of dust, he was fairly sure he’d called Irisviel as promised before passing out cold on the nearest flat surface sometime around dawn. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been able to rest , between the anticipation of coming to Fuyuki followed by the abrupt start to the war itself. Taking that into consideration, it was unsurprising that he woke up in a daze somewhere around midnight the next day. No chance he was risking going out after dark before the others arrived, so he conceded that day was shot right out the gate. Just as well–the castle was a dusty mess in need of at least a little straightening up. He could at least do that and clear his own head at the same time, while Saber was presumably outside patrolling the castle walls and grounds. Waver knew he wouldn’t go far unless asked, and even then he’d likely hesitate given the state his Master had been upon returning. Fine with him, because a while left on his own would hopefully do a fair bit towards pulling himself back together. To his infinite disappointment, the wine cellar was empty and his casual survey of what rooms might or might not be in worse disrepair led him to all manner of places he’d barely been to when last he’d lived in the castle; by virtue of being a castle it was large enough to have several unexplored corners. Among them a stone windowless room he opted to simply back out of and pretend he hadn’t seen, because god only knew what kind of magecraft had ever gone on in there. Past that he went about opening a few windows against the stagnant air, clearing up some dust around the more highly traveled parts of the castle: minor and menial tasks. It wasn’t the kind of work an ordinary mage would ever have done themselves. But it kept his hands busy, and gave some space to breathe. 

The shape of the situation as Waver began to evaluate it was: he was putting his life at risk again , this time with full and complete awareness of the suicidal nature of the act. And while the issue did not lie in whether or not he could trust his Servant (of course that was beyond question) whether he could trust himself was another matter. Trusting Saber with his life was simple. Trusting him with literally anything else was nigh impossible. What was he supposed to say? Would saying anything make a difference? No, of course not–in fact, trying would surely make the situation worse. All he could think to do was keep his distance in that respect. They would have enough problems maneuvering around the rules of the Holy Grail War long enough to take the entire ritual out from the roots.

Once again, Waver had backed himself into a corner by his own shortsightedness. At least this miscalculation didn’t end with a Berserker bearing down on him at lightspeed, but upon reflection that sounded like the easier problem to deal with given the option.

<Professor?> Diarmuid’s voice rang out in his head after some hours at work; it was midmorning or so, judging by the light illuminating the castle windows. Startled out of his thoughts, Waver nearly tripped down the stairs he’d been sweeping dust off of. <Three women just crossed the barrier; two with white hair and one with black. What is it you would have me do?>

Sharp-eyed as ever. He was probably on the castle walls watching from a solid half-mile away. <Stand down, it’s alright. That’ll be those allies I told you about. Do me a favor and keep watch outside for now to make sure they weren’t followed, I’ll introduce you later.>

It was a long walk from the barrier to the castle; enough time to finish what he was doing, shove everything back into a supply closet, and make it to the front of the castle himself. 

Or so he’d estimated, perhaps foolishly letting his guard down.

Some ten or fifteen minutes later, as he turned a corner near the castle’s entrance hall, an iron hand closed around his wrist. By the time he could even register an impact of hitting the floor, there was a knee pressed to his back and one arm twisted behind him. Panic spiked for a split second in his head; who the hell could possibly have been ambushing him this time? Before he could think to call Saber he caught the sharp smell of gunpowder around the same instant the solid metal of a pistol was pressed to the back of his head.

...It was incredibly strange, the things he found reassuring.

“Maiya–fuck, that hurts, get the hell off of me!”

A brief hesitation, and in the pause the grip on his arm lessened infinitesimally little. Enough to feel slightly less wrenched out of its socket, which was an incredible mercy considering who he was dealing with.

“...Code four.” A chilled and clinical demand, but a very familiar voice. They had long since planned for this sort of thing at Maiya’s own insistence; code phrases as an attempted failsafe against disguises or magical compulsion. They had each chosen five, for a total of ten to be asked for by number at the first hint of suspicion. (There were, of course, separate lists for Irisviel and Ilyasviel both. He had no idea how Maiya kept them all memorized.)

“Fucking hell, Maiyaaaaa, ow, ow, okay! ”

Usually, he would be grateful for her caution often hopping the line into paranoia and efficiency mixed with severe impatience. But it was a little harder to show gratitude with a gun to his head and the risk of a mercenary pulling his arm off and beating him to death with it. Which was four, again?

“‘My elemental affinity is water’. Happy now?” 

Paranoia indeed, because Waver’s affinity had always been earth. Reluctantly, the pistol was withdrawn and Waver released from the grip of imminent death. Gripping his other arm, Maiya Hisau pulled him to his feet somewhat unsteadily

“I didn’t recognize you.” she observed flatly as an apparent explanation for the harsh greeting.

“No shit, it’s been a decade.” Adjusting crooked sunglasses on his head, Waver turned to look at her fully; dark clothes and a turtleneck sweater, black hair a bit shorter and  messier than the severe silhouette he remembered her having. If she hadn’t just tackled him to the floor, he might almost have believed she learned to relax at some point. “You look good.” 

“You look terrible.” On the other hand, the blank deadpan she had always fixed Waver with had barely changed in the slightest.

“Missed you too, Maiya.” he shot back, trying and failing to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching into a smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you’d lightened up. Didn’t even shoot me on sight.”

“Maybe next time.” 

“Did…did you just tell a joke-”

“Waver?” called out another voice he knew well (and turning to look at who had spoken caused him to miss the thin smirk that played across Maiya’s face). 

He turned, and then found himself looking downward at a woman who had once been almost exactly on his eye level, silver hair trailing behind as she walked in quick steps to put herself directly in Waver’s personal space. Porcelain-pale and ethereally flawless hands reached up…and pressed to both sides of his face, all but yanking him down closer to her level. 

“Irisviel-?!”

Of course, because it could be none other. He found himself face to face with eager scarlet eyes that hadn’t changed in the slightest from how he remembered; every detail of her face seemed exactly as it had been ten years before. All the same, and yet…brighter, if anything. There was a flame of something vibrant and alive to her unearthly perfection that had been only a spark when last they stood face to face, and the warmth of it went a long way to dispel how tense things had felt up until then. It was easier to have tangible proof that Waver wasn’t alone in all of this, and it didn’t get much more ‘tangible’ than this.

“When did you get so tall –look at you, your hair’s so long now!” Before he could take a breath to answer, Waver was met with a harsh impact and crushing grip around his midsection that nearly knocked him over.

“Ilya-” he wheezed out, certain his ribs were cracking under the pressure, “–can’t breathe-” Mercifully, the young woman heard his pitiful plea and relinquished the iron grip she called a hug, standing back with a look of indignation as Waver straightened up and tried to recover.

“Tell Mother-”

“Ilyasviel, we talked about this.”

“-that I should be allowed to fight too!”

“Ilyasviel!”

If that hadn’t been enough abrupt chaos, mother and daughter alike turned on one another and dissolved into bickering with each sounding as though they were trying to talk over the other with the most insistence. 

“Okay, what’ve I missed?” Occasionally knowing futility when he saw it, Waver instead turned to Maiya with the obvious question. The mercenary sighed and pressed a hand to her temple in an honest display of exasperation he’d never seen from her before; this must have been a problem for most of the way here.

“Ilyasviel,” she explained with a thin undercurrent of tension to her voice, “takes exception to the fact that her mother refuses to allow her to summon a Servant. And while it is tactically wise to have the added protection and insurance-”

“Mother and Maiya both say I’m too young!” Ilyasviel interjected, rounding on Waver. She’d gotten a fair bit taller in the past years, as opposed to her mother who hadn’t changed in the slightest. That, however, only made the younger Einzbern seem even more dangerous; exactly as much trouble (or more) in the body of a teenager.

“And they’re both right.” Waver countered. “Sorry, but it’s out of the question.”

“That isn’t fair!” she snapped back, Irisviel behind her scrubbing a hand over her own face in frustration. “You were the same age as me the last time, and I’m a stronger mage than you are!”

“Well, you’ve got me on that last one.”

“Waver Velvet!” admonished Irisviel, head snapping up with a look of fury.

“I know, I know.” He shook his head, taking a deep breath and sighing. “Look, Ilya, I was too young to pull half the dumb shit I did, and no one was around to talk sense into me. This is more dangerous than you know; magical capacity and ability alone won’t be enough.”

Privately, he had to admit Ilyasviel and Maiya alike had a point on the tactical side of things. Having two Servants on their side would be an incredible advantage, especially where they had to take careful steps to ensure the ritual itself progressed a certain way. On top of that, Ilyasviel was stronger than Waver (not that it took much) and whoever she might have been able to summon would be powerful without a doubt. 

…But pragmatic as Lord El-Melloi II would need to be as a mage and Master, to put a target on Ilyasviel’s back was something Waver Velvet couldn’t allow even if it meant the risk of leaving all of them at a critical disadvantage.

Ilyasviel took a deep breath, Waver bracing himself to be shouted at more…but she merely made a frustrated wordless noise and threw up her hands, storming off down the hall.

“She’ll get over it.” Waver said with a shrug. Teenagers always thought they were invincible–-he understood that better than he wanted to.

---

Things settled only so much after that; introductions were made, the cold mask of professionalism re-established, and a long conversation held over a map of Fuyuki. Groundwork carefully laid was retreaded; the Greater Grail was broken, and either the Grail itself had to be destroyed or the war had to be stopped somehow before the conflict’s end.

“I fail to understand one thing,” remarked Saber once the wide picture of a failed ritual had been painted, hand brought to his mouth in thought. “Do not misunderstand, I believe what you’ve told me; I only wish to question what precisely it is that has brought the Grail to the state you describe.”

Unfortunately, that was something of the million-dollar question and the other three knew it. Waver looked to Irisviel, who frowned in the unease of being put on the spot in an uncomfortable situation.

“I’m sorry–I should know if anyone here does, but if the Einzberns have an answer for that, it isn’t anything I’ve ever seen. For all I know, it might have always been this way.”

“It isn’t as if we could have just asked Jubstacheit.” Maiya added; that was true enough. Irisviel hadn’t been made to know every single detail of the Holy Grail War and its history, and as a renegade from her own family there hadn’t exactly been any chance to research as much. Saber said nothing in response, golden eyes falling to the map of Fuyuki on the table between all of them.

“Are you alright with this?” Waver heard himself ask before he could think better of it. He’d had the presence of mind to ask the others to refrain from using his name in front of Saber, but he was still risking falling right into the iron bear trap of ‘sentiment’ and making worse strategic mistakes than stopping Ilyasviel from summoning a Servant. “I mean…we’re not exactly looking to win the Grail here. More like we’re about to cause a whole hell of a lot of trouble and break rules that probably aren’t even technically written.”

“It is…a daunting task, to phrase the matter lightly. A noble cause, but one with considerable risk.” There was a thoughtful note in Saber’s voice as he appeared to think the matter over; then after a moment he looked up with a smirk that made Waver’s heart decide to do one or several backflips. “But you are my Master, and I am sworn to fight for you. If it truly is as dangerous as you all imply, it may even prove an exciting challenge.”

…God, his own Servant was going to give him a heart attack. Mercifully, Maiya spoke next and redirected the topic, tracing a finger along the map.

“We should move to take control of the leylines.” Which was the epitome of ‘easier said than done’, but to hear her talk it was no worse than walking to the shopping district.

“This is still Tohsaka land, you realize.” Recovering as quickly as he could, Waver flipped open a silver lighter and lit a cigarette. “I have some influence with the family’s heir, but I haven’t heard from her in a while. I have to confess that doesn’t leave me optimistic about what she might do if she catches us screwing around with her territory.”

“‘Some influence’ is exactly why you’re here, Professor .” As she spoke, Irisviel snatched the lit cigarette from Waver’s hand and ground it out on the map where the Tohsaka estate had once stood. “Where is she now?”

“Last I knew? Studying in London.” No point in arguing over his bad habits, least of all when Irisviel was clearly already low on patience. “I can’t very well have her in my class directly, she and Edelfelt would tear each other’s heads off; I’ve been tutoring her separately from time to time. But I haven’t seen her in a while, and the last few letters I sent got nothing in response.”

“Better to seek forgiveness than ask permission.” muttered Maiya, and unfortunately Waver had to agree with that. Time was a crucial factor, and if the Tohsaka family’s heir wasn’t able to be contacted quickly…they’d just have to do what needed to be done.

There was one other factor that no one wanted to bring up; Saber couldn’t possibly know it was in question, but for the other three it was a massive elephant in the room. That being the question of the Lesser Grail’s status: of Irisviel herself, and how she hadn’t aged so much as an instant over ten years’ time. Simple logic led Waver to assume that the ritual had been left incomplete and that the Lesser Grail was still within its human-shaped vessel. But that didn’t explain how Irisviel had recovered from what she herself had explained as the deterioration of her homunculus body. It didn’t explain a lot of things, and neither Waver nor Maiya really wanted to ask what she expected would become of her once this was over. But all their cards needed to be on the table, and so long as they were discussing logistics, it couldn’t go ignored forever.

“Irisviel, there's-”

Waver was interrupted by Saber abruptly standing up and on guard with Moralltach in his hand; he’d sensed the same jolt of magical energy they all had, and possessed the reflexes to be on alert while the rest were still processing what it might have meant. 

“Professor-”

“I know, damn it!” Waver connected the dots first, standing up and bolting down the hallway with Saber at his side and Irisviel with Maiya a step behind him. The source of the sudden magical energy was a door that had blown open, leading into that ominous windowless stone room–with, Waver realized far too late, a magic circle carved into its floor which was now glowing with a fading light. A thick cloud of settling dust obscured the figure standing in its center, facing Ilyasviel–her hands pressed to the circle’s edge and a victorious grin on her face.

“-and I come to you in the vessel of a Berserker.”

The dust began to settle, revealing the figure in the circle to be…shockingly normal for what he had just claimed. He wore loose-fitting simple clothes difficult to pin to any general time period, with both cutlass and flintlock pistol on his belt. Windblown brown hair hung in honey-colored eyes, and paired with skin tanned by the sun he looked like a warm summer day next to Ilyasviel’s wintery silver-white form.

Berserker smiled cheerfully, and with a lighthearted voice that made the sealing of a contract sound like a greeting between old friends, spoke that single fateful question:

“I ask of you: are you my Master?”

Notes:

i will break every rule of the nasuverse while putting all my favorite servants in here and no one can stop me

Chapter 6: Carry On My Wayward Son

Summary:

masquerading as a man with a reason
my charade is the event of the season
and if i claim to be a wise man, well
it surely means that i don't know

Irisviel and her daughter both had turned an impressive shade of red with all the shouting they were doing, the latter clinging to the arm of an unnaturally calm Berserker–upon which Saber and Maiya alike were staring unblinking like a pair of cats circling an intruder on their territory. Saber still held the crimson sword at his side, Maiya’s hand resting on the holster at her waist for all the good a firearm wouldn’t do. It had been an eternity of unbroken chaos since Berserker’s summoning, which was to say it had been five minutes at most.

“Everyone just calm down .” Waver snapped, gripping his cane with both hands white-knuckled as if strangling something would help matters. “The situation as it stands is what it is,” he continued after consciously unclenching his jaw, “so we can either keep yelling at one another or we can adjust for it.”

From the natural conflict between Servants to the conflict of a mother and rebellious daughter to Maiya just being ‘conflict’ by virtue of being Maiya, the tension was enough to shake the castle itself to pieces.

“Diarmuid, Maiya, you two go patrol outside. She knows the castle’s defenses better than I do, and knowing Maiya she probably brought some traps to put around the bounded field.”

To which Maiya simply frowned, as one might if they were to have a surprise accurately predicted. The last thing Waver wanted to deal with was dodging proximity mines and tripwires, but that was a comically minor issue at hand right now.

“Are you sure, Master?” Hesitantly, the blade disappeared from Saber’s hand while the tension remained, eyes focusing on Waver for only an instant before snapping back to Berserker.

“Ilyasviel isn’t our enemy, and everyone needs to cool off a little. I’ll be fine.” Of that much, he was certain; they were in more danger from an enraged Irisviel than the surprise newcomer and his Master. Begrudgingly, Maiya and Saber both left in the direction of the castle’s foyer (with the latter backing off a few steps before properly turning away, unwilling to take his eyes off another Servant).

“Okay.” Waver took a deep breath, trying desperately to head off another explosion before Irisviel could get out the ‘and another thing’ he could practically see forming on her lips. “Let’s just calmly acknowledge that what’s done is done and-”

“ What were you thinking?! ” Irisviel exploded, less than calmly.

“I told you, I have the capacity to be a Master! I can fight too!” Returning fire, Ilyasviel clung to Berserker’s arm as the Servant’s smile began to border on ‘awkward’.

“Might I just assure you both, the safety of my lady is paramount.” he spoke up in some kind of attempt to defuse the situation. “While I would not consider myself a Servant of remarkable strength, I am yet more capable than I may seem.”

While Irisviel spared the Servant no more than a brief glare, Berserker had successfully drawn Waver’s full attention. The insistent argument of the Einzberns faded into background noise as his concentration shifted, sunglasses lowered just enough for green eyes to sharpen with the vision of a Master.

…Something was very wrong here.

Not only did he speak with perfect eloquence unbefitting anyone with Mad Enhancement, his parameters were absolutely terrible for a Servant summoned by a mage like Ilyasviel. A high Endurance, but solidly average in every other category he could see as well as a Luck rating that he simply couldn’t read at all. He wasn’t sure if it was wildly fluctuating or simply obscured as Lancelot’s own statistics had once been, but the fact of the matter was that there was no making sense of the sight before him.

“What’s your true name?” He cut in by addressing the Servant himself rather than get directly in the crossfire. But even on the sidelines, a stray shot found Waver regardless.

“Oh, no you don’t! Berserker doesn’t have to tell either of you anything .” snapped Ilya, rounding on Waver. “I’m his Master, we’ll protect everyone just fine!”

“Ilyasviel, this is dangerous!” Irisviel cut back in, anger beginning to give way to pleading insistence. “None of us want to see you hurt or even killed-”

“ And you think that I do?! ” Ilyasviel shouted forcefully, wrenching her hands away from Berserker’s arm to curl into tight fists at her sides. “Do either of you think I don’t understand how risky this is?! That’s exactly why I summoned a Servant! I’m not going to just stand here and risk losing my mother or Maiya, or letting my brother do everything himself! You’re a terrible mage , Waver, and I should be the one doing this!” Unable or unwilling to stop her rampage, tears of fury welling up in scarlet eyes, she turned to her mother again. “Neither of you are going to stop me from getting involved! I’ve been involved since this war killed my father! ”

She ground her teeth together and dashed past the pair of them in a flourish of silver hair without another word; with an apologetic look, Berserker quickly hurried after her. Irisviel and Waver alike stared at the retreating pair, and continued to stare at nothing as they rounded a corner and vanished from sight.

“...She’s right, isn’t she?” Irisviel muttered in defeat. “But she…she has to understand, doesn’t she? That none of us want to lose her, either…?” Her voice trembled precariously, to which Waver reached out with an awkwardly hesitant hand on her shoulder. Irisviel pivoted on her heel and collided with Waver nearly hard enough to knock him over, arms looping around his waist. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! I wanted Ilyasviel to stay out of danger, not put herself directly in the line of fire. I…what am I going to do?”

Pragmatism was beginning to force its way into his head over sentiment, and he hated that. Yes, Ilya was a more capable mage than he was, to the point that her jab hadn’t even stung in the slightest. She had a better chance of surviving the war than he did, with the right guidance. If they played this with exceptional caution, Ilya wouldn’t get hurt…was what he wanted to say. But that Berserker’s parameters were wrong in a way that couldn’t be planned for, and that was a troubling thought.

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt her so long as I can help it. Saber’s the strongest of the knight classes, and you know I’m always on your side.” he answered with an arm placed awkwardly over her shoulders. “Besides, she has a point; Ilya’s got a long list of advantages over me, and even I managed to live through the war with some help last time. Even if Berserker’s a walking variable, he’s still a Servant. She’ll be protected better with him than with any of us, not to mention Diarmuid and I can’t be everywhere. Considering how things have gone already, the castle might end up needing the extra defense.” Slowly unwinding her crushing grip on his spine, Irisviel pulled back and wiped at her eyes with a small nod. “Look, I know this is…not optimal, let’s put it that way. But I’m her brother at best, not her father. It’s not up to me to tell Ilya what to do and expect her to listen to me–but if you meet her halfway, I know she’ll listen to you. You’re both afraid of the same thing, right?”

“I…yes. It sounds like that’s the case, doesn’t it?”

“Then just let her cool off for a while and then work with her instead of both of you butting heads. See if you can put together some kind of plan that keeps her around the castle and has Berserker here when Diarmuid and I aren’t. Look, I know you’re scared–hell, so am I. But like I was trying to say, what’s done is done and the best we can do is to plan around the unexpected. We’ll be lucky if this is the worst disaster to blindside us, you know that.”

Irisviel took a deep breath–then when that one hitched, she took another. Distress began to harden into resolve, and she gripped Waver’s hand tightly.

“I-I know. We’re going to get through this. All of us.”

“...Yeah.” Waver just hoped the hesitation didn’t come through in his voice, because as he met her determined eyes he was immediately brought back to the question of the Lesser Grail and what would become of it when all this was over. That was something where pragmatism would hold no sway and sentiment ruled his thoughts–because if it truly came down to it, what would he do if saving the world meant proving Ilyasviel’s fears right and losing her mother?

For all his cautious steps and preparation, Waver was no longer able to shake the fear that this whole conflict would be a disaster.

---

Thankfully, the abrupt summoning looked to be the last in a line of too many shocks in too short a time. Upon returning, Maiya told them–with something that nearly resembled a smile–how Saber had shown her a more secure method of tying tripwires. In turn, Saber mentioned offhandedly that Maiya had shown him exactly how to both arm and dismantle a landmine, so it had clearly been a productive break all around in one way or another.

“Can we please just finalize our plan of attack before anything else explodes?” Waver insisted, looking over the map they had initially been planning over. “Maiya was right; we should do something about the leylines. Disrupt those, and the whole ritual’s cut off at the knees.”

“Explosives, you think?” offered the mercenary in question. “I don’t know how much we would need to damage something like that.”

“‘How much do you have’ is how much.” Waver conceded, pressing a hand to his eyes. “To say nothing of how inconvenient their placement is.”

“The town hall, what’s left of the residential district, the Church, and the Ryuudou Temple.” mused Irisviel, tapping a pale finger against each spot on the map in turn. “Of the four, the latter two are going to be the hardest to deal with.”

“And the first is going to be a repeat of last time’s casualties if we so much as twitch the wrong way about it, or worse–if the Grail actually manifests there this time.” Which was the situation Waver hoped was the worst case scenario, yet as soon as he said it he realized ‘the worst case scenario’ was more likely than he thought. Shaking his head to dismiss that line of thought, the mage raised a hand to his head in thought. “Going for the Church first is suicide; we should save that for last.” Presuming we live that long , continued a traitorous thought in his head. 

“The temple is more like a convergence of leylines.” Maiya interjected. “From a magical standpoint, the entire city is centralized around that single point–or it was ten years ago, I doubt that will have changed. We were sure to investigate all four points in the previous war, but I do not know how the disaster might have damaged the residential district’s leyline.”

Leave it to Maiya to be that thorough–or rather, Maiya and Kiritsugu. Briefly, Waver felt distinctly out of place; what must this same table have looked like in the war prior? The same two intensely competent women before him, the King of Heroes likely lounging on a couch draining the Einzbern’s wine cellar, and a famed and feared assassin skilled beyond measure.

A decade later, and he was still wildly outclassed. Waver might have been upset, if he wasn’t comparing himself to the goddamned Mage Killer.

“Do you still have a copy of the city’s layout from back then?” he asked, eyes laser focused on the map. “The leyline itself is likely to be centralized where the Tohsaka house was, but it’s all just empty land now. I don’t want to leave that to a guess and end up being off by half a mile.”

“More than likely it should be in the library, still.” Irisviel spoke up again. “I think that might be the best first option, too. The other three are either too much of a risk to take on immediately, or in the town hall’s case, likely to cause too much damage if done carelessly.”

She was right; even if risking the Tohsaka heir’s wrath was a monumental risk in itself, it ranked a solid fourth on the list of potential calamities and missteps that the other three held.

“Then that’ll have to be my next step. Diarmuid, any objections?”

Throughout this second attempt at a strategy meeting, the Servant had been silently attentive as he stood a few steps behind Waver. Upon being directly addressed, he gained a look of faint uncertainty–for a second Waver hoped he wasn’t about to refrain from questioning his Master, but mercifully an answer came after only a moment of collecting his thoughts.

“Just one concern, Professor. The approach itself is sound to me, but what of the other Servants themselves? Even as a faction without true victory in mind, we will still be under attack from them.”

“Excellent question.” Waver snapped his fingers with the air of…well, a professor that had just been caught having forgotten something. “That’s going to be the most difficult part of the whole thing–we need, at minimum , four Servants to remain alive. Any less, and that will be enough for the Holy Grail to begin to manifest. We have two here, and Assassin’s right out by the look of it. So that leaves just Archer, Lancer, Rider, and Caster.”

“You’re suggesting we offer two of the other Masters an alliance?” Irisviel tilted her head slightly, appearing to think over the most likely classes to benefit from something like that.

“I’m suggesting either we get as many on our side as possible, or we defeat as few as we can until we can destabilize the city’s leylines. Which, now that I say it out loud, sounds…”

“Like you’re flying by the seat of your pants.” offered Maiya in an unhelpful deadpan.

“Correct, but I was going to call it ‘a race against time’ or something that made it sound a little less haphazard.”

A quiet sound caught Waver’s attention once he’d attempted that weak justification against Maiya’s precise assessment; softly amused laughter that made him feel like his heart had been replaced with a live grenade. Looking back over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye he saw Diarmuid with arms folded, a confident smile on his face and a laugh fading like the last warm rays of sunset.

“Very well, Professor.” He straightened up and pressed a hand to his heart, looking directly at his Master. “If it should be your wish to avoid lethal combat until necessary, then it is a truly fitting Servant you have summoned.”

Of course, because what hero was more well-versed in matters of when to use either strength or cleverness? To avoid a fight required just as much skill as to win one, and DIarmuid ua Duibhne knew more about both than most Heroic Spirits that Waver could name offhand. Quickly, he pushed his sunglasses a little further over his eyes and cleared his throat.

“R-right. That’s settled, then. We’ll head out tomorrow; Ilya and Berserker can stay here to keep the castle safe in case anyone gets some bright idea about seeking out an Einzbern Master.”

“I’ll…talk to her.” Twisting silver hair around her hand, Irisviel half-muttered that as their other major conflict reared its head again. 

“And I will find that old city plan.” Picking up quickly where Irisviel had trailed off, Maiya nodded slightly in Waver’s direction. “We’ll stay in touch after you leave and determine what to do with the leylines as we go.” 

It bothered Waver beyond measure that it was already coming down to matters of ‘figure it out as we go along’. But he couldn’t deny they could be in a worse situation, no matter how chaotic things had already been. They knew Assassin was a nonstarter as far as alliances went, but there were two Servants on their own team. Add to that the fact that Kiritsugu had already done what was no doubt thorough surveillance on the city’s leylines, and more than likely had some kind of armory in the castle somewhere…that was a solid enough foundation.

As both Master and Servant left in the direction of the library, Maiya took a step to follow them before pausing and looking back to Irisviel.

“...Think he’s ever going to admit it?”

“Maiya,” she huffed in exasperation, “I don’t even think he knows he turned as red as his Command Spells, now please let me figure out how to speak to a teenager without anyone yelling.”

Notes:

i swear this one felt much longer but oh well, that's probably because i was dragging my feet through it

Chapter 7: Magia

Summary:

i remember you from a dream i thought was truth
you bright with magic, and i blinded by my youth
all I wish is for your hand to hold, you see
only your smile kills the dark in me

Every single hero from every single time, place, and culture would have a different answer if asked how and when it was said the world had begun. Whether written or spoken, inscribed in stone or painted in ink, tales of creation shared only the barebones similarities of ‘first there was nothing, and from it came something’. Such stories had been told and retold, written and rewritten, passed from hand to hand over the whole span of existence that it was long since impossible to know what the truth was. Or for that matter, if there ever was one singular truth on the matter at all.

However it was the world had begun, Diarmuid ua Duibhne expected the indistinct chaos before him was a very likely way it might end.

The sight all around him was unclear, obscured by the mist of a distant memory or unwanted dream. Above was a darkened sky with the light and sound of a golden shape shrieking through the air, circling around some terrible shapeless thing in the distance. At his back was a familiar silvery figure shouting orders in words too indistinct to make out–surrounding them were horrors beyond belief even in this uncertain and unclear sight. Neither insect nor aquatic, they smelled of cloying rot and freshly spilled blood alike. 

‘On your left’, called an unknown voice from his own mouth with panicked urgency. The glow of a thin thread circled around, tangling around into a fountain of what must have been blood from those abominations which surrounded them. The figure spoke something else in urgent words that could not be made out, gripping his hand and pulling him along as a shape like majestic wings spread to cut a path through the hell that stretched before them. A deep dread settled within his heart, the one razor-sharp sensation in this muted and haze-covered environment. It was colored by feelings unfamiliar to a hero; desperation, and the mortal terror of not wanting to die. The person struggling to keep up with the woman who clamped a hand around his wrist–their mind raced in a thousand directions at once, enough to make even Diarmuid feel lightheaded. Watching a dozen possibilities form and falter before them, feeling the helplessness of being backed into a corner and death closing in further with every second.

‘My Servant can–’

“...-er? Saber?”

His head jerked up in sudden and sharp realization; the crystal-clear sight of the stars overhead and the forest outside immediately bringing Diarmuid back to where he stood on the perimeter wall of the Einzbern castle, turning sharply to face the dark-haired Berserker who watched him with what resembled concern in honey-colored eyes.

“There you are,” said the man in the nondescript loose-fitting clothes, mouth turning upwards in a small smile. “Is something amiss, Saber?”

“...No.” answered the knight sharply, pressing a hand to his head. “Did we not agree we would patrol opposite sides of the castle, Berserker? What do you want?”

“I trust the bounded field enough that we should have an abundance of warning regardless of patrol route, should a threat choose to emerge.” The supposedly insane Servant laughed lightly, folding his arms; the gesture served to keep the cutlass and pistol on his belt out of immediate reach, Diarmuid noted. Whether that was intentional or not, he wasn’t certain. “Therefore, I thought I might take this opportunity to clear the air; forgive me for making an assumption, but I’ve the feeling you simply do not like me.”

“You truly must be mad, to ask such a ridiculous question.” he answered, looking over the other Servant in disbelief. He seemed completely earnest, which only served to be more confusing regardless of his class. “Allied or not, it is in a Servant’s nature to instinctively regard the others as enemies to be killed. You truly mean to tell me you feel nothing of that innate compulsion?” Berserker hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head with a frown. Was the untroubled demeanor an act? Surely it must have been, Diarmuid thought. However his Mad Enhancement manifested, an obfuscation such as this had to be some part of it.

“Perhaps I do, a bit.” he answered at length, shrugging his shoulders. “But I would give no credit to it. Your lord is a precious treasure to my Master, and I would not dare to defy my own lady’s wishes. Besides…” The man’s eyes looked strangely yellow in the starlight as they focused on Diarmuid with catlike precision, his smile growing just a little bit too wide and showing too many teeth to be interpreted as wholly friendly. “...you’ve done me no wrong, good sir knight. I would not call a man such as that my enemy unless I had no other choice.”

There could be no doubt, for the distinct chill traveling the length of Diarmuid’s spine knew the truth; no matter how much the Professor questioned this Servant’s capacity, it was a Berserker concealed beneath that amiable demeanor. The winter air had grown thick with the tension of something coiled and dangerous prepared to spring…and then as swift as an ocean breeze that swept away the clouds, it was gone. Berserker’s smile warmed in a genuine manner, his head tilting slightly in questioning.

“...but all that aside, Saber, you looked to be somewhere else entirely a moment ago. Are you sure you’re well?”

The question was foolish enough that it pulled the knight back together from how Berserker’s subtle shift had caught him off guard, Diarmuid finding he gave the issue genuine thought. It was absurd because, of course, Servants were not capable of falling ill. But he conceded that something had briefly overcome him, unsure as he was of what. Sights and sounds that had been indistinct in the moment were now almost gone entirely, vanishing like a dream in daylight.

“You need not ask something so absurd, Berserker. I’m fine.” He was, for the most part. One peculiar incident did not a catastrophe make–was it worrying, perhaps, but not alarming. Not yet, at least. 

“Come now, we’re allies. Perhaps if you lightened up a bit, you would be less willing to kill me.” He strode past his fellow Servant and hopped up onto the waist-high parapet, swinging his legs over the edge as he sat down. 

“Bold talk, for an ally hiding his name.” countered the knight, frowning at his carefree companion. “My own Master clearly sees no reason to hide my own from his companions, and I am in agreement on that front.”

“Ilyasviel is as stubborn as she is brave, I’m afraid she will not concede ground on this. My True Name is to be kept between us unless it becomes necessary to reveal. She’s a remarkable girl, I believe I might count myself fortunate to hold a contract with her.” Berserker looked over his shoulder at Saber, the latter feeling almost as though he were being scrutinized. “But tell me, have you taken measure of your own Master yet?”

Saber frowned at the question; first of all, what business of another Servant was that? Secondly, it mattered very little what sort of person he was contracted to; Saber’s Master was his Master, it was merely that simple to him. One’s feelings towards his lord as a person did not factor into the sworn loyalty of a knight. But for the sake of their alliance, Saber gave a begrudging sigh and thought it over. There was no clear answer to the question itself, not yet; the mage was a difficult man to read. Spoke his intentions plainly, yet appeared to play so many more cards closer to the chest at the same time. For the moment he couldn’t even begin to guess what the professor was actually thinking, and yet neither did he feel at risk of betrayal.

That was your mistake last time , muttered a bitter whisper in the back of his mind that was swiftly ignored.

“...I find him the courageous sort. To survive against Assassin long enough to summon me at all would have taken a strong will and no small amount of bravery, to say nothing of undertaking the insurmountable odds of uprooting the Holy Grail War entirely.” That estimation felt right as Saber spoke the words, but at the same time he realized it was difficult to reconcile that kind of reckless and wild courage to the calculating yet thoroughly exasperated mage. “And it is plain to see he values his comrades highly, else he would not have acted as peacekeeper with regards to your summoning.”

“It’s as I thought, then.” mused the other Servant. “He is unafraid of revealing your name in trusted company, and yet you do not know his own, do you?”

Saber felt his face flush scarlet with indignation and embarrassment both at being caught in such a simple trap. Whether Berserker wanted his opinion or not was irrelevant–he had asked one thing and sought an answer to something else entirely. Bristling with contained fury, he scowled at the relaxed Servant lounging on the parapet.

“What are you implying, Berserker?!”

“Calm yourself, I meant no offense.” Raking a hand through windblown brown hair to make it something almost resembling orderly, Berserker’s relaxed expression took on a note of gravity. “The opposite, in fact. I mean only to impart a word of warning: those who brazenly wear only a title often have more to hide than merely a name.”

Remarkable how meaning no offense usually meant one still took offense, or so Saber might have thought if he weren’t bristling with anger.  

“If you would dare have me cast doubt on my Master, it won’t work-” 

“No, no, of course not!” Swinging his legs back over the parapet and oblivious to or choosing to ignore Saber’s anger, Berserker once again stood on the castle wall with his fellow Servant to briefly clap a friendly hand on the knight’s shoulder. “In fact, I would suggest no more than simple patience. Merely wait to see what sort of man your Master is, if you do harbor any doubts. And for all our sakes, hope he is as valiant as you believe. Now excuse me–it’s nearly daybreak. I promised my lady I would make tea to start the morning off a bit better than yesterday.”

With a cavalier wave, Berserker hopped off the high perimeter wall and vanished from sight; left alone in the stillness between night and morning, Saber stared at the empty space where he had stood. Any illusion he might have been foolish enough to hold that Berserker was not dangerous had now been dealt with. Without a doubt the other Servant was vastly more clever than he let on–he had gotten firmly into Saber’s head in only a handful of words exchanged, and the knight genuinely could not tell whether it was done out of malice. The cautious part of him suspected the interest in his Master was a veiled threat; surely Berserker felt the instinctive animosity between them, and if he could not hope to match one of the knight classes in combat…then the particularly cunning sort would aim to cut their competition’s throat. Ilyasviel’s Servant or not, Saber silently resolved not to turn his back on the other Servant if he could help it.

Which only left him to contemplate the other problem without a clear solution. What had been an already unclear and unfamiliar sight had now vanished like a dream he now struggled to recall–thank Berserker for that, meddling thing he seemed to be. All that lingered was the fading memory of encroaching fear pulling at the edges of a heart wavering between desperation to live and the crushing reality of hopelessness. Heroes were heroes because they did not know such fear in the face of that which could not be overcome by mere humans. Which was to say, the terror and frustration of facing hell and being trapped by a lack of the power to overcome it was…

…Those thoughts and feelings had not been his own. But if that was the case–

Saber pressed a hand to his head, swiftly dismissing the thought entirely. This was the wrong thing to focus on; his Master’s plan sounded precarious as it was, and mistakes were not something any of them could afford. Questioning things–if indeed it was right to do so–would have to come later.

If they were going to surmount insurmountable odds, then there was no room for doubt.

---

“I’ve begun to wonder if your associate in black does not like you all that much.”

Master and Servant departed from the Einzbern castle late that afternoon, after an enthusiastic farewell from mother and daughter alike. Saber had almost worried Ilyasviel might break his Master’s ribs with how forcefully she seemed to hug him. On the entire opposite end, the severe and quiet woman in black had exchanged no more than a handshake with the professor before their departure.

“Who, Maiya?” Walking a few steps ahead on the forest path, the mage waved dismissively with his right hand–the left having returned to leaning on the cane ever at his side. “That’s just how she is. Honestly, she’s practically friendly compared to how things used to be.”

“Did something happen between the pair of you?” Saber inquired cautiously, watching his Master’s back for some kind of reaction. For all his meddling and mind games, Berserker had a point; this man was a complete mystery. It was not distrust, he told himself, but curiosity. There was no harm in the latter, so long as it was not colored by the former and invited disaster as a result. 

“...Not exactly.” admitted the professor after a thoughtful pause. “It’s not a problem she has with me so much as it’s a problem with mages . She can’t stand them, and can’t say I blame her. We’re vile things in a general sense, really.”

“I…see.” He didn’t. That cruel assertion had come so casually, like someone pointing out that of course mosquitos were bloodsucking pests, of course winter’s chill smothered flowers, of course mages were revolting. There was no self-loathing in his words, merely a stated fact and nothing more. It baffled Saber beyond measure, and though he watched his Master in expectation of anything more, there was only taciturn silence. Questioning why mages were apparently vile creatures and why Maiya hated them so much felt to be inviting some kind of truth the Servant was not prepared to understand. So instead he observed silently as his Master walked just ahead, taking measure of the slight irregularity in his steps, glossy black hair in its neat ponytail swaying slightly with the motion. 

It all made very little sense. As they had left the church and again in the aftermath of Berserker’s summoning, there had been flickers of normalcy– humanity , Saber almost wanted to call it. His nameless Master was flustered and frustrated, sarcastic and stressed even as he laid out a plan built on calculated risk. More than that, he had asked Saber’s own perspective and answered the Servant’s concerns without hesitation.

“Will you be alright to walk back to the city from here?” he ventured cautiously. “Forgive me for presuming, it is merely that you seemed to have strained yourself on the way here the other day.”

“It’s fine.” he answered without hesitation, as if to immediately deflect a question he had fully expected. “It’s not a new injury; I know my limits and when to risk pushing them.” At first it sounded like that was all he would say in the usual sharp and short manner he had with his words, but then he turned his head slightly to look back. “...You don’t have to worry about me.” 

So then if that facet of the mage existed, if even now he thought to reassure his Servant, why did he also so adamantly avoid looking at Saber directly? Much as it still bothered him, the knight had elected to consider Berserker’s wait-and-see advice–but at the same time, he was determined to uncover the truth. Curiosity could not be denied, only temporarily dissuaded.

As the pair walked through the forest towards the city’s edge, the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky while the silence was broken by Saber occasionally daring to put forward a question, followed by an answer in the now-expected short but honest wording. Through his Master’s perhaps begrudging responses, Saber learned that Lord El-Melloi ( the second , he had added insistently) had been a teacher at the Clock Tower for several years now, in the Department of Modern Magecraft Theory. Of his students, he spoke only slightly more; particularly a brilliant imbecile, a prodigy in beast magecraft, a girl with jewels for an eye, and an average young man he’d taught to use electricity magecraft. 

“You seem to like them quite a bit, Professor.” observed the attentively listening Servant once the mage’s description of his class was finished. He had stepped a little closer as they traveled, and at an angle nearer his Master’s side he thought he could nearly make out the edge of something resembling a smile on his face.

“Hm…well, they’re not the worst bunch. Usually. Other times I’m amazed the building hasn’t exploded yet.” The mage huffed out a short breath that might just have been some semblance of a laugh. “It’s the rest of the Association that’s the problem.”

That sparked a thought in Saber’s mind, namely the incident of his summoning. He’d seen the enemy Servant, naturally, but it now occurred to him that the only mage he had been aware of was the one now beside him.

“For Assassin to have attacked you before you had even a Servant to defend yourself…tell me, would his Master not have been a fellow mage who recognized you?”

“That’s what I was assuming.” he confirmed, shrugging with one shoulder. “But that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

“You have that many enemies?” Saber fixed a look of confusion on his Master–cold as he was, it was difficult for him to picture a reticent teacher being so reviled as to be assassinated on sight.

“‘Enemies’ is a strong word. That implies some kind of mutual hatred or a blood feud, or something like that.” The sun had gone down as they spoke; eyes still fixed on some point straight ahead, he pulled his sunglasses off of his face in favor of positioning them on his head. “It’s more accurate to say I have a lot of ‘people who fucking hate me’. Assassin’s Master could be nearly any aristocrat I’ve inadvertently annoyed, or anybody they hired to enter the war on their behalf.”

Again he said something deeply concerning with near complete indifference, and again Saber felt no small amount of alarm for several reasons. Not the least of which was how calmly the professor stated that he had no idea how many people were out for his blood, or how little that appeared to bother him. Was it possible this was some facet of what he had meant in his cruel estimation of mages, and why Maiya apparently hated them so much?

There was, unfortunately, no further time to consider the matter. Magical energy hummed in the air, the empty space of the residential district ahead lit by the flashes of sparking metal on metal. Saber snapped to full alert instantly, casual clothes sparking into the cobalt-accented armor in which he had been summoned. At the same moment, his Master nearly swallowed the cigarette he had been trying to light as the atmosphere suddenly changed.

“ Fuck– ” Coughing, he pocketed both cigarette and lighter and focused on the empty land and scattered dead trees ahead. “Saber, take spirit form and stay close. If there’s already a fight going on, the last thing I want is for two Servants to turn on us.”

He found no need to respond, vanishing in an instant and following close behind his Master. The conflict was too far ahead for a human to make out more than shadowed figures and flashes of magic; Saber himself could only see so much. One was a familiar silhouette; a ragged kimono and a thin silver blade. The other was harder to immediately discern…they appeared to hold no weapon at all. It seemed at a glance that the air around him moved in flashes of light Assassin was then defending against, but perceiving much more would take longer than the scant half-second it had been. The professor’s steps were quick, a faint pulse of magical energy being channeled to his legs likely for that very purpose. He moved as quietly as one likely could over a near-barren wasteland, ducking behind a half-broken tree with dead and ashen branches. Either luck was on their side or the two Servants were merely so caught up in their conflict that an intruder had gone unnoticed.

“What the hell are they thinking? There’s no boundary–are either of their Masters even here? ” he whispered harshly, inaudible over the clash of metal to any but his own Servant.

<I don’t see anyone else but them. One is Assassin, of that I’m certain. The other, I don’t recogn->

As the knight spoke, the mage leaned out just slightly from behind the tree to see the two Servants for himself–and instantly, Saber’s thoughts were interrupted by immediate chaos screaming in his head. It was the equivalent of white noise blasted at full volume, the sheer force of it alone nearly throwing him off balance. The sight before him became abrupt flashes marred by a vision half obscured with thick black haze and the mist of a half-remembered nightmare. In the flickers between reality and elsewhere he could make out the skeletons of ruined buildings, the cloying smell of burning corpses and a choking black smoke, and overhead–the crimson sky, twisting into a vortex to rend reality itself like no more than paper. Death itself hung in the air, said some innate certainty that stabbed through his chest like a knife of solid ice. The very beginning and end of the world itself was before his eyes, and no power in all creation could prevent it.

Hell on earth before his eyes lasted only in flickering visions for an instant that felt like hours, Saber briefly reeling in shock and confusion. Was it some kind of psychic magecraft assault? Or-

The choking sound of hitched and shallow breaths stopped him hypothesizing further. In that same second Saber had witnessed something he did not understand his Master had fallen to his knees; breaking out in a cold sweat with his face pallid as ash and shoulders trembling uncontrollably. The mage pressed a hand to his mouth as if he was desperate to stop a wordless scream from tearing itself from his throat on the spot, breathing ragged and irregular from sheer panic.

“It can’t… he can’t …”

“Master–?!” Manifesting with no further regard for stealth, he knelt down at the mage’s side and looked back to try to discern what had just happened.

Before them, the battlefield was littered with countless weapons, deflected by Assassin’s sword or having simply missed their target and been discarded. From golden shimmering air were several more halfway manifested behind the unknown enemy–the glow behind him lit the Servant only in silhouette, and yet that was enough to make out flaxen hair and the shape of loose fitting clothes that were no less ornate for their featherlight appearance, accompanied a single clawed gauntlet upon his right hand.

Clearest of all were his catlike crimson eyes, sharp as an apex predator's stare as they focused upon Saber and his horrified Master.

Notes:

because you guys are so sweet and such a fun engaged audience i'm going to give you an early christmas present of some rushed and half-finished art of 4/5 of the core cast (maiya's taking the picture it's fine)

winks

Chapter 8: When You Were Young

Summary:

you sit there in your heartache
waiting on some beautiful boy to
to save you from your old ways

Catastrophe had a way of irreparably changing the world where it touched. Fire wrought scars, blighted the land, and destroyed all caught in its path in a choking conflagration. On a metaphysical level, places where disaster touched were often stained with the final thoughts of the lives extinguished…and in a place like this, with the mass casualties that burned so many homes and lives out of existence, it made sense that even someone with Waver’s limited magic capacity could feel the weight of the air around them. 

Or maybe that was only his perception, driven by the constant awareness that conflict had already found its way back to what had once been the blazing battlefield where he’d lost everything. Maybe he had felt it on some level, recognizing the sensation of this particular Heroic Spirit’s overpowering magical energy.

Maybe none of it mattered worth a damn, because everything stopped the instant he was able to make out that Servant’s distinct figure and the telltale scattered weapons thrown into the barren ground. Roaring as the shriek of the world’s end was Enuma Elish tearing the sky, or perhaps that was just the sound of Waver’s heart pounding in his ears as he struggled to breathe past a phantom hand of icy terror gripping his throat.

He can’t be here , he tried to say, convincing himself that the plain truth was a delusion. Trying desperately to deny that history wrapped itself in a cycle, that Waver Velvet and Diarmuid ua Duibhne would return to the place of their final defeat to again find an enemy beyond anyone’s skill to defeat. Denying that all his resolve had shattered as easily as glass in a hurricane, left in pieces on the ground while he trembled like a frightened child. 

Death itself took form in the shape of history’s first hero, Gilgamesh. 

Miles away from the white noise and screaming terror in his head, Waver felt a hand on his shoulder–something reflexive in his mind sliced through the fear of death tangled with memories of flame. Some instinct shrieked fight against the panicked desire to give in and die.  

Gilgamesh is too powerful, countered a panicked mind. We’re out in the open and he can vaporize us in two seconds.

So what? He had been in this same situation before; faced even Enuma Elish and survived. It didn’t matter if it was luck or any other factors at work, only that he had done as much. Therefore, it was possible even if the chance of success was only the smallest percentage imaginable. 

I’m afraid. I’m afraid because I don’t want to die and I don’t know how to defeat him.

Waver was afraid to meet his own death; he always had been. To fear mortality was to be human, even simply sensible . He’d been afraid when the sky was torn apart that night on the river, when reality itself seemed to twist and break at the king’s command on that final night. He was terrified the instant he saw the golden Servant now…and was that going to stop him? Was he going to die now and throw away ten years of work, of oaths sworn and promises made just because Lord El-Melloi II was in part still the powerless and cowardly Waver Velvet?

...No. That was exactly why he could survive. Those with immeasurable strength had never known what it was to be weak. Even the King of Heroes had not feared death until he had seen it laid out before him; he had not learned to scratch and claw your way to victory by any means necessary. Which also meant they could not understand what it meant for one to look fear in the eye and know it would not hold dominion over them.

Master, said an urgent voice at his side, and just like that reality washed over like a bucket of ice water. Panic and conclusion alike had taken place in the span of no more than a few frantic heartbeats, the sharp pull back to the present driving home one final certainty.

More than the sum of all his fear and resolve was the knowledge that it was not Lord El-Melloi II alone who would face the gilded specter of his nightmares. Even now at his weakest, there was someone at his side who would protect him against the power to tear down the very stars.

“I’m alright, Saber. Get ready for a fight; don’t bother with Assassin unless he attacks, focus on his target. Don’t hold back–but if you can help it, try not to kill either of them until I can figure out where their Masters are.”

He couldn’t very well expect to lead a fellow knight to victory like this. Shaking his head to clear out the last fading embers of distant memory, Waver curled his right hand into a fist and pulled himself back to his feet, raising his head and locking eyes with the golden king in defiance. For just a split second he thought those crimson eyes sharpened–in annoyance, possibly–but in the next instant Assassin charged again, forcing Gilgamesh to pull a massive axe from his treasury to block the silver katana.

“You again–?!” Assassin caught sight of the pair as he was forced back, taking on a defensive stance. Moralltach and Beagalltach alike were in Saber’s hands already, the knight watching both Servants in anticipation of who would make the next move. He trusted his Servant to stay alert and defend the instant an attack came their way; Waver himself stayed laser-focused on Gilgamesh. Knowing what he was capable of, he could change their tactics the instant it became necessary; Assassin was an unknown variable to either of them, and so he deferred to the knight with proper combat experience. The king stared right back, blessedly without anything like recognition on his face; there was only the faint distaste of being faced with something like an insect invading one’s personal space.

Surrounded by air thick with decade-old curses, three Servants and one mage stared each other down, all weighing their options. This would turn into a two-on-one fight, and everything hinged on who was on which side. Saber could handle Assassin–could possibly handle Gilgamesh, but not both at once. Gilgamesh could more than likely win against a duo of sword wielders, and he wagered that Assassin would stand little chance against either, never mind both.

However, sometimes the least likely option was the one that came to pass. Gilgamesh moved first–but only to raise his head slightly as if listening to something.

“...How distasteful.” he muttered in a voice that still managed to carry far enough to turn Waver’s blood to ice. The mage stood his ground, finger hovering over the switch for the hidden blade in his cane for all the good it wouldn’t do against a Servant. But that was the only action the king took; in the next instant, he was dematerializing into flickers of golden light. The pressure of magical energy in the air lessened (whether in reality or only in Waver’s own perception) and there remained just one Servant on the field.

…Wait, one?

“Where’s Assassin?” Waver hissed, head snapping around to find where the other Servant had gone.

“I don’t know–I took my eyes off him for only a second, did he turn to spirit form-”

“Lord El-Melloi. I was hoping that was you.” interrupted a third voice that Waver immediately turned to face, holding a hand out low to the ground to signal Diarmuid not to attack yet. In slow steps across the cold ground a mage emerged from the shadows, in simple clothes with flashes of gold and gems worn at his throat and wrists. Long golden hair spilled over one shoulder, ocean-blue eyes glittering in the moonlight as they focused solely on Waver.

“ The second. Always a pleasure when our paths cross, Galliasta.” countered the professor, in a sharp tone that indicated it was never exactly a pleasure. 

Internally his mind was already racing. Before them stood the head of the Galliasta bloodline–Atrum, a man Waver often found more of an annoyance than an outright threat. But that was the Clock Tower and this was the Holy Grail War, where ‘threat’ became something with a much wider definition. He frantically rushed to put his thoughts in order; though the bloodline was barely established in the Association, it was one with considerable financial backing to it. It was not impossible for someone such as him to secure a catalyst linked to Gilgamesh, but had he?

“You don’t have to look at me like that. I might start to think you hate me.” He laughed, running a hand through blond hair and pushing it from his face. “I went to a lot of trouble and spent a good deal of money to get here, you could at least be grateful we can meet as fellow participants from the Association.” Atrum gestured with both hands as he spoke, and as he held his arms wide Waver could just make out the sharp multi-pronged shape of Command Seals on the back of his hand.

“So that’s your Servant, then? I shouldn’t be surprised.” With that vague wording, Waver calmly took a cigarette and lighter back out of his pocket. Assumptions would hurt more than help, and it was always easier to lay enough rope for a particularly talkative mage to hang himself. Atrum was no different; as confident as they came, practically infallible in his own eyes. Not a unique quality in the Association, of course, but an exploitable one.

“Tch-” Much to Waver’s surprise, Atrum rolled his eyes and put both hands on his hips. “I wasted so much time and resources chasing a catalyst with no results, but I wasn’t about to give up. Even if it means being stuck with the least powerful Servant class; who cares? I’m more than enough to make up for it.”

Assassin was his, then. That explained a great deal; the swordsman could have taken off Waver’s head without a word that first night, but that was not the case. If his Master had been a mage essentially issuing a challenge to what he saw as a rival, then a little light maiming was practically par for the course.

“Don’t boast like that, it’s childish.” Waver sighed a thin trail of white smoke, keenly aware of Diarmuid a step away coiled and ready to strike at so much as a twitch in the wrong direction. “You should be able to compensate for faults without complaining.”

“I am compensating for it. I won’t just assume victory as a matter of course, that’s the mistake your predecessor made.”

“No arguments here,” acknowledged Waver, shrugging. “We know those older aristocrats make up for their genius with not an ounce of common sense. Kayneth was the poster child for the flaws and failings of the Association’s old guard.”

“But you-” Atrum continued with a smile that might have been friendly had his eyes not looked quite so sharp, “You and I know better. I would have been disappointed if I hadn’t run into you in this war, defeating you would be a victory I can take pride in.”

“Then why are you standing there talking?” Waver smiled, and in it was nothing but a wild spark of rebellion. “Don’t you have some opportunistic saying about a knife?”

“ Blade , your lordship.” corrected Atrum, a hand on his hip. “If you have a blade in your hand…then swing. ”

The stagnant air exploded into instant chaos. On Waver’s left, Assassin appeared from shadow like the specter of death and swung his katana in a streak of lightning; on his right, verdant and cobalt carried a scarlet blade slicing the darkness.

It lasted no more than an instant, the dust settling around the two mages as stillness returned. The samurai’s katana just barely pressed against Waver’s throat, a thin trail of blood traveling down to his collar from where steel bit into skin. Yet past the cigarette in his mouth that wild smile shifted into a defiant smirk, edged with something victorious.

“...You flinched .”

Moralltach had halted barely an inch from Atrum’s neck, the mage leaning on his back foot with hands raised ever so slightly in apprehension.

Of course Waver feared death. But he feared death in cataclysms beyond human reckoning, death caused by immeasurable power that was not preventable no matter how one clawed for survival. He feared Gilgamesh, feared the sight of endless conflagration, feared failure . Assassins, however? He dealt with assassination attempts at least monthly, and that was if he was lucky.

He did not fear other mages, and in this instant he did not fear anything with Diarmuid by his side. The split-second decision to force their enemy into a stalemate rather than cut down Assassin on the spot had been magnificent. They couldn’t very well afford to take another Servant off the board just yet, but neither Assassin nor Atrum knew that. To kill a Master would spell death for their Servant, therefore Assassin’s hand was forced just as much as Saber’s. Both had to stop where they did, else the Grail War would be over for them in mutually assured destruction.

“Let’s not play games tonight, Galliasta. If you want to fight me, fine. But look around; an Assassin versus a Saber, on an open field with next to no cover? Don’t insult your talents by coming to me unprepared and disadvantaged.”

The enemy Servant’s one visible eye flared with bloodlust, mouth twisting into a vicious snarl. 

“Hey…” the samurai hissed, “...you mockin’ me? Think you’re some hot shit, you scrawny little–” The blade’s pressure on his throat increased by a microscopic amount, its owner’s control of the weapon that of a master. But in response, Beagalltach joined its partner’s silent threat–the golden blade’s tip pressing against a spot pinpointed between Atrum’s ribs.

“... Enough , Assassin.” Waver wouldn’t admit satisfaction with how the confidence had drained out of Atrum’s voice, but there was some relief in hearing the concession. 

“Saber. Stand down.”

Slowly, the katana was drawn back from Waver’s neck as Moralltach and Beagalltach were both lowered; the two Servants turned and went back to their respective Servants, with Assassin shooting Diarmuid a furious glare that went deliberately ignored.

“Okay, Professor, you have a point there.” It was difficult to sound nearly as self-assured when one was visibly sweating, but Atrum was making a respectable effort of it. “But you know that means you’ll have to keep looking over your shoulder until we settle this. Next time we fight, I expect a good showing.”

“Fine with me. Don’t waste my time or yours, Galliasta.” 

With a final smirk, the other Master turned to leave with Assassin begrudgingly vanishing into shadow. Of course, he knew better than to expect a sneak attack after that standoff–Waver simply watched him leave, and the ruined land around them descended into the stillness and silence of a graveyard. Flames of adrenaline faded to the chill of reality, Waver letting out a slow and shaky breath as he crushed out his cigarette underfoot. That was too close on several fronts, and they now had Gilgamesh to contend with at some point. This whole excursion had been a colossal waste of time; there was nothing they could do now but withdraw lest any other sharp-eyed enemy stalking Fuyuki tonight get some bright ideas.

“Professor, you’re wounded-” Diarmuid’s voice brought Waver out of his irritated thoughts, the mage suddenly aware of a stinging pain in his neck.

“Huh? Oh…” He raised a hand to his throat, and though the cut was superficial, his fingertips came away stained with blood all the same. “It barely even hurts, I’ll be fine. For now, let’s just…” Trailing off, his thoughts became stuck on the rush of the night’s events like cloth catching on thorns. Why had Gilgamesh retreated so suddenly? What the hell was he going to do about having to fight Gilgamesh in the first place, and what kind of Master would he have to deal with in the process? So much happening in what felt like an instant was making his head spin, that irrational panic threatening to creep back in and overwhelm him. Maybe if he called Irisviel, then they could make a plan to counter him with Berserker and Saber both; that would be a safer strategic choice in case it did come down to a life or death battle. But even if that could be managed, it left Atrum and his Assassin as less of a problem, but still a problem . What approach would be the safer bet, to track the King of Heroes down or-

“Master.” A careful touch placed on his shoulders interrupted an impending spiral of overwhelming thoughts, and Waver again found that voice calling him back to the present moment. His head cleared to see Diarmuid right in front of him; starlight illuminating a look of crystal clear worry from furrowed brow to uncertain frown. Blinking in muted confusion, the mage tried to ask what was wrong and came up with nothing. Now that the immediate danger had passed, the initial problem of that icy jolt of fear had still left a massive shock to his system that he was floundering to recover from. 

“Forgive me for saying so…” Diarmuid continued in a gentle tone, worry turning to a hesitant smile. “...but you don’t look well. We should regroup and see to that injury for the moment. It would be a better course of action than remaining in the open.”

“I…” Waver struggled to find his voice, once more unable to look away from the knight whose hands now rested on his shoulders. Diarmuid looked genuinely concerned, and his Master wondered just how pathetic he really looked to the Servant right now. Thoughts were spiraling at a pace Waver couldn’t catch up tol, overwhelmed by disaster after disaster landing squarely on his shoulders while he did all he could not to collapse beneath the weight.

It was an impossible task. All he was accomplishing right now was running himself straight into the ground. If this kept up, he’d make mistakes–critical ones none of them could afford.

“...you’re right.” he conceded at last, almost certain he saw Diarmuid sigh in relief. “Let’s…let’s withdraw for now. Please.”

With the mask of ‘Lord El-Melloi II’ beginning to crack and take with it the practiced approach of confidence laced with madness, ‘Waver Velvet’ was left struggling to find the ground beneath his feet when faced with the careful balancing act of accomplishing the impossible. He was going to have to pull himself together very quickly, in a situation that would allow him no time to do so and the exhaustion of too many restless nights crashing down around him.

…All he could do right now was to rely on the Servant he trusted without question.

Notes:

one of these days i'll plan ahead and/or be satisfied with the end result of a chapter when i post it

ain't today tho

Chapter 9: Lament of Orpheus

Summary:

hear, o gods, my desperate plea
to see my love beside me

“I told you, Diarmuid, I can handle it myself-”

Upon review, Diarmuid found he did not fully grasp what had transpired tonight. What he had witnessed in sudden flashes lingered with him as smoke on singed clothes, and yet he could find neither rhyme nor reason in the sight. So too was his Master’s reaction a mystery. Was it the same mental white noise that had caused his reaction, or had something about the mystery third Servant truly terrified him so badly?

Very few of his questions were answered, and many more had been raised. While he hesitated to consider that exactly ‘progress’ it was still a half-step in a good direction. At present, the thoughts in the forefront of his mind were largely ones of concern. His Master had been uncomfortably silent the entire way back; not even a single sound of complaint at the height of the rooftops and streetlights they traveled between. One less pressing question had been answered with clarity; his Master’s eyes were the muted green of a meadow beneath a sky that promised rainfall. He had looked the professor straight on and been met by a stare that was simply lost , that of a mind racing so fast the gears ground together and threatened to overheat. Even though his Master had begun to come back to himself somewhat, it still left his Servant scrambling to figure out what he was meant to do in response.

Regardless, as the two sat opposite one another he caught the professor’s chin in one hand mid-complaint and tilted his head back slightly, neither knowing nor questioning why the act cut off the mage’s sentence in a sharp breath with an audible hitch.

On the floor beside them laid an open first aid kit, Diarmuid reaching for bandages with his other hand.

“I must insist you hold still for just a moment. And please try not to speak, you may make this bleed more than it already has.”

The professor had gone as still and silent as a scruffed cat; Diarmuid could not be certain if that was out of anger at an obstinate Servant or something else, but the possibility worried him no matter how necessary he felt it to step slightly out of line. As he saw to bandaging the cut left by Assassin’s blade, the mage’s pulse under his hands made it seem as though his heart was about to burst from his chest–was he still that tense from such a brief conflict?

“Forgive me for having overstepped.” Diarmuid offered in what felt like an uncomfortable silence, “But your safety is absolutely paramount, and that was…dangerous.”

“It’s…it’s not like I can very well dodge a Servant. Backing down served no purpose.”

“True enough, but even that other Master was startled enough to react on instinct. Were you not?”

“Why would I fear something like that?” came the immediate reply, as though the mage were almost annoyed at being asked a foolish question. “One way or the other, you would have stopped him. I wasn’t in any danger from Assassin.”

Diarmuid’s hands lowered from his Master’s neck, replaced with one of the professor’s own as he ran restless fingertips over carefully applied bandages. The knight waited one second, then two…at ‘four’ he appeared to realize he was fixed with his Servant’s incredulous stare, swiftly finding a fascinating blank spot on the wall to fixate on.

“Wh-what? What is it?”

“You trust me so completely?” Diarmuid heard himself ask with something in his voice that was caught between ‘wonder’ and ‘doubting the man’s sanity’. “To place your life in my hands, without hesitation?”

“Shouldn’t I?” A response that again carried with it the tone of well, obviously . If he was truly annoyed with the question, Diarmuid couldn’t be sure. 

“No–I mean, yes , of course, I only…” Of course a Master should entrust their life to their Servant’s blade, and so in turn would the Servant protect them with everything they had. Diarmuid ua Duibhne was far from an exception to that–he was the very definition . There was no threat he would hesitate to defend his lord from; Master, Servant, or even apparently the Grail itself, if things unfolded as the group seemed to believe it would. In that respect, he was thrilled to know he had been found worthy of that trust.

But traitorous creeping uncertainty took root only in that he had thought his Master to be colder than that trust would necessitate being, or so it had seemed. The professor was a man who faltered in sudden mortal terror, then snapped back like a bent branch to lash out with sharp defiance. Who could taunt an opponent even with the edge of a sword held to his own throat, and stand on a foundation as shaky as a house of cards once the threat had been dealt with. He expressed such unfaltering trust in the same moment he continued to refuse to look at his Servant directly; contradiction after contradiction continued to pile up, and the knight had no way of determining what was real about him and what was some kind of façade for whatever reason.

“Diarmuid.”

…Didn’t he? 

His Master spoke only his name, but that alone snapped his attention back from scrambled half-sentences and scattered thoughts. The mage replaced dark sunglasses on his face and brushed a few loose strands of long black hair over his shoulder all in one smooth motion of a Command Seal-emblazoned hand before closing the first aid kit with a click ; the latter a none too subtle way of diverting his gaze yet again, Diarmuid noted. 

With green eyes hidden and downcast both, his voice had shifted in a way that was difficult to define. Gone were the sharp tones tinged by faint annoyance, and in its place was something quieter.

“I want to encourage you to question me, if you doubt the choices I make. The only thing I don’t want you feeling like you need to question is this: my trust in you is implicit. You are…”

The mage trailed off with the slightest hitch to his words and tremor in his rigidly held right hand–imperceptible for another human, but crystal clear to the sharp eyes of a Servant. While that instant’s hesitation made little sense, it gave Diarmuid the ability to put a name to the strange note in his Master’s voice, because he had heard himself speak in much the same way-

“...you are my knight.”

-the wistful words of one who spoke about a home to which they could no longer return.

Diarmuid hardly dared to breathe. Time itself slowed to near stillness, the moment itself as fragile and delicate as glass. Even if his Master would not look at him, the knight stared as if transfixed by the sudden honesty–and honesty was the only word that suited it. The hardened lines worn into his face by exhaustion and scowling had faded to something gentler, an expression colored by nostalgia the depth of which Saber could not begin to measure or understand. It was not the directionless confusion his lord’s face had carried following tonight’s conflict, but similar in how very human it was in quality. This sincerity was no facade, of that he was sure. It was so open and honest that it sent a dull ache through the Servant’s chest for reasons he could not assign a name to.

Could the matter have been less complicated than Diarmuid had convinced himself it was? Not which part of him was real , but what was…’sincere’ felt like the better word. It would be a difficult line to learn to draw, but surely he would be able to see it with a little more time. One thing was abundantly clear: when it came to what kind of person his Master truly was, his mind was set at ease. Whether he was summoned by a kind or cruel lord would ultimately change nothing of how readily he answered to them, it was obviously preferable to be sworn to the former. In this, he was certain; no coldhearted Master would make such a declaration, least of all with so gentle an expression.

“...What? Wh-why are you staring at me?”

Diarmuid blinked, and time fell back into its pace. His Master’s face had turned a light shade of red, sunglasses pushed more firmly into place with a look of irritation.

“It is nothing, Professor.” he answered, trying and failing to hide the small smile playing across his face. “I only wanted to commend your bravery in standing your ground; you did well tonight.”

Having been in the middle of getting to his feet to leave, the professor briefly seemed to lose his balance in what must have been surprise at those words, quickly standing upright with a white-knuckled grip on his cane. He seemed prone to reactions like that, Diarmuid noted–he wasn’t certain of why or what caused him to be caught so fully off guard, but it was something to keep in mind. His face also seemed to be turning a darker red; maybe he’d embarrassed the professor somehow.

“I’m-” and his voice was colored by something oddly strained now, “-I’m going to see if I can rest for a couple hours. We can go over everything else later; there’s a lot to discuss, but hopefully nothing else will explode. Try to keep an eye out until then; I doubt Galliasta’s going to start anything else tonight, it’s the others that worry me.”

---

‘You did well tonight.’

Those words ricocheted in his head like an angry wasp trapped in a bottle, slamming against the walls with a deafening drone in an enclosed space. Like hell he had. He’d nearly fallen apart the second he’d seen Gilgamesh, nearly fallen apart again the second Galliasta and his goddamned Assassin disappeared, he was pathetic. Nothing had been accomplished, they hadn’t even pinpointed the leyline to be dealt with. 

‘So do me a favor and don’t be so hard on yourself’, echoed Waver’s own voice from ten years before; in the same place for the same reasons. The door clicked quietly into place behind him, and silence descended in the dark room.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

What kind of sick cosmic joke had he ended up playing on himself? This was all wrong , a twisted echo of the way things had once been. Someone who had died in his arms was alive and well–but not the same, never the same again. No less kind or patient but with a streak of assertive confidence that felt like looking at a reflection only ever so slightly distorted. Of course he trusted Diarmuid with his life. Of course Diarmuid was his knight, loyal beyond question.

But he wasn’t Lancer. ‘Lancer’ no longer existed, just as Waver himself had confirmed when Irisviel had tried to warn him. He had been so sure that the absence of those memories wouldn’t influence anything, that he could trust Diarmuid with his life no matter what. The latter was true. The former was not; while it was no tactical disadvantage, that lack of memory was a dull knife slowly being driven into the mage’s chest.

‘Become the valiant lord that I know you are. And if ever we meet again-’

So then the problem wasn’t with his Servant, regardless of class, but with Waver himself , or with what he had become. No matter how he convinced himself he was different from most Association mages–even if he was –the fact remained that he had grown into the sort of wretched aristocrat his younger self would have reviled. And that was what he would need to be, lest this pathetic mess of sentiment kill them all. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down again like he had done tonight.

Keeping his Servant at arm’s length was better for everyone, the pair of them included. It was safer. That way if things were to go disastrously wrong, Waver convinced himself, it would hurt just a little less the second time around. More importantly, Diarmuid would never have to realize the complete disappointment his former and current Master had grown into.

On shaking legs, Waver slowly lowered himself to the floor; his head was spinning and he felt abruptly ill, chest aching and breath catching painfully in his throat. Something burned in his eyes and sent his vision into a blurry haze–no, he couldn’t start breaking down. Not now, not until it was all over one way or another. He pressed both hands to his face and made a desperate but vain attempt to stop his shoulders shaking through will alone.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m selfish and cruel, and I’m sorry you were called by someone that doesn’t deserve you.

Later, once silent tears had been shed against his will, Waver would notice the small bird wrought of blue sapphire sitting on his desk atop a folded piece of paper–a mage’s familiar having snuck in through a window, bearing a short message in elegant handwriting. Regardless of if he was prepared or not, the Holy Grail War had begun in earnest. And despite what his traitorous heart chose to linger on, all Lord El-Melloi II could afford to care about now was whether it could be stopped.

Notes:

i don't know how in the hell spaces keep getting snuck in after italics but i simply can not be arsed to fix it at present, i'll go back and work on correcting that manually

eventually

Chapter 10: Aspirations

Summary:

if our times, they are troubled times
show us the way
tell us what to do

2:36am
i know it’s late. archer’s catalyst. you sure it’s still in the castle?

 

2:40am

I looked for it with Maiya after you left, in case we needed it. It’s in a trunk in my room right now.

Why?

 

2:45am

what was it?

 

2:46am

Fossilized snakeskin. Grandfather claimed it was from the first snake to ever shed its skin when he handed it over to Kiritsugu.

Waver, what’s wrong?

 

2:53am

i’m ok. there’s something i need to look into. i’ll get back in touch with you as soon as i can. thanks irisviel.

 

<Professor, you look pale–are you sure this can not wait until daybreak?>

“Absolutely fucking not, and if someone else wants to fight me tonight I’m going to knock them clear into the river.” Waver answered sharply, pocketing his cellphone and continuing on what had been an abrupt excursion no more than an hour or so after they had returned home in the first place. He had only even told Diarmuid the bare minimum of the situation: that a mage had sent a message intended for him. In a very familiar elegant hand had been written no more than an address–an unspoken demand of where to meet and an absence of stated time meaning ‘as soon as possible.’ 

Exhaustion and ache in his leg be damned, he was going to walk half the length of Fuyuki to get there because he’d need the time to cool down rather than bite the sender’s head off on sight. 

<Was this an enemy challenging you to a fight?> asked his Servant’s voice in his head with the same caution one might have when approaching a feral cat backed into a corner.

“No.” Of that, he was certain enough. Enemy, no. Headache, yes. Waver’s grip tightened on the handle of his cane to the point of sharp pain shooting through his hand. “But if what I think is going on is in fact going on, one of my students is about to be in detention for the rest of her natural life. ”

---

Fortunately, the given location wasn’t difficult to locate. Closer to the Church than Waver would have liked, but set a little bit back into the forest’s edge and overgrown with plantlife made the modest three-story mansion a less than conspicuous place. It looked abandoned at first glance, and that was good enough to hide in plain sight. The air held a brief but distinct static hum as he stepped closer–or rather, as he walked into the boundary field. Once that threshold had been passed, Waver was sharply aware of a distinct magical energy he’d already sensed once tonight, and again it made his blood run cold.

“Master-” Manifesting from spirit form, Saber spoke up in a cautioning tone; of course he would be vastly more attuned to that sensation than a human mage, especially an unskilled one. At his side in an instant, the Servant was already bristling the same as he’d done at Berserker’s presence alone.

“I can sense it too. Stay alert, but follow my lead and don’t expect a fight.” After a brief moment of thought and an old recollection, he added, “Especially if you’re provoked into one.”

Saber had given him a strange look at that, Waver was sure, but he already had a hand on the front door. It creaked open at no more than a touch, and within the ground floor was coated in the dust and disrepair of years of neglect. 

“She’s really outdone herself.” he muttered under his breath. “Even if someone did stumble through that barrier, this place looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. Bet you anything the second story’s where she’s actually living.”

To fight in such an enclosed space would benefit most Servants exactly none, which only served to confirm Waver’s assumptions as to why he had been called here. Yet the sure fact that this wasn’t about to be a battle to the death was little comfort. The fact that someone of his limited capability could sense that presence meant it wasn’t being hidden all that much past the boundary laid around the building by a skilled mage.

Even if he couldn’t recognize the sensation itself, that kind of arrogance called only one Heroic Spirit to mind.

I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of him.

Of course he was. A raving mad Lancelot could have crashed through the window at that very instant and Waver wouldn’t have been half as afraid of that as he was of Gilgamesh, who could tear apart heaven and earth while barely even breaking a sweat.

But that wasn’t about to stop him now. So long as Saber was with him, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Waver slowly let out the breath he had been holding in the dusty air and made his way upstairs, hearing his Servant’s steps barely a second behind him. Just as he’d suspected, the second floor was another matter entirely; clean and the halls dimly lit by the occasional candelabra, it practically screamed with the energy of the Clock Tower in a way that Waver wasn’t sure was reassuring or annoying.

“Can you tell where he is? She’ll be in the same place, no doubt.” The persistent magical energy was more like a directionless sense of dread to someone like Waver; everywhere all at once with no way to pinpoint the source of it. The senses of a Servant would be able to see what he couldn’t, following the haze of power to its source. And as he had presumed, Diarmuid focused for only a matter of seconds before giving a small nod and gesturing to a door on their left.

Best to just rip the proverbial bandage off. If he hesitated now, Waver might actually have thought about what he was doing and why it was insane. Instead of doing something as silly as all that, he tapped lightly on the door with the end of his cane twice–as barely a formality, because he practically threw it open in the next second.

The room was a simple but sophisticated parlor furnished with multiple chairs and even a small table, embers smoldering in a fireplace at one end and the dim blue light of extremely early morning streaming through the several windows at the far wall. Faintly worn by disuse, but looked after by its current inhabitant, elegant was once again the only word that came to mind. And elegant it had to be, for what less would she ever accept?

At a table neatly set for four sat two individuals, each with a cup of tea as if it were simply the most natural thing in the world. One, a man in a loose dark blue shirt who flicked catlike eyes over to the arriving pair as though he had just found a thought rudely interrupted. The other, a young woman in red with long hair tied by two black ribbons, and it was this one who looked directly at Waver from over her teacup with aqua blue eyes and a thin smile. She set the cup down with the faintest clink of porcelain, gesturing to the other chairs.

“I was expecting you a little sooner.” she proclaimed with all the air of royalty pardoning a terrible crime.

“ Tohsaka. ” said Waver by way of greeting, his own tone of voice sounding like ‘you’re in deep shit’ was supposed to follow that. The last place on the planet he wanted to be was ‘anywhere near Gilgamesh’, but they were too far to back down now. He crossed the room in quick steps, the pair of them sitting to join the other Master and Servant. Rin Tohsaka glanced over to Saber with something akin to curiosity on her face, and Waver was sure he could feel Gilgamesh’s eyes on him at the same time. He didn’t dare look to be sure.

…This situation was uncomfortably familiar, but right now that earned only a passing thought for how immeasurably livid he was.

“Would you mind telling me,” he started once he was sure that temper was under control, “what the hell it is you think you’re doing here? ”

“Participating in a Holy Grail War.” she answered matter-of-factly, clear that she thought the question absurd. “Caster, this is Lord El-Melloi–and you’re a lot more polite in your letters, Professor.”

“It’s ‘the second’ L–wait, Caster? ” Then and only then did Waver look at the King of Heroes directly; while he still bore ostentatious gold accessories, something about his demeanor was…off. He hadn’t even so much as spoken a word yet, and the prevailing emotion on his face now seemed to be disinterest rather than the vicious disdain Waver had taken it for.

“What? Is my face that entrancing, lowlife?”

…On the other hand, that was unmistakably Gilgamesh.

Waver pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his head before pressing both hands to his face with a deep sigh. This night is never going to fucking end. If not one problem, then ten others–but he swiftly collected himself and leaned back in his chair with folded arms, again focusing entirely on Rin even as he spoke again.

“Saber, this is Rin Tohsaka. She’s one of my students, or will be once she finishes high school.” In his peripheral vision he saw Saber offer a polite if awkward smile, and if ‘awkward’ wasn’t the lightest possible term for what this situation was becoming, Waver didn’t know what was.

“Let’s start over. Like I said: what do you think you’re doing? ”

“And like I told you ,” Rin countered with a sharp note of annoyance, “I’m participating in the Holy Grail War.”

“Does your mother have any idea you’re here?” The question practically sounded casual in how unhesitatingly it had been thrown out, and yet by how those blue eyes widened it was clearly a fatal shot in itself.

“Wh–” The teacup Rin had barely begun to raise again was set down so harshly it almost sounded as though it would break, Waver finding himself the subject of a glare both flustered and offended. “I’m an adult-”

“You are seventeen. ” interrupted Waver sharply, even as Rin raised her voice in an attempt to talk over him.

“-and I can handle myself! Caster is-”

“The least subtle Heroic Spirit known to all mankind.” he cut in again. “How long do you think you can maintain secrecy in any form with him as your partner?”

The pair of Servants watched the rapid back and forth between Rin’s mounting fury and the professor’s repeated fatal blows to unforeseen arguments; Saber trying very hard to hide how uncomfortable he found the tension in the room, and Caster not even remotely bothering to conceal amusement.

“That’s nonsense.” Rin scoffed, raising her teacup again. “No one would ever guess his true name at a glance.”

“Gilgamesh.”

“ How-?! ”

“Excuse you, mongrel?”

“What."

Ignoring the three stares leveled at him–two stunned, one indignant–Waver merely shrugged.

“I’m not that bad with mental interference thaumaturgy. And your mental shielding needs work.” Both true statements, if completely irrelevant to how he knew the truth. She didn’t have to know that.

“That’s impossible!” Rin shot up out of her chair, hands slamming down on the table hard enough to make the porcelain rattle. “There’s no way you could have read my thoughts that easily!”

“Then how did I know , Tohsaka?”

The question was impossible to answer, Rin’s face flushing the same vermillion as her sweater in what was no doubt a mixture of rage and embarrassment. That was fine; her reaction only proved his point. Rin Tohsaka was at seventeen a more capable and powerful mage than Waver Velvet at twenty-eight. More so than he could ever be even if he had a thousand years to practice and refine his skills, in fact. But she was quick to anger and quicker to bad decisions, which was the entire reason Waver tutored her outside of his own classroom. Said classroom already contained Luviagelita Edelfelt, and when the two locked eyes it was as if they held an instinctual need to come to physical blows no matter the place or time. The only way he could teach the pair of them and trust that his lecture hall did not become a smoking crater was to simply do so separately.

Despite the immeasurable and impassable difference in their magical power, Rin lacked what Waver possessed; experience enough to temper one’s impulsive tendencies. With any luck, she’d learn and grow out of that particular nature. Maybe he’d even be able to see the two girls in the same building without feeling his blood pressure spike.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do,” he continued, calm in the face of her fury, “but it isn’t safe or feasible. Especially not at your age.”

But for now, she was essentially a reckless child. Younger than Ilya, and he had made his stance on her own summoning of a Servant abundantly clear. This was much the same: a mage with her power paired with a Servant like Gilgamesh could be beyond ‘force of nature’ into ‘guaranteed victory’, if this war was one in which victory meant anything at all. His pragmatic side was grateful– abundantly grateful–that the King of Heroes was contracted to someone that had a vested interest in keeping her teacher alive rather than cutting his head off on the spot.

But she was no less a child , and the part of him that could not be coldly pragmatic recoiled at the thought of her fighting in this war just as he did with Ilya. Perhaps even more so, knowing Rin didn’t have someone like Irisviel keeping as close an eye on her. Aoi Tohsaka was not a mage herself–there was only so much she could do, especially if Rin had turned around and run off to do something like this after likely giving some cover story.

“What do you think I’m ‘trying to do’, then?” she asked through gritted teeth and a smile that would have looked more at home on a shark. Good, she recognized that flipping the proverbial game board wasn’t going to get anyone anywhere. Maybe she did listen when he tried to teach her, after all. But similarly, Waver recognized he had to tread a little more carefully. Provoking her–even if he knew damn well that question was one she needed to be asked–was not going to end well for any of them.

He took a slow breath and leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on the table. A slightly more cautious approach was necessary, even if it necessitated a few educated guesses and a lot of assumptions. He was confident enough that his logic held, but whether it was right or wrong would be a deciding factor in how tonight ended.

“I remind you, it was you who approached me first. You requested to join my class, and I allowed it. But that isn’t something I do simply because someone asks. I have two necessary qualifications–do you know what those are?”

“They have to have power.” Rin answered tersely, lowering herself back into her chair while staring Waver down like she wanted him to burst into flame.

“Close. Power is part of it in a way, but they need potential first and foremost. If someone has no hope of improving or no will to attempt doing so, then I’m not wasting their time or mine. But that is the primary qualification, and you both met and surpassed that more than most students I’ve taught. You don’t need me to tell you that you have every chance of being an immensely powerful archmage as you get older.”

“I don’t, no.” she confirmed. Of course not; Rin was well aware of the kind of power she possessed, to her benefit and detriment alike. “What’s your point, Professor?”

“My point is the second qualification I adhere to. Without exception, every single student past and present that I have ever accepted was one that no one else would take.” Seeing Rin’s eyes widen in mounting fury again, he continued quickly: “Think about it. Edelfelt? Wildly volatile, and that’s on a good day. Forvedge? The second choice heir with no aptitude for his line’s signature magecraft. Hell, Escardos has been through damn near every other teacher in the facility before ending up with me. I know how people talk in the Clock Tower, and you’re smart enough to realize the same.”

Saber had leaned forward slightly in rapt fascination, while Caster slouched with one arm over the back of his chair. Rin and Waver stared directly at each other, each sharply and completely focused on the other.

“The Three Families are all but finished. Tohsaka and Makiri alike collapsed ten years ago, and god only knows what became of the Einzberns.” Wisely, he had never asked Irisviel for details on what happened to the main house–the less he knew, the safer they were. But with their Lesser Grail and backup plan having both gone rogue, he could venture a guess that they were in just as dire straits. “To the Association, the previous Tohsaka heir allowed the land under his jurisdiction to be completely ravaged by a disaster of a ritual, and then died before he could be taken to task over it. All that’s left is you, and what little of Tokiomi’s wealth and knowledge survived. So you signed your name to a conflict between mages much older and more experienced than you, looking for whatever foothold you could to claw your way back up carrying the Tohsaka name on your back. But your talent and the fact that you summoned a winning card from the outset are both only going to take you so far. What do you think happens if something does go wrong? You want your mother and sister to be left behind again?”

That was a step too far, and he could see it on Rin’s face; in how her entire body stilled, mouth pressed into a thin line with the faintest trace of a brief glow of magic beneath her left sleeve. Maybe she was thinking about shooting a point-blank Gandr at him–with her power and the fact that he was barely more than arm’s length away, he’d die on the spot. Waver practically felt Saber go tense, but the mage simply shook his head. Even Rin wouldn’t attack him on impulse, no matter how angry she was.

Or so he thought, until an open palm cracked across his face hard enough to knock his sunglasses off. His hand snapped out to catch them on reflex, even with his vision exploding in hazy starbursts and ears ringing for a few very long seconds. Reinforcement magic , he realized. The same kind he used to keep himself standing upright, she utilized to make a very clear point.

The room faded back into existence to the sound of Gilgamesh snickering beside Rin who had again risen from her chair with tears of pure rage pricking at the corner of her eyes. Saber glared daggers at the other Servant, hands in white-knuckled fists and clearly prepared to launch himself clear across the table.

“...Okay. I deserved that one.” Waver conceded, hoping he just imagined the taste of blood in his mouth. “But I don’t hear you correcting me, either.”

“I don’t hear you offering anything helpful, Lord El-Melloi. ”

“The second.” he corrected automatically, straightening up and replacing the glasses on his face. 

“Shut up. Do you want me to just quit? Marry some rich noble and produce another Tohsaka heir? Or maybe you think I should contract an outsider for help like the Archibald house did.”

She was trying to provoke him in turn, and Waver knew that. Unfortunately it came very close to working and probably would have, if he wasn’t so used to a teenage girl trying to irritate him for fun.

“I will warn you once and only once to leave Reines out of this.” he cautioned in a voice coated in ice. “And god , no. You’d be wasted on something like that. The point I’m driving at is actually simple: what if I told you that you could help eliminate a cataclysmic threat rooted in Tohsaka land?”

Idly rubbing a hand that was turning bright red from the impact, Rin seemed to lose some of her own edge at the question. That, or she was satisfied with the similar mark that was no doubt the reason Waver’s face felt like it was on fire.

“Of course,” he added, “it’s the kind of thing that’s risking death, a Sealing Designation, or both. Then again, if we play it off very cautiously, we might just be able to earn you a little bit of that lost prestige you’re after, if that’s what you want so badly.”

Which was true, if unlikely. The probable situation (assuming the Grail was destroyed) was that everyone involved was killed. At minimum, just Waver himself was dead or worse. But if he had Rin on his side, the chances of surviving the immediate future skyrocketed. And if he could spin the ideal results the right way, then it could be taken as the heir to the Tohsaka house preventing untold destruction that would certainly betray the existence of magecraft to the world at large.

…Realistically, that wouldn’t be a problem for long if the worst happened, since he presumed the resulting cataclysm would also destroy the world at large. But that was a detail the Association wouldn’t need to know. It would take some heavy lifting and a lot of lying through omission, but it was not impossible.

“I’m listening.”

And just like that, a miserable night started looking like it hadn’t been a complete waste.

---

There were things he couldn’t say, not in front of Diarmuid or just in general. Even if Rin was one of his students and therefore an ally, Waver would outright die long before he ever willingly gave up Irisviel or Ilyasviel; in matters of their safety he was just as hypervigilant as Maiya. And in a more personal respect, it would be a cold day in hell when he admitted to having participated in the previous war, especially after reading Rin the complete riot act for doing the same at a similar age.

Many of her questions were met with ‘I just know’ or ‘I can’t tell you that yet’, and while he could see Rin growing more and more irritated with every sidestepped inquiry, he was unflinching in his refusal to give more than what was necessary. There had been a disaster at the conclusion of the Fourth War, the Grail was somehow responsible–flawed, broken, whatever the reason, he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know for certain.

Daybreak had begun to crest the horizon by the time Waver’s explanation was finished, first rays of pale morning sunlight brightening the mansion’s windows.

“That’s why you were in the middle of nowhere earlier tonight.” she observed idly, lost in thought. “The leylines lead directly through there, and you wanted to break the whole ritual’s magical foundation.” Rin shook her head, frowning critically at Waver. “But the leylines are protected by Tohsaka magecraft, you can’t just blow them up . You would have to pinpoint the location of the protection spell’s keystones and destroy them, then take proper control of them.”

…It was probably a good thing he learned that before telling Maiya to find some explosives.

“Should I take the fact that you’re telling me that as you being willing to go along with this?” answered Waver, opting to focus on that rather than his own glaring misstep. 

“I don’t care about the Grail.” huffed Rin indignantly. “Or maybe it’s better to say I don’t have a wish for it to grant. But it’s my right as a Tohsaka to compete-”

“You are no less seventeen than you were when this conversation started.”

“- and ,” she stressed, ignoring Waver’s flat remark, “as a Tohsaka, I can’t very well leave something like this alone. It would make me look bad if my teacher had to step in and take care of something that’s well within my ability to handle.”

Typical Rin Tohsaka; confident to the point of absurdity and beyond it. This was a matter of personal pride for her, and with that in consideration it was only natural she would work with him.

“That is quite the declaration,” spoke the voice that set Waver’s nerves on edge, Caster having leaned his head on his hand with all the appearance of a bored and lounging cat, “but your precious teacher is quite selective with his information. If my Holy Grail is so terribly defiled, I would know why. And I would hear exactly how you know so much, including my own true name.”

Logically, Waver knew no one else at the table could hear his teeth grinding, but it felt deafening in the silence that passed as he tried to formulate a response.

“If I might,” and much to his relief Saber spoke up first, “I do not find how my lord came by such information to be of importance in the face of all else there is to contend with. But if your pride is wounded by so minor an imbalance, perhaps we can set such a thing to rest.”

<Master?>

It was a clever deflection, if a risky one. Waver knew what was being asked the instant his Servant’s voice made contact, and the answer was an easy one. He might not have been able to play every card at his disposal, but that didn’t stop Saber from running interference.

<Go ahead, it's probably only fair.>

“Minor imbalance?” echoed Gilgamesh with a laugh bordering on genuine amusement. “Did you hear that, Rin? They think themselves even close to standing on equal footing to a king. But very well, I’ll entertain the foolish idea. What have you to offer that would excuse your Master’s impudence?”

“I am Diarmuid ua Duibhne, first blade of the Fianna. Dispensing with such secrecy on both sides is surely enough of a concession to prove our intent, do you disagree?”

It took an immense amount of effort to repress a smile at the way Rin’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling upon hearing the response Saber gave without a shred of hesitation, but seeing Gilgamesh’s crimson eyes widen in an honest expression of surprise made it a lot easier. Of all the reactions Waver had expected, that one came as a legitimate shock. The arrogant King of Heroes, even for a brief second, caught off guard in a way that was disarmingly human? He almost found it reassuring in a twisted sort of way. Archer would never have been caught dead looking like that.

“...That’s enough, Caster.” Shaking off her own surprise that the other Servant had appeared to give his true name freely without so much as a blink from his Master, Rin appeared willing to concede Gilgamesh’s far too valid point for the moment. “I don’t intend to let him off that easily, but I wouldn’t have the Professor as my teacher if he was stupid. Showing that much of his hand is fine, for now. Although…it’s quite presumptuous of him to do as he likes on Tohsaka land.” She looked to him with a smirk, Waver pressing a hand to his head.

“You want there to even be Tohsaka land by the time the dust settles?” He sighed, shaking his head and pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket. “Look, I can’t spend all day convincing you, and I’m not going to pressure you into deciding one way or the other how to proceed.” 

It was better to leave the metaphorical ball in Rin’s court; she wasn’t someone that could be pushed into anything without making it look like it was her own idea to save face. Such was the pride of a mage, especially a Tohsaka. Reines was no different–worse, if anything–so it was a delicate dance he was used to. 

“Think it over if you want.” Waver stood up and placed the folded paper on the table. “Here’s the location I’m staying and a spare key to get in–it’s not much, but it’s better than being alone in a run-down place like this.”

“I could just kill you in your sleep, if you make it that easy.” Which was, in fairness to Rin, a correct observation. Or it would be, if there was any chance she would come away from this as his enemy.

“You’re not stupid enough to kill your own benefactor, Tohsaka.” he pointed out, turning to walk towards the door with Saber a step behind. “The door’s open, so whatever you do, just try to stay away from more trouble than you can get out of.”

Which he knew was a request like asking fire to cool off. His students one and all were magnets for trouble in various forms, and in many ways Rin had the potential to be the worst of them. With his walking nightmare at her beck and call, Waver anticipated things would only be that much more difficult.

---

Twice now he’d seen the way mages interacted, and Diarmuid was only slightly closer to understanding much of anything about it. With Atrum Galliasta, it had seemed like delicate steps taken on a blade’s edge, where the slightest misstep would mean disaster. With Rin Tohsaka, it looked to be something far more informal and far less patient. Like a long admonishment from an exhausted parent to a rebellious child; then again, if this was truly his Master’s apprentice, perhaps that was far closer to the truth than anything.

As for his Master himself, they were beyond the bounded field and out of sight of the mansion before he began to relax incrementally. The tightly wound tension and frustration began to give way to a visible exhaustion, and given how much had transpired over the course of a single night, it was a surprise the mage was still standing. 

Master, I have a question.” But immediately expressing concern, he surmised, would be brushed off in the professor’s dismissive way. Instead, Saber began with the other thing that was bothering him: “How did you know Caster’s true name?”

Unsurprisingly, there was no immediate response. The professor adjusted his sunglasses with all the restless unease of a man who felt he was under intense scrutiny; he opened his mouth and then closed it again while trying to form a satisfactory answer.

“It’s…look, I don’t want to lie to you and I won’t keep secrets that would put any of us in danger. If Tohsaka hadn’t contacted us, I was going to tell you his name as soon as things settled down. But…listen, Diarmuid, there are some things I just need you to trust me on for now.” 

That was a far cry from the flat ‘I can’t tell you’ he had given Rin when questioned on specific matters of the Grail, if the end result was still the same refusal to elaborate. Something about it bothered Diarmuid in a way no more easily described than ‘vague discomfort’; it was not a matter of trust, but the awareness that there was a glaring blank space in his own awareness of the situation. That was a critical weakness in matters of strategy, and even while trusting his Master to bridge that gap himself, it felt wrong to be so unaware of something that felt critical.

Those who brazenly wear only a title often have more to hide than merely a name, said Berserker’s voice in his head, the memory unbidden and unwanted. 

“I do trust you, of course.” No matter what Berserker wanted him to think, of that there was no question; this was his Master. Saber would have to sort out that unease on his own, and keep a close eye on the situation as it stood–hopefully, that would be enough.

“For now, we should head back to the castle. I need to talk to Irisviel-”

“No,” Diarmuid heard himself object without thinking, and before he knew it his hand was on the Professor’s arm to stop him from walking further. He froze in his tracks under the Servant’s touch, and though the knight knew he’d flown past the line of what was acceptable for a Servant…the result would be worse if he backed down. The mage was obviously running on fumes and had been since they returned from the conflict with Assassin as well as his Master. “Forgive me, but we have been out all night. It’s past sunrise, no one will be fighting in daylight. With the utmost respect, my lord, you need to rest.”

Impudence or not, it was the right objection to make. If the professor kept pushing himself, they were both going to end up at risk; a Servant with a faltering mana supply, and a Master liable to make critical missteps. He was sure the mage knew that, and that assumption was confirmed when he pressed a hand to his face with quiet cursing. Not at Saber–not that he expected as much, but directionless frustration was a little better than anger at a rebel Servant.

“Fuck. Okay. Fine. Let’s head back and hope Tohsaka doesn’t kick my goddamned door down ten minutes after we get home.”

The concession was enough, he concluded. Confirmation that just maybe his Master needed a somewhat firmer insistence from his Servant–even if only in a matter as simple as taking any care of himself whatsoever.

Notes:

gonna level with y'all don't be surprised if some characters get less focus than they probably deserve, i am winging this wholeass thing and the cast's a little large to juggle correctly right now. this issue will only worsen with time and i don't want to accidentally write something the size of les miserables so roll with it and i'll do what i can

'do you even have a full plot outli-' kinda. it's fine. don't worry about it.

i'm just gonna line up all these nice guns on the wall and we'll see which ones go off later

Chapter 11: Losing My Religion

Summary:

the lengths that i will go to
the distance in your eyes
oh no i've said too much

10:42am

good news and bad news

 

10:43am

In that order?

 

10:43am

good news is the tohsaka heir is caster’s master. she won’t be a threat, or at least not one that’ll kill me. told her what i knew about the grail but nothing about any of you. let me handle rin for now, she can be a handful

 

10:48am

It’s Gilgamesh, isn’t it?

 

10:50am

that would be the bad news. or the excellent news, from the perspective of strength alone. i thought it better you knew ahead of time, if she does end up working with all of us rather than just me.

irisviel?

 

10:55am

Can she be trusted? If you’re wrong, he might be too powerful to overcome.

 

10:55am

volatile or not, she’s still one of my students. rin won’t be a threat, and i can only hope it follows that caster won’t be either

assassin’s master on the other hand could be a problem. i can handle it, but if something goes wrong and you don’t hear from me by tomorrow morning, assume the worst case scenario

 

For a moment that seemed as though it was the end of it, and Waver dragged a pillow over his face in exhausted resignation as well as an attempt to block out the late morning sunlight through the window. Diarmuid was right, he was beyond exhausted even after managing to sleep for a few hours; if anything he almost felt worse. Tonight was likely to be just as difficult as the night before; Atrum and his Servant were a risk he didn’t want to leave alone, and handling it one way or the other promised to be a headache at best. Another hour of rest wouldn’t change that, so-

The thought was interrupted by the insistent buzzing of a vibrating phone, Waver fumbling for it with the irritated groan of one who dearly wished he was not awake.

“H-”

“You know I don’t like it when you talk like that.” Irisviel, of course, with the softly admonishing voice she tended to take on whether heels were well and truly dug in. “You and Maiya both, you don’t have to be so matter of fact about putting yourselves in danger.”

“Would you rather I didn’t say anything?” he answered hoarsely before clearing his throat for some semblance of humanity. “I don’t think just going radio silent out of nowhere would make you feel better.”

Waver knew that was harsh, and he regretted being quite so blunt as soon as the words left him. But there was no move to soften the answer, true as he felt it was.

“No, it wouldn’t. But I don’t understand why you’re…” She trailed off with a discontented hum, Waver sitting up and pushing his hair out of his face in the silence that followed. Something about this felt off , and he wasn’t quite awake enough to piece together what it was.

“Irisviel?”

The lack of response stretched out a little longer, soft breathing the only proof anyone was even still there.

“I hate this.” said Irisviel at last in a nearly inaudible admission. “We’re turning the castle upside down for some scrap of information the Einzberns might have brought over and forgotten. Anything that would help us understand what happened with the Grail or what to do. But we haven’t turned up anything, and you’re risking your life while we’re digging through the library. None of us want Ilya to fight, and I don’t think either myself or Maiya can support a Servant well enough to participate.” Her voice hitched sharply, frustration leaking out with no regard for how she tried to hide it. “There’s nothing else we can do , not without risking everything falling apart.”

“Do you think I resent you for that?” was the evenly delivered reply. Silence passed again, but only briefly before Irisviel spoke with all the trepidation that came with asking a question when one feared the answer.

“... Do you?”

“ Seriously? ” Exasperated, Waver pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one another in person, but I’d hope you know me better than that. I’m not a hired mercenary here because you told me to be, I’m your friend fighting for both your reasons and my own. Of course I don’t resent you. We can’t risk you getting hurt, and I don’t want you to even if it wasn’t a matter of practicality.” Whether they addressed it or not, the safe assumption to make was that Irisviel was still a vessel for the Lesser Grail. Having her remain closely guarded and in the castle was the correct choice to Waver, and he knew better than to think Maiya would disagree.

The silence felt heavy, Irisviel taking a slow and deep breath as if preparing herself to speak of something she would have preferred not to. At least, that was Waver’s best guess–there was something else going on here, even if he couldn’t figure out where the root of this problem had taken hold.

“...What’s this really about, Irisviel?”

“Ah-” The startled noise told him that had interrupted a thought, and Waver silently kicked himself for not waiting. “It’s…” A brief pause, in which she seemed to collect herself. “...It’s not a matter of tactics. Come by the castle tomorrow when you have time and we can talk.”

Tomorrow , an offer made with the silent request of ‘survive tonight’.

“You don’t have to worry about me-”

“ I’m going to anyway. ” she insisted with a sharp edge to the interruption. “You may call yourself my friend, but so long as Ilyasviel thinks of you as a brother, you’re family to us. And you’re going to be treated accordingly, whether you like it or not.”

The shape formed by the family of both Einzberns and their sworn protector was one that had ever seemed to be missing a vital piece, something having been torn from it too soon and without warning. Although the jagged edges of that absence had slowly smoothed out over time, the damage remained. To presume he could ever fit in that hollow space left behind–to ever dare think it could be truly fixed at all, such was cruel beyond comprehension and madness beyond belief. The truth of that fact made it easy to fall into a trap of seeing himself as separate from that entity entirely; an outsider intruding upon somewhere he did not belong. ‘Friend’ was as far as he was willing to go, Ilyasviel’s insistence notwithstanding.

Maybe that estimation had been wrong all this time.

“...I’ll be there, Irisviel.” he conceded at last. To assume the worst was a disservice to himself and the people relying on his success–it was unnecessary worry for those who cared about him. “Tomorrow.”

---

If the previous vision could be called ‘indistinct’, this one was incomprehensible. More mist than solid, more dream than reality, more forgotten than remembered. The colors and shapes were reminiscent of a house–something that might have been a window, a chair, a table–but there was so little of substance that it was impossible to see detail. Only somewhat clearer was the woman before him: tall with sharp features, long chestnut brown hair hanging straight down around her face and shoulders. 

“Why not? ” demanded an insistent voice from his own mouth, frustration colliding with a childish petulance in his head. “What’s so wrong about the Clock Tower?”

“I know you want to study magecraft, but the Association is nothing like you think.” Eyes of storm gray focused on him, with an exasperated sigh. “It’s not the kind of place that suits people like us. People will look down on you and think you’re weak because of the quality of our family Crest, and nothing you accomplish will change their minds.”

“I don’t care about any of that!” countered the insistence of someone who refused to consider ramifications in the face of their current goal. “If I have a talent others don’t, it’s my responsibility to study and improve it as much as possible. Where else am I supposed to study except the Clock Tower? If they think I’m weak, I’ll prove them wrong no matter how long it takes or how hard I have to work.”

“Inheriting my Magic Crest is your right, and I won’t withhold it.” The woman frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose before dragging a hand down her face. “But you’re still only fourteen. In a couple of years, we can talk about what you want to study and where.”

It was the sort of placating gesture given by a parent buying time to formulate an appeal to reason for a child who had very little. Which was seen for exactly what it was, given the huffed sigh that left him in return. But the concession was accepted, however begrudgingly. He folded his arms and frowned right back, stubborn as any other teenager who had well and truly dug his heels in and decided he was right.

“Yes, mother.”

---

This was beginning to get disorienting. Diarmuid wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been staring at nothing in particular in the kitchen, mind in a place and time no doubt distant from Fuyuki and the war. While he now harbored a very strong suspicion as to why such things kept playing out before him, to thread the visions together into something coherent took skill and knowledge he lacked. The fire and chaos, the all-encompassing terror of death, the mundanity of a child demanding to study magecraft, all mismatched puzzle pieces Diarmuid could not assemble. Could it be that he was wrong, and these sights were unrelated? If it was the insidious attack of  a mage or Servant strong enough to break through his magic resistance, then his Master would have to be told about-

“What time is it?” half-mumbled the professor’s voice from the door, followed by the sound of a jacket being dropped over the back of a chair.

“Shortly after midday, Master. Are you–” Diarmuid turned as he said that, and found his doubts swiftly corrected by no more than the sight of the mage before him. Tall with sharp features, black hair left untied and hanging straight around his shoulders–no, now there was no question.

He looked just like the woman in that vision–just like his mother, and there was no way for a Servant to know that unless it were his own Master’s memories he had borne witness to.

“I’m fine now-...Diarmuid? What is it?”

He’d been staring, a realization that came far too late. There was no way to explain what he was thinking; prying into his secretive Master’s past was an intrusion that wouldn’t be easily forgiven. If such sights could not be prevented, then the best option was to keep the matter closely guarded, a secret taken to the grave and wiped away with the rest of a Servant’s memories.

“Oh...forgive me, it’s nothing.” he said quickly. The professor gave him a strange look but thankfully didn’t question further, giving the knight a chance to swiftly change the subject with an embarrassed laugh. “I fear the knowledge bestowed by the Grail is insufficient–despite my best efforts, I was not quite able to determine how to make coffee.”

“Here, I’ll get it.” Moving to the kitchen in a few uneven steps, he reached past Saber who stepped aside to let the mage do as he would. He still looked worn down, but pushing any more than the knight already had was asking too much. Instead he simply stood back and leaned against the counter, watching his Master in pensive silence. If those hazy visions were truly his memories, what kind of unspeakable horrors had he been through up to now, and why?

This contemplation lasted as long as it took for the mage to set out two cups of coffee, dropping into a chair followed by his Servant. Running a brush through long hair to untangle it, he finally spoke: 

“We’re going to have to deal with Galliasta and Assassin tonight. I want that resolved sooner rather than later so it’ll be one less factor to account for. Are you prepared for a fight?”

“Of course.” That much he could say without hesitation and even a note of excitement; it would be a lie to say he didn’t want to fight, when conflict finally did arise. “What is it you are planning?”

“Something direct. I’m going to send him a message requesting a meeting–if we can get him on our side somehow, great. I’m not exactly optimistic on that front, but I’m also not stupid enough to write it off immediately. I’m going to send him a message requesting a meeting; once I get a better handle of his intent, we’ll proceed from there.”

“That’s-...” He quickly cut himself off, but the bitter taste of the objection nearly raised was difficult to ignore.

“...Go ahead.” The brush paused as his Master’s hands stopped moving. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He had been outright told to question his Master already, but the words were still difficult to navigate without stumbling. “I am…not sure how I feel about arranging such a meeting under false pretense. You would seek to essentially lead him to believe you wish to confer with him while hiding a knife behind your back?”

His Master said nothing at first, setting aside the brush and folding his hands on the table. Meadow-green eyes were focused entirely on Saber for a change, but now there was none of the lost uncertainty to his gaze; the look on his face had frozen over with an icy severity and razor-sharp determination. 

“Diarmuid, I need you to listen to me, because this is important.” Each word chosen carefully, in the same dance of cautious severity that had earned him a slap in the face from Rin Tohsaka. “I know this isn’t…great, as plans go. And I recognize you have every reason to hate it.”

Saber answered with a slight nod, saying nothing of what he felt on the matter one way or another. It was unnecessary for him to elaborate; there was no question in the Servant’s mind that the mage knew exactly why that bothered him. 

The only thing lower than betrayal itself was betrayal concealed by a hand offered in friendship.

“If I could afford to operate by a code of chivalry all the time, without exception, I would–or I’d try to, at the very least, I’m not exactly perfect.” his Master continued, briefly averting his eyes in what almost seemed like embarrassment before focusing again. “...But I can’t. The Association is nothing like you might think; it’s a vicious, cutthroat organization that runs right over those seen as weak without an instant’s hesitation. If I conducted myself in a manner suiting a knight and expected others to do the same, I would have been dead years ago. Mages don’t play by any rules but their own, Diarmuid, and to expect otherwise is to show weakness that can’t be afforded. I so much as blink the wrong way, and Galliasta will gladly tear my throat out for what little prestige that’ll get him.”

It was Saber’s turn to avert his eyes, gaze lowered to the table between them. His Master had already made no secret of what he thought of other mages; vile aristocrats with no sense. Even with that clear picture drawn, Diarmuid couldn’t grasp a society that was truly that awful, and with that thought came the dawning realization that it was not something that could be understood through anything but firsthand experience. 

It’s not the kind of place that suits people like us, spoke a near-forgotten memory.

Did you have to learn what she meant for yourself? Saber himself didn’t dare put the thought to words, but the weight of it pressed heavily in his chest.

“If you object that much,” his Master continued, “then we’ll figure something else out. I don’t know what , but I won’t force you to go along with anything you don’t want to. I-”

“No.” the knight interrupted, raising his head to meet the professor’s eyes. “If this is what you believe to be the best course of action, I will follow you. You are my Master, and I will trust in your judgment. You need not concern yourself with Assassin; if the time comes, I will do what I must to contend with him.”

He didn’t like the plan by any means, but unfortunately the argument was compelling. Presuming to know anything about mages and how they operated was foolishness. Better to simply ignore the distaste for such a strategy and fulfill his own role, reminding himself that sometimes less than honest acts for honorable means were simply necessary. What else was there to be done? There was (yet again) too much he did not know that his Master apparently did , and while that trust would go a very long way where the knight was concerned…there was only so much even he could withstand passively without question.

---

Truthfully, he felt sick to even make the suggestion. Was it the logical course of action to effectively trick Atrum Galliasta into a meeting while planning to kill him on the spot if it became necessary? To a mage, of course it was.

To Waver Velvet, sitting across from a knight who had been betrayed and tricked into his own death, it was disgusting. But it simply couldn’t be helped; if he wanted to be a step ahead and survive, the cutthroat approach was needed desperately. On top of that, there wasn’t a single doubt that Atrum would think exactly the same as soon as he received a message asking for a meeting. If he was being honest, Waver would consider it lucky if either of them lived through this. It would likely come down to who had the stronger Servant–and in that regard, he had nothing to fear.

“...Might I ask you a personal question, Professor?”

Diarmuid finally spoke again while Waver was tying his hair back into place, and though he froze briefly from surprise he made every effort to recover quickly enough that it wouldn’t be noticed.

“Sure, go ahead.” Even if he dreaded what was coming, he couldn’t very well deny the request.

“Assassin’s Master spoke of your predecessor, and I’ve noted your insistence in correcting people on the matter of your title.” ventured Diarmuid cautiously, even unaware of the veritable minefield the topic was. “I was only curious–if you are the second Lord El-Melloi, who held the title before you?”

Waver slowly lowered his hands from his hair, brushing a long ponytail back over his shoulder. Behind a look of what he hoped was passive calm, his mind was caught in an unfortunate snare trap: entangled in how much he hated talking about this exact thing and the supreme irony of being asked that question by the man who had–in another lifetime–cut him down in one strike.

“My teacher.” he admitted, quickly running through a thousand explanations and picking his words with exceptional care. “Spiritual Evocation was my chosen field of study as a student, and Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi was a highly accomplished professor at the time. For good reason, to be sure–he was a genius in the field of magecraft if nothing else.”

Waver hid a sidelong glance at literally anything else in the room behind a cup of coffee, but still managed to catch sight of Diarmuid tilting his head in silent inquiry. Sure, it made sense that such a thin answer wouldn’t be sufficient when it came to one’s curiosity, but that didn’t make him like the subject.

“...I inherited his title a few years back because the real heir to the Archibald line was a child at the time–Reines Archisorte. I offered her my help in putting the line’s affairs in order, in exchange for Kayneth’s title and teaching position.” That information skipped a vital step in the order of events, Waver silently hoping it would go ignored.

Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask don’t-

“What became of him?” Diarmuid asked.

God damn it.

There was a sudden and distinct ache in his right leg that Waver was sure he only imagined (for now, at least), restlessly twisting some loose black hair around his hand. Officially, Kayneth was only known to have died in the Fourth Holy Grail War, and that was all that was confirmed knowledge. There were few who knew enough about a stolen catalyst to blame Waver correctly for incorrect reasons–Reines and Sola-ui, mostly–but no one lived who knew the truth of that night in the forest. No one but Waver, and he had never spoken of it since the war’s ending. Not to Irisviel, not to Reines, not to Shishigou, not to anyone.

‘All you are is a tragedy, Waver Velvet, and a cautionary tale about what happens to those who don't know their place!’

…He preferred not to think about that night, and if that meant the truth died with him, so be it.

“He died suddenly; not an unusual thing for mages, especially those with political power.” True on both counts, enough so that he didn’t even falter in speaking. “It isn’t exactly a tragedy to me–we didn’t get along. I’d guess he crossed the wrong person and paid for it.”

Also true–even if the wrong person he’d crossed was Lancer more than it was Waver.

“...I see. But why request his title if the two of you weren’t close?”

“The same reason anyone does damn near anything; I wanted the power his title came with. Apart from that, I wanted to be a teacher and the position was obviously open.” Another truth, this one much less conditional. “What I told Tohsaka was honest; in a place as stuck up and elitist as the Clock Tower, somebody has to take the students no one else wants to bother with.”

“Were you that kind of student?”

Waver blinked and looked at Diarmuid feeling as though he had just been the recipient of a sucker punch, and by the wide-eyed look on the Servant’s face as he raised a hand to his mouth it was one that had been thrown completely by mistake.

“I-forgive me, professor, I did not mean t-”

“No, it–it’s fine.” The pair of them both falling over their words, Waver quickly shook his head and forced himself to recover first. “I…I guess you could say that. I don’t come from a family with any nobility like Tohsaka and I didn’t do anything remarkable when I was in Kayneth’s class, so making a deal with Reines was the only way I could get anywhere.”

There was a very strange look on Diarmuid’s face, Waver realized. It was hard to put into words, but something about it looked like he had come to understand something his Master was yet unaware of.

“...What?”

“Nothing, my lord. I would only seek to understand our enemy more clearly; Servants are far simpler to contend with than modern mages.”

Wasn’t that just the truth. Waver exhaled a breath that was half sigh and half derisive laughter, pulling himself to his feet. Better to quickly escape this conversation while he still could, rather than have to dance around a very difficult and uncomfortable subject.

“Let me worry about the Masters, especially Galliasta. And I’ll let you handle Assassin.” Other mages he could handle. Enemy Servants would have to fall to DIarmuid to protect him from so he could contend with his own opponents. “If we’re in agreement on how to proceed I’ll go write out that message. I know damn well he won’t keep me waiting, so I’m sure we’ll be heading out tonight. Make sure you’re ready, and I’ll do the same.”

Diarmuid looked to his Master as though there was something more he wanted to say, Waver dreading what might come next in the few seconds of silence that passed. Much to his relief, the knight merely broke out into a slow but confident smile, pressing a hand to his heart.

“As you wish, my lord. I am at your command, whenever you are ready.”

Notes:

sorry for a bit of a wait and an abrupt chapter ending, this stretch is a little awkward to divide up neatly

by way of apology have some bonus art

Chapter 12: Glory and Gore

Summary:

delicate in every way but one
god knows we like archaic kinds of fun
chance is the only game i play with, baby
we let our battles choose us

To the head of House Galliasta,

In my capacity as representative of the tenth head of House Archibald and authority as one of the thirteen Lords, I request an audience with Atrum of House Galliasta regarding the Fifth Holy Grail War under the assumption that both houses would be better served should conflict between us cease. Should you be amenable to this offer, reply with a location and time that we might speak in person. I look forward to your reply.

Lord El-Melloi II

They certainly would be better served if conflict ceased, but Waver knew damn well it wouldn’t happen. He’d sent out the brief message with no more than a simple bird familiar; tracking down Atrum would take time, but such was thankfully not difficult magecraft. And it gave him enough time to prepare for what was in his mind certain to be a fight. Civility be damned, it was a challenge with a paper-thin veil and Atrum would recognize it as such in an instant. He wagered the other Master would want to meet on his own battlefield like any sane person would when given the opportunity to choose, which meant Waver would have to be that much more well-prepared to fight him.

… To kill him , he mentally corrected himself while putting a stopper into a vial of enough powdered minerals to explode with a little magical energy and concussive force. He’d learned in the years since fighting Kayneth; Waver’s alchemical weaponry would not fail now as it had then. Saber wouldn’t fail to cut down Assassin, either. The question remained, then, if Waver himself could do what was necessary. Obviously, he’d been in plenty of life-or-death fights and survived them to live this long. Such was normal for a magus, especially a lord. Particularly a lord that was perhaps less than well-liked. 

But he’d never killed anyone. Either Lancer had struck the decisive blow in his place or (as he grew older and a little bit smarter) he talked his way out of the worst of it. Waver had been very lucky for a very long time, as mages went. There wasn’t a single adult mage he knew without directly spilled blood on their hands, and probably a few kids with more of it than he wanted to think about.

Shaking his head, Waver started on another vial: a simple flashbomb this time in an attempt to set his mind at ease. He couldn’t afford to think like that, or to hesitate. Galliasta would not offer the same basic regard for human life, and such was right for those who sold their souls to the Mage’s Association. As much as he hoped this could end in surrender, it was suicide to hinge any strategy on a faint possibility like that. Assassin’s sword had already gone for his throat twice, and Waver wasn’t going to assume he’d get lucky a third time if he dared let his guard down.

“Master?”

“ Shit-” Waver jumped at the sudden voice behind him, losing hold of the vial in his hands and scrambling to catch it. The glass container of volatile chemicals slipped out of his grasp–and thankfully, landed in Diarmuid’s outstretched hand. Letting out a sigh of relief, he took the vial and swiftly pocketed it before turning fully to his Servant. “ Warn me before you do that, I didn’t hear you coming.”

“My apologies, professor.” Remarkable, how difficult it was to fully hide a stifled laugh when someone was right in front of the amused Servant trying to conceal it. “I only came to tell you that your familiar returned bearing what I can only assume is a reply.”

…Sure enough, on a second glance the sparrow Waver had sent out was now sitting placidly on Diarmuid’s shoulder, making for a picture that would have been comically ridiculous if the professor weren’t so on edge. He took the offered slip of paper and unfolded it, looking over the written words in slight confusion.

“That doesn’t make sense–isn’t this location in the middle of the city? Don’t tell me he’s gone and set up his workshop in plain sight like that…”

Surely he hadn’t been fool enough to take Waver completely at his word and expect this to be negotiations for a truce or even an alliance? Inviting another Master straight to what was sure to be his base of operations? Galliasta wasn’t stupid, and not arrogant enough to presume a civil meeting after their last encounter. This was more complex than that, something he should have expected. So then, no doubt it would turn into the pair of them in a standoff. Clasping hands in friendship on the surface, then gripping hard enough to break bone. The arrogant master of Assassin was no doubt thinking the exact same, and he would hold the advantage on his own territory.

“...Professor?” inquired Diarmuid, causing Waver to realize he’d trailed off into silence for nearly a minute now.

“I think I have a plan.” he finally said, eyes still lowered to the neatly written address. “We’re not going into an enemy’s base full-tilt guns blazing, only a complete idiot would try something like that. Take spirit form so he doesn’t see you hanging around me, but stay close and keep an eye out. Assassin’s likely to have Presence Concealment, and that may be his greatest advantage. He could come from anywhere at any second; if and when he does, I need you to be a step faster. Get him in a one-on-one fight, and he won’t stand any chance against you. Right?”

“Exactly so, my lord.” A sharp and bright smile was the confident answer, like sunlight off the edge of a sword. “What is your plan of approach?”

“Just what I said–I want to talk and try to understand what Galliasta’s aim is here, this whole thing isn’t a complete charade. All I need you to do is stay alert and follow my lead. If it comes down to it, focus entirely on Assassin. I’ll handle his Master and we’ll have the pair of them on the defensive.”

It wasn’t a great strategy, not when taking into consideration they’d be on another mage’s chosen ground. There could be any number of traps laid for the pair of them to walk into. On top of gaining what he had no reason to believe was anything but a functional Holy Grail, killing the ‘scourge of mage society’ would certainly make a relatively new member of the Association a lot more popular in a hurry. Yet by the same token, managing to gain favor with one of the lords of the Clock Tower would serve a similar purpose with less bloodshed. In that regard, it was practically a toss-up what Atrum would do. But if Waver knew his type–and he believed that he knew it well–then the other Master would already be considering which ribs were best to put a knife between.

“Understood.” Diarmuid affirmed with a small nod. Of course he did–having faith in his Master’s plan no matter how disagreeable or half-formed was simply what he did, and all Waver could do was put his life in the knight’s hands.

…Then again, wasn’t that the easiest part of all?

Dark sunglasses slid into place over green eyes, and despite so many misgivings Waver felt a matching thin and self-assured smile forming on his own face.

“Let’s go.”

---

Everyone had their lot in life.

Some were born into noble families, never knowing of need or desire a day in their lives. Others were born to a life in squalor, too short and too miserable to speak of. Some grew to be leaders, some followers, many somewhere in between living simple, ordinary lives. There were as many paths in life as there were people led along them by fate, but few could say they came into the world with a true natural talent, something they simply did as easily as breathing and with a skill unsurpassed by any other.

Manslayer, they called him, and what other name was needed?

In the fading final days of the shogunate there was no blade sharper, no swordsman more skilled, none so bloodstained as he. His pride in this respect flew well over the line and ventured for miles into the realm of arrogance. But was it ‘arrogance’ to speak proudly of the truth? Some called him a genius, and in the art of ending human lives, there was truly no one that could be his equal. 

Okada Izou’s hand snapped out and swiftly grabbed the neck of a champagne bottle, plucking it off a table that was harshly jostled not an instant later by his Master’s foot colliding with it.

“ Why do I even keep you around, Assassin?!” Atrum snarled, face twisted into a mockery of a smile. “Was a fruitless chase for the catalyst I desired not bad enough?” He gestured widely with both arms in exasperation before pointing at his Servant accusingly. “Rushing around for a substitute, costing me another fortune on top of what I had already set aside for this war, and after all that you can’t kill one person?! ”

During this tirade, Izou had paid more attention to the champagne in his hand; popping out the cork with barely a gesture and taking a swig directly from the bottle.

…Disgustingly rich for his blood. Just like the stuck up bastard in front of him. One eye left uncovered by messy hair focused on the mage lazily, as a resting wolf might watch a particularly bold rabbit.

“You done? 'Cause if you keep pointin’ that finger at me, you’re gonna find yourself missin’ that fucking hand.”

Making a choked wordless noise, the mage’s hand lowered slightly as he took a step backwards.

“Listen, Master -” Distasteful as he found the champagne, alcohol was alcohol, and Izou paused for another drink after that heavily sarcastic address. “-I got cornered the first time and left out in the open the next, don’t they say third time’s the charm or something? What do you want me to do about it?”

“You’re an Assassin, assassinate him. ” Atrum hissed, further crumpling the letter held tightly in his hand. In the time it took for Izou to raise the bottle again, a spark of inspiration seemed to light his Master’s eyes. “Or…no, I have a better idea.” The mage smiled in the way of the sort of man to think himself truly devious, and Izou simply rolled his eyes. He hated when people overcomplicated what should have been a very simple job. Yes or no, dead or alive, black and white. People like his Master were insufferable; so far he’d been all talk and no real action to speak of. Easy enough to give orders hiding in his tower workshop or spectating from a safe distance, but the constant swaggering with no substance had gotten old for the Servant very quickly.

“I want his right hand. If I take his Command Seals, then maybe I’ll have a Servant that can do his job right.” A light and utterly humorless laugh punctuated those words, Izou narrowing red eyes at his Master. “The raw materials upstairs can serve as an adequate secondary mana supply. Then these little mishaps will barely be a pebble on the road to my certain victory. I’ll go back to the Association with all the prestige I could ever need.”

Useless. A talentless peacock, good for nothing but sauntering about looking pretty. His Master had no talent at all from where Izou was sitting, especially if he expected to need two Servants to win where only one should have been needed.

“Make up your mind, do I kill him or not? You in love with this guy or something?”

“Don’t be disgusting. Just thinking about him makes me sick.” Atrum fixed his Servant with a dry and unamused look, tossing the crumpled letter over his shoulder. “No acknowledged name, no known bloodline, but the full backing of the Archibald family after that idiot head of theirs got himself killed. It’s like he just appeared out of thin air, with all the power that should belong to someone like me. The lord of Modern Magecraft Theory? ”

He scoffed the term like the punchline to a particularly unfunny joke. “ I’m the one who deserves that position. My abilities and techniques are the perfect fusion of the primordial and the contemporary.” Atrum laughed harshly, hand brought to his face and dragged back through blond hair in an exaggerated motion. His eyes sharpened, meeting Izou’s own with a cold fury. “I won’t be satisfied with anything less than an absolute victory over him, Assassin. If you kill him, fine. If I kill him, even better. If his heart ends up speared on his own Servant’s blade, then that would be perfect. But just as long as El-Melloi dies tonight, I might be willing to forgive any imperfections in the details.”

…He really could have used two or three more bottles, even if it was this opulent garbage. While Atrum went on his tirade, Izou drained the champagne bottle and squinted down the neck in dissatisfaction.

“I don’t care about all that magic shit.” he answered, tossing the empty bottle to the side with a shattering of glass and a disapproving scowl from his Master. “You want him dead, I’ll kill him before the prettyboy dual-wielder has a chance to stop me this time. You want his hand cut off first, then that’s just one extra strike. Easiest job I’ve ever taken.”

---

What time they spent traversing the city did nothing to dispel the lingering distaste Saber felt for the current plan. He trusted his Master’s judgment, believed that the current course of action was one ensuring the pair’s safety, but the honor of a knight recoiled at the subterfuge of it all. The man he followed a step behind in imperceptible spirit form was…’mysterious’ almost seemed too light a word. Blunt, tense, maybe even a bit short-tempered, but he wasn’t cruel. Not enough to stab someone in the back when their guard was down.

Beneath an overcast and starless night sky, Saber tried desperately not to acknowledge how much that last thought sounded like he was convincing himself.

<It’ll be this one.> came his Master’s voice as he crushed out a lit cigarette underfoot and turned towards a particular high-rise building amidst at least a dozen in this part of Fuyuki. <Stay on guard, follow my lead, but if this comes to a fight do whatever you feel you have to.>  

<I’m with you, Master.> Disapproval took a backseat to his lord’s wishes; what was done was done, and his role was to guard the professor against any unforeseen or undesirable consequences.

“There you are-” called out a familiar voice brightly almost as soon as the professor stepped into the lobby. Atrum Galliasta, his lord’s fellow mage of the Association and Master of the ragged samurai Assassin. He stepped forward and gestured widely with both arms, possibly to illustrate he was unarmed. “I was beginning to wonder if you met with trouble on the way here. Allow me to welcome you, Lord El-Melloi II. How honored I am that you would see reason and reach out to me.”

Then again, it was hard to say what ‘unarmed’ meant for those capable of magecraft, to say nothing of Assassin. Saber could make out no sign of the enemy Servant; to either man it would surely seem as though the two mages were the only presence.

“The honor is all mine that you would accept.” answered the professor with the paper-thin smile of forced diplomacy. “I’m flattered you came to meet me personally at the door, but I do hope you’re not making the mistake of thinking a few flights of stairs would hinder me.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. But come, let’s discuss this somewhere more comfortable, shall we?” He gestured toward the elevator with one hand, golden bracelets chiming as they swayed in the motion.

“...Did you seriously rent out this entire building?” Sounding a little more like himself with a note of disbelieving sarcasm, Saber’s Master followed Atrum’s steps as calmly as if this were actually just a meeting of business partners.

“Of course not,” Atrum countered with a sharper note than the welcome that had been as sweet as poisoned honey, looking over his shoulder wearing a smirk more resembling the enemy they had met the other night. “I bought it.”

Unseen by the man who turned back towards the elevator, Saber caught sight of his Master rolling his eyes.

The conversation in the elevator turned to the mundane; travel between London and Fuyuki, discussions of some minutiae of the Clock Tower’s departments, Saber largely tuned out of the matter at any level higher than noting his Master’s irritation thinly veiled by civility and Atrum’s even more thinly veiled condescension. The invisible third party focused instead on their surroundings; just as his Master had implied, there was no sign of Assassin’s presence as he had sensed Caster’s. If he didn’t know better, it would be easy to fall into the trap of assuming the Servant was nowhere in the building at all.

Which was exactly what an Assassin would want.

Although seeking out an enemy presence was turning up nothing, there was another sensation that began to creep in like gray clouds rolling through the night sky outside; a faint but present feeling of dread prickling at the back of his neck.

<Master, do you sense that?>

<The feeling that he’s dying to rip my head off? Yeah.> came the quick answer while Atrum went on about the difficulty in obtaining raw magecraft materials. <If there’s something else, no.>

It could have been his own imagination. Anticipation of a fight leaving him on edge, or…no. No, Saber knew his instincts were as sharp as his swords, especially as a Servant. It wasn’t possible that he was imagining this. Some faint and directionless dread was settling in, and as the elevator doors slid open…

…There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. They walked into a wide room of marble and decorated with vibrant plantlife, all illuminated only by the brilliant lights of Fuyuki’s night skyline past the massive windows. Atrum stepped out first–Saber noted he didn’t have any hesitation in showing his back to an enemy, which was either carelessness in excess or commitment to the facade of camaraderie that this was.

“So,” Atrum spoke up, sinking lazily onto a couch while the professor took up a chair opposite him, “in your letter you mentioned a cessation of hostilities. Is it a truce you want, or a complete alliance?” He gestured widely with one hand, bracelets again clinking together. “I might be amenable to a ceasefire until you and I are the only Masters left, but my Assassin doesn’t play well with others.”

“Doesn’t he? Hardly noticed, with such a charming personality.” Saber could still sense nothing but the three of them, but the brief jab was a smart one. Assassin already hadn’t taken kindly to perceived mockery, and provocation might have gotten the other Servant to drop his guard. “Before we get into that, maybe you wouldn’t mind satisfying my curiosity on something.”

“Oh? Of course, of course.”

“What is it you want with the Grail?”

A simple question, and yet with it the atmosphere changed almost tangibly. No matter how relaxed the two appeared outwardly, the tension was growing heavier by the second. Behind his Master’s sunglasses Saber could tell the pair had locked eyes; Atrum’s smile had all the friendliness of a predator, the gesture miles away from touching his own cold stare.

“Why, the same as anyone else.” Yet the answer came with little hesitation, veil of friendliness draped over the conversation like a translucent shroud over a corpse. “You know how new my family is to the Association, the prestige gained from such a victory would be instrumental in laying the groundwork of prosperity for generations .”

“You spent an immeasurable fortune and came halfway across the world for that?” Behind his sunglasses, Saber was almost sure he saw his Master’s eye twitch. “What was stopping you from using that kind of financial influence back in London?”

“Even with an old bloodline, I myself am the first generation of Galliasta to join the Clock Tower; my father cared little for the mages of London. Drastic action needs to be taken in order to establish oneself swiftly. I wouldn’t expect an accomplished lord such as yourself to understand.”

In the silence that followed, the professor made a sound that was unmistakably a hurriedly repressed snort of laughter. The smile evaporated from Atrum’s expression, matching the disdain in his eyes.

“Is there something funny about that, Professor?”  

“No, not at all.” In a sharp contrast, the edges of a smile on the other mage’s face were almost genuine at this point, as if there was in fact something very funny about the situation. “I might almost understand more than you think.”

<Still nothing?> asked the professor even as he spoke.

Even now there was no sign of Assassin, to the point that alone was beginning to worry Saber. The other Master had to know there was an enemy Servant with them by now. If he didn’t, then this situation as the professor had laid it out made no sense. Why not cut down an enemy when one essentially had them alone, if the situation was truly so cutthroat as Saber had been led to believe?

<Could it be he actually wants an alliance?>

“Is that what you think?” Atrum tilted his head, a lazily confident smile slowly putting itself back into place. “Well, I’m glad we have some common ground.”

<Having a lord owe him a favor would be smart. Especially if he thinks it’ll win him the Holy Grail as well. That, or he just wants to wait until the end to kill me. Maybe->

The thought was cut off as Assassin’s Master rose to his feet, the professor immediately going tense at the motion before standing himself. Even in spirit form, Saber felt his right hand curl around a sword hilt not yet called to his hand. Had he taken the remark as a challenge after all?

“Before we come to any agreement on how to proceed in this war, I think you should see my workshop. Input from the head of the Department of Modern Magecraft Theory would surely be of enormous benefit to me, and I think you’ll be impressed.”

Saber didn’t understand how that suggestion sounded like so heavy a threat, but it rang like the horn of an advancing army.

“It’s no secret I value talent above most anything else.” said the professor with a shrug of his shoulders as they walked back toward the elevator. “I’ll take a look at it, if you want my evaluation so badly.”

<Master…?>

<I don’t know. He could actually be sincere, you’re stronger than Assassin. Smart move is to make me an ally even just temporarily, if he really isn’t going to stab me in the back tonight.>

It didn’t feel that simple. Whether the professor was aware he sensed that prickling feeling of dread or not, Saber could see the tension he was carrying himself with. They both knew something was drastically wrong, with no way to truly pinpoint what. Atrum and Assassin were their enemies, that much was certain enough. But what kind of cat and mouse game was the former playing, and how long was the latter going to hide in the shadows? Saber couldn’t shake the terrible suspicion that the trap they had walked into was just about to snap shut on the pair of them.

If ever Diarmuid ua Duibhne had wished he was wrong, never had it been so sharp and clear a desire as it became in the next five seconds.

His Master walked out of the elevator first, taking a few steps past attendants in white into the brightly lit room…and then froze in place. A few steps behind him, Atrum’s false camaraderie fell away into the slow and twisted smile of the truly prideful..

“It’s perfect, isn’t it? The ideal fusion of primitive magecraft brought into the modern century. Equivalent exchange distilled into a simple process and streamlined to eliminate days’ worth of time in incantations.”

Sterile white from floor to ceiling, the room bore an arrangement of wires and screens hanging overhead, the latter bearing diagrams and charts Saber wouldn’t pretend to understand even if he did take notice of them. They stood at the edge of a circle, bearing some manner of cauldron-shaped device in the center. Wires trailed out from beneath it, leading to six wide and waist-high glass cylinders.

Large enough to fit a human.

Especially a particularly small human.

Ahead of them, the far wall was made up entirely of a glass partition–and beyond it, the limp forms of several dozen children suspended from the ceiling.

“If you’re worried about the raw materials, there should be no concern. I won’t procure them in Fuyuki, so the Association has nothing to worry about when it comes to drawing attention.”

This time there was no vision of fire, no choking clouds of smoke. There was no more than a brief flicker of something dark, the smell of blood and river water–and then the brightly lit workshop before them, his Master so still and silent that he had ceased to even breathe. Something white-hot was burning in the Servant’s head, and he couldn’t distinguish his own sentiment from what he knew to be his Master’s own– overflowing rage, so all-encompassing that it lanced through Saber’s head like a bolt of lightning.

Ahead of him, his Master raised a hand and slowly removed his sunglasses, sliding them into a pocket out of sight.

“But,” continued Atrum, “-the rituals always work best when the raw materials are as fresh as possible.” 

Neither Saber nor the professor saw the blade the other mage had slipped into his hand. They didn’t need to–Atrum took a single step towards the professor’s right side, and that alone was enough.

In a single fluid motion that would have put many apprentice knights to shame, the cane in his hand was swiftly flipped around as the professor pivoted on his left foot, spinning around and swinging the heavy silver handle into Atrum’s face with a resounding crack of metal on bone. Knocked aside with the motion, the blond Master crumpled to the floor with a splash of blood from his mouth and clattering of a knife falling from his hand to slide along immaculate tile. For the first time since they entered the workshop Saber saw his Master’s face clearly, twisted into an expression of pure anger driven by disgust and fire of blinded rage blazing in his eyes.

Whether it was his own thoughts or that of a spiritual link overcome by fury, Saber could only think that was justified.

“You-”

…and then one of the white-clad attendants made the mistake of exclaiming in shock, hands clasped over her mouth in horror. That seemed to bring the professor back to reality however slightly, and he turned sharply to point the cane’s handle at the attendant threateningly. He locked eyes with her, and Saber thought he felt the faintest trace of magical energy between the pair.

“Don’t speak another word that doesn’t involve getting these kids out of here and to a hospital.” he snapped, the attendant’s hands falling loosely to her sides. Hypnotism magecraft? It must have been, because all the woman did was nod mutely and wander off past the glass partition. Raising his voice to address the handful of others, he added: “When I’m done with him , this place is getting burned to ashes whether the rest of you are here or not. Now all of you get the fuck out of my sight. ” Perhaps wisely, the rest of them quickly scattered. A pained cough from the floor brought the mage’s attention back to Atrum, who was trying to form words past a mouthful of blood.

“...ssin-” Spitting out blood and bone fragments, Atrum scrambled backwards across the floor in a dazed panic. “What…what are you…waiting for, Assassin– Izou, you useless drunk, kill him!”

Finally, the concealed shadow that had haunted their steps the entire time descended from above like the specter of death. Silver flashed in the fluorescent lights, and-

-was met with the full strength of a Saber-class Servant brought to bear, kicking Assassin with all the force of a shooting star. The outer wall exploded into debris as the samurai collided with it and was thrown into the night air beyond, Saber launching himself after the disoriented Servant without hesitation. In the resulting shower of dust and stone, Atrum scrambled to his feet and out a side door leading to the stairs with the professor immediately taking off after him.

< Kill him.> ordered the frighteningly calm voice of his Master. <Leave Galliasta to me, but kill Assassin. I don’t care how , I don’t care what you have to do, neither of them get out of this alive. Is that clear.>

It was not a request. It did not need to be. They were of one mind in more than merely an empathic link; this would not, could not be forgiven.

<As you command, my lord.>

Moralltach and Beagalltach came to his hands at barely a thought, Assassin landing on his feet atop a nearby building and raising the katana to block the incoming strike of Saber descending towards him at full speed. Sparks of metal on metal lit the darkness, anger that both did and did not belong to Saber still burning in his head. Assassin pushed back, katana swinging with what must have been the bulk of the Servant’s strength to force Saber to back off.

“For what it’s worth,” remarked the ragged samurai with a vicious smile as Saber perched on the rooftop's edge, “blondie was way overdue to get his teeth knocked in.”

Lightning flashed off the edges of their swords as thunder rolled through the sky overhead; despite everything, Saber found himself matching that bloodthirsty smirk with one of his own.

Notes:

i promise i won't leave y'all on a six year long cliffhanger this time

Chapter 13: Rise

Summary:

the sky that felt so wide, still too distant to reach
the soul which continues pursuing onward violently cries out

Principles were something a magus could rarely hold to reliably. Honor, chivalry, justice–it was just as he told Diarmuid. To adhere strictly to the code of a knight would be tantamount to letting those with less reservations slaughter you on the spot. And even though he had willingly–reluctantly–let go of most of the strictly honorable conduct he admired so much, there was one thing he refused to compromise on. The reason he had been so dead set against Ilya and Rin alike participating in this war. The reason his class was a haven for those with nowhere else to go. Caster’s workshop beneath the river had left a dark stain on his heart, one glaring horror amidst a half-dozen haunting his nightmares for the ten years between then and now.

No children needed to bear the kind of scars–mental or physical–that Waver Velvet did.

None of them should have had to die in agony, discarded as no more than a mage or Servant’s batteries.

Nothing on earth could have possibly made him angrier than the sight before him now.

There was shock at first, of course–how could there not be? No one expected to be faced with an echo of one of their worst nightmares out of absolutely nowhere, and until two seconds ago he had no idea what the Galliasta magecraft really entailed. Waver wished he still didn’t, but that was something that could not be unlearned or forgotten. Behind him he dimly registered that Atrum kept speaking without hearing a single word said; the sound alone of that calm, dismissive explanation was enough to shove him out of ‘shock’ and into ‘rage’.

Honestly, Waver was sure he blacked out for a moment. There was the feeling of a hard impact reverberating up his left arm and a sickening, satisfying sound of breaking bone, snapped orders with enough magical energy behind them to cast suggestion for a matter of hours at least-

“-- Izou, you useless drunk, kill him!”

Waver didn’t so much as flinch at the sudden pressure of a Servant’s presence bearing down on him like a guillotine’s blade. He didn’t blink when Diarmuid manifested from spirit form behind him, or when Assassin was thrown through a solid wall with a deafening sound of stone and metal giving way beneath the inhumanly powerful impact. Through the dust cloud in the formerly immaculate workshop, he made out the shape of Atrum scrambling for an escape route in the time it took Waver to pour reinforcement magic into his legs to run after him.

<Kill him. Leave Galliasta to me, but kill Assassin. I don’t care how, I don’t care what you have to do, neither of them get out of this alive. Is that clear.>

That was all there was to it. Forget strategy, forget the remote possibility of another Master and Servant aligned to their cause, none of it mattered to Waver anymore. Their Holy Grail War could not be allowed to continue, and in an instant any hesitation he felt about slaughtering Atrum Galliasta on the spot had evaporated.

There were only two directions to take; the single story to the roof, or however many back down. Logic said Atrum would have sprinted down a few floors and found somewhere to hide, hoping Assassin would handle the pressing issue before he was found.

‘Logic’ didn’t give him enough credit, Waver begrudgingly admitted to himself as he turned to bolt up the single flight of stairs and throw open the door to the roof.

Immediately a harsh buzzing lanced past his ear and brought with it a burst of heat and light in a very near miss, lightning striking the wall behind him and leaving a blackened scorch mark. Ducking behind the door frame in anticipation of a second shot, Waver caught only a brief glimpse of a bloodied Atrum standing a distance away; one hand over his mouth presumably repairing what damage he could, and the other gripping a small terracotta sphere.

Of course he’d been ready and waiting. Only an idiot would charge in guns blazing, he reminded himself. Calm down, Waver. He knows you can be provoked now, and that’s dangerous. You can’t beat him if you can’t think straight.

“You picked the worst possible night for this, El-Melloi!” crowed Atrum’s voice through the cold air high above Fuyuki. Lightning flashed and thunder followed, leading Waver to realize that yes, he had made a tactical error. As with nearly any mage, Atrum possessed a Mystic Code– Primeval Battery, a conduit for powerful electrical magecraft. And while it was wildly impractical to use weather manipulation as a modern mage, the natural course of weather itself would work just as well. If that storm moved any closer or began in earnest, then his enemy’s power would be so highly augmented that Waver was already dead. “Why don’t you just come out and die with some dignity?!”

Then he would just have to finish this as quickly as possible. 

Speaking the familiar incantation under his breath, wire hidden beneath his sleeve came to life glowing with magical energy and twisted upon itself to form a tiny sparrow at the end of a line. Would that he had half the skill Irisviel or Ilyasviel did, a massive falcon or wireframe sword would be of much more use right about now than a tiny bird and a handful of vials. No matter what move he made next, he’d be putting himself directly into Atrum’s waiting line of fire–the best he could do was take a long shot and hope it found the mark. 

With a flutter of glowing wings the wireframe sparrow moved first, weaving around the door frame and diving straight for Atrum clutching a small glass vial in its tiny claws.

“Is this a joke-” 

The second he heard that and knew Atrum’s eyes would be on the wireframe, Waver came out from around the door frame with his left hand gripping his right wrist, firing a Gandr directly at Atrum. It was only a split second of divided attention, and a terrible risk; if his opponent had better reflexes than Waver was hoping, he was leaving himself open for another jolt of lightning. But the two-pronged attack seemed to put the other mage on the back foot–he dodged to the side to avoid the bolt of magical energy, and the tiny wings of light followed. Diving after him, it released the vial it held to clatter on the ground at Atrum’s feet.

Glass cracked, and the darkness exploded into white light that stung at Waver’s eyes even though he’d known to raise an arm to shield them. Atrum, having much less warning, shouted in pain with burning eyes shut tightly even as the light faded. It was critical to press the advantage while it was on his side to see this end swiftly, even as he formulated a contingency plan in the back of his mind. The first course of action was a simple question: What would be the most disorienting thing a mage could do to their opponent in a fight?

‘If you can not fight on the terms of others, make them fight on your own.’  

Even now the words sounded as clear as they had the day Lancer had spoken them, and he had held to that approach for ten long years. Refining what little skill he possessed, using weak magecraft in unconventional ways, and abandoning all the decorum of an Association mage in the name of pure survival at the rare times when it came down to a matter of mortal danger. Even if ‘Waver Velvet’ was no more than a useless persona to him in this war, on a field of combat he could truly be no one else.

With all that in mind, the question was actually ‘in what manner would no one ever expect a noble aristocrat of the Clock Tower to conduct himself’? Closing the distance between himself and his opponent in quick steps made quicker by reinforcement magecraft, he answered that question without a word.

The distinguished Lord of Modern Magecraft Theory pulled his right hand back and drove a fist straight into Atrum’s half-healed jaw with all the strength he could put behind it. 

Stumbling and trying to stay on his feet while shrieking blood-garbled curses in a language Waver didn’t recognize, the other mage blindly threw a small crystal from his pocket. It shattered into dust in midair, pure magical energy bursting out and splitting into easily a dozen individual blasts that crashed down haphazardly. There hadn’t been time for its caster to aim, neither had he recovered the sight to try–in that much, Waver was fortunate. One shot glanced off of his shoulder with enough concussive force to knock him off balance, another striking him straight on in the chest with enough pure concussive force that Waver was thrown off his feet to crash against the wall leading back to the staircase. 

One mage was furiously rubbing at his eyes to rid himself of popping starbursts obscuring his sight, the other on the ground coughing and gasping to find the air that had been knocked out of his lungs–for only a moment, the battle had stalled. Yet no more than a staggeringly high rooftop away, blades clashed over Fuyuki at a speed to rival the distant lightning; the fight was far from over.

How many times is he going to have to save you? There was rarely any harsher reprimand than that which came from Waver’s own thoughts. Get up and fight.

“ This is the extent of the Archibald house’s magecraft?” scowled Atrum, squinting blue eyes in the dark night. The time he’d bought himself with that flash was quickly reaching its limit, but it had served its purpose. It was time enough to put them on relatively even footing, both out in the open with all advantages and disadvantages that entailed. “Party tricks and fistfighting? An archmage of the Clock Tower can’t do better than that?!”

Pulling himself back to his feet, said archmage huffed out a short, breathless sound between a cough and a laugh. On metal wings the glowing sparrow circled back around, a long tail of thin glowing wire interlacing itself between Waver’s fingers with the silent implication that it could and very well might turn into a garrote in a matter of seconds.

“I don’t know what you mean-” was the icily delivered answer, Waver’s other hand holding his cane with all the intensity one might grip the edge of a cliff to stop themselves falling to a certain death. A smile full of fury and tenacity flashed across his face with the distant lightning, and part of him dearly hoped Atrum could see clearly enough to make it out.

“-where did you ever get the idea that I use Kayneth’s magecraft?”

---

Subterfuge and duplicity were not the weapons of a knight. While he had begrudgingly accepted that his Master believed such was necessary for their success, Saber himself had been out of his depth since his initial summoning. Though he would not dare speak a word of complaint, it had begun to wear on his considerable patience. In that regard, the blaze of a shared justified rage and the simple order he had been issued were a relief of sorts. 

Servants were naturally compelled to fight one another, as he had pointed out to Berserker. That was his reason for existence as a knight; claiming victory in life-and-death combat. In that, there was a very simple joy; it was in the routine of fulfilling one’s stated purpose, in the heart-pounding excitement of facing down an enemy in the elaborate dance of singing steel. All the world fell away, and there was nothing of consequence left save for the immediate present. Nothing but the pair of them and the three swords whistling and crashing through the night in gold, scarlet, and silver.

It would be careless to underestimate this Servant solely on his class. Assassin–or Izou, as his Master had given away–was on the defensive against a stronger Servant with one extra sword, but he was defending , and doing so well. No matter what angle Saber’s blades aimed for, they were met with blinding speed to be blocked or deflected in a swift evasion. Scarlet eyes wide and bright with bloodlust darted around to follow every motion Saber made, and his perception alone had the stunning effect of making Saber feel like the one at a disadvantage.

…It was absolutely thrilling , if he was to be honest. The challenge of breaking through Assassin’s instincts was a welcome challenge, and to face one with such sharpened skills was more than Saber had dared to hope for tonight.

“You’re more than I expected -” Beagalltach swept through the air in midsentence, Assassin ducking late enough that the strike claimed a lock of dark hair rather than send the enemy Servant’s head flying from his neck, “-but do you expect to hold a defensive line all night?” Your Master-” Saber deflected the katana that answered his strike in turn, “-is in danger himself, can you afford to be stalling?”

“ Stalling?” barked out Assassin in disbelief, followed by a peal of laughter as ragged as his appearance. “Not a whole lot of thought behind that pretty face of yours, huh?!”

The katana was brought straight down, slamming into the ground with all the immeasurable inhuman strength of a Servant; fissures broke out beneath them from the impact, kicking up debris and dust as the ground threatened to collapse. The maneuver was meant to obscure Saber’s vision in the resulting cloud of dust, which it did–but Assassin wouldn’t be able to see anything either. Sharp golden eyes caught a flicker of motion just to the right, and Saber chose to press the advantage.

He leapt forward, Moralltach slicing through the air in a strike that would guarantee a decisive victory–

–only to meet with the surprise of the blade meeting no resistance, the motion carrying forth a gust of wind that cleared the obscuring cloud…and revealing the ragged haori that fluttered through the air in two cleanly cut pieces. In the same instant Saber realized he’d fallen for a decoy did pure instinct kick into overdrive; his other hand twirled the golden sword into a backhand grip, stabbing at the air directly behind him–where a charging Assassin was mounting an attempted sneak attack. The katana went wildly off course as Izou broke off to the side with Beagalltach’s edge leaving a thin slice under his eye, the silver blade cutting across Saber’s unarmored shoulder rather than driven through his back.

“You’re fast.” Blood running down his face into a spreading stain on his scarf, Assassin growled what might have passed for praise had he said it with less resemblance to a snarling wolf. “Not that it matters. Pretty sure I’ve seen more than enough.”

Ignoring the cut in his shoulder trailing blood down his arm, Saber gripped both swords a little more tightly. His own injury wasn’t severe enough to be a serious liability yet, but it was enough that he was the one on the defensive now.

Assassin’s stance shifted, low and slouched posture straightening to his full height. One hand left the hilt of his katana to be held at his side, the sword itself raised across his chest like a shield.

…Or like how Saber himself was holding Moralltach, the samurai’s stance now mirroring the knight’s save only for the absence of a second blade.

“What are you-...” The question trailed off into nothing, confusion giving way to information he had no reason to know screaming through his mind. The True Name of the Servant before him had already been given away, and the Grail filled in the rest; that this man was exceptional at bringing human life to a swift and painful end. There was no samurai more clever than Okada Izou, who could mimic his enemies’ techniques at barely a glance. 

Magical energy gathered in the air around them with the weight of a tangible force, thunder and lightning roaring as it carried the beginning of a frigid winter’s rain with it..

“ Divine punishment will fall upon you . ” The words alone sounded as though they crackled with sheer power, resounding and reverberating with the pressure in the air. If this was his Noble Phantasm–even if it wasn’t, Saber concluded, it didn’t matter. He had to be stopped before the knight was pushed further away from an advantage, no matter the cost. Maybe he was faster than the Assassin, or maybe he wouldn’t be so lucky twice; there was only one way to find out. Only one thing to do when confronted with a challenge.

Assassin moved, and Saber followed instantly–the pair charging directly at one another, blades raised. It would be over so quickly that human sight would barely be able to perceive what transpired at all, much less measure the exact fraction of a second the swordsmen took to deliver the final blow.

Saber would not do Assassin the disservice of claiming the samurai had made a mistake. It was not a ‘mistake’ in the strictest of terms at all–his stance and motions were copied with such flawless and exacting detail that it would have fooled any of the Fianna had they borne witness to it. He had even recognized Moralltach as the stronger blade, and made his attack accordingly.

The movements were truly befitting a genius. What Saber had learned over a lifetime, Assassin had copied near-flawlessly in barely two short encounters. It was truly admirable to have eyes so sharp and instincts so well honed; he was truly a natural talent like no other. As such a brilliant swordsman, Assassin would have known his mimicry to be lacking in that regard; to Saber’s eyes he had adapted by taking advantage of the surprise inherent in his copied stance before launching into an attack with all the power that could be mustered behind it.

“Shimatsu(Settlement Sword)ken-”

He had barely spoken the name of his Noble Phantasm as the katana was swept in the same wide horizontal arc Saber himself had used only seconds ago, down to the smallest motion. With no doubt, it was a fatal strike aimed directly for his opponent’s throat.

Carrying all the conviction of one who saw every detail of his enemy’s movements to the smallest blink or breath of air, Saber made no move to divert his course from a direct assault; the demonic blade of fury met Assassin’s katana in an impact that shook the very air around them, silver halted and struggling against crimson for a split second. 

The blades of Diarmuid ua Duibhne never fought alone.

In the same breath, the golden sword of passion flashed from his other hand; with a shriek of agony and spray of blood Okada Izou’s undefended sword arm was severed at the shoulder. He stumbled and fell backwards, screaming a mix of wordless pained fury and curses as he clutched where his arm had been only seconds ago. His right arm laid where it fell in a spreading pool of blood that mixed with rainwater, still gripping the katana–now chipped from the impact against Moralltach.

“Son of a bitch , dual-wielding bastard , I’ll fucking kill you , you’ll pay for–”

“Your demeanor in defeat invalidates your efforts, Ghost of Tosa.” Saber interrupted, lowering his swords. The rain had begun to fall harder now, blood spilled on golden blade and verdant armor alike mingling with the storm and running over the ground. He looked down at Izou calmly; the fight was for all intents and purposes over, the victor praising the vanquished’s efforts in an even voice. “Your skill is truly unsurpassed.”

“ Fuck you.” Snarling like a cornered animal, Assassin’s form had already begun to dissipate at the edges of his torn hakama and wounded shoulder. “Don’t you…don’t you dare start mocking me– this can’t be–there’s no way I could lo–”

Lightning struck overhead, and with it Saber heard a sound of thunder too sharp and sudden to have been part of the accompanying storm’s chorus. Assassin jerked suddenly as though he had been stabbed, head snapping over to glare into the distance–then without time to speak another word, the defeated Servant dissipated into wisps of magical energy.

…Something was wrong. He’d disappeared too suddenly, and heralded by that not-quite-thunder that had been almost covered by the storm…what had just happened?

Saber looked towards where he thought Izou had done the same before his demise; atop a yet higher building was a lone figure, so distant even the sharp eyes of a Servant could not quite discern details in the rain. He thought he could make out a red raiment, and a weapon raised to take aim at an unknown target–

All thought immediately ceased there, Saber beginning to move with speed to match the lightning overhead. He had to get back to where he and his Master had separated, and he had to do it faster than the mystery assailant could strike again.

Assassin had vanished so suddenly because a wounded Servant had abruptly lost their Master. If that was the case and if it had not been Saber’s own lord who had delivered the killing blow, then it stood to very obvious reason that the professor’s fate was at risk of being the same as that of their enemies.

---

Direct combat between mages was rarer than one might be led to believe. It happened , naturally, but the Clock Tower was not some lawless warzone. Everything had its place and time, duels to the death for power or prestige being no exception to that. Bloodshed for one reason or another was accepted as a given fact of life for those who devoted themselves to magecraft, but many never met with such bloodshed firsthand.

As a result, there were many–once even Waver himself–who knew battle only in the abstract, as a natural challenge of life that could simply be met and overcome with grace like any other academic accomplishment.

Idiotic.

Those who looked at it that way, who presumed victory so easily gained because they felt it owed to them…they knew nothing about what it meant to stare down their own imminent death. 

There was no greater weakness than complacency. As the thunder rolled ever closer into Fuyuki’s skies, Waver concluded that the massive difference in their magical abilities was navigable only because he knew this feeling of adrenaline in his heart’s frantic pounding, felt the instinctual fervent drive for something as basic as survival. More than any of that, at the forefront of his mind was still that simmering white-hot anger, what little pride he allowed himself holding fast to like hell I’ll ever let trash like you stop me .

Waver’s transmutation was nowhere near as powerful or intricate as Irisviel’s or Ilyasviel’s; the small wireframe birds were the most detailed constructs he could manage, compared to the spectacular displays of power they were capable of. But that did not mean he had failed to learn well from what he’d been taught, and as an alchemist the simple manipulation of metal was within even his own abilities.

Glowing in paper-thin outlines of white, shapeless wire snaked around him in chaotic movement dictated half by the caster at thread’s end and half by the powerful wind heralding the oncoming storm. There was no time to waste and no reason to give his enemy further time to think; at a gesture and channeled energy the attack sprang forth in unpredictably wild movements, Atrum dodging to the side to avoid a whiplike strike. Waver’s hand moved in response, the wires following their target as if determined to catch him in a snare. An open air battlefield like this was a problem; there wasn’t quite enough to catch on and form a spiderweb of razor wire to trap the other mage. If Atrum’s movements couldn’t be halted, they would have to be guided to end up where Waver could more easily put him in checkmate.

But with Waver presenting a stationary target, nothing stopped the evading Atrum from launching a counterattack. Another crystal cracked and burst, forming into shards of ice shot back at Waver with the speed and precision of a master archer. Forced to back off, one crashed into the ground where he had just been standing, several more knocked off course by a quick gesture snapping wire into their path. The last struck his shoulder in what was fortunate to have been only a glancing blow, but drew blood regardless. What the hell was his elemental affinity? If it was anything like Rin’s, that was going to be a serious problem; hopefully Atrum was just an exceptional alchemist rather than having control over every element.

“I will not be disrespected by this pathetic effort from you, El-Melloi–!” he called out over the beginning pour of rainfall, dodging away from the wire that smashed against the ground with bone-breaking force. “As soon as Assassin’s done, then-”

The one moment he was focused on Waver instead of attacking was enough. The end of the wire lashed out like a serpent, striking the back of Atrum’s legs and knocking the alchemist straight into the ground with a harsh impact and splash of rainwater.

“Shut up. You and your sick little workshop are finished.”

Bloodied and bruised, cornered and enraged, Atrum’s hand moved in a flash to toss something upwards, the rainstorm’s air beginning to crackle with lightning that was far closer now than it had been minutes ago. Thrown into the air amidst wild coils and curves of manipulated metal wire, the Primeval Battery sparked with the ambient electrical energy in the air.

Far too late, Waver realized he hadn’t considered the conductivity of the metal wire he was manipulating. 

That overlooked detail was a question swiftly answered by the screaming agony of a thousand needles, starting at his hand and instantly lancing through every inch of his body. Torturous pain lasted either a fraction of a second or several minutes or several hours; time itself had ceased to exist, and had his mind not gone completely blank Waver would have been cursing himself for making such an obvious mistake.

The next thing he was aware of was the feeling of frigid rain and sound of slow footsteps, coming back to consciousness on the ground–with a heartbeat that may as well have been tapdancing and a body that struggled to respond. Atrum loomed over him with a triumphant if bloody smirk, tossing the small Mystic Code to himself in one hand.

“I told you, didn’t I? You picked the worst night to challenge me.” He laughed lightly, Waver trying desperately to find some thread of coherent thought to hang on to in the scrambled mess of a pounding headache. 

“F-fuck off, Galliasta.”

He’d need a lot more than that. If something didn’t change in the next two seconds, he was going to die. There would be no stalling long enough for Diarmuid to kill Servant and Master both, not this time. As soon as he drew breath to call his Servant, the mage in front of him would strike to kill.

But Atrum was just barely within range; if he could just stop his hand twitching long enough to hold on to something and make one more surprise attack, he could reach the other mage with his cane’s hidden blade. If he could just–

Lightning lit the black skies and roaring thunder followed; Atrum’s body jerked forward slightly as if he had stumbled. Something that would have had to go straight through Atrum’s back flew over Waver’s head and off into the darkness, leaving a splatter of blood in its wake.

“What…did-?”

The blond’s empty hand shook as it was raised to the hole that had appeared in his midsection, a stain of crimson rapidly spreading through his clothes. The Primeval Battery fell from a grip gone slack, terracotta cracking on the rooftop. Visibly confused, he opened his mouth for only a cough to leave his throat; blood spilled from his mouth to the rain-slicked ground, the smell of it overpowering even in the falling rain. In unsteady motions, Waver scrambled backwards; whether it was the shock or the smell of blood, higher thought had utterly left him as he stared with wide eyes.

Atrum Galliasta had won the fight, but fell to the ground victorious in death.

For a split second, the only sound Waver heard was the hiss of pouring rain. His eyes were locked on what was left of his enemy, the man he’d been fully prepared to murder no less than five seconds ago. The end result would have been exactly the same if he had accomplished what he set out to do. Worse, where there was really no pretty way to kill someone when wires were your primary weapon.

Why, then, did the sight of a corpse in a pool of water and blood make everything feel like it had simply stopped and he was no longer even in his own body? The question of what had killed Atrum, of how close Waver had come to being killed, of whether or not he was about to be just as dead as his fellow Master–he processed none of it, staring blankly at what was left of Atrum without any certainty he was even seeing it.

Swift as the wind that carried the storm, crimson flashed in the space ahead of him, a demonic sword swung to intercept some projectile that struck the ground to Waver’s left with a sharp pwing and cracking of the floor beneath them.

Again, there was stillness–he looked up to see Diarmuid standing before him in a defensive stance with both swords at the ready, eyes glaring off into the distance at some unknown threat no human could have taken notice of. That, of all things, began to pull Waver back into reality; everything seemed to sharpen, from the sound of rain to the lingering pain echoing through his body.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He had to focus, because this wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t over until they were miles away from here, and if Waver thought about anything that had happened tonight for more than an instant, he wouldn’t be able to do much more than scream. 

“...They’re gone.” Diarmuid acknowledged in a manner that sounded more like an irritated curse than an acknowledgement. “Professor, we need to retrea-...Professor?”

Vision blurring from a tremendous headache and his entire body aching terribly, for a moment he thought he would pass out on the spot. Even alert and on guard, Diarmuid was looking to him with concern–but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t collapse yet, not when there was still something left to do. Concentrate, concentrate and he could let this worthless body fall apart once everything was taken care of. 

Waver Velvet got to his feet and swayed precariously before steadying himself.

Lord El-Melloi II turned without a single word and started back towards the workshop. What felt like miles away, he heard Diarmuid quickly start after him.

Left in their wake was a rain-soaked corpse and the sound of thunder slowly rolling onwards over an unaware city.

---

Glass cracked against the floor on the opposite side of the grim excuse for a magic circle, broken vial spilling its contents and igniting a fire along the far wall and floor of a (blessedly empty) once immaculate workshop. Soaked with rain and splattered with blood, his Master’s pallid face had shown no emotion from the moment Saber had returned to his side. Everything about him was blank and cold as though he was so far removed from reality that none of it even mattered at all–miles away from the open fury that had started the fight to begin with. Not a single word had even been spoken, the professor moving with a mechanical rigidity.

True to his word, the workshop burned before them. Orange light flickered in the wind and rain which howled through the damaged wall Assassin had been thrown through, and for a moment his impassive Master only watched.

That, at least, was right. This facility’s destruction needed to be certain, for its purpose was unconscionable. With that acknowledgement Saber came to a very unwelcome realization. Atrum had scarcely even blinked at the discussion of his alchemical ‘materials’, and now Saber’s own Master seemed so distant as to be inhuman himself. If the fact that he had nearly been killed by a mysterious assailant in a red raiment even registered at this point, that would have been a genuine surprise to Saber.

This, he realized with trepidation, was what human mages of this era were, and why both Maiya and his own Master reviled them so. Was it even possible to be so steeped in the death of innocents that it became that inconsequential?

Before he could think further on the new and alarming topic, his Master turned to face him with deadened eyes tinged by only a hint of recognition–as if he had only now realized Saber was even there at all. Glancing over the Servant as if seeking some kind of evaluation, a cold stare lingered on the cut left by Assassin’s blade. The mage lifted a hand that flickered with a faint glow–as though it were a spark that couldn’t quite catch–before it grew steadier, healing magecraft repairing what little damage the manslayer had managed to inflict.

“Master…don’t concern yourself with me, you’re injured. We need to withdraw immediately.” Forget the propriety of a Servant, he was going to outright kill himself if Saber stood by and let him keep going. Bleeding from a cut to his arm, stained with what was no doubt the blood of the enemy Master, and Saber was certain the edges of his clothes looked notably singed–whether he would admit it or not, the surviving Master was in no state to continue right now. Much to the knight’s likely visible relief, there was no argument; his Master closed his eyes and exhaled in a quiet sigh.

“Irisv-” To Saber’s genuine shock, the unearthly calm on the mage’s face shattered the instant he took a step towards the door; twisting into a look of excruciating pain as he broke out into a cold sweat, swaying precariously before leaning to the left with a grip on his cane that looked so tight as to risk injuring his hand as well.

“Master, are y-”

“ Not now.” he interrupted through grinding teeth, Saber quickly dropping the hand he’d extended as though the snapped command alone had burned him…which it may as well have, for how sudden and wrong it felt. The professor hadn’t once been anything but quietly patient with him, but now it seemed that patience had reached a limit. “W…withdraw to the castle. I have to talk to Irisviel, and we…both need to recover.”

There had been a serious miscalculation on Saber’s part, one he had no choice but to reflect upon as the pair left the burning workshop in a burst of speed to carry them across Fuyuki’s rooftops in seconds. He had seen the sincerity beneath the mask of ice, and assumed that was the only thing his Master kept hidden. While that honest kindness had not fully left the Servant’s thoughts, it was only now that he realized it was not so simple as that. 

A man who spoke of sheltering students that no one else would and who took such deep personal offense to needless sacrifice could not be a wholly cruel or heartless individual; that was something Saber was fully confident in. His Master was not some terrible person, not at his core.

But this was the critical point that Diarmuid ua Duibhne should have already known, a truth that would not change no matter how many millennia passed:

The anger of a compassionate man was due the same fear and reverence as a storm over once calm seas: uncompromising, unwavering, and above all else unforgiving.

Notes:

sorry for a bit more of a wait than i wanted, i've been a touch under the weather and having a little trouble tinkering with the plot outline

there's actually a lot i'd like to talk about for this one but instead i'll just say: do you ever just compartmentalize your personality so badly that you're a jackass to the nicest person you know because goddamn waver, seek therapy

anyway does anyone but me remember the '06 fate anime's character image songs because they were pretty good tbh, i miss when that was a common thing for a series to have

Chapter 14: The Man Who Sold The World

Summary:

i thought you died alone
a long long time ago

Hidden deep in the forest behind Bounded Fields for concealment and security both, the Einzbern Castle that had been constructed on the edges of Fuyuki was a massive, opulent facility. Too opulent for Waver’s more modest lifestyle (a polite way of saying he barely scraped by on average), but it was here he had lived and studied for two years in the wake of the fourth war. Unsuited to it as he was…it was still ‘home’ in a sense. The room he had stayed in back then was largely the same; too large for any one person, surely, bookshelves mostly emptied of volumes he’d taken with him to the Clock Tower.

Waver couldn’t honestly say he clearly remembered the brief time between leaving Atrum’s workshop and arriving here. He definitely didn’t remember forcing a barely functioning leg to cooperate long enough to make it down the hallway, or if he’d even said a word to Diarmuid since they’d left. Practically sleepwalking, there was no way to be certain how long it had been when he gradually came back to some kind of awareness–long enough that rain-soaked hair had mostly dried. 

He came back to clearer awareness sitting on the edge of a too-opulent bed in a darkened too-lavish room of a too-magnificent castle, every part of his body aching and his right leg in shrieking agony. Adrenaline had given way to blank shock, and now that gave way to a physically painful awareness of the broken wreck he was. A better mage would have gone for the enemy’s throat to rip his head off instead of merely knocking him down, Waver knew this in hindsight. He should have killed Atrum in the single instant he might have been able to; a single critical error had decided the entire fight, and if not for whatever had intervened at the last second Waver wouldn’t be alive right now.

You couldn’t do it, could you? The thought practically mocked him, but then again Waver suspected he deserved that much. You didn’t make a tactical error, you’re just a coward. You’ve never killed anyone, and the next time you hesitate it’ll be you bleeding out on the ground.  

The admission was as harsh as his thoughts often were, but it was no less true. Evading and escaping fights had gotten him this far in the Clock Tower, but in the battlefield of the Holy Grail War…he knew better than most the reality of how brutal and bloody things had to be. He knew it was a matter of kill or be killed, and he still faltered. He knew his luck wouldn’t hold out–sooner or later, he’d make a mistake that couldn’t be recovered from, and no one would be around to save him; whether that was Diarmuid or some unknown act of freak chance.

Mages killed without a second thought, and he could be no different. Even if that meant starting by killing ‘Waver Velvet’ to do it.

Lingering uncomfortably on that thought, he didn’t notice the gentle knock or the shift in light as someone paused, entered and closed the door behind them. The silver-white figure’s quiet steps went completely unseen and unheard, until the glow of magic lessened the blinding pain in his right leg like a heavy weight gradually lifted off one’s shoulders. Waver looked up from whatever spot on the floor he had blankly fixated on to see Irisviel, kneeling in front of him with glowing hands hovering over his leg. He grasped at straws for something to say in the unbroken silence, focusing vaguely on the fact that there was a reason he’d promised to come back here in the first place.

“What did you…want to talk about?”

“It can wait for a minute.” she answered gently, Little by little the immeasurable pain receded, and as it did focusing on anything but his own shortcomings became a little easier with a clearer head. 

“...it’s worse than it used to be.” Frown illuminated by the pale blue light of healing magecraft, Irisviel’s observation was a grim statement of fact. “I know I said you had gotten taller, but I didn’t realize how much strain it caused.”

He almost wanted to laugh for how bitterly true that was. Kayneth’s final insult was one scar among several he’d carried since the previous war, and the one he was sharply reminded of with very literally every step he took.

“That’s…just what magecraft does to people like me.” was the reluctant, exhausted admission. “Pushing oneself to operate beyond their capabilities…it strains Magic Circuits and changes someone physically. With the kind of tricks I usually pull, I’m lucky thirty centimeters’ difference is the worst I have to deal with.”

Maiya had outright admitted she didn’t recognize him on sight, and who could blame her? Over the past years, there had been times Waver didn’t recognize himself . His features had sharpened too quickly in a way that just didn’t happen to a normal human past nineteen, bright green eyes fading to a dismal washed out color. Gaze focused on her hands and the glow radiating from them, Waver could tell from the way Irisviel’s frown deepened that there was more she wanted to say. But even if his words were concerning, there was nothing that could be done. All but the simplest magecraft was a strain on an embarrassingly low number of Magic Circuits, so overextending himself was a necessity. Whether she acknowledged the argument would go nowhere or simply chose to let him handle the matter as he would, it made little difference; the unchanging homunculus closed her eyes long enough to let out a soft sigh.

“Saber told me everything, or as much as he knew.” Irisviel rose only to sit down beside Waver, interlacing her fingers with his right hand; the persistent glow of magecraft began slowly repairing where lightning had arced over skin and heated wire had burned the hand it had been wrapped around. “He’s worried about you.”

“Of course he is.” Waver mumbled in resignation. “He’s too damn nice not to be; I wish he’d spend even half that time thinking about himself for a change.”

“...What happened?” she pressed gently, utterly breezing past the weak deflection. “That workshop-”

“ Don’t.” came Waver’s own voice without permission from any thought beforehand. That was probably better; if he thought about it at any length, if he dared to wonder how many lives had been sacrificed for those alchemical crystals Atrum had been throwing around, Waver thought he might be violently sick then and there.

And to her credit, Irisviel didn’t. They sat together in silence, the burns on Waver’s hand fading away under her healing–once the lingering damage had left, so too did the pale light of magical energy. Outside the window, rainy skies had begun to clear to the pale light of a night not quite morning; dark as the room still was, the silver figure beside him still appeared almost to glow like moonlight. Her hand remained where it was, and Waver couldn’t quite find it in him to be the first to pull away.

“I wonder…” Irisviel began softly, “is pain a matter of course for everyone who uses magecraft?”

“It is.” Waver answered flatly, returning to staring at some nondescript point on the floor. “Magic Circuits aren’t something a normal human body has; just activating them is painful, and we learn to live with it.”

Irisviel hummed in acknowledgement, and at first said nothing more. He could practically feel her focused stare burning a hole through his head, but after everything that had transpired Waver just couldn’t find the energy to face her or anyone else tonight.

“That makes sense.” she acknowledged. “If hurting yourselves–even only a little–is something done over and over again, then it would be that much easier to accept that even just living means being in pain one way or another.”

It registered as strange to Waver that she made such a nonsensical statement with the air of one who had reached some genuine conclusion to a baffling quandary. What was that supposed to mean, that mages were some kind of masochists? Absurd–well, some of them probably were, but–

“...You know…” began Irisviel again, slowly. “I was only made nine years before the Fourth War–Grandfather wanted to create a vessel that would be able to act independently and protect the Grail. Even though I was created with a single clear purpose, you could say ‘I’ didn’t exist until I met Kiritsugu.”

That brief feeling Waver had noticed when she had called was back with a vengeance, the sense of something hanging unsaid in the air with all the tension of a wire pulled tight enough to cut through stone. This time he was careful not to repeat his earlier mistake and interrupt the thought; remaining silent, he waited to see where this thought would lead. Irisviel rarely spoke about the past–most of them refrained from it, now that he considered the matter. They were friends in common cause and the whim of circumstance more than personality, and while that did not mean there was a lack of genuine care it did mean that in many ways, they were all at arm’s length from one another. They had only ever talked about so much of the Fourth War; feelings rarely if ever came into the discussion of the facts of the situation. Waver had never spoken a word about most of what he had experienced with Lancer, and it was the same for Irisviel regarding whatever had transpired in that very castle.

Why that was changing now, he didn’t know. But questioning it now would have been wrong on some level, snapping that tense thread and losing something which could not be recovered.

“He was hired for the Grail War, this you know already. Everything else was…unintended.” She continued in the same slow words; a pensive and delicate dance through a minefield. “The more time we spent together, I began to develop a sense of self. A personality with desires and preferences–whatever Kiritsugu taught me, it was never enough. I wanted to learn everything about a world I didn’t have reason to think I would ever see. And I…I wanted him to be the one to teach me. I wanted to be at his side, to see all his wishes come true.” Waver felt her hand briefly tighten around his own.

“Everything I learned, everything that ‘Irisviel’ is, I gained from him. But Kiritsugu couldn’t teach me everything about what it means to be human. He wouldn’t have, even if he were able to. The sorrow he felt knowing his wish would mean my death was something even I couldn’t grasp. He couldn’t teach me the fear and doubt I felt within the Grail, or how to envy what it must have been like to live a life I shouldn’t have been able to reach. He couldn’t…”

Irisviel’s voice trembled in a startling and foreign way as she trailed off to clasp Waver’s hand in both of her own, pulled closer to her heart.

“Irisvi-?” Startled as though he had been struck by lightning again, Waver finally turned enough to face her. Irisviel’s head was bowed as she clutched his hand like a lifeline, shoulders and voice alike trembling.

“No one could have…taught me what it would feel like to lose him. I wasn’t meant to outlive him, and there have been times I almost wish I didn’t. I can’t count how many times I’ve thought…‘If I accepted dying in the Grail, would he still be alive?’” Shaking her head harshly, snow-white and inhumanly perfect fingers squeezed a hand marked by Command Seals and worn by over a decade’s tireless practice of magecraft. As Waver stared in muted shock, Irisviel met his eyes with her own: tears threatening to fall over a porcelain face stricken by pain.

“I never asked–I never wanted to ask you or Maiya, but is this… Is this what Kiritsugu was so afraid of all that time? This awful feeling that half of yourself is gone, and knowing that it might be your own fault?”

Coming from Irisviel, the open and raw show of emotion felt strange at best. Briefly he was nineteen again, trying to ground himself in the face of an oncoming breakdown while trying desperately to stop his own. But there was no raging fire around them now, no threat of an oncoming painful death to prioritize; just the pair of them in a dark and silent room, with the weight of both their pasts suddenly immensely heavier.

“Wh…Why are you…asking me-” he struggled to say, looking off to the side rather than hold Irisviel’s unmoving gaze.

“You know why.” she insisted, gently squeezing his hand. “The four of us…all we really have is each other, isn’t it? It’s still written all over your face no matter how much older you’ve gotten, and I know you’ve seen it in all three of us. What we’ve never–what we won’t talk about. You aren’t killing yourself like this solely because I need your help. You would never turn on us, but you’re not so selfless as to do so much without gaining something in return. You know why I’m asking you, Waver. You have to know why.”

Before he had even tried to deny it, he had known why Irisviel was asking him.

He had known for a decade.

Never once had he let himself linger on the reality in detail, not even a single time had he let himself even think the words themselves. They were there all the same, a fact of life and law of nature in his world as intangible and powerful as time or gravity. Mages had no place for sentiment, and Lord El-Melloi II couldn’t be seen to have any such weakness. He’d compromised on that point a time or two in the past years, but his and Shishigou’s brief fling of whatever it was had fallen under a much harder to define area of mutual loneliness until they both gained sense enough to break it off. The point remained that Waver was not so stupid as to be unaware of the reason that weight on his shoulders was so heavy. He was not nearly as clueless as he had been in the Fourth War, and hindsight was crystal clear. There was no questioning what he was really doing all of this for.

Who he was doing it for.

And yet even now, the words would not come forth. He put his arm around Irisviel’s shoulders rather than confirm she was right, pulling her in closer before one or both of them cracked entirely.

“Yes. This is just…what it feels like. Someone changes your entire life and the way you look at things, then…the next thing you know, they’re gone. It’s something that can’t be taught or read about, because the reality can never match up to that god-awful empty feeling. Countless poets and authors across human history, and none of them can really describe what it’s like to pick up whatever’s left of yourself after that.”

That parallel shared pain had always been there. Unspoken, unacknowledged, but massive shadows over all four of them. And lately, that shadow had grown much longer and darker for Waver specifically–it must have, otherwise Irisviel wouldn’t be pressing the matter. It was , otherwise it wouldn’t feel like his heart was constantly about to shred itself into tiny pieces.

Silence passed between them broken only by a quiet sniffle from Irisviel, her forehead pressed to Waver’s shoulder. After a minute or two passed, she finally released his hand and pulled back to sit up straighter, wiping at her eyes.

“...It all feels so unfair.” she murmured, trying to recover with a valiant attempt at a smile–shaky and half-formed, but present. “That someone can affect your life so much, make you want to be a completely different and new person, then just… not be here. ”

Waver looked to the back of his right hand; the sigil branded there was exactly the same as it had been ten years before. That was the only thing that was the same at all, if he thought about it. None of them were the people they had been in the previous war. Waver had changed beyond recognition, Irisviel continued to struggle through the pitfalls of humanity, Maiya had inched ever so slightly closer to ‘person’ instead of ‘weapon’, and Ilyasviel was a headstrong teenager.

‘Lancer’ was long dead and ‘Saber’ someone familiar yet unknown, but through it all his contract to Diarmuid was just the same as it ever had been. Everything else could change, but his trust in the knight that had saved him from becoming the same kind of mage as those he detested was unbreakable.

“‘Too much love will kill you, just as sure as none at all.’” he recited nonchalantly, lowering his right hand. 

“Is that philosophy?” Irisviel tilted her head at him, a sad smile flickering into something curious.

“Yeah, something like that.” Waver shrugged dismissively, brushing the subject aside. “My point is that people like that will change you, you’ll feel like you never knew you could before, and life’s never going to be fair enough for it to matter. Reality doesn’t care how much you love someone. They’ll drastically change you as a person and make you reevaluate everything you thought you knew, then they can die just as suddenly as anyone else. It’s not…easy. It’ll never be easy and it’s always going to hurt.”

“...Then why are you doing this to yourself, Waver? You could have…you could have just not used a catalyst , you would have called a Servant that matched your personality–a tactician, probably, I don’t understand why-”

“You know why.” Waver echoed with the very same insistence as Irisviel herself, startling her into silence. “I…part of me wanted to tell him. Admit to everything, explain I’d done this all before. But… god , the first second I saw him again I realized I couldn’t. Because I’m not…I’m not worth it, Irisviel. I may not be Kayneth–or god forbid, Galliasta – but I’m still a conniving, deceptive, black-hearted fucking mage.” The word alone felt like shards of glass in his throat. “I thought I could become something better than that, and I was wrong. Someone like me has no right to hope he would ever-…that I could ever be significant to him as anything but a Master.”

He’d tried so hard for so long: burning his Magic Circuits to their limits, clawing his way to power and recognition, working tirelessly to have his students surpass him in ability and renown both…but somewhere along the way he had lost sight of that blazing determination that had burned so brightly with Lancer at his side. There had been some point (or perhaps it had been slow in the way of truly insidious things) that he had given up on his dreams and forgotten how he had desired to reach for the stars and be worth that knight’s unending loyalty.

“No.” Shaking his head, the mage quickly forced himself to recover from a painful realization and try to find the way out of the hole he’d unknowingly dug himself into. “I’m in too deep to back off now, and even if I tried it would make everything worse. I may not know how the hell to resolve this, but I know ‘Waver’ can’t be the one to do it. I have to keep going as this wretched thing, because even if I survive the war I’ll have to continue living as Lord El-Melloi II until I die or someone kills me.”

Irisviel’s eyes burned straight through him in a strange intensity, but he held her gaze. She was calmer now, though the stare that met Waver now seemed strained in a way he couldn’t place. Was it dissatisfaction with what he had said? That would have been understandable enough, it wasn’t as though he liked it much either. But the length of time she locked eyes at him suggested almost that she was searching for something.

“Do humans change so irreparably over their lifetime?”

 Searching for an answer to a question asked in earnest, which carried the weight of the world upon it.

“If someone changes from how they once were,” was the pointed elaboration, “does everything they used to be get erased completely? Because you’ve chosen to live as a mage, does that mean ‘Waver’ has to die with no trace left behind?”

“That’s not-...mages aren’t human, Irisviel. A normal person doesn’t have to worry about the slightest weakness being turned against them. If the truth about me ever got out in any credible fashion, that would be the end of everything I’ve fought to establish.” That was the truth as he saw it; the only people anywhere near the Association that even knew his real name were Reines and Shishigou. (And of those two, he only completely trusted one.) However, Irisviel was visibly dissatisfied with that answer; with one hand she reached to the mage’s throat, fingertips brushing over skin…

…until she found the thin chain around his neck and pulled on it, forcing Waver to lean over closer to her eye level and bringing the ivory pendant from where it was hidden beneath his collar.

“What’re you–?!”

“Would ‘Lord El-Melloi II’ have kept this?” she asked, sharp eyes a matter of inches from Waver’s own. “Or would a mage have destroyed it now that it’s served its purpose? If lying to everyone else is what you have to do to survive, then that’s fine. But don’t lie to us, and don’t lie to yourself. You can’t act heartless when you’re wearing yours around your neck. ”  

She’d struck a direct hit, though he hated to admit it. Waver had carried that sentimental attachment with him this entire time; convinced himself it was pragmatic. One less catalyst for any other self-serving mage to get their hands on–but if that was the case, Irisviel was right. He should have destroyed it days ago once Saber had been summoned, and yet the thought had never once crossed his mind.

“Mages aren’t human.” she continued, echoing Waver’s own words. “I can understand that this world isn’t a fair or kind one–if being that way is necessary to keep going, then no one should fault you for it. But even Kiritsugu couldn’t kill his humanity, and I don’t want to imagine what he would have become if he did. You can’t cut yourself off from everyone and everything just to survive–that isn’t living. ”

Gently untangling her hand from the thin silver chain with both of his own, Waver straightened up with a quiet sigh.

“You’re…right.” It almost physically pained him to admit it, but she was. Obviously Irisviel could cut directly to the heart of the issue, because the heart was the issue. She who had learned to develop one from a blank slate, who had been formed as a person entirely by the love for and from another, who had loved a man who was human and heartless killer both–

Who else would understand how Waver had backed himself into a corner entirely of his own design?

“You’re right,” he repeated, letting go of her hands in favor of pushing dark hair out of his eyes with a resigned sigh. “But I can’t…turn back from what I am now. Even if I could, it wouldn’t change anything.”

Irisviel, who looked almost relieved by the concession (however slight it was) stood up at last, taking a step back towards the door. They had been talking for so long that clouds had given way to overcast moonlight, then to a dim gray sunrise that lit the room in shades as pale as the ethereal woman herself.

“I know. And I understand that–you made yourself who you need to be, and exist in a way that causes you pain just so that you can stay alive. But I want you to listen, and think very hard upon what I’m about to say:”

Scarlet eyes were fixed on him, burning with concern and insistence in equal measure.

“If you can’t even trust the person you love with your real self, then what kind of life are you trying to preserve?”

Notes:

honestly there was going to be more to this chapter but this whole deliberately messy conversation dragged on kicking and screaming, i didn't have the heart to cut it any shorter than i already have

oh well just means i have a chunk of the next one started already

Chapter 15: Savior

Summary:

and the day pressed on like crushing weights
for no man does it ever wait
like memories of dying days
that deafen us like hurricanes

It had been an uncertain number of hours since their return to the castle, and Saber was second-guessing nearly every step he’d taken since cutting down Assassin. Had he been right to remain silent in the face of his Master’s quiet anger, or would it have been better to say anything that might set an infuriated heart at ease? Was it right to have relayed as much as he could to the elder Einzbern? She was an ally and had his lord’s trust, but was there a line Saber had overstepped in raising concerns that the battle might have worn on the professor in a way the Servant couldn’t quite name?

He’d been in spirit form since Irisviel had listened to his recounting of the night’s events and answered with a small sigh before walking off in pursuit of the injured mage. Intangibility was much easier than being found restlessly pacing the halls in directionless worry, even setting aside the simple pragmatism of conserving energy. If he had to listen to Berserker being cryptic after all of that, Saber did not trust himself to refrain from throwing the nameless Servant out of the nearest castle window.

Late morning brought with it the telltale click of a cane against the floor, his Master’s steps pausing halfway down the hall. Withdrawing his sunglasses from a pocket, he unfolded them with one hand and slid them back into place over his eyes. As if preparing himself for something, the mage sighed and straightened his posture, then looked around the seemingly empty hallway.

“Diarmuid?”

He manifested immediately, the professor barely surprised by the abrupt sight. It was obvious he expected as much by now; that even in spirit form, his Servant would never be far from his side.

“I’m here, Professor.” he answered evenly, trying with all his might not to launch into a dozen questions that were surely not his place to ask. Fortunately, he didn’t have to decide which was the least egregious line to cross; his Master spoke first, uneasily adjusting his sunglasses.

“I-I wanted to…rather, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have been…I mean, I know I’ve-”

This faltering and fumbling sounded terribly wrong. His Master did stumble over a word or two on occasion, but never like this. When he spoke up to now, it was clear his words were chosen with extreme care–perhaps to avoid exactly this. Saber was at a loss for what to do or say, and caught himself wishing he knew his Master’s name–as if being able to speak it could itself be some sacred talisman to cut through whatever thoughts tangled the professor’s words.

“Master,” he tried instead, daring to step closer, “you have done nothing you need apologize for.”

“ Don’t –don’t do that.” Shaking his head, the mage looked as though he was swiftly gathering pieces of some intangible thought that had scattered themselves through his mind. “I just…need to say this, so let me finish and then…accept it or don’t, that’s your right to do whichever. But don’t brush it aside like it isn’t necessary.”

A deep breath followed that, then another restless adjustment of sunglasses that were already perfectly in place. Between that and the white-knuckled grip on his cane, Saber began to understand that the previous night’s anger was gone entirely, this unusual sight brought on by something else entirely.

Was it possible that he was just nervous?

Whatever it was, he made an obvious effort to look his Servant directly in the eyes as he spoke next, words far more decisive than the initial scrambling he had begun with.

“I’ve…been cold to you, and there’s no reason for it. I couldn’t have asked for a better, stronger, or more loyal knight, so it’s unfair for me to…do whatever the hell I’ve been doing. I owe you an apology, so I’m sorry for being such a di-...difficult individual.”

That last part sounded like a swift course correction, but that wasn’t at the forefront of Saber’s mind as he thought over his Master’s words. What a strange thing to say. Not an unwelcome statement, but strange. Though it did not influence the answer he had already decided upon, as requested Saber weighed his lord’s words with the utmost care. The sincerity of the whole thing was impossible to ignore, ringing in much the same way as the mage’s earlier declaration that Saber was–in exact words–’my knight’. He could easily count himself grateful to follow someone with that kind of sincerity in their heart. Even his anger, disquieting though it was, had come from a place of care and concern for others. Even so, there could be no denying Saber knew he was being kept at arm’s length for reasons he had yet to piece together. Yet more of the peculiar duality that seemed in constant conflict within his Master, another piece of hundreds more yet to be found in this elaborate puzzle.

“My lord, truly, there is nothing to forgive.” The professor opened his mouth to object, then quickly snapped it shut with a look of open surprise when Saber held up a hand in silent request for him to wait a moment longer. Another small rebellion, but the professor had so far seemed entirely willing to accept those. “I would not expect coordination to be without its flaws; such is a natural course of things. The situation has been dire from its very outset, and we have known one another only a scant number of days besides.” 

Briefly, Saber thought he saw the mage wince as though he’d been struck, but if he had then the motion was so small as to possibly be a trick of the light. Nothing was said to indicate one way or the other, and so the Servant continued.

“If you would ask my forgiveness for whatever tension or miscommunication you believe lies between us, then you already have it. You have sought my opinion on our strategy every step of the way, and explained your reasoning with care when I did not entirely agree with it–you were right to do so, as clearly I underestimated the matter.” The fact that his Master had failed to impress upon Saber the cruelty of mages was the swordsman’s own mistake. The evidence had laid clearly before them, and he did not plan to misjudge their enemies again. “No Servant could ever ask for more, and I would not dare demand perfection; merely ask only that you remember I am here for you to rely on as much as you should need to.”

That, to his eyes, was the core of it–duality or not, puzzle or otherwise, his Master was a distant isle surrounded by impenetrable storms, with only the occasional break in the clouds revealing what lay beyond. Such a brief respite like the one before him now, an expression with hidden eyes difficult to discern and strained by something unnamed–was it pain? Pride? Both at once?

Irrelevant. There was one more thing he had to address, something which had bothered him since the end of their battle with the enemy mage and Servant both.

“Now, if I may: are you injured, Master?”

The answer was not given in spoken words, not at first. His lord closed the distance between them in a single step, reaching out with a crimson branded right hand that rested gently on the cobalt metal of Saber’s bracer. 

“What…what a stupid question—” came words in a trembling voice. “I’ll be fine-…I’m alive because of you. You did everything exactly as I asked and more besides.” There was an intangible yet heavy weight to that assertion, more than the shaken but forceful insistence with which it was spoken. Saber couldn’t place why, but the feeling that the professor’s words held some deeper meaning was a suspicion he could not shake. Perhaps it was just the sudden lack of the mage’s carefully held and maintained composure; nowhere near the blind panic of their first encounter with Caster or the fury of Atrum’s workshop, but the clouds had briefly cleared and the mask fallen away to a stumbling that looked very heartfelt to Saber’s eyes.

“S-so…” his Master attempted to continue, sounding like the words had to navigate a field of shattered glass to make themselves audible, “...thank you, Diarmuid. For saving my life again. That’s…that’s all I wanted to say. We can talk about the rest on the way back home, I should-”

“Wait.” Continuing to push his luck for the sake of not simply leaving things at that, Saber caught his Master’s arm as the professor moved to quickly brush past him. Though he froze in place (which the Servant had to admit he had expected, given how the mage usually seemed to react to that), there was no motion made to dissuade him or pull away. That was, he had learned to interpret, tacit agreement to listen. “My lord, there is nothing you need thank me for. It was due to your guidance that I was able to anticipate when Assassin would strike and act accordingly. And though I know no more of our mystery assailant than you likely must, I do know that you fought valiantly that I could do the same without distraction.”

It was better that his Master had his back to Saber at the moment. That meant it was impossible to see how the Servant cast a brief glance over his shoulder and pointedly added:

“Whatever that was, they and any other that may have witnessed what took place tonight know we are not to be underestimated. With this behind us, you can focus upon seeing your goal accomplished and allow me to worry about all else.”

His hand fell away from the professor’s arm, and–a strange shade of red–he adjusted his sunglasses and muttered something about needing to talk to someone before quickly continuing down the hallway. As strange a reaction as always, though not an unwelcome one.

Now there was just the other matter to address.

“Eavesdropping upon one’s supposed allies is not the action of someone I might call trustworthy.” Saber spoke up once his Master was out of sight, turning to face an empty hallway–and the man who came out from around the corner with a sheepish smile. 

“Forgive me, Saber,” said Berserker, laughing lightly. “I was only passing through and did not wish to interrupt what seemed an important conversation.”

“I allowed your intrusion so that my Master’s resolve could silence your irritating concerns. Are you satisfied now?” Frowning sharply with no attempt to hide how paper-thin he found that excuse, the knight held himself rigidly tense while Berserker approached in the light and carefree steps of an ocean breeze.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Laughing as though greeting an old friend, he raked a hand through unruly hair and smiled. “The only one here who should seek their satisfaction is not me, Saber. Now, did I not advise to hope for the best? And did I not suggest patience would clear your head in time? So tell me–are you satisfied now?”

 Like thin ice over black water appeared to be solid ground, the other Servant’s words and demeanor appeared to be entirely straightforward. Concern and condescension mixed so well that it was impossible to determine how much of either was involved, but Saber heard far more of the latter than he liked. 

“There is no answer I need give you.” he snapped back at the willowy young man; though the pair were the same height, Berserker put forth the appearance of someone much smaller. Despite the blade and pistol at his belt, Saber doubted he’d ever so much as held a weapon in life. Assuming weakness as a result would be a mistake, but the unassuming picture was painted clearly–intentionally so, he was sure. 

Shrugging, the other Servant merely hummed in a thoughtful tone before speaking further.

“It was thoughtful of him to speak so. To hear one make an earnest apology for their own faults is a rare thing, in my experience.” One hand came to rest on his hip, Berserker raising a finger with the other as though a thought had just occurred to him. “Although…words are simple things, don’t you think? Easily spoken–even more easily betrayed. I would hope our dear professor truly meant such a show of remorse and gratitude.”

Saber said nothing; better that than allow the other further ammunition for whatever childish game he was playing. If Berserker meant to drive a wedge between Master and Servant, then he was determined not to allow such an underhanded tactic to be successful.

“I wonder what it was Fionn said to you in reconcilia-”

The next thing Diarmuid knew, Beagalltach had already been called to hand and thrust sharply forward, deliberately missing Berserker’s throat by a matter of inches. A few strands of unruly brown hair fluttered to the ground, and yet the target of the open threat had not moved. The amicable smile on his face had not so much as twitched.

“If you speak one more word against my lord–past or present–then I care not what the others say, they will be the last that you speak.”

Yellow eyes sharpened as they drifted to the blade, then back to the fury no doubt written all over Saber’s face. Still Berserker looked completely unaffected by the abrupt shift–

No, not unaffected. Unafraid. Either he was aware that the threat was ultimately empty (although Saber meant what he said, to kill another Servant would cause complications to their dealings with the Grail) or in a true display of madness he simply did not consider this situation one holding any danger to him. Defying all reason, the latter began to seem the real answer as Berserker gingerly took the edge of the blade between thumb and forefinger to lift it further away from his neck. 

“...Thank god for that, I was truly beginning to think nothing would spur you to act on your own.”

Stunned by the sheer impertinence of the calm reaction, there was little Saber could do but allow as much. The golden blade was lowered, vanishing into the magical energy from which it had been summoned. Appearing for all the world like he cared nothing about how openly he had been threatened, Berserker crossed slender arms and regarded Saber with a pitying frown.

He’d made a terrible mistake. If the other Servant hadn’t already known Saber could be provoked, the knight had now removed all doubt. Glaring weaknesses were easy ones to target, and for someone like Berserker-

“ Enough.” If the enigmatic Servant already knew how to provoke him, then there was no need to pretend otherwise. Empty hands were tense fists at Saber’s sides, ready to shut that impudent mouth nonlethally if that was what it would take. “I have long since tired of your games, and I would know what it is you seek to accomplish.”

“Come now, don’t glare at me that way.” The sickly sweet demeanor fell away to one more mildly conversational. “I harbor concern , not hostility. I am actually quite satisfied indeed. You drew a blade against me even knowing our Masters are allies. Had you merely taken such an insult in silence for the sake of his orders…”

It seemed for a moment that the light in the castle grew dimmer. Berserker stepped closer, drawing himself to his full height at Saber’s level–something in his eyes changed , not quite catlike in nature but with a strange and inhuman sharpness to them. They almost seemed to glow for a moment, the shadows in the hall growing longer and darker as the pressure of overwhelming power filled the air around them.

“I might have thought drastic measures appropriate.”

Saber made no move to attack or to back down; he’d given away enough vulnerabilities today. Golden eyes sharply met fiery yellow, unflinching at the implied threat to his Master’s life. He almost found it a relief to see a shred of the true Berserker behind the coy smiles and insincere amiability. Concern? What a joke. This darkness could never come from the heart of someone who cared enough to feel concern , not in any form a normal person would recognize.

“If you so much as touch him,” Saber hissed with bloodlust radiating from his entire being, “you will wish you had never been recorded on the Throne of Heroes.”

Berserker grinned widely with far too many teeth, in the growing shadow they appeared much sharper than they had before. The spiritual pressure in the hallway–Saber’s defiant anger, Berserker’s dark and unknowable something– hung heavily with the tension of an imminent battle to the death…

…only for Berserker to back down in languid steps and hold out his arms in an exaggerated shrug, shadows retreating with light returning to normal as though nothing had even changed at all.

“I think that your Master is not the only one suffering from miscommunication with you, Saber. I only wished to see if you would truly speak or act in a way even slightly contrary to what he might ask.”

“ Why. ” he shot back in demand rather than question. This had gone on for too long and crossed several lines Saber could not tolerate, and the only thing staying his hand now was a need to see whatever twisted reason lay behind the whole affair.

“Is it not obvious?” Hands on his hips again, the Servant had returned to being the very picture of ‘harmless’. It was a magnificent camouflage, one that had come dangerously close to fooling Saber entirely. But in place of a friendly smile and feather-light words, there was a gravity in his words that rang like a gentle admonishment. “Your tale is not unknown to me. Allowing much to be demanded of you in the name of your loyalty and oaths… too much. The truly kind and compassionate, in my experience, are very easily taken advantage of when it serves the purposes of those crueler than themselves.” Those yellow eyes fixed upon a speechless knight, smoldering embers of the earlier inhuman flame still lit within them. “And make no mistake, Diarmuid ua Duibhne, this world is cruel.”

Saber did not refute that, because…he couldn’t. And he knew he couldn’t. The world was and ever had been cruel–that was why heroes existed and had existed since the beginning of history itself.

“Why does this matter to you?” Instead, he asked the obvious question. Why play this drawn out game in the first place? What was his end goal, truly? “My lord is not your own, our contract is not yours to bear. We are allies and nothing more; this concern of yours is far beyond necessary.”

“That may indeed be true. But I’m afraid we all have our standards of what we find unacceptable. For you, disloyalty. For me…” The last shreds of a casual demeanor fell away, Berserker’s voice dropping what sounded like a full octave to a low growl. “...those who so cruelly take advantage of another’s trust are beyond forgiveness. And if they are too kind to seek retribution themselves, I would claim righteous justice on their behalf.”

Saber felt something connect in his mind, watching this display unfold. His own anger had lessened as the other man spoke, but Berserker’s had only intensified to a simmering boil.

“...Tell me, was this affable nature of yours once genuine?”

The question seemed just as much a slap to the face as Berserker’s own earlier instigation, and Saber would not admit to satisfaction in how those yellow eyes widened and color seemed to drain from a suntanned face. There was the answer, then. It was all an act, but one that had once been the honest nature of a similarly kind man.

“You-”

“ Berserker! ” The sudden reprimand cut between them as sudden as an explosion, the young woman who had brought it marching directly up to a Servant a full head taller than her with the clear intent of giving him a piece of her mind. Ilyasviel von Einzbern’s pale hand grabbing her Servant’s wrist jolted Berserker out of his brief shock, and by the time he turned to face her it was with the infuriatingly sunny disposition right back in place.

“Yes, my lady?” Ignoring Saber’s shock at the abrupt shift, he cheerfully greeted the Master who breezed in like a sudden winter gale.

“Don’t you ‘yes, my lady’ your way out of this. I already told you to stop provoking Saber, Mother and my brother are already annoyed enough as it is!” She fumed at the Servant who answered with a gentle laugh.

“My sincerest apologies, to you and the good knight both. I do not think it shall happen again.” Ilyasviel made a frustrated noise, tugging Berserker down the hallway by his arm.

“Come on, we’re going back to the library. Oh–sorry about this, Saber, please look after my brother!” she called back, while Berserker cast the dumbstruck Servant a glance as sharp and brief as the flash of a sword. 

It was impossible to say if there had been an understanding reached or not, but what Saber could be sure of was that this was not over. 

---

If you can’t even trust the person you love with your real self, then what kind of life are you trying to preserve?

There was no answer to the question Irisviel had left him with the night before. Both of them knew that no answer would come that night, and perhaps not even in the days to follow. Waver couldn’t say if there was an answer, but he knew one thing: the situation as it stood was unsustainable. He owed Diarmuid an apology, and he had stumbled through giving him one. It was true, he had been cold. Years in a society that demanded it had made it hard not to be, but that was wrong. At the very least, it was wrong to show that side of him to the one person he trusted above all others. 

That didn’t make it an easy thing to do. He tripped over his words, choked on his own sentiment, and barely managed to speak…but it didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t matter. Diarmuid forgave and accepted him no matter how pathetic his Master made himself look. Which came as no surprise, but now Waver was going to have to figure out how to hold himself to his own words and still pull himself together enough to keep them all alive. On the latter note…there were more concerns looming now, in the larger picture beyond his interpersonal problems. 

Whatever had killed Atrum…he wasn’t sure what to make of it. The facts as he could recall them didn’t add up to a reasonable conclusion, no matter the angle they were examined from. And while he intended to ask Diarmuid for further detail later, that was not his only course of action. Other possibilities needed to be eliminated before an answer could be found.

The other end of the phone in his hand rang once, then twice. At three Waver thought something might have been off, and at four he began to worry. Had something happened, or was there some other job he’d taken that Waver hadn’t been told about?

Four and a half, and a harsh voice on the line caused Waver to let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? I’m kinda busy right now.”

“I don’t even know where you are right now, how would I know that much?” he countered, earning an irritated grumble. “This’ll be quick, Shishigou. I just need to know if you’ve heard about anyone doing mercenary work in Japan right around now.”

“I don’t have every single freelancer on speed dial, how would I know?”

It was a longshot, Waver realized. But he only knew two mercenaries, and the other had been in the castle the whole time. 

“...Yeah. Of course. Sorry to call at some god-awful hour, I’ll-”

“Wait a damn minute.” The necromancer’s voice cut him off suddenly. If he had been asleep at whatever hour of night it was for him, then he was alert surprisingly fast. Which made sense to Waver, for one of the most efficient freelancers since the Mage Killer himself. “You sound like shit, Velvet, somebody trying to kill you again?”

At this point, who isn’t, the professor thought.

“I’m fine. There was just something strange I happened to catch sight of a little while ago.” Both of which were true. He was still alive, and seeing a man shot to death before his eyes qualified as ‘strange’ among several other words he could think of. “I thought I may as well see if you knew of anything going on before I looked into it myself.”

“Waver-”  

As he spoke, Maiya stepped into the room with quiet footsteps, holding a silver metal case in one hand and staring at him expectantly. Waver glanced up and gave her a small nod of acknowledgement before speaking quickly. Honestly, he was grateful for the interruption; one of them using the other’s first name was always a signal the conversation was turning towards the uncomfortably sincere. The last thing he needed right now was more complicated emotional issues creeping up, he had enough to handle with Diarmuid.

“Sorry–something just came up for me too. I’ll have to talk to you later.”

“...Yeah. I'll keep an eye out, so get in touch if anything happens. ”

Hanging up, the phone disappeared into a pocket as he turned to the unmoving Maiya and met her usual intense stare.

“Sorry about that. What’s –ow!” She shoved the case into his arms, impact nearly knocking him off his feet. “Maiya, what the hell?”

“Take it.” she answered flatly, eyes locked on him. “I found you a small caliber without much recoil. Ammunition, too. If you never learned how to shoot, we will go to the courtyard right now.”

Though the words were sharp and short that there could be no misunderstanding, Waver’s mind was spinning its wheels to catch up.

“Small cali–Maiya, is this a fucking handgun, are you insane? I’m not-”

“-Kiritsugu.” she finished before he could. “Not even close. He would not have returned injured.”

That stung a little, but Waver conceded the point. Even if he didn’t fight in a way fully befitting a mage, he still fought in a way they could learn to handle. Operating within the means of magecraft but utilizing methods others would find absurd–unconventionally conventional. From what little Waver knew, he could imagine the dreaded Mage Killer would have shot Atrum on sight at their first meeting the instant he expected a conversation.

Maybe, he begrudgingly admitted, that would have been the smarter thing to do. Or it would have been, had anything about this war been normal. 

“Do you or do you not know how to use one?” she snapped.

“...I know how to fire a gun, Maiya.” he admitted, frowning. Fortunately, he knew she wouldn’t ask where he learned that and Waver would be spared that specific awkward conversation. “Not well , but I probably could if it was necessary.”

Cold gray eyes looked directly through him; Maiya was not one to give lectures, but she had never needed to. The judgment in her intense and unblinking stares spoke enough.

Usually.

“Kiritsugu wished for a world without conflict.” she stated plainly. “The Grail jeopardizes everything he ever stood for, and therefore everything I stand for. And all we have on our front lines against that disaster right now is you .” The audible disdain was…not unlike her, but much harsher than normal. “I do not want to hear about how it may be against your principles or your pride. I have heard as much from hundreds of targets just like you, and a corpse which held to its pride is no less dead for it. Too much of this operation relies on the weakest support, and if you fall so does everything else. If there comes another Master that aims to kill you, I expect you to aim first. Come back successful, or do not bother walking through the front door again.”

She had a point, he hesitantly acknowledged. Being able to make a decisive and certain fatal blow would have removed a considerable amount of danger in the earlier fight between mages. Waver wouldn’t have returned to the castle looking like he’d been hit by a train. It was pragmatic, it was smart, it was correct to protect oneself however they could against unknown variables when the stakes were so unfathomably high. There was no argument he could put forth to contradict Maiya’s assertion, and so they merely stared one another down in a brief, tense silence.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll take it.”

Nowhere in that did Waver say he would use it or so much as carry it; he didn’t plan to. But Maiya would be set about as close to ‘at ease’ as she ever got with that much, and the emergency course of action would be available to Waver if ever things were that desperate.

Waver hoped things would not get that desperate, because he wasn’t going to do it. Not out of pride or principle as she justifiably assumed, but…well, Waver didn’t know what to call it. Childish stubbornness, maybe. The desire to act as himself rather than pose as an assassin he was not, high risk be damned. 

Still, she was right; that could easily get him killed and cause the entire precarious house of cards to collapse. Not the world’s most comforting thought, but that failure was not yet an inevitability. Mistakes had been made that he would take care not to make again, and that was the benefit of how well his luck had held out to now. As long as Waver survived, he could learn from his own missteps and act accordingly to avoid needing luck the next time.

And besides that–he was far from fighting alone.

Notes:

lotta moving parts to this one don't worry they're important

anyway you can always count on berserker to be a nice and thoughtful servant

....this would probably have been posted last friday if i hadn't been possessed by the urge to finish coloring that

Chapter 16: Hungry Like The Wolf

Summary:

stalked in the forest, too close to hide
i’ll be upon you by the moonlight side

Under the light of mid-morning, a sleek silver car wound its way through the roads of Fuyuki leading away from the forest. Maiya had practically thrown the keys at his head on their way out, claiming Irisviel had asked her to make sure it was in working order. Which was a thoughtful gesture, if it didn’t come with the implied threat that if Waver didn’t return the car in one piece, he would also end up in several pieces.

“You look tense, Professor.” observed Diarmuid from the passenger seat, armor replaced by casual clothes.

“I’m trying to concentrate. It was nice of them to let us borrow the car, but they must have imported it from America. Damned wheel’s on the wrong side.” Waver scowled. As problems went it was the most minor one he had to contend with, but one more annoyance was not something he wanted.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can drive the rest of the way there.”

“No, I–wait, you what, sorry?” In disbelief at a statement that was on the surface completely insane, Waver spared a brief glance out of the corner of his eye to Diarmuid’s brightly confident smile.

“Manifesting as I have, I possess an exceptional Riding skill.” he explained with pride shining in his words. “I could easily pilot any vehicle or mount with no prior knowledge whatsoever, excluding those of exceptional magical strength. Something like this would be as second nature to me.”

That made sense, inasmuch as a Heroic Spirit known essentially for traveling great distances would have a passive skill in Riding. On the other hand, the mental image was so surreal as to be ridiculous.

“...I’ll have to keep that in mind, but don’t worry about it for now.” They carried on through the empty roads of morning, cool breeze of early winter humming through the windows. There was a brief respite in the moment, which Waver reluctantly broke by asking the pressing question at hand: “...What happened the other night? I know I sure as hell didn’t kill Galliasta, but something did. You must have seen something before I did, given how quickly you reacted.”

There was no need to look over again; the silence was no surprise. Diarmuid, he knew, wouldn’t answer such a question carelessly. A master of combat both defensive and offensive would meticulously reevaluate the exact series of events and answer as best he could–so Waver let the question hang in the air and waited.

“I…can not say with certainty.” came the cautious answer. “I had effectively defeated Assassin, but it was something else that appeared to strike a finishing blow. I believe Assassin saw the source before I did, as it was his reaction which caused me to look up myself.”

“That must have been when Galliasta fell.” Waver added, beginning to form some semblance of a full picture. “If a Servant was already weakened, then they wouldn’t be able to linger long at all with a dead Master.”

“Which means,” Diarmuid picked back up with scarcely a beat missed, “the figure Assassin saw would have to be our unknown assailant. But I’m afraid I could not see them clearly myself, Master. The most I believe I could make out at that distance was their raiment–red, if I’m not mistaken.” 

It didn’t make a lot of sense, Waver drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he tried to reconcile conflicting information. The obvious answer was severely flawed, and the mundane one was impossible. A human mercenary with a top of the line sniper rifle couldn’t have fired accurately from so far away that even a Servant couldn’t see them, but…

“...It has to be an Archer, but I don’t understand. What killed Galliasta and what almost killed me…that wasn’t an arrow or crossbow bolt you deflected. I may have been out of it, but I’m sure enough that it was gunfire.” He’d heard the sharp sound of a bullet striking a wall more than enough times, watching Maiya’s target practice years ago. “And that isn’t possible.” Feeling the expectant stare of a Servant waiting patiently to hear the reasoning, Waver sighed.

“To put it simply,” he explained, “a Servant’s strength is influenced by several things. In this case the relevant factor is age. For example, Gilgamesh is extremely powerful not only because his story is widely known, but because he comes from the Age of Gods–well before the beginning of the decline of magic in the world. All this to say that such a thin advantage is lost in more recent Heroic Spirits; Okada Izou, for example. I’m a little surprised Galliasta could summon someone as recent as the 1800s, but the terrain probably influenced that. In short: it should be impossible to summon a Servant whose Noble Phantasm is a gun, because modern ‘legend’ isn’t yet known enough to even be inscribed on the Throne of Heroes.”

It briefly occurred to him that Berserker wore a flintlock pistol on his belt, but Berserker was a mystery in several respects. And there was no way in hell either pistol or cutlass was the man’s Noble Phantasm, not when they were so brazenly carried as he did.

“...You are an excellent lecturer, Professor.” Diarmuid remarked thoughtfully, having listened in patient silence. “But I have a question–is it not possible that we are dealing with an Archer who was simply given a conventional weapon by their Master? If the aim was to kill the pair of you rather than your Servants, a Noble Phantasm would not have been necessary.”

The car stopped outside the estate, Waver finding himself struck speechless. All that agonizing over impossibilities, and the most likely answer was the simplest thing imaginable. It would be a waste of magical energy for a Servant to bring their full power against a mortal. Taking advantage of the Archer class’ accuracy and skill with something a mage would have no defense against was brilliant, he had to admit. That only raised the single question: what kind of Master would recognize that and lower themselves to using such tactics even by proxy?

“Fucking hell.” Considering further, it wasn’t even impossible that such a thing could be a Noble Phantasm–after all, Waver had long ago seen a Servant who could make such improvised weapons his own at merely a touch. Even without that, there was no rule that stopped a Servant from using weapons like that. Except maybe common sense, given how it would be comically weak next to anything they could do on their own. “You could be right, that would make a hell of a lot more sense than any stupid thing I just said.” 

Leaning back in the driver’s seat, he dragged a hand down his face with an irritated wordless sound. Overthinking and missing the simplest answers wasn’t like Waver at all–he was trying too hard. He needed to step back and refocus his frame of mind; the simpler methods were always those that would go overlooked, and therefore needed to be examined first. Other more dangerous mages couldn’t trip over pitfalls unless someone like Waver was able to set them first.

“Master.” In the close silence of a parked car, Diarmuid’s voice held a sharper clarity than usual. He reached over to lay a hand on the mage’s shoulder yet again, offering a patient smile. “I told you–I am here for you to rely on as much as you deem necessary, yet you are still working too hard. We should take advantage of the daylight hours to rest–you will surely benefit from time to clear your head, will you not?”

It wasn’t the first time Diarmuid had reminded Waver he needed to rest, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last with how things were going. He was exhausted and overworked, which had been true since the war began. Though the mostly-repaired estate was a far cry from the opulent Einzbern castle, it was still relative safety in which there could be brief respite.

“Right.” He lifted a hand hesitantly before letting it rest over Diarmuid’s own on his shoulder. “Thanks–I think I needed that clarity, actually. Above all else we’ll need to figure out a better approach to the residential area’s leyline…but let’s just go inside for now and worry about the rest when it starts getting dark.”

Clearing his head was far easier said than done. But the city outskirts were quiet and peaceful so early in the day, a chilled breeze through the courtyard not yet carrying the bite of a winter in full swing. Fuyuki, in spite of the chaos that raged throughout it, was a beautiful city. One that Waver sincerely hoped wouldn’t be razed to the ground in fire and death before this war saw its conclusion.

“...Do you sense something unusual, Master?” asked Diarmuid, casting a look around the courtyard as he followed Waver’s steps.

“Unusual? Not really…I guess the air does feel a little heavy now that you mention it, but that’s probably something residua-”

As he spoke, Waver reached for the sliding front door and pulled it open with a rattle of the wooden frame, blood turning to ice mid-sentence as he saw what awaited on the other side.

Halfway to reaching for the handle himself, in the entrance hall stood a man adorned in golden accessories and open-collared shirt of royal blue. Seeing that the door was open a moment before he had done as much himself, the King of Heroes straightened up to regard both Master and Servant with crimson eyes, raising an eyebrow…

“ You are late.” 

…and with that declaration, loudly crunched on the piece of toast in his other hand.

Struck speechless by surprise and sheer disbelief that a sight this absurd was in front of him, Waver did the only thing that came to mind. The door slid shut again with a harsh clack , silhouette of the King of Heroes on the other side straightening up as though taken aback by an unthinkable reaction. Beside him, Diarmuid (who had already gone tense and prepared for combat on sight) looked from the door to his Master in wide-eyed bewilderment. 

The sheer audacity of slamming a door in the face of the oldest king known to human history had stunned two legendary heroes into silence.

The door rattled again as Gilgamesh threw it open, crimson eyes staring right at Waver inscrutably. It felt like some kind of appraisal, or even something bordering on silent challenge. If intimidation was what Gilgamesh sought to do, the effect was heavily mitigated by the half eaten toast hanging out of his mouth. Waver pulled his sunglasses off to settle them on top of his head, meeting the catlike eyes of a demigod without flinching.

“There, now we can try that again.” he answered sharply, secure in the knowledge that Diarmuid was a breath away at his shoulder if Caster decided he took offense at the affront to his pride. “Good morning, Your Majesty, now please get the hell out of our way so I can inform my apprentice the world does not run on her schedule.”

Eyes locked on Waver, the demigod king calmly finished his breakfast with a crunch that felt far more ominous than it had any right to be, dusting his hands off. He looked the mage up and down in a way that Waver assumed was pointed criticism of a rail-thin mortal standing on a cane and one good leg; are you going to move me yourself , he seemed to say.

But more likely that was just Waver’s imagination, as Gilgamesh burst out into a peal of derisive laughter, nearly doubling over for how long and loudly the fit lasted. Clearly finding something here to be the peak of comedy, he turned and laughed his way back down the entrance hall.

“Rin,” he called out when he had breath enough to try, “that madman you call a benefactor is here!”

Left in the open doorway as Gilgamesh’s raucous laugh faded into the house, Waver’s shoulders dropped in an immediate release of tension as he looked over to Diarmuid.

“That went well.” The dry remark was met with a grimace from the knight that Waver knew to mean ‘did it, really’ before the mage shrugged and followed Gilgamesh inside followed by his own reluctant Servant. 

Past the entrance hall, Waver stepped into the main room  of the estate–once sparsely furnished and just barely livable, finding it now…much less so. The table and chairs that had been in the abandoned mansion across the city were now neatly laid out, with an elegant lamp or two set off to the side. Spread out along the table itself was enough food for at least four people–steamed rice, rolled omelets, pancakes, Gilgamesh slouching in a chair with a cup of coffee, and Rin herself a few feet away working in the kitchen with her hair pulled back.

“...Tohsaka,” Speaking her name with all the disposition of someone with a deathgrip on their last shreds of composure, Waver once again made his most valiant effort to not bite her head off immediately, “what the hell is going on here?”

“Breakfast.” she answered over her shoulder matter-of-factly. “It’s about time you showed up, do you make a habit of being late?”

“ I’m the one that gave you a key to my damn house, Rin, how the hell am I the late one?”

“That’s another thing,” Rin cut in, gesturing with a fork as she turned back to the stovetop in front of her, “this place is worse than that mansion, I’m going to put in some work to fix that if you won’t. All this open space is terrible for a workshop, and it’s a half-furnished dusty mess, like it’s barely even been lived in.”

“Because I don’t live here, Tohsaka, of course there’s almost nothing here! Where did you even get the money for all-...” Waver’s question trailed off as his eyes drifted slowly to Caster, who simply grinned like a Cheshire cat. Of course. He who possessed all the fortune in the world, with all the luck to gain more should he so choose. The lost Tohsaka fortune was barely pocket change to Gilgamesh, and obviously he would demand the same comfort (or better) as his Master would want. They really were a nightmare partnership–almost too well suited for one another in all the worst ways. “...Right. Stupid question.”

“I might not mind taking this place off your hands once all of this is cleared up.” Rin continued, coming out from the kitchen to set a plate on the table amidst all the other food. “It would be easier than rebuilding the Tohsaka manor. The location isn’t ideal, but as footholds go I could do worse.”

“If there’s still a Fuyuki by then, maybe we can negotiate something.” Waver begrudgingly admitted that he wouldn’t need the estate once this was over in the best case scenario, and given how limited his personal funds currently were, getting something from Rin for it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, it felt like a strange sort of cosmic justice if Gilgamesh were to pay him off by proxy. “But forget about that for n-”

A sharp and nauseating smell hit him suddenly, Waver quickly losing track of whatever lecture he was about to give and raising a hand to his mouth. For just a moment he felt lightheaded and violently ill, vision blurring with a sharp sensation in his chest akin to inexplicable panic.

“Master-?” Diarmuid lightly touched his shoulder as if preparing to catch him if he fainted, which in itself did wonders for getting Waver to recover quickly before he made a spectacle of himself. Quickly shaking off the initial wave of visceral disgust, he immediately crossed the room to push open a sliding door to the cool morning air outside. Rin, having taken a seat and reached for the plate of grilled mackerel, fixed her teacher with a puzzled look.

“My cooking isn’t that bad.” was her dubious response, frowning.

It would have been beyond embarrassing to have such a minor problem creep up on him now, but as problems went it was easy to deal with. The moment passed, and the light breeze had made the smell dissipate enough to be bearable.

“It’s not you,” Waver admitted, “I just don’t eat fish.” Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to explain the magnitude of disaster and eldritch horrors that specific smell brought to mind; Rin and Gilgamesh simply looked the pair over in confusion and disinterest respectively. “Forget about it. If you think I’m late, you must have wanted me here for some reason, so what is it?”

Two mages and two Servants talking strategy over breakfast was not what Waver wanted or needed to deal with today, but it was happening regardless; the faster they got to the point, the sooner he could try to get any sleep before nightfall. Rin hummed quietly through a bite of steamed rice, swallowing it before she began to speak…

---

While a night of rain and thunder blew across eastern Fuyuki, far across the Mion River to the west a Master and Servant returned to a desolate ground where once houses had stood before being scoured from the earth in fire and blood.

“The air here is utterly foul.” scoffed the man in the regalia of a desert king, loose and light fabric fluttering in the winds of a distant storm. “I had thought it the presence of that uncouth Assassin last time, but it truly does just permeate the very land itself.”

“Mm,” hummed Rin Tohsaka, frowning at the map in her hands before looking up at the barren ground around them. With no visible landmarks that remained, it was difficult to pinpoint the exact location amidst flat ground and dead trees lining what had once been roads, now overgrown with only the hardiest of weeds through disuse and neglect. She squinted through the darkness, frown deepening. It had been further to the south than she thought, now that she looked again. The fact that she couldn’t find where her own home had once stood was a disquieting thought, but not one suiting a Tohsaka mage. Such things were just things, ultimately, and a fortune lost could be replaced with enough work and effort.

…Not everything that was lost could be replaced, of course. If she had somehow known, rather than merely suspected, that she might never see Tokiomi Tohsaka again, would his chosen heir have kicked and screamed and demanded to be allowed to stay? To fight with him, with all the strength a six year old child of mages had yet to possess? Would she have died perhaps on this very ground alongside her father, or pulled herself from the burning wreckage like-

The absence of footsteps behind her caused Rin to stop, breaking out of her thoughts and turning to face the king whose steps had halted somewhere behind her. He stood with his head turned to the side, fixated on a pile of rubble worn down by token attempts to clear the rubble before being left to the elements for years. Unidentifiable as more than a pile of rocks overgrown by what little dared to grow at all in such a place, it appeared to hold Caster’s attention all the same. The sight of the distasteful scowl he wore drew Rin’s attention more than the irregularity of him being distracted, and so she turned to walk back towards him.

“What?” Following his disgusted gaze, she found she could almost make out shapes worn into the damaged ground…lines worn in where perhaps a perimeter wall had stood, and beyond it the unremarkable rubble collapsed into the vaguest shape of what might have once been a building’s foundation. A filled-in hole in the ground that may have once been a deep basement, now only identifiable through guesswork.

Through that guesswork she was beginning to piece together where they were, and it left a cold weight in the pit of her stomach. Not only due to the uncertainty of not knowing where one’s own house had once stood, but knowing what had happened here a decade prior.

“This is… was the-”

“I know exactly what it is, Rin.” interrupted Caster with his haughty attitude replaced by sharp edges. Cryptically, he added: “The eyes of the king see more than you know.” 

Said eyes seemed to glitter in the dark, catching the moonlight like the gems of her lost inheritance as he stared down the ruin where once had stood a mansion. His Master frowned, turning to him with a harsh glare. Truthfully, he grated on her patience every minute of every day. A Servant was supposed to be…well, subservient. She had expected a loyal familiar who would answer her every command and instead, this. A know-it-all king who had (in Rin’s view) a very backwards idea of who was actually in charge. She opened her mouth to snap back at him that he couldn’t possibly know anything, but paused at the look on his face–features twisted in disgust rather than his usual overconfident disdain. She closed her mouth and swallowed her indignation, at least on this point.

…He knew enough.

“This ground was already cursed long before the fire.” Caster added under his breath, turning to his Master with folded arms and sharp eyes. “How much longer do we plan to tarry here, Rin?”

“What-?!” Contemplation burst into immediate fury, an accusatory finger leveled at the King of Heroes. “We would have been gone by now if you bothered to help! You’re a Caster , are you going to tell me you can’t sense the leylines yourself?! Maybe I should trade contracts with El-Melloi, Saber might at least talk less than you!”

Caster raised an eyebrow, a slow smile coming to his face as though he had just heard an excellent joke.

“‘The second’.” he echoed in a surprising mimicry of an English accent, completely disarming Rin as she bit her tongue to stop from laughing. Absolutely not , she wouldn’t dare give Caster the satisfaction.

“The problems with that are myriad, my vassal.” he began, brushing off the remark with a wave of a golden gauntlet. “First, this whole area is a realm unto itself for how thick the curses and grudges are. To find a leyline here is to seek out one treasure amidst a sea of gold, though the comparison is far too favorable for this revolting air. Had you any indication of where it was meant to be, then I would perhaps be inclined to aid you. But instead, we have been wandering the wasteland for-”

Caster stopped abruptly, and as much as Rin wished otherwise it was not because she had turned steadily more red with fury as he lectured her. He raised his head and glared into the darkness to the south–where she could now place the Tohsaka manor as having once stood. The shadows through the dead trees appeared to move in an indistinct shape– massive , with what sounded like the dragging of metal as it moved.

A monster roamed the ground of Fuyuki– her ground, on the ruins of her home. Whether it was that fact alone or a combination of her frustrations at her teacher, her Servant, an apparently broken Grail War, and a hundred other things coalescing…in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered to her was that she had been interrupted again by someone and something prowling on her land, and that was enough to light her Magic Circuits in a rush of hot-blooded fury, throwing herself down the remnants of a road. The storied Tohsaka Magic Crest lit the night in an array of glowing green lines along her forearm, power brought to bear in destructive Gandr blasts that splintered the trees and crashed into the ruined ground in a flurry of dust and broken earth. Through the haze of debris, the figure moved–as did a significantly smaller one beside it, both quickly backing further away into the night. She thought she made out someone’s voice cursing, but over the collapsing dead wood and noise of the metal in the creature’s steps, it was difficult to be sure.

Then came a terrible sound that shook the air, shuddering in her ears and through her chest–a deafening siren that howled like the screaming winds of a winter storm. The figure– figures –moved, smaller leaping atop the larger and both springing out of sight with a clank and scrape of steel.

Silence followed, only interrupted by the slow footsteps of the golden Servant approaching behind her. The pair staring off into the darkness and the distant storm rolling over the far-off skyline, neither seeming to understand what they had just seen or what to think of it. While Caster stared at empty air, his Master quickly shook that off, kneeling down and laying a hand to the ground where a grand mansion had once stood.

“...Caster.” she snapped, aqua eyes widening and urgency mixing with anger in her voice. “ Caster , get over here. The keystone’s broken– someone broke my keystone. ”

Strangely, the King of Heroes didn’t have a smart remark for that. Rin saw the shadow cast as he leaned over her shoulder, eyes no doubt sharpening with senses humans could have no concept of while his gaze trailed along the ground.

“There it is–your leyline.” he observed, finger trailing a line in the air as if pointing out an obvious feature in the land. “It’s taken some impressive damage, and recently. Hm…” He trailed off, bringing a hand to his mouth in quiet contemplation. “Not beyond repair, but it would seem you’ll be inheriting a shamble of a territory if–”

“For once, just shut up.” Rin snarled, fingers curling in the dirt and dust out of frustration. She’d had just about enough of all this; setting out to simply win a war was nothing. The scion of the Tohsaka family could do so easily, especially with a Heroic Spirit as powerful as the one she had summoned. Overpowering six other Masters and Servants should have been child’s play. Yet the longer this farce of a war went on, the more complications she knew she was and was not aware of tangled upon themselves in ways she couldn’t simply cut through with raw force.

Rin Tohsaka stood in the decade-old dust and ash of her inheritance, glaring off into the distance.

Before this ended, someone would have to answer for it.

Notes:

i can't believe i missed waver's birthday aGAIN--

if this isn't finished by next year maybe i'll get it then

anyway have what i think at least feels like a meatier update for being so nice and patient

Chapter 17: King and Lionheart

Summary:

howling ghosts they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear
but you're a king and i'm a lionheart

The darkness alone felt impenetrable. Around him, the pressure of magical energy weighed heavy as a suffocating shroud in the stone corridor, the smell of river water and something aquatic mixing with a sharp scent of iron and copper. A thin layer of water splashed in the rhythmic sound of two sets of footfalls, falling flat in the dead air where they should have echoed off stone. This place was wrong, and there was fear on a deep primal level, the fear of the dark and the unknown. But so too was there the knowledge that the taller figure walking just a step ahead moved with tense conviction, alert and prepared even when his young partner could only try to appear so composed.

This place was wrong, his thoughts repeated. They should have turned and left rather than take another step. Was that instinct carved in memory, or hindsight screaming through an oft-repeated dream? The latter felt more likely, once the pair halted in a wide open space reaching into the depths of endless darkness.

“...We shouldn’t be here.” spoke the familiar–too familiar–voice of his partner. The figure made no move to advance or retreat, and the foolish child shook his head in some attempt to dispel the recoiling instinct that wanted to agree.

“What are you talking about? There’s no one else here right now.” countered the voice from his own mouth, an alchemical capsule cracked between his hands to begin radiating light. Beside him, the knight standing in the indistinct darkness said nothing more, as still as every other shadow which now came into view under the pale glow of magecraft. Shadows that now became visible as the shapes which had cast them–scattered disembodied limbs, flayed and dissected with viscera strewn across the floor. The water underfoot ran crimson in the faint light, and the mage who had just cast the illuminating glow swiftly wished he had not. Fighting back the urge to either vomit, claw his own eyes out, or both, hands flew to his mouth with a choked sound that may have been a scream swallowed before it could cut through the deafening silence. 

“...I did try to tell you.” was the even response from the man beside him, sparking anger amidst the horror and disgust.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” came the shrill admonishment that tasted like acid in his throat. “How can…how can you just stand in a place like this and not even-...not…even…” Halfway through the condemnation, his eyes fell on the knight’s hand at his side, clenched into a fist so tightly as to draw blood. Foolish of him, to assume his Servant would not feel the same outrage–but then, so too did it scare him in some measure. 

A hand marked by Command Seals laid gingerly on the Servant’s forearm, as if to call them both back to themselves. Seeking reassurance, and trying with all his might to offer it in turn without knowing how. “...destroy it.” the nauseated Master pleaded shakily as his fury evaporated, trying to ignore the taste of blood and rotting fish in the air. “Please. Please , just…I don’t care how, I’m not strong enough–”

---

Saber snapped back to awareness with a sudden jolt of alarm, disappearing from the roof of the storehouse in a flash and manifesting in his Master’s room as if in answer to a threat he had yet to fully perceive. His hand half-curled around a sword hilt that was an instant from manifesting, he found…absolutely nothing. The room was silent in the ambient glow of late morning through closed windows, his Master still asleep and unharmed.

Clarity followed as Saber collected himself, lowering his hands and trying to calm a heart racing with fear that didn’t belong to him. It had happened again, so clearly this time that he could almost still feel the rotting air and vile magical energy. His heart raced with fear and horror that didn’t belong to him, that…

…that belonged to the ashen pale figure sleeping before him. He who had stood beside a knight with golden eyes and a calm voice hiding fury, a Servant who Saber would have had to be a fool not to recognize. That was confirmation of something he had only suspected until now, but what did any of that matter at this moment? Stepping closer in absolute silence, at first he could only watch his unaware Master as though transfixed. Even at rest he couldn’t look entirely peaceful, tense lines worn into an anxious face. It was not only in his lord’s waking hours that he was plagued by countless troubles, and did he so stubbornly refuse rest because of however many nights that had played out just the same?

How was his Servant supposed to help him, when the truth was hidden in all but scattered fragments? If he possessed even half the kind heart the knight believed he kept so tightly locked away, then Saber couldn’t just stand by and allow him to suffer in silence under the weight of such a past.

Warily reaching out to brush wayward strands of dark hair from his Master’s face, Saber found himself lost in thought as the nervous tension in the sleeping mage’s face lessened ever so slightly. 

Part of him wanted to be angry, and maybe Saber did feel something like that when presented with the immense unknowable shape of that which was being concealed from him. Was it frustration rooted in having witnessed a fraction of the terrors which caused the silent suffering of a person Saber believed to be a good man? Or was this discomfort the feeling of knowing the voice in that memory and choosing, for the moment, not to acknowledge it? 

Why did his Master continue to hide so much? Despite the professor’s assurances, Saber could only see the most likely issue being Saber himself. Was the hero Diarmuid ua Duibhne so untrustworthy that–

Of course you are , spoke the voice of his own traitorous doubts. You already went behind his back to speak with Irisviel, what else is one to think?

It was nothing like that, Yes, he had told Irisviel as much as he could of their encounter with Assassin, but what else was he meant to do? His Master had been injured and in need of help, and who else had there been to turn to?

Then why, needled his own thoughts relentlessly, doesn’t he trust me? He looks at me as though I sang life into the very stars one minute, and the next can scarcely bring himself to look at me at all. But I want to believe his faith in me is real. I want to believe there is some reason for his secrecy. Whoever you are, whatever it is you’ve seen and done…I would want to know it all, good and ill alike.

That thought reverberated through his head in a selfish chord, Saber realized. It was not a knight’s place to know every thought of their lord, and neither was it a Servant’s place to ask such a thing of their Master. This war and their contract were only a momentary thing, their partnership a fleeting one. With that truth in mind, was it any wonder his Master kept himself so closely guarded?

Wandering thoughts faded back into present reality only for Saber to realize his hand’s idle motions had continued while he was lost in contemplation; a battle-calloused hand had been stroking gently through his Master’s untied hair. It was softer than it looked, he noted distantly–the silken black of a river running beneath a moonless night sky.

The pale and drawn tension on the professor’s face had vanished, his breathing soft and even in the silent room. For what was surely the first time, Saber saw his Master completely calm with neither the weight of responsibility nor a scowl of irritation wearing lines into his face. For the first time to Saber’s eyes, he looked unburdened and even peaceful.   

…There had to be a reason for his silence. Whether that reason was a failing of Saber’s own or not, he wasn’t sure. Common sense told the knight that must have been the case, but something else felt certain that his lord truly did mean his praise of Saber wholeheartedly. So then was this secrecy born of fear, or of distrust? If the latter, how could Saber rectify whatever missteps he had taken which made him unworthy of trust in the first place? And if the former, how could he help when the mage did not see fit to confide in him? Ephemeral contract or not, all he could ever have desired was to do right by his Master. To serve as a proud knight should, alongside a valiant lord.

‘Why would I fear something like that? One way or the other, you would have stopped him. I wasn’t in any danger from Assassin.’

Saber’s eyes fell to the healing razor-thin scratch across his Master’s throat. 

His lord was valiant. Proud and courageous, possessed of a fierce heart no matter how it might tremble, who admitted fault where he believed fault existed. Everything about him had the makings of an exemplary leader, and Saber should have been thrilled to fight beside him–he was thrilled , but it was exactly as he had said earlier. Coordination had its flaws, and right now the flaw was the thorns of doubt and deception entangling their entire contract. If he could simply trust his Master, would that prove him worthy of trust in return? Would it not befit a loyal knight to simply let his lord’s secrets pass by without comment, and accept what sincerity could be found? 

‘I wonder what it was Fionn said to you in reconcilia-’

Berserker’s echoing words left a cold weight sitting in his chest. No, no , his Master’s apology and earnest gratitude had been real. Of that he was certain, of that he had to be certain because to think such heartfelt emotion could somehow be an act chilled Saber to his very core. It was unthinkable, and yet the honeyed words of the other Servant ground away at his certainty even now. 

But to know the shape of secrets kept and believe they were kept for a purpose…was that not trust in the most heartfelt form one was able to give? Had his lord not more than earned that not only by virtue of the marks on his hand, but by his courage in fighting alongside Saber, in risking his life and undertaking such a heavy task for the benefit of all the world?

…That was, he quietly concluded, enough. It had to be enough. That was already more than a Servant had the right to ask for, another small imposition made against his lord’s authority upon a half dozen others. It was not for him to ask that his Master prove himself, but he could remind himself to have faith enough to believe the professor was not hiding things out of malice whether towards Saber or his allies. He could continue to trust the mage with his back, rely on his sharp mind and fiery resolve, and perhaps the knight would prove himself safe to trust in turn.

Taking a chance and believing in someone sight unseen–such a risk was dangerous in several respects, but that was the point of having faith at all.

He would believe in his Master, regardless of the risk that such belief could well betray him a second time.

---

“–sure that she saw some kind of demon quadruped, I’m saying that I don’t think it was a Servant. More likely it was the familiar of whoever was with it.”

The professor had been on this subject for some time as they walked the eastern side of Fuyuki; down thin paths and roads winding between towering buildings, through air chilled by recent rainfall. They’d driven clear across town with him seemingly trying to understand the story spun by Caster’s young Master, and his own lord had finally begun to voice his thoughts in more detail even out in the open. 

“Are familiars often so large?” Saber asked, casting a look around. Though there were a number of other people walking the city, none of them gave the pair a second glance. Some kind of obfuscation magecraft, or perhaps the city’s atmosphere was simply so tense that they felt it better to keep to themselves. “Caster’s Master said it looked as though someone was riding it as they left, did she not?”

The mage beside him gave a wordless hum of annoyance, the sort Saber was learning to recognize as begrudging acknowledgment that he couldn’t argue a point.

“...No, they usually aren’t.” he acknowledged. “And with at least two, maybe three Servants unaccounted for, it’s not completely impossible. But I can’t think of any mythological creature that would fit into a Lancer or Rider class. Or an Archer if we’re wrong about that one. Hell, I don’t even know if that kind of thing can be summoned as a Servant.”

It was Saber’s turn to concede the point then; even with the knowledge granted by his summoning, no possibilities were coming to mind. Less than none, where neither of them had even seen what little glimpse Rin and Caster had.

“Perhaps it would be wise to focus upon what they were doing, instead of who they are.” he ventured a little less cautiously than usual. Strategy was his Master’s domain, but it had become clear he welcomed the added perspective. “Our aim was to destroy the keystones and destabilize the leylines before the Grail could appear, do I have that correct?”

“Right.” his Master confirmed. “If someone else is out there beating us to it, 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. But any other mage in the war would be looking to fight it normally, not screw around with the leylines.”

“Is it possible they could be a potential ally?” Saber wondered aloud; the leap in logic seemed sound enough to him, but the brief look of dismay on the mage’s face implied it had gone unacknowledged for a reason.

“That’s impossible. Improbable, at least. No one but us knows enough to try and stop this whole thing, which only bothers me that much more. Other than that, I can’t think of any reason to go about it like that unless they were using some backwards insane method to take control of the Grail.”

“Would that work?” His Master had paused to look over a half-folded map taken from inside his jacket, frowning at it rather than answer the incredulous question immediately.

“No idea.” he finally answered, so dismissive that it truly did seem like there was no other answer. “I just hope we can handle the rest before they do whatever the hell they’re playing at with the Grail.”

On that they were certainly in agreement, the mage slipping the map back into a pocket and casting a look around before continuing to walk with Saber at his side. It was true that they had to focus on their primary issue, that being what little they could do with certainty to slow or weaken the Grail’s manifestation. The actions of other Masters and Servants or whatever else were of far less concern–though that made him almost painfully restless to go without an out-and-out fight, Saber conceded it was the necessary course of action.

“...That’s not good.” the mage said under his breath, sunglasses raised to rest on his head as he looked over a tremendous four-story building wrought of stone, iron, and glass–smaller than the towering structures surrounding it in the district, but a massive centerpiece of the area regardless. Saber followed his gaze with only somewhat less apprehension; a Servant could detect what his Master had needed a specific location to find.

“The leyline runs through here?” Saber heard himself ask in faint disbelief–faint, because the answer was obvious. 

“Galliasta was smarter than I thought,” came the answer in a strained and nervous voice. “His workshop was set up practically next door to the civic center, but… fuck , if a fight breaks out in a place like this…” 

Truthfully, Saber felt the same unease once he heard his Master speak. A battle amidst the skyline was one thing, but for conflict to break out in the streets of so populated an area would spell disaster and likely collateral damage beyond reckoning if it were not resolved swiftly. Most Noble Phantasms would no doubt wipe half of this part of the city out; even his own would surely cause damage that would not go unnoticed at the absolute least.

Silence stretched on a few seconds too long before Saber shook himself out of his thoughts first. The color was draining from his lord’s face, one hand gripping the handle of his cane for dear life and the other flexing nervously to avoid curling into a fist. He was somewhere else again, not unlike the night when they had first sighted Caster on the cursed and barren ground halfway across the city.

“Master.” The simple acknowledgement had so far been enough to pull him back from that, a light touch coming to rest on that uneasy hand marked by crimson seals. The restless motion stopped immediately, the professor freezing in place for a moment before glancing over at Saber with wide and startled green eyes.

“Wh-..what? Sorry, I…did you say something?”

“...I was only going to ask how you wished to proceed.” It was a lie, but a gentle one–better to spare his lord’s pride than question just what exactly it was he saw when those eyes turned so distant. As the mage himself had said…they needed to handle this first.

“R…right.” He shook his head, looking back to the building ahead. “This is going to be difficult…it might be better to do it in broad daylight. I’d sooner be caught by normal people than a Master and Servant. If we can sneak in through a back door or window out of sight, then we can track down the keystone–if it’s not at ground level, probably in the basem-”

Something immaterial pricked at the back of Saber’s mind, and the light touch on his Master’s hand turned into an abrupt squeeze– stop talking without words or thought. The mage halted midsentence, abruptly still and alert as his Servant. Thank the gods the interruption was understood, even if he’d likely have to apologize for the interruption later.

<What is it?> came the inevitable question over their shared link.

<...I don’t know.> He could say without question that they were being watched. But by who, and for what reason? Was it the potential Archer again, or the mystery supposed Master that Rin and Caster had seen? He couldn’t claim it felt like the presence of a Servant, but something was just… wrong.

“Master of Saber.” came a smooth and sharp feminine voice, belonging to a figure that approached in calm steps. She wore dark clothes (knowledge he would not normally have informed Saber they belonged to those of the Church), loose flaxen hair framing her face and shoulders wheat-gold in the overcast sunlight. “I would not have expected to see you out in the open.”

Beside him, his Master relaxed–but only slightly. On his guard, but not against a definite threat.

“I could say the same.” He stepped forward and past Saber to face the much smaller woman directly. “I wouldn’t have expected the Holy Church to be out scouting the city. Did something happen?”

That was said more for the Servant’s own benefit than either of their own; after all, he had been outside the neutral ground when that meeting had taken place. She didn’t seem quite like he thought an agent of the Church might given his own lord’s apprehension, but on the other hand appearances meant little. 

“It is part of our role to see to the concealment of the war. When Masters kill one another in battle, the Church deals in keeping it quiet.” Her words were direct and to the point, which his lord seemed to accept easily enough as truth. She adjusted her grip on a particularly large bag at her side–Saber was fairly sure the name written on it was that of a restaurant they’d passed on the way there. 

“Of course. And it would practically be cheating to ask for details.” the mage answered dismissively, looking off down the road–towards the building Assassin’s Master had called his workshop. Distance away that it was, there could still be discerned a number of people out front; an ordinary investigation being conducted into the death of the building’s owner, Saber assumed. The only one out of place seemed to be a particularly tall man in a long coat of deep purple, though the brief glance he spared was not enough to make out further details even with his sharp eyesight.

Primarily because his attention was then drawn to the fact that the woman’s pale eyes were now fixated on him rather than his Master, widening slightly as if in some undefined and uncertain emotion. There was something truly strange about her, now that he saw that cold gaze fixated on him. She carried something unearthly in her demeanor, something beautiful and terrible that called to mind memories of his foster father–for only an instant, she resembled one of the fae more than anything else.

“...Something wrong?” His Master cut in as he looked back to Saber and the young woman, who shook her head and turned back to the mage who now looked to her with a sharper gaze than before. Was it caution or challenge written on his lord’s face? Whichever the case may have been, there was a troubling apprehension now settling within Saber’s chest that he expected would be difficult to rid himself of. “My apologies–I don’t recall asking your name.”

“Yvaine.” she replied with an impassive stare. Whatever had been in her eyes when she looked at Saber, it was gone now…wasn’t it? The two stared at each other for a long moment, Yvaine’s pale eyes drifting briefly to the mage’s right side before flicking back up to his face.

“Yvaine,” he repeated, wearing the same tense diplomatic smile Saber had seen him wear when they had first confronted Assassin’s Master. “I wouldn’t want to obstruct the Holy Church’s work. We’ll leave you to it, then.”

She stared for only a second or two longer…then inclined her head slightly and turned to walk down the road towards the now-unoccupied building where Masters and Servants had fought only a short while ago. Once the sound of her steps had begun to fade, Saber felt a gentle hand on his back and his lord’s urgent voice barely a whisper away at his side.

“We need to get out of here. Sneaking in to deal with the leyline isn’t safe with the Church hovering around.”

“What should we do, then?” Saber answered in the same undertone. His Master’s unease was practically tangible, and were he being honest Saber had to admit to no small amount of his own. “Seek out one of the others?”

“The church is probably empty right now…” The mage trailed off, a soft sound of frustration leaving him in the form of a sigh. “...no. That risks showing our hand too soon, same for the one to the west at the temple. This was a stroke of bad luck, but we can’t hang around here right now. Come on.”

He pulled away to walk back in the direction they’d come from, and of course Saber followed without hesitation. Anxious silence fell between them, and it was only once they had put some distance between themselves and the area that his Master spoke again.

“...Did something about that feel weird to you?”

It was a relief to know it hadn’t been merely Saber’s imagination; having his lord be on the same page went a long way towards setting an uncertain mind at ease.

“It did.” he confirmed, glancing back over his shoulder–they were long out of sight by now. “That woman…I don’t know what it was. She did not feel like a Servant, but…” But he failed to put into words just what he did sense from her. “...You seem ill at ease regarding the Church, my lord. Are they so dangerous as that?”

“They’re…yeah, most of them. The kind of people they’d send to handle the war are probably Executors. Heretic hunters, people who generally deal with mages who need dealing with.” The way he stressed those words made for no misunderstanding on what ‘deal with’ actually meant, or how unpleasant he seemed to think it was. “But that woman…Yvaine, there’s something bothering me about her.”

When it appeared he was going to stop there, Saber tilted his head and hoped the mage would take it as indication to continue. With a short and annoyed sigh, he lifted the seal-branded right hand to put his sunglasses back over green eyes, pushing them back into place.

“...I can’t shake the feeling I’ve met her before, and I don’t know where.”

Maybe that was the core of what had left even Saber himself feeling unsettled. That look in pale eyes, on an ethereal face…had it merely been surprise at the sight of a Servant walking out in broad daylight? Or had Yvaine felt, inexplicably, the same nagging familiarity that the professor gave voice to? At a glance, it was not possible to judge with any certainty.

...But it left Saber wondering just how many people in this Holy Grail War were already aware of things he himself could not yet discover.

Notes:

so i found this fun status page generator and i thought it'd be neat to make up a set of pages as we go along

so here's saber, caster, assassin, and berserker for funsies

...yes i've done about eight hundred things while procrastinating actually writing, what else is new

Chapter 18: Drive

Summary:

sometimes i feel the fear of
uncertainty stinging clear
and i can't help but ask myself how much i'll let the fear
take the wheel and steer

Although the initial excursion had been a setback, Waver still felt reasonably confident in the plan itself. The quiet approach was going to be necessary, and sneaking into the Fuyuki civic center sounded like an easier task than fighting any more than they already had. Simple: just keep quiet and stay out of sight of the Holy Church, a mystery potential Archer, a possible Servant and Master combination already out to destabilize the leylines, and god only knew where the third unknown Servant was in all this.

…When he looked from that angle, it wasn’t quite as simple as he hoped. The larger picture had too many variables, and that line of thought was severed for the parallel one to continue. Short term was the safer goal, and the consequences–however disastrous–could be dealt with as they happened. Trying to plan for every potential outcome would only cause him to make that many more mistakes. Seeking one path forward was safer than weaving a vast spiderweb of possibilities; it was more efficient to draw a single line, no matter how it turned and twisted on its way to the desired outcome. Unlike alchemy, there was no way to calculate every single component down to the last grain of potassium or the precise application of magical energy to produce the exact scale and strength of blinding light that would be produced once a glass vial was cracked against the ground.

Magecraft was a perfect science of numbers, of reagents in exact measurements, in words spoken and sigils drawn with exacting precision. There was beauty in that sense of control arising from a primordial energy, in the ache of Magic Circuits that blazed with fire and innovation like a white-hot forge. That was why he had chosen to pursue it so many years ago; it was a talent that needed to be researched and refined, a unique perspective that only Waver Velvet could see the world from. 

Yet just like the world itself, magic was so much grander and so much more complex than any of that. That was the purpose of the Department of Modern Magecraft Theory–to take those perfect calculations and apply them in ways that sent that single path twisting and turning around all obstacles in a complicated world to reach the desired conclusion. Adapt to new information and utilize old methods in innovative ways. Propriety be damned and tradition along with it, such things were less than worthless when it came to reducing problems and solutions to their component parts.

But no matter how problems and the variables that were ‘human nature’ could be dissected and adapted to…in reality and magecraft both, Waver was often left struggling to bridge the gap between concept and practical application.

The estate’s training hall was in worse dusty disrepair than the rest, but it served its purpose; open space where Rin or Gilgamesh wouldn’t happen to pass by and interrupt him. Physical training was a little beyond him for myriad reasons (not the least of which being that he had the strength of a twig), but he wasn’t completely incapable of it as a last resort. And given the way things were going–or rather, given his embarrassing failure against Atrum–he needed to better prepare himself. 

In dusty air glowing with the ambient light of afternoon, a wireframe bird circled around and turned sharp corners. That was thought process number one: keeping the exact amount of magical energy running through the metal and utilizing only as much concentration as was necessary to manipulate it. Thought process number two was to recall as much as he could of the fight itself at the same time; divided concentration with neither taking up any more or less attention than they directly needed. Maybe, maybe if he was excessively careful he could manage two metal lines at once, but that would be a risk that might leave him with greater offensive capacity at cost to his concentration and therefore defense. It was much like spinning plates, or juggling while trying to recite the alphabet backwards. 

Deemed improbable, that line of thought was severed. The goal was to keep an enemy at range, where alchemy–both his own and learned from Irisviel–could hold them off until-...

Until what, scoffed the voice of his own thoughts, wire sparrow briefly coming undone around its edges before quickly reforming as its caster struggled to maintain focus. Until Diarmuid kills them? What happens when he’s not there? Two, three seconds more and Galliasta would have killed you because you didn’t go for his throat when you had the chance. You’ve been lucky and you know it. Talking your way out of fights, or being saved at the last instant just like with Kayneth.

Hand tightening on the handle of his cane, it was swept upwards with the sharp sound of a switch pressed and hidden blade revealed.

What’s going to happen when you have no choice?

Too slow, without the elegance of the lance it was meant (however unconsciously) to evoke. He could move faster than that if he could just concentrate , if he could focus only on the exact motions of manipulated metal and-

“That’s a very clever weapon to carry, Master.”

Every thought process came to a screeching halt, metaphorical spinning plates shattering in his mind with the sound of wire unfurling and dropping to the dusty wooden floor. Waver himself stumbled briefly as the blade retracted and he tried to find his balance again.

“Wh-wh-wh–” A very intelligent response, as he swiveled to see a mildly amused Diarmuid leaning lightly on the doorframe, arms folded.

“My sincerest apologies, I thought you knew that I was there.”

“How long were you–?!” Waver choked out, feeling some deep embarrassment color his face scarlet. He should have been able to sense his own Servant, but his mind had been so otherwise occupied that the presence hadn’t even registered.

“Only for the past few minutes.” Diarmuid answered with a small smile that was likely an attempt to set a flustered Master at ease. “When I couldn’t find you inside or working in the storehouse, I presumed this the only place left within the boundary field.”

“R-right.” Obviously his Servant would want to know where his Master had gone off to, even if it was silently understood he wouldn’t have simply left home unguarded. To say nothing of the inherent danger in that, leaving Diarmuid to tolerate both Rin and Gilgamesh might have been a fate worse than death for even the most patient of Servants.and Masters alike.

Quiet footsteps crossed the empty room from the doorway as Waver adjusted his sunglasses and hurried to collect himself. Channeling magical energy back through the wires, it rose from the floor to return to where it had come from–coiled around the mage’s forearm.

“What did you mean, ‘clever’?” he asked as the last of the metal disappeared under his sleeve like a retreating serpent. “It’s just an ordinary blade, there’s nothing special about it.” 

At the deflection, Saber frowned in a way that almost seemed like he was searching for the right words to form an objection. It was a strange look for him, Waver noted, but not an unwelcome one. Having someone blindly agree with every word out of his mouth was not an experience he sought to repeat, least of all when Waver knew damn well which of them was more practiced in matters of battle and strategy.

“If you would allow it…could I see that for a moment?” Unsure of just where this was actually going, Waver shifted to lean more on his left leg as he handed the black and silver cane over on request. Diarmuid spun it around in one hand in a slow arc, almost as if testing the balance of it–gold eyes lingered on the outline of a rose engraved in the handle, and though no question was asked Waver could feel himself starting to turn red from a brief spike of embarrassment.

“As I expected.” Diarmuid continued almost to himself, “It’s heavier than it looks on this end. That alone makes it an effective weapon, as when you struck Assassin’s Master.”

“I-..w-well, of course, it’s metal.” he said a little too quickly. There was a perfectly good reason the handle was heavier than it should have been, but it wasn’t one Waver particularly wanted to explain. His Servant gave him a strange look, almost as though weighing his options on what and what not to ask…but thankfully, did not question further.

“My point is,” he explained as he handed the cane back, “you have crafted a clever weapon where others would see a weakness.”

The metal tip clicked lightly on the dusty wooden floor, Waver’s hand fidgeting restlessly as it settled around the handle again. Praise had never been something he knew how to handle, especially praise he knew was earnest from someone who had no reason to flatter him.

“I look weak enough as it is.” he answered in an attempt to brush it off. “It’s better that way. If someone underestimates me, I can catch them off guard a little more easily.”

“...I did not mean to imply that you looked weak.” Diarmuid remarked with an expression that almost looked confused. As though Waver had said something that was obviously wrong, yet that was as far as he could go to correct his Master’s misconception. "Only that others might think as much–apparently, including yourself. There is no inherent failure in bearing an injury, Master. Even Nuada himself lost an arm in battle."

Waver fixed him with a flat stare, and when nothing further came except a small smile from the gold-eyed Servant, his Master gave a blunt counter: 

"Diarmuid, the Tuatha Dé Danann kicked him off the throne for seven years because of that. And he got his arm replaced with Airgetlám before they let him reclaim it."

“...Ah.” Caught off guard, Diarmuid’s smile turned into something far more embarrassed as a slight tinge of red colored his face. “...I was hoping you would not have known that part. It might have sounded encouraging that way."

Defying all attempts to stop himself, a brief snort of laughter left Waver as the corner of his mouth twitched into something approaching a smile. 

"...Nice try.”

It was, honestly. Diarmuid was trying to make him feel better over a perceived fault or flaw; an encouragement that was very like him no matter the incarnation or time. It was a rare case, however, where it wasn’t strictly necessary. Waver knew he was pathetic in several aspects; his pitiful Magic Circuits, his entire career as a mage, and a dozen mistakes and sentiments that had led him to wind up right back in Fuyuki retracing his own foolish steps a decade later. But of all the things he knew made him weak and a failure, he could never curse a chronic ache in a damaged leg to be a true weakness or failure. Every step reminded him of a night when death was barely a breath away, yes–but so too was it a scar he carried in defiance of that. Tangible proof that even an impossible enemy could be overcome. 

Others looked at him and saw an easy target–which only served to hand Waver an easy advantage. He was as far from a god of war as one could possibly get, and that meant he had to capitalize on every inch of ground he could claim.

“All that aside, would you allow me to offer some advice, Professor?” Pulled abruptly out of his thoughts, Waver looked up to see his Servant’s golden eyes watching him patiently. In no way that reflected any helpful answer to the question, he realized he might never get used to being on Diarmuid’s eye level now. He’d always seemed so much taller a decade before.

“…Sure, of course. What is it?”

While he was as willing as ever to encourage the objections and questioning that were once unthinkable, nothing could have prepared Waver for what came of that request. Coming to stand behind Waver, the Servant’s right arm came to rest loosely around the mage’s waist while his left hand took gentle hold of his Master’s wrist.

“Your blade is at your left side by necessity,” he explained while Waver himself found he was frozen entirely solid from shock, proximity, or both, “but you should not swing it in such a way that your balance relies on your right leg. That can easily lead you to fall and your attack to fail at a critical moment. Here-” 

He guided Waver’s arm and the cane in his hand upwards slowly in the same attacking motion, pulling him a step backwards at the same time. Combat was admittedly not dissimilar from a dance when one looked at it from a certain angle, but being instructed in much the same way as one might have learned to waltz was making his head spin.

“-instead of advancing with your right foot, step back with your weight on your left.” spoke the patient voice right next to his ear. “This requires allowing your enemy to approach you rather than close in on them, but your weapon’s reach can account for the small retreat.”

“O…oh. That…makes sense.” Waver heard himself squeak out in an embarrassingly quiet voice. It did, obviously; anyone would have been out of their mind not to listen to combat advice from one of the greatest knights of the Fianna.  

Letting go of his Master and stepping back a few paces, Diarmuid manifested the smaller of his two blades in hand. Beagalltach shining golden amidst a room of dust and disrepair, Waver looked from the sword to its wielder in confusion.

“I would see you attempt as much now, rather than in the heat of combat. Strike without regard for my safety, a mere blade in the hands of a mortal can do little.” Calmly, Diarmuid said something completely insane to Waver as he held out the mythical golden sword.

“W–hold on, what-?! ” In a flash of motion that would have been a snail’s pace to a Servant and quick for a human, the distance between them closed and the sword swept downward-

…passing with perfect control through thin air as Waver stepped back and swung half-wildly, hidden blade deflected off of cobalt armor without so much as a scratch. Eyes wide with surprise and alarm, the cane trembled in a shaking hand; in stark opposition to his Master’s shock, Diarmuid smiled brightly as his sword dematerialized.

“An excellent first attempt, Master! Please, forgive me for startling you, I only thought it best for you to try with little preparation. If you can have even half that speed against your enemies, I believe you can take full advantage of such a well-suited weapon.”

“Don’t do that , you scared me half to death-” Waver countered in insincere admonishment–even if it had startled him, how could he really be upset when Diarmuid was yet again praising what little combat skill the mage actually had? 

“I’m sorry, truly.” was the equally insincere apology delivered with a smile and slight bow. “I only wish to know you to be capable of defending yourself should we need to-...Master, are you feeling well? You look a bit feverish-”

“I’mfineDiarmuidthankyou.” Which was a stunningly flawless defense to say the least, but Waver was already aware of how red his face had been turning over the course of the past couple of minutes. Which was made worse immediately by how a flicker of concern turned right back into a barely-concealed smile on his Servant’s face. “I-I’m going to get some air.” he added only a bit less quickly, followed by the flippant: “Try not to kill Gilgamesh while I’m gone, I don’t want to hear Tohsaka complain about it.”

“As you wish, Master.” The words came with a quiet laugh that made Waver’s heart feel like it tried to do a backflip and landed in a pit of spikes. He quickly walked out of the broken-down building, then straight through the house (blessedly, without running into either Rin or her insufferable Servant) and slipped out the estate’s front gate without incident.

The sun was beginning to hang lower in the clear winter sky, but there was still more than enough light to be sure that standing around outside wasn’t going to get him killed just yet. Given the unpleasant encounter with Izou on that initial night, Waver was not about to push his luck on that front again. Too much of this was beginning to hinge on his luck as it was, and taking insane risks hoping that principle would hold out was the mindset of the headstrong idiot he hoped he had stopped being a long time ago.

Lighting a cigarette with hands slightly less steady than he would have liked, Waver’s eyes drifted to the borrowed car parked outside. He’d locked the case Maiya gave him in the trunk and tried to forget about it, but…well, she’d been right. Harsh, but right.

I do not want to hear about how it may be against your principles or your pride. Too much of this operation relies on the weakest support, and if you fall so does everything else.

It wasn’t a matter of pride, and it was barely his principles that were the issue. Obviously Waver knew and accepted that battle between mages was to kill or be killed. Maiya didn’t need to tell him that his death might very well mean failure of this whole thing, unless Irisviel could support a Servant or Berserker was much, much stronger than he looked. He knew that if– when they came across an enemy that could not be reasoned with like Tohsaka or a situation his Servant couldn’t save him from, there was only one definite way to ensure his self-preservation.

Waver Velvet, terrible mage in both ability and mentality, simply did not know if he was capable of killing someone.

“...fuck.” He cursed under his breath in a haze of bitter white smoke, pressing a hand to his eyes.

You can’t act heartless when you’re wearing yours around your neck. You can’t cut yourself off from everyone and everything just to survive–that isn’t living.

Maiya was right…but so was Irisviel, and that formed an uncomfortable tangle he could not extricate himself from. He needed the persona he had crafted for himself over the past years; it was what kept him alive, what let him teach a class of mages that relied on and trusted him. Lord El-Melloi II was painstakingly forged armor, but here and now it was armor that had formed an iron maiden around Waver’s heart. 

He looked back towards the gate and the house beyond it. The only way out of this mess was through it, but the question was ‘in which direction?’ Close that iron shell completely and kill off what was left of a human, or desperately reach out through the cracks and hope someone saw anything worth salvaging?

I want to learn to understand what you mean. What's worth living and dying for.

His own words ricocheted around his thoughts like an angry wasp, the fleeting but dearly treasured memory demanding to be acknowledged. His own stupidity, thrown back in his face. When had he let himself give up and lose sight of what he’d sworn to chase until he’d achieved it? What happened to becoming a lord worth the loyalty of the great and chivalrous knight who followed him?

…He had to do it, didn’t he? Irisviel was right, he had to trust someone with the truth he gave to no one else or Waver would self-destruct and take everything else with him as collateral damage. All he needed to do was reach a hand out of that inescapable prison he had locked himself in and believe that there was something left for his knight to pull from the wreckage. And it had to be today, had to be now before he lost his nerve and before the sun went down.

Taking a slow breath, he crushed the cigarette out under his heel and turned to walk back inside-

“ Waver Velvet , you wretched, backstabbing thief, what do you think you’re doing in this miserable excuse for a city?”

–and the last voice he ever wanted to hear in Fuyuki immediately slammed the door shut on his entire train of thought as the reality of the matter swept over him like an icy torrent with little more than a spoken name.

Did he forget where he was? What kind of conflict between mages was still raging in spite of their attempts to halt it? Was he really stupid enough to believe something like sentiment could ever have any realistic place here?

“...I could ask you that myself, but I think we both know the answer’s going to be the same.” 

Lord El-Melloi II spoke in response and turned smoothly to face the cold brown eyes of a woman wearing shades of dark red–complimenting auburn hair that framed a look of furious revulsion. He knew her on sight, though they had rarely spoken directly for myriad reasons. Her noble house was one that Reines notoriously could not get along with, and her hatred for the Archibald heir’s chosen lord was well known throughout the Clock Tower even if the reasons were consigned to whispered rumor and hushed gossip.

“You’re a hell of a long way from London, Sola-Ui.”

Notes:

real quick because it's 3am and i have to be awake in five hours: please expect a(n intentional, for once) delay in updates for a bit! with the general outline as it stands currently there's A Lot coming down the pipeline and i'd sooner have a wait now than in the middle of some wild shit

as it is now i am writing like this and that's liable to make for some awkward as hell pauses otherwise

have a nice holidays gamers

Chapter 19: Famous Last Words

Summary:

so many bright lights they cast a shadow but can I speak
well is it hard understanding i'm incomplete
a life that's so demanding
i get so weak

“You’re a hell of a long way from London, Sola-Ui.” 

“And that makes you what, exactly?” scowled Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri, whose patience with Waver was much shorter than her name. She stood before him looking wildly out of place, crimson-clad nobility out in the distant outskirts rather than the populated city. The tap-tap-tap of polished shoes on the road only served to accentuate the fact that she was ready to start coming out swinging, Waver’s eyes behind his sunglasses glancing to the still-bright sky for a fraction of a second. Her hands were covered by thin black gloves, and that confirmed what common sense already told him. Someone with access to the Spiritual Evocation department could easily secure a catalyst, and a powerful one. That, he reflected briefly, was more than likely how Kayneth had summoned a Knight of the Round Table on short notice.

The woman glaring daggers through him was a Master, beyond any doubt.

This was a serious issue. Even with several hours before sunset, she’d caught him completely off guard quite literally where he lived. Broad daylight or not, he knew Sola-Ui would want blood so badly as to make Atrum look like a friendly chat by comparison. A dozen calculations on how this might unfold were running through his head, and all of them ended with someone dead. On paper, the odds were sharply in his favor: she had no way of knowing there were two Servants past the estate’s outer wall, let alone that one was the strongest of the knight classes and the other was Gilgamesh. Despite no indication of who or what her own Servant could be, it would be a tall order for any hero to emerge victorious. 

“I think you know the answer to that one, too.”

The problem was twofold. One, this was putting Rin in the line of fire–that was something he could no more tolerate with her than he would with Ilyasviel. Regardless of how strong Caster was, Waver was not remotely about to let one of his students fight his battles for him. And second…well, the second half tied itself in the bramble patch that formed all his other problems right now.

He didn’t want to have to kill the mage currently glaring at him like that alone would make him burst into flames.

“You have quite the nerve, trying this little stunt a second time.” she snapped, hands on her hips. 

“Look, it’s not what you think–”

“Oh-?” A sharp and haughty laugh left her, coldly lacking in anything close to humor. “It’s not what I think, is it? Well, I think it looks like the little rat who stole the entire El-Melloi house wasn’t satisfied with even that much.” Waver had to concede she was technically correct on that front, though not for the reasons she thought. “What do you need the Holy Grail for? Or-” her eyes sharpened, a chilly smile with nothing friendly behind it. “-do you just not want anyone else to have it?”

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into–” Waver shot back with far more tension than he wanted to, the weight of the justified accusation wearing very quickly on what diplomacy he could spare today.

“Don’t you dare condescend to me!” Sola-Ui stormed over in a few clicking steps of heels on pavement, jabbing Waver in the chest with one finger and all but growling her words. “I will not be lectured by a lowborn thief on what I am and am not capable of.”

The outburst was probably a fair one, all things considered. That was poor wording on his part, but it wasn’t helping that he could barely get a word in as it was. She dropped her hand with a sound of unrestrained disgust, smoothing out her blouse and regaining some composure.

“The freelancer sold me out, didn’t he?” she asked. “I should have known, someone so distasteful as to practice necromancy–”

“Leave him out of it.” Waver snapped. “It was your own bad luck that you told the one mercenary I actually know to keep something secret from me. I’m the one you have a grudge against, so don’t start blaming everyone else.”

“Hmph.” Huffing out an irritated breath, Sola-Ui took a step back and looked Waver up and down as though forced to look at a particularly unwelcome vermin. “You-”

“That’s enough.” Waver quickly cut her off that time, before she could set off another tirade. “I can only tolerate standing around and being yelled at for so long on a given day, so it’s my turn. I know you hate me and honestly, you’re right to. I’m not here to apologize for the stupid shit I’ve done, and I have much bigger problems than you.” He saw a spark of anger light her eyes and twist her mouth into a sharp and thin frown, but continued before she could start in on him again. “If you’re a Master as well, you’re about to have the same problem. This ritual’s broken , Sola-Ui, there’s no goddamn Grail to win in the first place. No one’s getting a wish out of this, unless they really want this city and likely the whole damn world to burn to the ground.”

Sola-Ui’s eyebrows shot up somewhere to the vicinity of her hairline at such a bold claim, shock lasting only a fleeting instant before those brown eyes sharpened like knives.

“...If that should be true, why doesn’t the Association know?”

“For the same reason I don’t give a damn that you know my real name.”

No one would ever believe you , hung the unspoken explanation in the air as the two stared one another down.

He could understand why Sola-Ui would chase the Holy Grail independent of the Association and her house. The Lord of the Spiritual Evocation department had two children; already a troubling thing when it came to mages. Of those two, the less talented elder brother had inherited the Sophia-Ri bloodline’s Magic Crest, and the younger sister had been swiftly arranged into a political marriage to her father’s student. An arrangement which swiftly crumbled to pieces when said student became a casualty in the Fourth Holy Grail War, leaving his own house in ruins. Worse still, even if she told every single person who would listen that ‘Lord El-Melloi II is Waver Velvet’, no one in the Association would immediately take a second-born woman at her word. Even if they did…the damage she could do to Waver’s reputation would only be reflected right back on Kayneth and herself in turn. Sola-Ui wasn’t foolish enough to tarnish her name further by becoming known as ‘betrothed to a lord outlived by his lowborn student’.

In short, Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri was only in Fuyuki now because Waver Velvet had personally killed her chance to succeed in an Association that saw her as a disposable pawn on the board, with no way to answer for strike after strike against her circumstances and no way to escape them. 

No way, except with a miracle.

“And you,” she practically spat in a voice dripping with condescension, “somehow know all about this, so you just happened to summon a Servant as a participant in a war that you assert is flawed?” She looked briefly to his right hand; unlike Sola-Ui herself, Waver hadn’t bothered to conceal his own Command Seals with gloves.

“I summoned a Servant so I could live long enough to stop this, before-”

“How exactly do you plan on doing that? What are you aiming to do, go against both the Mage’s Association and the Holy Church?” She laughed derisively, gesturing widely before returning her hands to her hips. “ You, on your own? Or are you conspiring with that backstabbing mercenary-”

As right as she was that this was a foolish endeavor, Waver knew she was provoking him. And he knew it was never a wise decision to let himself take that bait. Just like with Atrum; provocation led to mistakes, led to a flaring temper that was difficult to manage at the best of times. It was careless to let anyone infuriate him, but unfortunately the woman before him now was very good at it.

“ I told you to leave Shishigou out of this. ” Waver heard himself snap before conscious thought could catch up. “I’m the only one here; no one else I know of survived to see what happened at the end of the last war.” A lie, obviously–but a necessary one. He’d sooner let Sola-Ui kill him than sell out Irisviel as having survived as well, much less let on that Rin was just beyond the perimeter wall in the house beyond. 

“But you’re not a fucking idiot. You know Kayneth wasn’t the only casualty, what about Tokiomi Tohsaka? Have you even seen what’s left of where the Makiri and Tohsaka estates used to be? Anyone can tell something horrible happened in Fuyuki, and I’m telling you the Holy Grail’s at the root of it. I don’t know what happened to screw it up so badly, but I saw the aftermath for myself. I saw what happened when the Grail nearly manifested, and there’s no miracle at the end of this. There’s no ‘victory’, no ‘wish-granting device’, no grand and glorious acclaim from the Association for killing six other Masters. If this ritual isn’t stopped, everyone in this city will die, and probably the rest of the world after that.”

As Waver answered her with that frustrated tirade, she watched him with a critical, analytic stare. Measuring every furious word that he spoke, looking straight through him as if trying to read his very thoughts. For just a moment, he felt the thinnest shred of hope that he might have been getting through to her, that maybe this wouldn’t have to end in violence.

…Then her eyes grew icy cold, fixing him with a dark emptiness built on spite and loathing. Near-tangible disdain filled her voice like acid filled a delicate glass vial, spilling out of her mouth into the winter air.

“You really will tell any sort of deplorable lie to get ahead, won’t you?”

He should have known better. Of course someone who had hated him for ten long years would never believe a single thing he said. Waver could have shown her a corrupted Grail himself and she still might have said he made it up just to spite her. But even that didn’t dissuade him, a strained desperation creeping into his voice:

“Sola-Ui, for the love of–you’re going to get yourself killed , you have to believe m–”

“I don’t have to do a damned thing you say!” she snapped right back. “I’ve had enough of everyone telling me what I need to do. Once I have the Grail, I won’t be doing any of that ever again. If you want to stop me, then you already know what has to be done.”

…It really was a lost cause, wasn’t it? Or a lost cause as far as getting her to understand he was telling the truth about the Grail. She may have been a mage through and through, but whether or not it came to bloodshed wasn’t totally certain. That was a thin hope Waver refused to let go of just yet.

“I’m not going to fight you.” Waver met those dark eyes with his own, unflinching. “And you’re not going to kill me in the middle of the day. So what do you want to do, stand here screaming at each other until nightfall so you can rip my throat out then?”

It felt much colder now than the mild winter days had been so far, but that was almost certainly down to the frigid demeanor his words were answered with. There was no doubt that if Sola-Ui could kill him on the spot in broad daylight without drawing the ire of the war’s overseer or the Association, then Waver would already be dead.

“I’m staying at the Fuyuki Hyatt.” she said at last, sounding like a demand more than it was information. “When you’re done hiding in some run-down shack, come find me and we’ll settle this like mages.”

We’ll settle this like mages had the fascinating quirk of sounding like she was saying and I’ll kill you, but maybe that went without saying.

“I just said I won’t fight you, Sola-Ui.” He couldn’t, and he knew it. Logically? Yes, he was confident he could defeat her no matter what Servant she had. She would underestimate him and underestimate Diarmuid by extension; a mistake Atrum hadn’t made. But Waver had done more than enough damage to her life without so much as crossing her path, and enough was enough. Killing her was out of the question, and even if she despised him it wasn’t as though he could leave well enough alone and let her walk straight into a calamity she didn’t believe would happen. “I’m not out to win the Holy Grail War. But I’ll concede we need to settle things, so give me a little time and I’ll be there.”

Time for what, he wasn’t sure. To plan a way out of this that didn’t involve her forcing him to kill her, at the bare minimum. Sola-Ui out for his head on top of everything else going on was a risk he couldn’t take, so convincing her to stand down even temporarily was the best thing he could think to do. She huffed a sharp breath in annoyance, but seemed to accept the condition for now. Sola-Ui stepped back and turned to leave, then paused and threw one last glare over her shoulder.

“If you keep me waiting too long, I’ll come back to this sorry excuse for a workshop and reduce it to rubble.” 

Good luck with that, he quickly bit his tongue to stop from saying out loud as she stormed off down the road. Waver stood rooted to one spot until she had rounded a corner out of sight, and then another minute longer to be sure she was gone–at which point he quickly crossed the threshold back into the courtyard and locked the outer gate behind him with a trembling hand. How the hell was he going to get out of this? The instant he showed his face to Sola-Ui again, she would be out for blood even if Waver himself wasn’t. Defeating another Servant was one thing, but–

A slow breath, and then another. He was going to have to talk to Diarmuid, but now hesitation was stopping him yet again. He couldn’t confront her as a ‘lowborn thief’, to use her own words. What he wanted might not factor into their inevitable confrontation now that her own stance had been made abundantly clear. Show the slightest trace of weakness and Sola-Ui would be sure to kill him before he could blink, Servant or no Servant. ‘Waver’ couldn’t contend with her, and that left him quite literally at war with himself for how to proceed. He couldn’t kill her, and yet if he didn’t that meant he could easily die instead–that too was something that couldn’t be allowed. Getting out of this situation with both of them alive was sounding more and more impossible by the second, but…

That’s the mindset of a child, scolded a voice in his thoughts that sounded remarkably like Maiya. Even as much as she despised mages, she understood them more than most. Understood the kill or be killed mentality that drove them, and had the strength of will to answer in kind. Maiya Hisau could act on what Waver Velvet only understood in the abstract–that there could often be no peaceful resolution between people focused on their own advancement. Sola-Ui would slaughter him on the spot without hesitation, and he had to be ready for that. Slipping up at the last second as he had with Atrum was unacceptable.

The iron armor of a mage closed in a little further around the weak human heart it held ensnared.

If it came down to surviving and seeing the war halted at the cost of cutting down one person with his own hands, then–

“As I understand it,” remarked a flippant voice from the man leaning on the wall to his left, “mages often summon Heroic Spirits similar to themselves. But that surely can’t be true in your case.” Punctuating that with a short laugh, amusement sparked in Gilgamesh’s crimson eyes as he spoke. “You have no skill with women whatsoever, do you?”

“ Do you think that’s funny? ” Waver snapped, rounding on the Servant immediately with bristling anger instead of fear flaring up in his chest. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing of which I was not already aware.” Arms folded, the King of Heroes pushed himself off the wall and turned to face Waver fully. “She’s quite the stubborn one, if you play at diplomacy you may just find your head torn off.”

“I don’t want your help, Caster.” the mage said through a hand pressed to his face as he tried to calm frayed nerves and a racing mind. “Sola-Ui is my problem, not yours or Tohsaka’s.”

Gilgamesh hummed as if in acknowledgement, a small frown of dissatisfaction coming to his face. Before Waver could brush the remark off and step away, something beyond impossible left the king’s mouth next:

“Foolish. You who have heard the song of the Sword of Rupture, trembling at the prospect of a single enemy? The standard for knights has truly fallen far in this decadent age.”

“Wh…at…?” As though the air had been knocked out of his lungs, Waver struggled to form a breathless response. Surely he’d heard that incorrectly. Surely Caster had not just made mention of the vortex at the beginning and end of the world, the apocalypse Waver had personally seen tear the skies open twice. “How…you can’t possibly know about…”

“The eyes of the king see more than you know.” he answered with a smirk, as though sharing a joke only the Servant himself thought to be funny. “Is it not prudent to wonder about my vassal’s benefactor? You do think highly of yourself to believe such surface-level secrets difficult to discern.” 

Those crimson eyes glittered strangely in the sunlight, as though taking on a spark entirely their own–impossible though the conclusion was, Waver heard himself speak it in an exhale of stunned disbelief.

“...you’re clairvoyant.”

Somehow, that made perfect sense even as it utterly blindsided him. This was not Archer, not the vainglorious man who rampaged without concern for any but himself, not the tyrant who had been so without equal that the gods had wrought such an equal from the earth itself. To look upon that Gilgamesh has been to stare down a blade at one’s own throat, knowing nothing but capricious whim kept it from claiming any life it chose. Looking at Caster now, wide-eyed with shock, Waver realized fully that this man was no less dangerous–but with that arrogance tempered, even sharpened by a wisdom crafted through experience. Through failure, though he wouldn’t dare say that to his face. 

Truly, this was the wise king of Uruk deserving of the title ‘King of Heroes’, who had led the cradle of civilization to prosperity.

“What…what did you tell her?” Waver choked out helplessly, knowing now that those bright catlike eyes saw everything about him in an instant. How long had he known? What did Rin know, and what was he going to do about it?

“Highly of yourself indeed.” Gilgamesh echoed, hand coming to rest on his hip. “Your secrets are of no consequence to me. I simply saw them at a glance–obvious as they are–and determined you were no threat to my vassal, such is the full extent of my interest. But you do me a terrible insult; grappling with your fear of me only to hesitate at the sight of a single mortal mage? You who swore not to waste a life bought with blood? Just what manner of guiding star do you believe yoursel-"

“ You finish that sentence and I’ll break your fucking nose even if it kills me.” the mage snapped, breathless shock burned away by sudden fury. Hand curled into a fist he stepped forward with a harsh glare, all fear of Gilgamesh past or present utterly forgotten. “I may not be able to stop you seeing whatever the hell you please, but none of it is for you or anyone to repeat and I’m not afraid of you. ”

In that instant, he wasn't. Seething self-hatred boiled over into snarled anger, all fear of the world-rending King of Heroes now a distant memory. If Gilgamesh had said one thing more that needled at the truth and threw Waver's failures in his face any more than they already were, the fires of a short temper might have almost led him to throw a punch at the oldest hero in human history. For that brief second he expected his impudence would be met with the king's swift retribution in shining silver blades, but then-

“A vast improvement!” Caster practically crowed with a sudden laugh and a grin as dangerous as sunlight glinting off of a dagger. “I expect no less than that kind of defiance from one who my own vassal depends on. If you can summon the will to take up arms against the divine, to do so against earthly threats should not have you trembling as a scared child.”

Anger burning in his head, at first it was difficult for Waver to comprehend just what was actually being said here. Gilgamesh knew more than he wanted anyone to, that much went without saying. Clairvoyance was not something he had accounted for, least of all that of someone who saw the truth of a matter as though it were written plainly. But in provocation he could tell there was something else, a legitimate satisfaction in that mocking laugh.

Was this... encouragement?

“...If you know so much,” the mage asked in a carefully measured voice to stop from shouting in frustration at himself and Gilgamesh alike, “then how is this going to end? The eyes of the king can at least see that much, can’t they?”

Caster’s smile faded, returning to that slight frown which carried an emotion Waver couldn’t identify. ‘Disinterest’ sounded like the closest possible word for it, but there was more than that. Disappointment? Annoyance? Those fiery eyes glittered again in the sunlight, and the king declared:

“You have long since guessed as much already. This path ends with your death, Lord El-Melloi II.”

---

Left practicing on his own in a run-down training hall, Saber found the uncertainty in his heart lessened considerably today. His secretive Master had let down his guard whether consciously or not; expressing concern for potential damage to the city, speaking openly on his own worries over the woman from the Church, and now however briefly revealing a clever intellect and easily embarrassed demeanor when faced with light praise and lighter guidance. The Church’s apparent overseer, the woman called Yvaine carried with her several questions Saber did not quite see the form of, much less know the answers to. But even that worry was a lighter one to carry today.

Today, it felt much easier to operate on faith alone and believe his Master’s secrets were kept with reason. Witnessing the mask he wore give way to a smile for even the briefest of moments made it difficult to do anything but believe in him. Fleeting as a whispered word in gale force wind, the thought passed through his mind that it was a remarkably nice smile. Restrained and hesitant, but…charming. When his lord was actually able to relax (however slightly) it was as though he became another person. A mask of ice cracked for the warmth that lay beneath it, and that in itself was a heartening thought. 

A thought which was interrupted by the indistinct sounds of a heated argument reaching the sharp ears of a Servant; his Master’s voice a harsh threat met by an unfortunately familiar laugh.

“What happened to ‘try not to kill Gilgamesh while I’m gone’?” he sighed in resignation, disappearing into spirit form briefly to dart over the house and across the courtyard. Caster’s scarlet eyes seemed to focus on the other Servant an instant before he materialized at the professor’s side, the king’s stare colored by something strangely dissatisfied.

“Is everything-...” He trailed off as he looked to the mage beside him; the professor’s face was stark white, eyes wide and locked on Caster as though Saber wasn’t even there. By the time he looked back to demand an explanation from the golden king, he had already vanished into thin air with a glittering of magical energy. A cowardly retreat, but perhaps not the worst situation. Saber had better priorities than to start a fight with their ostensible ally, and he didn’t want to hear the king’s derision today.

“Master.” A gentle hand came to the mage’s shoulder, trying to pull him back before he went to whatever place in his mind his thoughts drifted to when his eyes turned so distant. The frequency with which he seemed to do as much was beginning to worry Saber far more than he dared speak of. “What did Caster say to you?”

“N-nothing.” He shook his head, appearing to come back to himself somewhat. “The usual. He’s just…provoking me for the sake of it, leave it alone.”

“Are…you certain?” It didn’t look anything at all like the usual mere provocation, but before Saber could question further the mage pressed a hand to his forehead as if in some attempt to clear his thoughts.

“Forget about it. Caster isn’t important right now. I…I need to talk to you.”

His sunglasses were moved to sit atop his head, and as Saber watched on in concern his Master turned to look at him with something uncertain on his face; sharp and cold features softening in a melancholy nostalgia that the knight had never seen before. Or…had he? Just one time, for a fleeting moment that had been so genuine that time itself had seemed to come to a halt and hang still in the air.

'You are my knight.'

Saber could count on one hand the amount of times his Master had looked him in the eye without the shield of black lenses, and now he realized why they were deemed necessary–the gaze he was met with was so open and earnest that it momentarily seemed absurd to think he could lie at all. His Master reached out and took Saber’s hand with a strange insistence written across his face, the dark shadow of something almost fearful settling in those meadow green eyes like clouds threatening rainfall. Beneath the ice and fire, behind tense smiles and unforgiving anger, this was the true face of he who had reached beyond the boundaries of the world for the miracle called a Servant. 

Please, he heard himself think, just tell me who you really are. Let me share in whatever burden sits so heavy upon your shoulders.

His hand was trembling around Saber's own, and as the knight stood spellbound did his lord begin in a voice halting and strained by unease:

“Diarmuid, I…I’m not–”

A sharp buzzing sound from the general vicinity of his Master’s jacket cut off that sentence abruptly, dashing the entire moment against the ground to break into a thousand pieces. Cursing under his breath, the professor looked off to the side and hesitated; Saber wanted to insist he at least finish the thought, but that persistent sound continued and his Master’s hand reluctantly fell from his own to draw his phone from a pocket.

“God d-...sorry–just give me a second, it’s probably Irisviel.”

The sound on the other end was indistinct even to a Servant’s hearing; Irisviel’s voice in urgent tones but unclear words. Whatever she said, his Master cast a look skyward at the gradual beginning of late afternoon’s sunset. “What? ...It’s too early for that, there’s no way… Is Maiya already on lookout?” 

Another pause filled by the sound of sharp insistence; Saber felt the tension of an oncoming fight beginning to creep up on them, sharply aware of how empty his hands felt without the weight of asymmetrical blades held in his grasp. Sharply aware of how his Master’s eyes focused back on him as Irisviel spoke, in calm calculation as the sincerity of only a moment ago began to disappear like fading stars at dawn. 

“Right.” his Master said at last, eyes on Saber as he spoke. “Have Ilya send Berserker out, but you two stay where you are unless Maiya says otherwise. We’ll be there in just a second.”

The phone vanished back into a pocket, Saber silently anticipating the inevitable order. Whatever had just barely brushed past them seconds before…the moment would return, it had to return, he had to believe that his Master would finally entrust and confide in him as soon as they were granted a spare instant to breathe.

“Something’s crossed the boundary field–she doesn’t know what just yet.” the mage confirmed, sliding black lenses back over his eyes. “Can you take me back to the castle? It’ll be faster that way.”

“Of course, Master.”

Steel overtook the mage's demeanor once again, a door well and truly closed and locked over whatever he was before. Deeply frustrating though it was to reach out and brush his fingertips against the shape of imperceptible answers that he had so dearly hoped for only to have them pulled back ever slightly further, Saber recognized that the war came first. He understood, no matter how much he disliked it, that his questions could wait and his patient faith in the man before him would surely, surely be rewarded sooner rather than later.

It had to be.

Notes:

i said i wanted to finish the next arc before i started posting again and my resolve held out until it was about 65% done

oh well enough wild shit goes down in this one that i hope it keeps y'all entertained for a bit

Chapter 20: Gamma Unchained

Summary:

i've cheated, the lies that i've told
is for a future that i have seen
the death, the lives that i've stole
the end has to justify the means

This path ends with your death, Lord El-Melloi II.

Mages did not often live for a notably long time.

Though he ignored and pushed aside the thought as the years wore on, somewhere in his heart Waver had known he lived on borrowed time. Known that it would run out soon; whether by the hand of the Holy Grail War, the potential calamity that might come to pass, or by the Enforcers that would seek to enact a Sealing Designation if all went to plan. Taking a dangerous course of action came with risks, and that was just a matter of natural consequence.

But to know those risks hovered over one’s head was different than to be confronted with death bearing down on oneself in steel and lightning. Far different than to be outright told with certainty that one’s time was running out. As much as he wanted to deny Gilgamesh’s words…truthfully, Waver didn’t think the king was lying. It felt as though that would have been beneath him, somehow. A king who held himself so high above all others had no need for dishonesty, nothing to gain from it, and no reason to provoke a mage he could obliterate with barely a word.

In which case, that just left the question of what Waver intended to do about that.

Would it really be right to go to the end with things left unsaid and unresolved? His immediate reaction had been ‘no’, and as he’d turned to face his worried Servant with the words I’m not what you think I am half-formed in his mouth there was the honest intent to admit to a hundred things…

…but reality swung its fist towards him, and the impact struck home.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let sentiment get in their way and risk bringing everything to a complete collapse just because of his traitorous, trembling heart–that kind of failure scared him far more than death ever could. What he wanted was meaningless. Self-destructive? What did that matter at all, if this endeavor was going to claim his life regardless? If the persona of a mage had kept him alive up to now, then it would have to be that armor which enclosed around him so they could live long enough to see the end. 

And if his time was really that short…then it wouldn’t matter, would it? Some secrets were better left taken to the grave.

‘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.’

‘Destroy the Holy Grail War or die trying’ was something he had already resigned himself to. The two options potentially becoming one and the same would not change that it had to be seen through to the end. That it had to be done by someone with the cold resolve of a mage. Forget how right Irisviel had been: there was no need to preserve a life that would not continue. He would kill Waver Velvet to see this through, Lord El-Melloi II would no doubt follow shortly after, and maybe, maybe the end result would be a world that was still standing rather than left in ruins.

That was, he desperately tried to convince himself, fine. Reines would be fine in the brief time before she came of age and assumed full control over the house and title alike. His students would…his students would…

‘I’m telling you that children shouldn’t use magecraft to force a smile.’

For not the first time, with a sharp knife of guilt cutting into his chest he found himself thinking of Flat Escardos, who had nowhere else in the Clock Tower to go but the El-Melloi classroom. Perhaps nowhere else in the world, if that should fail him. If Waver should fail him, which given the shape of the situation was looking very likely. He’d been so cautious to settle his affairs on paper that he’d failed to consider the wider repercussions.

I’m sorry. I wasn’t who any of you thought I was. I’m not the guiding star I wanted to be, just a crashing and fucking burning meteor.

Regret twisted in his chest like poison on that blade, but he couldn’t let that thought overtake him. If, if he ever made it back to London…then he’d apologize to them, every last one. Everyone who had ever believed in him, found solace and sanctuary in that lecture hall, every single student he would have protected with his life.

And if not…at least there might be a world left for them at all , provided he could finish the insurmountable task set before him now.

“Find Berserker and see if the two of you can track whatever might be out there.” The second Waver was set down on the castle’s balcony, he turned to face his Servant and spoke quickly; stringing together an immediate course of action in his head rather than focus on any other troubling thoughts. Irisviel would have a view of the forest set up by now. He had to find her, make sure Ilyasviel wasn’t putting herself in danger, and establish contact with Maiya. “Let me know if something happens. And if you find anything, neither of you take action until Ilya and I say so.”

No sooner had Saber taken off again with a resolute nod did one of those immediate tasks solve themselves. A sharp whistle from a nearby tower caught Waver’s attention, and he turned just in time to fumble in mild panic with the two-way radio that had been thrown at his head. Once he had narrowly avoided dropping it, he shot a glare up to the nearby tower rooftop where Maiya crouched with a sniper rifle trained out towards the forest. Twice she tapped an earpiece she wore, then tilted her head sharply toward the castle itself. Keep in contact and get inside , in other words. Cursing briefly under his breath, Waver flicked the radio on and stepped inside, walking in the quickest steps he could manage.

“Third floor meeting room. I don’t have a visual on the target, but the bounded field was disturbed from the west side.”

“Behind the castle, then–hell of a lot smarter than trying to walk through the front door. Give me a second to see if Irisviel’s found anything.” Which didn’t in itself take long.

“Brother, over here-” Ilyasviel called, leaning out a doorway up ahead and beckoning him into a room they’d occupied many a time; the narrow meeting room occupied by a long table that had once held open tomes and loose pages of diagrams as a barely competent mage learned alchemy and thaumaturgy alongside the young woman now tugging him along by the wrist. Now years later it held only Irisviel sitting at the table, hands hovering over a glowing crystal ball as if she were a caricature of an oracle. “Berserker’s trying to find whatever got in, but he says they’re hiding their tracks well.” 

“He’s right.” added her mother, squinting into the crystal displaying only the endless forest around them.

“How could something break through the bounded field and just disappear? ” Leaning over Irisviel’s left shoulder as Ilyasviel occupied her right, Waver pushed his sunglasses onto his head and frowned into the crystal’s projection. “Assassin’s dead, so it can’t be him. Maybe another Servant could have low-rank concealment, but it doesn’t seem likely.”

“Does anyone else know we’re here.” crackled Maiya’s voice over the open channel in a question that sounded remarkably like a confrontation.

“Fuck off with that, I haven’t said a word to anyone– ow! ” Ilyasviel’s hand glanced sharply off of Waver’s arm as he snapped into the radio.

“ Not now!” the teenager snapped, hands balled into fists as she glared down both Waver and the radio in his hand. “Even if someone else did find out, Maiya, how could they know how to pass the bounded field that easily? And Waver, are you sure , one hundred percent, that nobody could have followed you?”

“...Diarmuid would have known,” he conceded after a moment’s thought. “He would have noticed if we were being tracked somehow, even if I didn’t.”

“The boundaries are completely intact, we’ve checked them half a dozen times.” was the confirmation that followed. “So are all the traps I laid, I even varied their positions-”

“Wait.” Her eyes having been locked on the crystal as all this transpired, Irisviel spoke up with concentration furrowing her brow. “I think I have something. To the southwest, about a mile into the forest–no, moving towards the south? I can’t keep up with it-”

Placing a light hand on her shoulder, Waver leaned over again to look into the crystal himself with Ilyasviel on her mother’s opposite side; at first it seemed the image within was flickering, but that wasn’t the case. It was the figure within that flickered, appearing to vanish before reappearing in another location in motions that carried a purposeful erratic nature to them. He could make out black armor in the light of sunset, and a hooded crimson cloak concealing his face.

<Diarmuid, can you see this? He’s fast even for a Servant, be careful.>

<Berserker already knows, we’re separating to corner him from both sides. That raiment…that’s the one who killed Assassin’s Master.>

Archer, then–or what they assumed was Archer. Which left two concerning things: the fact that Waver had no idea who his Master could be, and the fact that their current opponent had the knowledge and ability to find the Einzbern castle somehow.

<If you catch any sign of his Master, let me know and we’ll handle it. Until then, try to bait him into the open; you’ll have the advantage and he won’t have cover.>

<The southwest courtyard is the best option, but it may be too close to the castle,> warned his Servant’s voice in his head.

“Maiya, I think it’s Archer.” he quickly spoke into the radio. “I don’t know who or where his Master is, but how fast can you get within sight of the courtyard?”

“In position.” she answered. “If I see the enemy Master, I’ll use nonlethal force until necessary.”

“Berserker’s already moving.” chimed Ilyasviel, frowning into the crystal. “He says they’re splitting up to corner him.”

“Ilya,” Waver looked at her with sharp insistence, trying to calculate a course of action with too many variables. Archer was a complete blank unknown, if he was even Archer at all. But he’d shown himself to prefer attacking at range, and that was enough for the moment. Unlike what logic might have dictated, bringing a gun to a swordfight was a terrible idea when the sword in question belonged to a Saber. However, it would still be a matter of both catching up to the rapidly moving Servant as well as avoiding whatever his actual weapon may have been. “I need you to tell me, what kind of damage can Berserker’s Noble Phantasm do?”

The teenager winced as though confronted with a painful truth, scarlet eyes meeting Waver’s in an uncomfortable silence.

“...Ilyasviel,” he tried again, speaking her full name in the same tone that might have been heard admonishing his students. “Whatever it is, just tell us, I need to know how much damage he might do if he has to use it.”

“It-...he can’t use it unless it’s an emergency.” she said quickly, silver hair waving as she quickly shook her head. “If he does, it–it can’t be taken back.”

“What do you m-”

<Found him!> called the voice of his Servant in Waver’s head, Ilyasviel’s snapping up at the same moment no doubt from her own Servant’s words. In the crystal, Archer flickered briefly out of existence again as a streak of gold crashed into the tree branches he had been hiding in, reappearing out of Beagalltach’s path and pulling a weapon from beneath his cloak-

A staccato sound burst through the air, audible from the forest beyond the castle and visible in the crystal as the impossibility it was: semiautomatic gunfire, deflected by the inhuman speed of Moralltach joining its partner.

“What’s going on?” snapped Maiya over the radio, crackling in a room full of three stunned spectators. “There’s too much forest cover for a clear sightline.”

“I…don’t know.” Waver managed to say, trying to perceive movements nearly impossible to track. Archer continued to seem to appear and disappear in brief intervals, throwing knives that were either missed or dodged and avoiding swings from both swords as though he was becoming the shadows cast by the forest themselves. “That’s impossible. He can’t be using conventional -”

Archer vanished from sight again, reappearing near instantaneously behind the other Servant and out of Moralltach’s reach. The submachine gun was raised with lightning speed, Waver feeling his heart stop cold in his chest and the desire to scream lodged in his throat.

A flash of silver descended with a wild and wicked grin, Berserker’s cutlass pulled off his belt and glancing off Archer’s armored chest, sending a burst of gunfire wildly off course into the air. His attention diverted briefly, Archer’s immediate defense was for his leg to snap out into a crushing kick, connecting with the taller Servant and sending him flying back from the impact–strangely, Waver was almost sure he could see Berserker laughing as he vanished from sight.

“E– Berserker!” Ilyasviel leaned over the table as if that would help her see her Servant, gripping her mother’s arm. Irisviel had stayed stock still and completely silent, eyes focused and mouth pressed into a thin line.

Berserker’s ambush had seemed to do no significant damage, save only for the tearing of crimson fabric; the hood came apart and fell away to a shock of white hair and empty dark eyes, turning to focus back on Saber with another burst of gunfire swiftly deflected-

-at which point the crystal went dark, Irisviel’s chair clattering to the floor as she stood up abruptly, backing away against the wall with her hands pressed to her mouth.

“Irisviel, what the hell–?! What’s wrong?!”

Waver looked to Ilyasviel as if she would understand what just happened, but the girl had frozen solid. Staring into the blank crystal that her mother’s eyes were now locked on in horrified disbelief, the younger Einzbern wore a sharp stare as though she struggled to find a lingering image in glass now blank and empty of anything but the room’s reflection.

“What happened.” Maiya cut in sharply. Waver looked from Ilyasviel to Irisviel, beyond confused and rapidly floundering without a sightline to whatever was happening out in the forest. “Berserker just came crashing out into the courtyard, he’s still on his feet. What’s happening on your end?”

<Diarmuid, disengage.> Between answering Maiya and issuing orders as a Master, he knew what took priority. <Head for the courtyard after Berserker, see if you can get Archer to follow you.>

<Understood.>  

“Maiya-” he started to say, but in the next instant the radio was snatched out of his hand by Irisviel, storming past him with ice in her eyes and steel in her movements. Pushing the door open, she stormed out and began heading down the hall. “What– Irisviel, where are you going-?”

Instead of answering, Irisviel continued to stride down the hallway and began to speak into the radio, Waver stumbling after her with Ilyasviel a step behind him.

“Maiya, stand down, I’m going to stop this myself.”

“What?!” When even Maiya was halfway to shouting, something was critically wrong. “How are you going t-”

“Call off Saber and Berserker.” Without looking back, she demanded something to the pair of Masters that sounded beyond insane to Waver right now.

“Mother, that can’t have been-” Ilyasviel managed a half-sentence breathed in the kind of shock Waver had never heard from her before, only serving to deepen the awareness that he had missed something crucial in this encounter. 

“Just do it , this fight has to stop now-!”  

“Like hell I will,” Waver finally managed to cut in, “not until someone explains what the hell is happening!”  

Outside the windows lining the hallway, a bolt of verdant lightning emerged from the forest’s edge weaving through another burst of gunfire, Diarmuid followed by the white-haired Archer just barely still within the line of trees beyond. Berserker, wearing that mad defiant grin, took the flintlock pistol from his belt and fired back, but amidst the chaos Waver heard a sharp gasp from over the radio.

“...no.” Maiya’s voice was a whisper nearly unheard over radio static, and finally Waver caught Irisviel’s wrist with his hand and pulled her back to turn around.

“ What the fuck is going on, Iris…viel…?” Anger turned to shock midsentence as he saw the face of the woman before him, twisted in pain and fury unlike any she’d worn before. Tears streaked from scarlet eyes, burning hot with some emotion he couldn’t identify.

“He’ll listen to me.” she said with as much force as she appeared able to muster. “I know he’ll…I know he’ll listen, so please stop this. ”

Chaos raged outside, and within the castle the tension was just as sharp as the blades deflecting wave after wave of gunfire. Waver turned to look at the girl behind him, frantically seeking the line of facts that would lead to an answer through a labyrinth of questions. The three of them knew something he couldn’t understand, that was disorienting in how obvious it was. Even young as she was, even determined as they were to keep her out of the dangers and horrors that laid within the Holy Grail War…

The girl staring into the courtyard in concentration pressed a hand marked by crimson seals to the cold glass of the window, as though she could reach past it to the distant Servant who moved with agility beyond normal speed, vanishing and reappearing as he accelerated beyond human perception. He’d sooner go out there himself than let Irisviel walk out defenseless against a threat like that, no matter what she insisted.

But that was the only choice Waver was able to make in this situation, with what little information he had. He didn’t know what they had seen in Archer that had caused things to take such a sharp turn. Didn’t know what kind of destruction Berserker could cause, or–and this was the critical point–whether their enemy needed to be cut down or disengaged. Understanding so little meant the rest was not his decision to make, but that of the girl with the right of a Master and a fire blazing in her eyes. Not Irisviel’s blinding furious anguish, not yet–she was still possessed of sense enough to think, and that was vital right now.

“Ilyasviel.” Against the window, her hand curled into a fist at Waver’s voice. “Tell me what to do.”

“Waver, don’t you dare bring her into this!” Irisviel shouted, trying and failing to pull her wrist from his grip. “Ilya, stop Berserker right now!”

Ilyasviel said nothing, concentration written plain on her face and in the tension of her entire body. Below in the courtyard, the shadows of late afternoon grew perhaps too long, something dark and terrible gathering around Berserker like embers before a wildfire, and-

<Master-!>

Diarmuid noticed it first, flawless instinct versus incomprehensible speed. Archer had moved again, appearing across the courtyard and vanishing again, alighting on a nearby balcony. From a tower rooftop Maiya’s sniper rifle sounded in deafening thunder, shot sent wild and missing as the black-clad Servant leapt toward the third-story windows where he’d no doubt heard or seen the heated argument.

The submachine gun was raised as the Servant was airborne, muzzle pointed directly at Irisviel’s head.

The perception of time slowed enough to see scarlet eyes blown wide in disbelief and terror. Slow enough to see dead and cold darkness staring past cold metal.

Too fast for either Servant to intercept. Too fast to speak the incantation that might defend her.

Slow enough to follow through on the motion he’d made on instinct as soon as that voice echoed in his head, Waver crashing straight into Irisviel–he was taller, a marginally bigger target, if something was going to hit her it would go straight through him to do it. The pair of them fell to the floor in a shower of gunfire and shattered glass, smaller woman held tightly against his chest as something white-hot glanced past his shoulder. Over the chaotic noise and burst of pain he heard Ilyasviel shout for her Servant as she ducked down beneath the windows after them.

“Berserker, activa-”

What he didn’t see was the much swifter Servant who got there first. What only Ilyasviel saw was cobalt and verdant lightning, the beautiful and terrible vengeance of the fae combined with the terror of death itself made manifest. Golden eyes burning like the molten rivers of hell itself, death made manifest flying through the air in twin swords and the unparalleled warrior who held them. The crimson blade of fury shrieked and sundered an armored chestplate, throwing Archer back downward with an impact that shook the castle’s foundations in a burst of earth and destroyed flowers only to follow like a streaking comet. Wasting no time at all was Berserker back on the ground, weaving through the cloud of dust and petals to follow up Diarmuid’s assault with a mad grin and pistol fire. Archer’s figure flickered in and out of existence again as he moved and evaded the pair, a bloody trail heading back toward the forest.

“Let…let him retreat.” Ilyasviel said quietly, heard only by the pair of them and her own Servant. “Make sure he does.”

<Master, are you hurt?>

<I’m fine. Follow Berserker’s lead and make sure he’s retreated, I don’t–I don’t know what in the hell just happened.> The whole exchange had been only a matter of seconds, disorienting beyond measure. Waver cautiously stood up from where he’d knocked them both down, brushing glass shards off of Irisviel’s shoulders as she followed his lead to stare out the window in muted shock. The courtyard in ruins from what may as well have been a meteor impact, the sounds of retreating fire fading into the distance, a dizzying ache in his whole body, and the pounding headache of a thousand furious questions in his head, Waver started with the obvious one:

“Are you two alright?”

Pushing aside the shattered remnants of the window with her foot, Ilyasviel nodded once and picked up the dropped radio.

“Maiya, could you meet us at the end of the third floor hall?” Silence rattled in static on the other end, but the sound of fleet footsteps on a nearby rooftop signaled the message had been heard. “...Mother?”

Irisviel said nothing, but that wide-eyed stare was one he had seen before. Alongside the burning sulfuric smell of gunpowder, it was easy to place–that was exactly the face she’d worn the night Fuyuki had burned, a half-dead stranger the only living thing to be found as her life’s purpose burned around her. There was no fumbling panic now as had been then, only scarlet eyes that stared without seeing as the gears in her mind ground and screeched against some wrench that Waver didn’t understand.

“ Irisviel. ” 

But now as had been then, he was insistent as he placed both hands on her shoulders. Something was wrong in ways he couldn’t remedy, and whatever disaster the three women saw burning around them, there was nothing Waver could do but tug at least one back to the present. She looked up to meet his eyes in the slow motions of shellshock, blinking as if to bring the sight into focus. Not a single thing he could say would help the situation–even if he did know what was going on, Waver was willing to bet nothing would remedy this regardless. Ten years ago he had insistently pleaded for her help at the end of the world, been half-dragged out of hell on the shoulder of the frightened woman before him, but now in a situation where the only destruction was something unseen and immaterial? The only words that left him were:

“Let me help you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Blank shock began to fade to…confusion? Uncertainty? Waver wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. She took a breath and answered in nothing but a small, resolute nod–for now, that was enough. He leaned over to pick up his cane from where it had fallen in the chaos, tossing aside a jagged piece of glass as he did. Mind racing in so many directions that it was becoming confused white noise, he stormed off down the hallway with the sound of Ilyasviel’s footsteps leading Irisviel behind him. None of this made sense, not the mysterious Archer with modern weaponry or the harsh turn in the entire atmosphere the instant he had shown himself. Everyone except him seemed to have crashed headlong into a wall Waver couldn’t even perceive, and all he knew was that he had to help do something to resolve whatever disaster blazed unseen around him, for their sake if not that of the war itself.

No sooner had he opened his mouth to call Maiya’s name did a hand seize his collar, followed by the blunt impact of his back hitting the wall and Ilyasviel shouting in sudden alarm. Maiya Hisau’s dark eyes shone as ice cold as the black metal of the pistol Waver felt pressed under his chin, and just as dangerous.

“ What the hell is wrong with you?! ” he managed to say, hands raised defensively and cane clattering to the floor. “Let go of-”

“Still alive.” Maiya snapped, something wild and furious on her face that Waver had never seen before. It felt almost unthinkable to see her express half this much emotion, never mind unbridled anger that he did not doubt for a second made her want to pull that trigger. “How? How is he still alive?!”

“Maiya, stop!” Ilyasviel shouted, taking a step forward. Irisviel’s eyes darted between Waver, Maiya, and the gun in the latter’s hand, wearing a look that was either horror or uncertainty. Something about that stung just a little, but that was far from Waver’s most pressing problem right now. “He doesn’t know anything, this doesn’t have anything to do with him!”

The former of those statements was becoming more true by the second. Staying as absolutely still as he could and struggling to keep his expression even, Waver only knew that Maiya might really kill him judging by the cold fire in her eyes. That gunmetal stare didn’t spare Ilyasviel so much as a glance, drilling holes through Waver unblinkingly.

“Maiya. Listen to her.” Waver said in as even a voice as he could manage to pull together. Through the fear and white noise, a single thread began to untangle itself in his head as it led through the labyrinth towards a conclusion–no matter how impossible the likeliest result would be. “I don’t care if you hate me, but have I ever given you reason to think I was the enemy here?”

“There is only one person here he would have targeted.” she growled in a breath shuddering from anger and adrenaline. The pistol pressed a little harder, hand on his collar tightening like she wanted it around his throat instead. “Not Lady Irisviel or Ilyasviel. Not me. Not the Servants. You’re the problem, the outsider mage. If that is the case, then it..it is my purpose to–”

“...Then why…was he aiming for me?”

Clear as winter’s chill, Irisviel’s voice froze the tension immediately. Maiya halted like a clockwork doll whose key had stopped turning, stunned and widening eyes seen only by the mage she had been focused on. The impossibility of the situation and the further entanglements that statement brought were plain as day on a face that so often betrayed nothing, which in itself was a terrifying symptom of an immeasurably large problem.

“It’s true.” Ilyasviel confirmed softly. “Waver just saved my mother’s life, so please let go of him.” Maiya broke eye contact at that, disbelief beginning to outweigh anger as she looked to the bloodstain on Waver’s shoulder–he’d chosen not to think about how it was level with Irisviel’s head, but the insinuation remained present all the same. Slowly, the gun was pulled back and holstered as she let go of the mage’s collar and he let out the breath he’d been holding shakily.

The outsider mage , she’d said. Spat like a curse, like that in itself was a reason to kill someone. The only person he would have targeted.

Someone that Ilyasviel, Irisviel, and Maiya would recognize that Waver would not.

Who Irisviel believed would listen to her no matter the situation, who Ilyasviel hesitated to lash out against even as he threatened their lives.

Maiya’s purpose for existing.

And the apex predator of every mage ever to live.

“...How.” Maiya said again, calmer yet with no less force behind the word. “I searched for hours–nothing but rubble and corpses. None of them his, no sign of him anywhere. But if he had survived that night, he would have returned.”

The ‘how’ was a distant secondary to the ‘what’, and that much could not be disputed with the three of them so certain in what they had seen. But that still left the lack of understanding as to what had caused the impossible situation before them, and the mercenary was not the only one struggling to comprehend the matter. A hand resting on her daughter’s shoulder, Irisviel exchanged a look with Maiya that seemed stricken in ways Waver honestly wished he didn’t understand. Pained, anguished, recognition of someone that did not recognize in turn. That alone confirmed it, even if none of them dared speak the name hanging in the air.

Picking his cane back up and straightening his shirt where Maiya had pulled it out of place, Waver tugged on the single line of coherent thought in his head and sought its ending. What Maiya said was true; no body had been discovered, and she would have searched until it was known to be a lost cause. Had searched, from what he remembered of her ash-covered appearance that night. Yet if that person had survived, to not return would have been impractical. Unless he had assumed that everyone else–Maiya, Irisviel, enemies and allies alike–had died in that burning cataclysm. But that was an incorrect assumption to make; if he was still alive, he wouldn’t be a Servant. And there was no doubt that kind of speed and power was superhuman in nature.

In that situation, the question became ‘how could a modern human become a Heroic Spirit’ when such was impossible given the very fundamentals of Heroic Spirits themselves? Followed by ‘what would lead such a person to attack someone they should have cared about’?

Green eyes drifted over to Irisviel; lost in thought, he didn’t hear what she was saying to Maiya and only saw a lost expression and shaking of her head as she struggled to answer a question that may have had no clear answer.

…Then he looked again. Looked at the pair of women near identical in stature, in flawless skin and red eyes framed by silver hair. The Einzbern homunculi created for a purpose , made to fulfill their function much as Maiya seemed to think was her own reason for existing as well.

For just an instant, he saw ‘the Lesser Grail’ rather than ‘Irisviel von Einzbern’, saw the horrible black substance that had crashed down upon the Tohsaka manor’s ruins that night, saw the fire and destruction that came with the Grail’s near-manifestation. The line of thought pulled tight at its end, and something clicked into place like the hammer of a mercenary’s pistol.

“ Maiya. ” he said urgently, heart pounding in his ears. She would know more than Irisviel would, surely. She who was forged by the will of another would understand the answer to what he was about to ask. Sharp as tempered steel now, she turned back to him in a simmering frustration. “I need you to answer me and not ask questions. If…if something were to reach out and say ‘the only way to save humankind is to sacrifice yourself’, then-”

“Yes.” she answered without hesitation or doubt.

“Even if it meant destroying the vessel of the Grail?” he countered immediately, feeling his hands shake in apprehension of the inevitable conclusion to this line of questioning.

“Yes.” Maiya said again, eyes narrowing to a razor’s edge. “To save the world at any cost…killing one to save millions would be seen as necessary, regardless of who the ‘one’ may be.” Behind her, Irisviel’s gaze lowered slightly–the faint sadness of hearing a fact one already knew to be true.

“You know something.” Ilyasviel cut in softly, staring at Waver in patient insistence. Neither Maiya’s anger nor Irisviel’s shock, something about her was just…resigned. “What is it?”

He didn’t want to answer. No part of him wanted any of this to be happening, not to them or to himself. The dull sound of a corpse that had once been Atrum Galliasta hitting the ground reverberated in his head, now paired with the horror of knowing how close he’d come to absolute, inescapable death more than once now. The trio of women staring at him now as they bore the weight of an impossible ghost of the past back in perhaps the worst imaginable way felt suffocating. There was no situation where he would have wanted to be the one to destroy the very foundations the three of them were built on, to shatter the truth of a father, husband, partner all at once.

But one of them had to shoulder what the others should never have had to bear. To fight in the Holy Grail War over the course of halting it was not their role, but his own as he had sworn to Irisviel years ago.

If this problem could be solved, it would fall to Waver and not those who had loved the man who just tried to kill them.

“...I think Kiritsugu Emiya is a Counter Guardian.”

And if it couldn’t, then the presence alone of the Mage Killer as an agent of the Counter Force meant they were all dead one way or another.

Notes:

me: i'm going to write this whole arc ahead of time so i can post it little by little and have a nice buffer to work with
my life: explodes
me:
me:
me:
me: fuck it we ball

 

if you catch any errors, no you don't. i also went through at least four different chapter titles for this one and inexplicably, all of them were the megas

eta: almost forgot the status screen update <3

Chapter 21: Leave Out All The Rest

Summary:

forgetting all the hurt inside you've learned to hide so well
pretending someone else can come and save me from myself
i can't be who you are

‘Shishigou, it’s me. I don’t know why the hell you’re not answering your phone, but…look, I need you to call me back when you get this. Whatever it takes, whatever happens, I’ll find a way to settle everything I’ve ever owed you.

Listen, I…

…fuck. I’m sorry, Kairi. I really am. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but I…I need your help. Please.’

---

Twilight had descended by the time things had begun to settle–as much as they could settle at all. Saber and Berserker remained patrolling the forest, Waver had found an empty room and dialed a familiar number in a panic, Ilyasviel had retreated to the library, and Irisviel had vanished into her room. Understandable reactions, if not perhaps better than expected. There was no good way to react to hearing one’s husband or father had become a mindless soldier for the force that governed the world, much less that they had already been under attack by him once. It would, Waver had not dared say, almost certainly happen again. In that regard, they were lucky Ilyasviel had gone against her mother to summon Berserker. Better to have even that small protection than none at all.

Maiya had been silent as she bandaged the cut in Waver’s shoulder–by her own insistence, having harshly pulled him by the arm to sit down without a word the second he caught sight of him turning a corner and pocketing his cellphone. He was lucky it was just a glancing shot, the last thing he wanted was someone who already didn’t like him digging out a bullet with a combat knife.

“Should have known it made no sense.” she muttered at length. “If you were the target, you would have been dead already.”

There was no harsh and cutting remark from Waver in turn; this wasn’t remotely the time or place. Besides that, she was right. He had been lucky not to end up exactly like Galliasta once, and had he been in those crosshairs again without a greater priority target right next to him? The outcome was a foregone conclusion.

“I know.” was all he said at first. Silence passed, Waver biting his tongue against a curse as Maiya pulled the bandages tightly around his arm.

“...I-”

“Forget it.” Waver cut off quickly at the uncomfortable hesitation in her voice. “You’re not one to apologize, especially not for something you probably thought was right. So don’t bother with it.” The fact that she had nearly blown his head off was immaterial. Irrelevant, given who would have if given the chance. It registered in Waver’s mind as little more than an inconvenient misunderstanding, and was cast aside just as easily. 

Maiya, obviously as uncomfortable trying to express the sentiment as Waver would have been to hear it, merely answered with a small nod.

“So what happens now?” Waver asked, pulling his sleeve back down and digging through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “If the Counter Force is trying to stop the Grail manifesting, then that would be good for us. But I can’t just let that be how it happens. Is there any chance of reasoning with-”

Dark eyes stared at him in perhaps the most flat and deadpan way Waver had ever seen from her, which was a massive accomplishment.

“...Knew it was a stupid question.” he scowled, lighting a cigarette. “And what do you think about all this?” Steel gray eyes slid closed, with the slow breath of a sniper preparing to take a shot.

“I…believe in Kiritsugu’s ideals.” she answered coolly. “I have never known anything else. He would have sacrificed anyone to save the world, and was already prepared to do so with Irisviel. Becoming a guardian of humanity is not only believable, but the very function of who he was as the ‘Mage Killer’. I know that is the only path. I know it is what Kiritsugu would pursue, and I want to go to his side and ensure that future should come to pass.”

Waver didn’t speak, leaning back in the chair and waiting for Maiya to continue. From the way she spoke, the natural conclusion of such a mentality would be to shoot him right now, then do the same to Irisviel and Ilyasviel both. She might have even managed it before Diarmuid killed her with the last of his reserve magical energy, if she was quick enough.

“But,” she added in the word he knew was coming, “it feels…wrong. No matter what I think, it feels as though I reach the wrong answer. Kiritsugu’s will is my own, and it is all I ever knew. Killing the few to save the many is as easy as breathing. To do otherwise is a betrayal of everything we–everything he fought for.”

“...You stopped when Irisviel told you he was aiming for her.” Waver answered quietly in the tense silence. “But if that was the right course of action, why was it surprising?”

“It…wasn’t.” Maiya conceded, fixated on a point on the wall past Waver’s head rather than meet his eyes. “Sacrificing the vessel of the Grail was always a foregone conclusion. But in the moment I was fixated on who felt like the most likely target. Who he would most likely kill out of the three of you.”

Even Kiritsugu couldn’t kill his humanity, rang Irisviel’s voice in his head, and I don’t want to imagine what he would have become if he did.

“He should have gone for me first.” Waver confirmed slowly as understanding began to piece itself together. “ Then Irisviel and likely Ilya. You think he should have hesitated to kill them even if only for a split second. Even if it was a completely unconscious decision. Regardless of whether or not I was a Master, we assume his priority is the vessel of the Grail. Your disconnect is coming from knowing he followed through on that priority without an instant’s thought.”

It all made sense, then. Too much sense. ‘Kiritsugu Emiya’ would follow his chosen path, in dragging and desperate steps. But the Mage Killer? He would charge forward through battlefield after battlefield, the bloodstained hero to save humanity from itself.

“And that too is…it feels wrong, even though I know it to be right. Of course Kiritsugu would do whatever was deemed necessary. And maybe that is the best course of action. Your method has too many weaknesses in its structure. A dozen points of failure, easily exploited. The most direct course of action is the most reliable.”

“That’s true, I won’t argue it. But if you really believe killing Irisviel is the better solution, you would have shot me by now.”

The pair locked eyes in silence, trails of smoke hanging in the air between them. Waver was prepared to stake his life on the fact that Maiya wouldn’t turn on them–which was fortunate, because his life was exactly what was at risk in that moment. It would be very simple. And maybe she would manage it before one of the two Servants killed her. However, the fact that this conversation was happening at all meant that was not a path being taken. It was as she said, ‘if you were the target, you would be dead already’. Maiya wasn’t one to waste time, or to give someone enough warning to realize they were in danger.

“...I have been at their side for each day of these past years.” she spoke at last, expression as cool and unyielding as marble. “Protected them from any threats which sought us. I have watched Ilyasviel grow, and in our travels alongside Irisviel we have learned of how to live in a world with no place for either of us.”

The frequent but brief contact Waver had with them over the past years in itself had painted broad strokes of an almost enviable picture. Never details on exactly where they had gone or what they had done, for safety’s sake–but once in a while the phone in his pocket would ring on some quiet evening with Irisviel or Ilya on the other end saying anything from we saw a mountain range, do you believe that to we ate fried silkworms, have you ever tried, Maiya didn’t even flinch to happy birthday, I bet you thought we forgot and any number of eagerly retold incidents and welcomed greetings exchanged between friends.

Between family, he corrected himself.

“I…” Maiya halted uncomfortably, hand tugging at the collar of her sweater as though it were somehow too tight. “Kiritsugu…he…”

“He loved them.” Waver offered. What else would cause one to hesitate in their objective, even though it was deemed the ‘right’ course of action? The absence of that hesitation was something damning against Kiritsugu, or against whatever he was now. “Is that it?” Maiya gave a very slight nod.

“There is no question in my mind that he would kill them if that is the price for the world’s safety. But I…want that to not be the truth. I want there to be another way, that who Kiritsugu loved above all else could be protected. The only people who brought him happiness…I would not want to see them sacrificed.” 

It wasn’t just about Kiritsugu’s happiness, or so he suspected. But to speculate on what Maiya Hisau did or did not find her own joy in was not his place or his business. 

“I can’t win against him, can I?”

“No.” Again, there was no hesitation. There didn’t need to be; they both knew the answer.

“...Do you think that Irisviel can support a Servant?” was the follow-up question, unflinching. Maiya blinked, which was the only sign of confusion on her face.

“What does that matter? It’s too late to summon another.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Waver shook his head, glasses taken off to focus entirely on Maiya. “ Can she support a Servant. ”

Silence, again. She was as cold as steel, but calculations ran behind those steely eyes. She watched him in silence, evaluating his question and examining the situation from every angle as though hunting down the meaning in those words. Those cold eyes widened just slightly with the slightest intake of breath, and that was what Waver recognized as ‘surprise’ for her as the realization struck home.

“...I do not think it is as impossible as we initially presumed. Whether that lasts is in question, however.” was the conclusion, and that would have to be good enough. Waver sighed in exhausted resignation, crushing out a half-finished cigarette.

“If you’re willing to follow my weak methods for a little longer, then listen to me.” Maiya said nothing as Waver spoke, which was enough of a cue to continue. “I have to leave the castle to handle a…personal problem. When I do, I’m going to leave my phone with you.”

“Why?”

“I can’t fight someone like Kiritsugu. But I…I might know someone who can.” Or at least, someone who stood a much better chance against methods like that. “Kairi Shishigou; he’s an old friend and the only other person I know skilled with firearms and conventional weaponry. If he calls back, I need you to tell him what’s going on and to come to Fuyuki as quickly as he can. And if Kiritsugu or anyone else catches up with me before I get back, then…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say more than that. His chest was aching, throat constricted like a hangman’s noose was already pulled tight around it. The odds had already been insurmountable, and now they were as far out of reach as an insect climbing to the reaches of space itself. Gilgamesh had been right–he really was going to die one way or another, probably before the week was out.

“...What do I say to convince him I’m not an enemy?”

In that regard, it was a relief Maiya was so detached. She could focus on the task at hand with inhuman precision, and that was enviable right now. She knew his contacts would know nothing of who Maiya was, if they knew what he was doing at all. If that was the only trust she ever extended to him, then that was enough. 

“Tell him my name. If not that, then…” Maiya, ever-cautious Maiya who had a list of code phrases to guard against impersonation and coercion–it had annoyed him at times, but the need for it was acknowledged. Waver reached over to take a notebook and pen from his discarded jacket, writing out a brief sentence and handing it over in a folded scrap of paper alongside his cellphone. “...Here. Say that and he’ll know I trust you.”

She blinked slowly at him, pocketing the phone and note alike without taking her eyes off Waver himself.

“Do you still have the gun I gave you?” Waver didn’t answer, but the way he felt the color leave his face was confirmation enough. Maiya leaned forward, as direct as an icicle to the chest. “...Then use it . Make all the contingency plans you believe necessary, but do not assume that means you are allowed to give up and die.”

“Maiya-” He paused, unsure of what he could even say to that. Then he laughed bitterly, pressing a hand to his face. “...I know that. I do. There’s something I want to survive to the end of this for; a wish only I can grant for myself. So I won’t give up completely, not yet. I just…need to know where you stand if something happens to me.”

“It was never about you.” she answered smoothly. “It is as I said. The Grail flies in the face of the peaceful world Kiritsugu and I believed in. The peaceful world I have seen traces of in these past years with Irisviel and Ilyasviel. If there is a chance they can be preserved alongside it, then I will work alongside even someone as unlike Kiritsugu as possible.”

“Don’t be insulted if I take that as a compliment.” Waver remarked with a note of sarcasm, rising to his feet and pulling his jacket over his shoulders. “But I appreciate the candor.”

---

She was right, Waver acknowledged for far from the first time. He couldn’t afford to hesitate in what he was about to do. Lord El-Melloi II had to resolve this problem, and do so quickly. But that was exactly the issue itself. All he was doing was hesitating, because although dealing with Sola-Ui had to be done now,   it could not end in bloodshed. He couldn’t allow it, no matter what that meant for Waver himself. He had to settle this, and try to repair the damage he’d caused with one careless act that had begun this whole decade-long disaster.

The castle was colder than usual, in the darkness of evening. Impossible to determine if that chill was from the broken windows all the way back on the third floor, or the deep dread of everything yet to come–but the distinction was meaningless. Maiya was right; he had to focus, to fight and survive even when survival was beyond impossible. He had to try to see the end of this, even knowing dawn on a world spared from catastrophe might not be one he ever saw.

There was an impossible desire he wanted to pursue, and if there was anything left of him by the end of this, he intended to reach out for it.

“You’re leaving?”

The soft voice echoed through the empty front hall of the castle, Waver at the bottom of the stairs looking back to see Irisviel standing at the top. Silver outlined in rising moonlight, eyes still bearing that hopelessly lost expression but focused on the dark-haired mage below her.

“Just…for a little while. I’ll be back as soon as I can take care of something.”

“I’m sorry.” came the sudden response. Looking over his sunglasses in surprise, Waver watched as Irisviel descended the stairs after him, long white hair flowing like snow with each slow, deliberate step. “None of this is your fault. I shouldn’t have-”

“What? I’m not leaving because you snapped at me, are you serious?” Stunned, he turned around fully to face the woman who stopped a few steps from the floor, standing at eye level with him. “This has nothing to do with any of you, there’s just…there’s something I have to do.”

She brought pale hands to her chest, wringing them in nervous uncertainty. Now that they were closer, he could tell her eyes were rimmed red, a little too bright in a face slightly flushed. She’d been crying, and who the hell could blame her? With everything that had already happened today, Waver was fairly sure he’d have a full nervous breakdown himself if he stopped to think for more than an instant.

“Irisviel…” Waver stepped closer, bringing a hand to her shoulder. She raised her head slightly, eyes darting across Waver’s face like she was looking for answers both of them knew he didn’t have. “I’m not going to leave any of you to handle this alone. I need you to trust me when I say that.”

“It’s past nightfall, what could you possibly have to do that we don’t know about? If you and Saber leave now…” She trailed off, glancing around restlessly. Was it concern for Waver, or fear that a monster wearing her husband’s face would melt out of the shadows? Did it even matter at all which of them she was worried about? Of course not, because Waver already had a plan in place for at least one of them to stay safe. The problem would lay with what became of the other in that situation–but that was what he deemed an acceptable risk.

“It won’t be any more or less dangerous than it already has been. You’ve taught me well–as well as someone as pathetic as me could have learned. I can protect myself, and you’re a hell of a lot stronger than me. I know the three of you won’t let the barrier get broken through again, and Berserker’s here as well.”

All of these were true statements, chosen because Waver knew he would never be able to lie to her face. But he couldn’t tell her what he was thinking. He could barely tell Maiya, and if Irisviel knew even half of what the mercenary did then she’d have tied Waver to a chair with wire in the next instant. For a moment, he wondered if she knew that was not the entire truth of the matter–it would have been foolish to think Irisviel did not see something else going on, but she looked as though she was weighing whether or not to question just what it was her friend set out to do now.

“...You’re coming back.” she said. Not a question. Not a concern. An order, insistent and pressing.

“There’s someone I have to talk to, that’s all.” Not a confirmation. Not a lie. Just one more deflection amidst a hundred others.

Irisviel made a softly frustrated sound, reaching to take Waver’s hand off of her shoulder and clasp it between both of her own instead. She looked to him with eyes that were tired and worn, but beginning to gain a steely resolve.

“Waver, if something happens to me-”

“Irisviel-”

“-then I want you to-” 

“ Irisviel, stop it. ” 

Whatever it was she was trying to ask, she halted at the interruption. Waver felt his heart start racing again, this time in fear of the uncomfortable possibility he was being presented with. As far as he could tell, they didn’t know what kind of state Irisviel was in, or would be in once all was said and done.  What would become of the Lesser Grail if the Greater Grail was destroyed or destabilized? And what would become of the vessel that carried it, an ephemeral thing designed to disappear that had already persisted far longer than was intended? Waver didn’t want to think about the very real and gradually increasing possibility that the woman before him would cease to exist before long. 

“I told you that I was created to protect the Grail.” she explained patiently. “If destroying it would bring an end to the war entirely, then we have to be prepared for that if all else fails.”

“Absolutely not.” Waver snapped, aware his hand was shaking held in her own from either anxiety or fury.

“If the Counter Force is already taking that action to stop the ritual, we may not have a choice.”

He didn’t want to acknowledge that was a good point; by the look on Irisviel’s face, neither did she. 

Kill one to save millions. The average mage wouldn’t even need the ‘save millions’ condition at all. It had already been hanging over his head the instant Sola-Ui had presented herself as a threat. If Lord El-Melloi II was half the mage he presented himself as, he wouldn’t have questioned the necessity of it. He wouldn’t be digging his heels into the earth with how insistently he was refusing to resort to that, even when Maiya was right and that course of action might be all that kept him alive. 

Survive at all costs and destroy everything in the path of one’s own advancement. Kill or be killed, and become the ideal mage devoid of all humanity.

For a long moment’s silence, pained resignation met furious resolve as the two stared at each other in the darkening twilight.

“That is not how we’re doing this.” he stated plainly, even knowing the assurance rang hollow. He didn’t know that this would end without blood on his hands, but he did know he couldn’t stand against someone stained by the blood of a thousand better and more capable mages. 

It wasn’t about pride or principles, he told himself yet again. It wasn’t pacifism or some sense of moral superiority. Even with the world at stake, he was just a coward. Afraid to lose what little he had that kept him human instead of an unfeeling mage that could kill without the hesitation that locked his path forward into place.

“I’m the one who owes you an apology.” he added in hopes of swiftly changing the subject. “I don’t want Ilya in the line of fire either. But she was the only one of us that could make a decision on whether to fight or whatever else we could have done.”

He hadn’t known enough of who they were facing to understand the impact, and Irisviel understood too well. Ilyasviel had been the one with the best perspective on the matter; recognizing their opponent and having the right to command a Servant no matter how much they wished she didn’t. It was cruel beyond measure to ask her to fight against her own father, and Waver didn’t plan on making that mistake twice.

But in the way of teenagers Ilyasviel was headstrong and sure that she was making the right choice, even in defiance of the mother who tried desperately to make her child see reason. Waver could understand that, much better than he wished he did.

“What…are we going to do?” Irisviel said at last, squeezing his hand in a quiet and desperate insistence.

“...I’m not sure myself.” came the hesitant answer. “I need to handle this one thing first, and when I come back I’ll help the three of you with whatever comes next.”

Please , he found himself thinking, don’t let that be a lie. 

“Are…” Irisviel trailed off, meeting Waver’s eyes again with something deeply forlorn and worried. “Are we going to have to fight him? If…if we all want to destroy the Grail, isn’t…couldn’t we…”

Just as he’d asked Maiya; it seemed reasonable, but ‘reason’ was long since out the window. Bargaining with an agent of the world itself was foolish; why would a Counter Guardian waste time on uncertainties when the most straightforward solution was right before him? Before he could try to find any tactful way to answer that, Irisviel’s gaze drifted downwards to their hands and she spoke again in a whisper soft enough that it died in the cold air of the hall rather than echo in the dusty space:

“...that’s not Kiritsugu at all, is he?”

The question cut sharply, more so for the knowledge that Waver had no answer; the workings of the Counter Force were far beyond his field in more than abstracts and concepts. Crossing paths with such a figure was unprecedented, and so he could say nothing to what kind of humans became soldiers of Alaya upon their deaths. Was there anything left of him that was human, or was he a machine called the Mage Killer through and through. Maiya had seemed to indicate the latter, and Waver didn’t remotely have the heart to suggest as much to Irisviel now.

That night in the courtyard Waver saw someone achingly familiar yet drastically changed, absent of all recognition–and it had torn him apart from the foundations. If Diarmuid had been summoned as an enemy, Waver expected he would have let himself die on the spot rather than contend with that reality. The fact that Irisviel was doing anything other than screaming about the unfairness of the world and breaking everything not nailed down was the kind of willpower he couldn’t even measure.

So of course he couldn’t make a decisive statement either way. They didn’t know enough, and even if they did he wasn’t about to shatter that resolute heart so long as it could be helped. 

“Irisviel–I need you to trust me right now. I need you to believe me when I say that no matter what happens, I won’t abandon the three of you to do any of this alone.”

That much was true, although conditionally so. The pieces were in place to fall when and if Waver himself did, and with a little bit of luck they would land in a way that those he trusted above all else would finish what he started. That was…that was enough, wasn’t it? 

Irisviel stared at him for what felt like eternity, and now Waver knew she saw that his words were not the entire truth. A mutual dreaded understanding settled heavily between them, neither daring to address it. Each looking at the other with the horrible awareness, consciously or otherwise, of you are going to die before this ends.

Both of them, perhaps, hoping it would be only themselves and not the other.

Irisviel’s hands fell away from Waver’s as she briefly closed her eyes, taking a slow and trembling breath before facing him with a calmer stare.

“Do whatever it is you need to. But…come back as soon as you can.”

“You’ll hardly even know I’m gone.” he answered with a smile that felt hollow on his face. Waver turned towards the castle’s entrance, hearing Irisviel’s boots click slowly back up the stairs behind him. If he really believed he would be coming back here, would he have called Kairi and set out the outline of a contingency plan with Maiya? Regardless of what he said, as he pushed on an ornate handle to open the doors to the winter chill beyond it…Waver had the terrible feeling he wouldn’t be walking through those castle doors again.

---

Knowing (for the moment) nothing of a potential Counter Guardian and less still about Kiritsugu Emiya, the most pressing concern was the prickling sensation of lingering adrenaline keeping Saber on edge long after he and Berserker alike were sure the forest was free of threats. Archer had suffered a nonlethal blow, but only just so. And that was only the case by virtue of the gunman’s own speed–Saber’s hand was not slowed by anything so undeserved as mercy, and would have torn their enemy asunder had his strike not been mitigated by Archer’s speed in evading a mortal wound in exchange for only a severe one.

He knew that their goal was to spare as many Servants as possible until the matter of the Grail and leylines was something under control. That plan had been laid out without objection, and up to now following it had not been a problem with the exception of Assassin. He knew that his Master would want Archer dealt with nonlethally until the situation was made clearer.

…But the situation had been abundantly clear, was it not? Instinct overtook reason, concern and anger driving him to act with no thought for anything else. The fact of ‘if you fail to cut him down, your Master is going to be killed’ had only one response to it in Saber’s mind, and even if that earned his lord’s disapproval there could be no apology made for it. Saber would do it a thousand times over and more still, putting himself in the line of fire as many times as it took for his Master to survive.

That was his role as a Servant. And even were he to set that aside, it caused a cold and unpleasant pain to twist in the knight’s chest to think his kindhearted Master might have been cut down with so much left unsaid.

Sunlight’s final traces were vanishing when Saber finally heard his Master’s call, moving to his side faster than human senses could ever perceive. Not fast enough to have caught Archer, he noted with a small sting of frustration–next time he would not be so outpaced.

But it was a heartfelt relief to see the mage standing just outside the castle; relatively unharmed, but as calm and still as a frozen lake. Gone was the fearful apprehension he had faced his Servant with only a matter of hours beforehand, replaced with the look of a calculating strategist who betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. There were few if any words exchanged as they darted through the forest, his Master feather light in his grasp and a slender arm around the Servant’s shoulders–closer than a breath, and yet Saber felt an agonizing distance between them now.

You could have died, he wanted to say. Tell me to hunt down Archer and finish this, was the following insistence burning in his head. Twice now the cloaked gunslinger had nearly claimed his Master’s life, and once alone was enough for Saber to want that answered in blood. Twice was an insult to them both, and there would be no third time as long as he drew breath. There were a half-dozen things Saber wanted to say…but he remained silent. It was his Master’s word alone that would decide his course of action; that was his role as a Servant, and as a knight he had chosen to trust in the man who had summoned him.

So why was he so cold now? Had the fight shaken him so badly that he was trying that much harder to conceal his true feelings, or were complex plans and strategies working themselves out in his head and occupying all other thoughts? Saber realized it felt as though something had been jolted out of place, some intangible aspect of his Master that went unnamed and unspoken yet was glaringly obvious in its misalignment.

“What is our next course of action?” That much Saber felt it was safe to ask as he set his Master down outside the estate’s outer gate, beside the car borrowed from Irisviel. The mage said nothing for a moment–even sharp as his own gaze was, Saber was having difficulty discerning just what kind of look was in eyes behind black lenses. All he knew was that the professor’s stare was intent and focused; measuring something, whether that was Saber himself or what answer he wanted to give.

Something was wrong, spoke the tiniest voice of intuition in the knight’s head. Something had happened, whether in actions or words exchanged– something was happening that he had yet to grasp.

“Go back to the castle.”

A simple order with no strong insistence, yet spoken in words that were completely unthinkable.

“...What?” Ever unquestioning, ever loyal, and yet the only thing that Saber could do was freeze in place from disbelief with an objection breathed as though the air had been knocked out of him. “Master, you can’t-”

“I need you to protect Irisviel and the others. Berserker won’t stand a chance against Archer if he comes back, and Ilya shouldn’t have to fight him.” interrupted the mage, everything about him completely still. It almost seemed as though he’d shut down all other thought and emotion, turning to something made of steel and absent of emotion.

“And leave you to Caster and Tohsaka?” The mage looked off to the side at those words, adjusting his glasses under the pretense of looking towards the distant city. “...You’re not…staying here, are you?”

Silence, and with it the most damning answer possible. There was something going on, and whatever it was…

“Diarmuid.” spoke his Master’s voice again, concealed eyes turning back to the stunned knight before him. “Listen to me, very carefully. No matter what happens, I need to know you’ll protect them.” The professor’s right hand was raised to press against his heart, and Saber found his eyes drifting briefly to the Command Seals branded upon it. His lord’s words were sharper now, stressed as though underlining a meaning hidden deeper in his intent.

A meaning Saber could almost perceive, except that struggling to find his footing in this situation seeking what was wrong with his Master tonight held enough of his attention that comprehending the truth slipped just beyond his grasp.

“Your allies are mine, and your wishes my own.” confirmed the Servant in words he truly did not think needed to be spoken until that moment. He took a step forward, reaching out a hand as if hoping to take his Master’s own–perhaps to pull him back from whatever ledge he could imagine the mage standing upon. “My lord, this I swear–no harm will come to them, but what of yourself?”

In the briefest instant, the professor’s face turned tense and pale as if forcing back some fleeting expression–pain, fear, both and something else all at once? Saber didn’t know, and with the snap of metal on pavement did a Master turn his back on his oathsworn Servant in a single motion.

“...There’s someone I need to talk to. I should be back at the castle by morning.”

Tell me what it is you’re planning, pleaded thoughts Saber could not dare give voice to. Do not send me away. Whatever you may be thinking, I beg of you not to do this.

He opened his mouth to protest, but the words unraveled themselves into nothing. It was not a knight’s place to question his lord. It was not a Servant’s place to argue. The castle did need defending, and if his Master was needed elsewhere…even the strongest of the knight classes could not be in two places at once. From a tactical standpoint, it was safer to keep both Servants at the castle. However, on the other side of that same point, it was suicide to have a lone Master left undefended.

Am I not your knight? Do we not live and die together as Master and Servant? Why…? What is it you must do that I would not be able to aid you with? Do you not trust me to be at your side? I…

He trusted his Master…or he wanted to trust his Master. Saber wanted, deep and desperately in his heart, to believe in a man who he understood only through scattered puzzle pieces, in flickers of thought and memory from a mind now utterly closed off to him.

If I failed you in a time before, let me prove myself to you now. 

But what could he say that did not taste like bitter doubt? How could he trust in his lord’s sharp blade and sharper mind while also questioning what course of action he chose to take? If he did not, could not confide in his Servant as to the nature of his plan, there had to be a reason. There had to be a reason, Saber repeated to himself in a desperate litany to convince the traitorous tremble of his heart.

Once more he found himself caught between what honor demanded and what his heart said was right. Thousands of years removed from Oisín, Oscar, and Caílte’s guidance, he stood in lost and stunned silence. Question what seemed like madness or believe in a reasoning left concealed from him, from one who already concealed so much. Go against the very nature of a Servant and risk being seen as the traitorous blade turned upon the Fianna, or watch his lord slip ever further from his reach and possibly even beyond his aid.

“Master, please, I-”

“They need you more than I do, Saber, just go. ”

For how sharp the interruption was, the mage before him might as well have spun around and outright slapped him. Silenced immediately with no room for argument, he simply stared at his Master in wide-eyed shock; saw the tension in his rigid stance, the white-knuckled hold on a silver handle, the seal-branded fist trembling at his other side. What expression would have been on his face if he had not turned away? Anger, or anguish?

It was no longer relevant, because with that small rebellion instantly shut down there was nothing more Servant Saber could bring himself to say. If this was his Master’s decision…if he had been somehow found wanting and unworthy, then…

He forced back a dozen questions no longer his place to ask, and in one swift motion vanished into the evening’s growing darkness.

Unseen by any on the empty road, a lone mage pressed his hand to his mouth to stop himself from calling out to someone no longer there. Shut his eyes tightly against the harsh burning behind them, feeling his shoulders tremble uncontrollably beneath the weight of what had to be done to see this through to the end.

Unheard by the one who had already been sent away, the solitary Master choked on the only words that fell in the cold winter air:

“I’m…sorry.”

Notes:

[screaming into my own hands at terrible character decisions in futility because my cousin in halone you're the one writing them,]

Chapter 22: Separate Ways

Summary:

troubled times
caught between confusion and pain
distant eyes
promises we made were in vain

Irisviel von Einzbern was, for not the first time, completely at a loss. It was not and had rarely been her position to formulate a solid plan of action; it was often Maiya who did as much, and now Waver alongside her. Which rang as painfully unfair even now. Do you think I resent you for that, he had asked as easily as breathing, and Irisviel had to confess herself surprised that he didn’t. It had felt like a strange echo of past days for an Einzbern homunculus to work in tandem with an ‘outsider mage’ as Maiya had so viciously put it. She had wondered if he thought himself a substitute and little else, and now that Kiritsugu was…

…No, she reminded herself. That was not, could not be, surely was not the man she had loved. He was something else, and that something else was putting everything at risk. Even though she wanted to argue that destroying the Lesser Grail might be a viable action…well, it was very clear she would be outvoted in that regard, and the Greater Grail would still prove a problem in that case.

“Mother,” interrupted a voice, Ilyasviel standing in front of her with Berserker standing patient sentinel at her side, “you should rest. Maiya’s going to help us fix the windows, then we can all go out to work on the bounded field.”

The two stood at eye level; Ilya, beloved Ilya, who had grown to bear the slightest deviances from the Einzbern homunculi template. Her father’s sharp eyes and strong resolve, a headstrong defiance that perhaps all ordinary teenagers were blessed with the opportunity to have, and a powerful will that could stand strong when Irisviel herself had given in to panic and desperation. As a mother she could not have been more proud, or more afraid for what might become of her.

“My lady Irisviel,” spoke up Berserker, yellow eyes watching the woman in her pensive silence, “are you feeling w-”

All three of them stopped at once, sensing the interruption of a fourth presence manifesting abruptly in the room. Berserker and Ilya alike looked past her in alarm, and Irisviel turned to-

“...Saber?”

The knight looked as lost as Irisviel felt, eyes downcast and a strangely diminished quality to his stance. The pride with which he seemed to carry himself had faded to something unsure, and even words themselves seemed to fail him. Or did he merely seem smaller because of the lack of someone else at his side?

He was alone , a realization which sent a chill down Irisviel’s spine.

“He’s gone off on his own, hasn’t he.” she asked softly, locking eyes with the stricken knight for a confirmation that she already knew.

“I…was ordered to assist in guarding the castle in case Archer should return.” was the uneasy reply. Behind Irisviel, her daughter turned to her own Servant with something focused in her scarlet eyes.

“...Berserker. Go on ahead and get a broom from the upstairs closet to clear up that glass. I’ll find some spare blankets to pin over the windows.” Unseen by Irisviel and unnoticed by Saber, the two exchanged a sharp and focused look before the Servant nodded with a thin smile, turning to walk away with Ilya only a few steps behind.

Meanwhile, Irisviel was lost in thoughts of what is he doing and did he not even tell Saber, paired thoughts that braided together into a very frightening worry which had already been eating away at the back of her mind. There had been plenty of things Kiritsugu never told her of the actions he had taken as a killer of mages, much of it understood silently all the same. But this was different. Waver was not Kiritsugu, but he seemed bound and determined to kill himself trying just as hard to distance himself from his own humanity.

‘Too much love will kill you, just as sure as none at all.’

“...come with me.” she said at last in a soft sigh, looping her hand around Saber’s wrist with a gentle tug. “I’ll make some tea and we’ll wait for him to return.”

And when he did, she added in silence, there was going to be hell to pay.

---

Saber had scarcely been able to hold still while Irisviel brought him up to speed in broad strokes; Archer’s true identity was that of a career assassin, her husband and Ilyasviel’s father both. Worse still, he was functioning as an agent of the world itself against a perceived threat to the continuation of human existence. That alone was a great deal to contend with, yet at the forefront of his mind the words Mage Killer echoed as an ill omen. A Servant, a Counter Guardian who targeted Masters rather than their protectors. If the wound dealt to Archer was not as severe as Saber hoped it had been, what was to stop him from slaying a defenseless mage in an instant?

He is not defenseless, reasoned one thought, while another screamed he could be in danger, what are you doing, damn what he said and go after him-

A gentle hand tapped lightly on his shoulder, startling the knight out of warring thoughts as he attempted to focus back on Irisviel’s concerned face.

“Won’t you sit down, just for a minute? You’re pacing.”

“Ah…of course, forgive me.” The word of his Master was absolute; the forceful insistence in his words had left no room for misunderstanding. Saber’s priority was to stay on alert and protect the mage’s treasured allies–surely that order would not have been given unless he knew they were the ones more at risk. He must have seen some aspect of this that Saber did not, and yet the knight remained consumed with equal parts worry and confusion.

“He didn’t say anything about Kiritsugu?” Irisviel confirmed, pouring two cups of tea with hands moving just a little too quickly from nervous energy. “What about where he was going?” Saber shook his head, sitting down across from Irisviel as she sank into a chair.

“Nothing. He said only that he would return by morning and implored me to protect the three of you.” Irisviel frowned at that answer, focusing on nothing in particular as she stirred her own tea with two sugarcubes lying forgotten beside it. At first Saber hesitated to speak again, but his thoughts turned back to the idea of the professor somewhere in an enemy’s crosshairs–his Master with a secretive heart that burned fiercely to protect others, who hid fear and earnest care behind dark lenses. Whose hand had felt so unsteady and afraid around Saber’s own, who had come so close to entrusting his knight with something vital before the moment had slipped out of reach.

“...Before you called earlier today.” he began cautiously, taking steps that felt not quite his to take. Another small rebellion, but this time against he who had so insisted a Servant question him wherever necessary. And if it was not necessary now, when would it be? “My Master said that he needed to speak to me, but we did not have the chance. There was something he wished to tell me, Lady Irisviel. Do you…know anything of what it may have been?”

Scarlet eyes darted around the room restlessly, her hand freezing with the quiet clink of silver on ceramic. In a way, that was a relief. If Irisviel had been better at hiding that she did know something, it might have felt maddening beyond belief.

“I…can’t be sure.” she answered in halting words that made it clear she was very sure. “W–your Master is my friend. I can’t speak on what he’s asked me not to.”

“No, and neither would I ask you to.” Prying the answers from another was not his intent, but he had to get his thoughts in order on this is nothing else. If his own Master would not hear his concerns, who would? “I only…wish to understand what it is that leads him to hide things from me while in the same breath professing his absolute trust.”

Her brows knit together in disquiet frustration at Saber’s words; something about what he’d said seemed almost to annoy her. As if seeking to stop herself from saying more than she was meant to, Irisviel popped a sugar cube in her mouth with a loud and abrupt crunch tinged with annoyance. The strange gesture filled a few seconds’ silence, in which she looked to gather her thoughts before focusing wholly on the Servant with her.

“There is…something I have come to understand over time.” she began, slowly searching for the words to express an idea that may not have ever been given voice before. “Some have a…specific purpose. A role which they are born or made to fulfill, the person they are intended to become.” She tapped a slender fingertip on the remaining sugarcube sitting on the table, before setting another next to it. “And then there is what they want to do. Who they want to be.”

“Are those not the same thing?” Saber questioned, having watched attentively as she tried to piece together the thought. Irisviel seemed like the closest person to his Master, enough that he had already turned to her once in explaining what had transpired with Assassin. Surely she would have some insight as to the matter at hand, even if there was much she couldn’t say outright.

“...possibly, at times.” she acknowledged. “But I think that for most, falling into their intended role is a simple thing. It comes with certainty and reassurance that ‘I am doing exactly what I should’, with no room for doubt. I functioned as the vessel of the Grail without hesitation, because it was what I was made for. Maiya fought as Kiritsugu’s right hand because it was where she found contentment.”

“The oaths of the Fianna are sacred.” Saber answered as if in confirmation. While he could not yet see the conclusion at the end of this line of thought, the direction Irisviel’s words traveled in was one he could follow. “To adhere to the honor of a knight is the greatest purpose any of us could have wished to fulfill.”

“And…” Irisviel ventured cautiously, her words slow and gentle. “What if the person you swore those oaths to was making a mistake? What if he was doing something you knew to be dangerous?”

She saw it too–saw that something had changed in his Master’s demeanor and approach, and by the insistence in that voice it was becoming crystal clear that Irisviel was just as concerned. To a question phrased so plainly, the answer was equally succinct:

“I would ask that my lord should see reason, but I would not defy him in doing so. That-”

“-‘isn’t the role of a knight?’” cut in Irisviel’s questioning voice. When Saber met her eyes in startled silence, the woman in front of him nodded once and continued. “Exactly what I mean. That is your role as ‘Saber’, just as Maiya’s was to fight at Kiritsugu’s side and my own was to serve as the Grail’s living vessel. To follow your Master without question is to do exactly as a knight and Servant should.”

Saber felt strangely tense under Irisviel’s even stare, knowing she had found the path to the end of her thoughts and seeing that road for himself as well. It was not a path he would have taken by choice; as she said, there was certainty in that action. Reassurance that to act as a knight without question was ‘right’, and to question that now was…the word ’frightening’ flickered across his mind, and yet he said nothing to interrupt. In his heart he knew this had to be examined. He had to understand this maddening duality Irisviel sought to illustrate if there was any hope of understanding who his Master was set against who he was trying to be.

“A dear friend of mine once asked me an important question,” she continued, “though it confused me at the time. So I want to ask you: ‘what kind of person are you, and what do you want’?”

Did he know the answer to that? Naturally. Whether or not he could put that feeling into words was the issue. Whether he could give it a voice was yet another hurdle to contend with. But Irisviel waited, neither pressing further nor letting the subject drop. It merely hung in the air, the woman before him allowing tumultuous thoughts to rearrange themselves whether they would be acknowledged or not.

“...If I were to harbor a selfish desire unbecoming of my role...it is to hearwhat he refuses to acknowledge. I want him to tell me in his own words what the rest of you must already know. I would seek to understand what it is he fears so terribly that he would conceal it from his very allies.”

Scarlet eyes drifted to the table between them; to Saber it appeared that she was weighing what she could and could not say.

“I think...he’s afraid of you.” she said at length, the Servant feeling his breath catch harshly in his chest.

“Of—? That’s impossible, I would never—what reason could my Master have to be afraid of-”

“Not in the way you think.” She shook her head, immaculate nails tapping lightly on the table as she course corrected in gentle words. “It isn’t a matter of you being a threat, that would be absurd. But I suspect that…” She hummed thoughtfully, hesitation writing a look of uncertain concern on her pale face. “I suspect that he’s afraid...you might come to see him the way that he sees himself.”

However much Saber wanted to object, he found that the words would not come to him. Because that made perfect sense, did it not? His Master who wore a mask of ice, who struggled and stumbled over his own sincerity and hid honest eyes behind dark glasses...was not merely hiding from others, but hiding from himself. Something about that kindled the consistently smoldering embers of frustration in Saber’s mind int a flame; not yet anger in so many words, but the exasperation of being confronted with a truly foolish and easily solved problem. Had it truly been so straightforward all along? Was he a complete fool for not realizing it any sooner than this?

Saber closed his eyes as he worked through thoughts of all he had seen, both now and in memories not his own. A woman failing to impress upon her headstrong child that he was walking straight into a world that might destroy him. Unspeakable horrors laid bare in a workshop that smelled of blood and rotting fish. Wings of glowing wire that sliced through monstrous abominations.

And most worrying of all, the briefest flashes of hell itself burning on earth and in the twisting heavens with all the paralyzing fear that implied.

“You-...may not fully realize why I’m saying this.” Irisviel began in halting words. “But I-...he won’t listen to me, or anyone else. You’re the only one who can stop him. Please, before he turns into something he isn’t or kills himself trying, even if it means defying your Master...”

He met Irisviel’s eyes once she spoke those words, pressing a hand to his heart and speaking with complete conviction in response.

“...All that I do and everything I am, without exception those actions are that of a knight. It matters nothing what manner of person my Master is, who he merely believes he is, or whatever he may have done. There is nothing he could say or do that would cost him my loyalty. Even if such a thing would ever have mattered to me, it is completely irrelevant. I know beyond all question that he is possessed of a caring heart. You need not ask me this, Irisviel. I would give all that I have to protect him—even from himself, if that is what must be done. Just as I surely did the last time that I answered his summoning.”

Her eyes widened, and that was ironclad confirmation of what Saber already knew to be fact.

He had been here before, at that person’s side. And now he understood...it was not the Servant who had been seen to fail, but the Master himself. That was the unthinkable conclusion he drew now, from a perspective Saber could not even begin to have seen the matter from. In his eyes, his Master was everything one should have been. Caring, but not unwilling to fight. Quick to anger, but not to the point of cruelty. Prideful, but without arrogance. Able to confront even his own fears, a man who stood firm and resolute in defense of his own principles and a terrifying force against that which violated them.

It would never once have occurred to him that the man whose memories screamed that he had walked through hell and been still standing on the other side would ever have believed Saber would look at him and see someone unworthy.

“Even if it means defying my lord’s will, I...must do what is necessary. Perhaps even that is still within the role of a knight, and in itself the action that one should take to protect someone in need of it. I would save who I know he is, rather than stand by passively while he destroys himself.”

Enough was enough. He had been endlessly patient, endlessly trusting, and it was because Saber trusted in his Master that he would need to do the unthinkable in confronting him. Trust that there was someone who wanted to be saved rather than continue down this path, and believe that he could be protected rather than allow disaster to render that caring heart lost forever.

---

How events unfolded in the immediate future had to be arranged exactly in the correct configuration, each aspect another card that built an elaborate and fragile house. Now that an impossible enemy was part of the equation, those cards needed to be laid with extra care. First condition: the castle and those within it had to be as heavily protected as they could afford. Second condition: no one else could be involved in a conflict that he himself had caused. Third, and this one tied into both the points preceding it: under no circumstances could he present himself with the unspoken threat of a Servant at his side, lest his insistence of nonaggression be seen as a lie.

This had to be settled alone. The careless mistakes of Waver Velvet had to be rectified by Lord El-Melloi II, one way or another. If that meant tearing out his own heart and meeting Sola-Ui where she lived as a mage, then so be it. This had to be settled, and it had to be done now before she landed in more trouble than she could even begin to be fully aware of. If he could just convince her of the truth, somehow, then neither of them would have to kill each other.

That’s the same mistake you made with Galliasta, sneered his own thoughts. You’ve gone and burned all your bridges, now if this goes wrong there’s no one to save you.

Right. He was well and truly on his own, and that was how it had to be. If the situation became hopeless, then he would have to save himself by any means necessary. Kill or be killed, just as any worthwhile mage knew to be second nature.

Outside of his own self-hating thoughts, it was so painfully quiet. No way to contact anyone, because he’d entrusted Maiya with his only available backup plan. No constant presence silently reassuring at his side, because he’d coldly pushed even Diarmuid away. It was necessary, he told himself. Necessary, because had his loyal protector known the truth he surely would have insisted upon coming. Had he known who Sola-Ui was or why she hated his Master, the whole thing would come apart at the seams in an instant and taken any illusion that Waver was worth respect down with it. Even with how much he wanted to confess the truth, how close he had nearly come to doing it…that was deemed too great a risk. What he wanted was no longer relevant, placed beside what had to be done.

Slowly, he forced an iron grip to release the steering wheel once he’d stopped at the hotel. Breathed slowly once, then again. Everything had to be placed in exactly the correct way for there to be any hope of this working. Each card precariously balanced, every single aspect of the one placing them kept tightly under control.

If the house of cards collapsed, he was going to have to kill Sola-Ui with his own hands or die trying before the night was out.

Notes:

so originally this and ch23 were going to be one chapter with switching perspectives but it got COMICALLY long, so let's see how this setup works

it is important to me that i do not fuck up this stretch boy howdy

Chapter 23: Backlight

Summary:

so let's run wild, release your rage
let the winds of wrath blow them away
not gonna live in compliance
i'm not playin' the victim no more

Of course it would be the penthouse suite. If he lived through this, Waver was just going to assume the top floor of every building in Fuyuki had a mage with too damn much money living in it. The space was brightly lit and open, windows taking up most of the outer wall for a view to the city beyond. Picturesque, luxurious, and with a tremendous sense of pressure that could not go ignored–the invisible presence of a Servant in spirit form, without question.

One more card placed on the structure that shook beneath its own instability.

“I wasn’t sure you would actually come.” remarked Sola-Ui, rising smoothly from a chair as Waver shut the door behind him. She stood with all the composed elegance of an aristocrat radiating righteous fury, neatly folding her arms and making an excellent effort of looking down her nose at someone taller than her. “...You didn’t bring your Servant.”

“Of course I didn’t.” he answered coolly, trying to ignore the way something tightened in his chest. The air in here felt wrong in a way Waver couldn’t place and didn’t have the luxury of time to consider, forcing back a twisting sense of nausea and ascribing it to how stressful today had been and continued to be. “What did you expect, the pair of us would walk in and we would all fight in the middle of a hotel room? Give me a break, Sola-Ui.”

“Then why did you bother?” she snapped back, folding her arms. In the absence of the gloves she had worn earlier, the crimson of three Command Seals bright against pale skin and white sleeves formed a gracefully flowing shape.

“You want to settle this, and so do I. But I told you, I’m not going to fight you.” Much more desperately now, he hoped that didn’t end up being a lie. “I came here to talk–that’s all. We hear each other out for once, then figure out what happens next.”

She scoffed in annoyed disgust, settling back into the chair she’d risen from and gesturing sharply at a second a few steps away. Nowhere near foolish enough to take his eyes off her entirely, Waver pulled together what little shreds of composure remained to him today and sat down with his weaker right leg crossed over the left. There was no illusion which of them held all the power in this situation, not with that invisible presence alongside the oppressive something that was starting to give Waver a headache. If she wanted, Sola-Ui could see him dead in an instant. For all he knew, her Servant was unseen behind him ready to draw a weapon at no more than an errant breath.

“If you really think I’m going to believe your nonsense about the Holy Grail, then you may save your breath and try some other lie.” she began, well-manicured nails tapping on the armrest of the chair.

“I can’t convince you of that without clear evidence. I’m not here to try otherwise. What I want is for you to tell me exactly how you want this to go.” Leaning his cane against the chair, Waver calmly interlaced his hands and watched Sola-Ui from behind dark lenses. It was safer if she couldn’t read him, if indeed she would have been able to at all. Easier to school his own expression into the composure of a lord rather than show the mounting anxiety he felt at how many ways this situation could end badly for them both. “I can make a few guesses as to why you’re here and what you could want from the Grail. But I don’t want assumptions, I want the truth. I want to hear it from you.”

Her sharp eyes stared daggers into him as if she was trying desperately to make the other mage burst into flame with that alone. But through the headache and tension, Waver knew she would take the opportunity rather than see him killed on the spot.

‘I’ve had enough of everyone telling me what I need to do,’ she had said. ‘Once I have the Grail, I won’t be doing any of that ever again.’ And that was enough to tell Waver exactly why she was here–and that the overlooked second child would absolutely take the chance to speak and be heard no matter how much she hated him.

Sure enough…she glared, she tapped those perfectly kept nails, but Sola-Ui inhaled and spoke with barely restrained venom in each thorn entwining her words.

“Everything was perfectly in place.” she began with all the frustration of one who knew exactly where their life had gone wrong and how. “Father must have known he had made a mistake in entrusting his Crest to my brainless fool of a brother. Bram couldn’t find his own office with a map of the entire department, but because he was born first the Crest was his by right.”

Waver doubted that was entirely true, but did not raise an objection. Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri was what he would charitably describe as ‘cautious’, in a way. He was not particularly remarkable as a mage despite his skills, not particularly one to draw attention despite his station, and not particularly notable in his studies despite the best education the Clock Tower could offer. There was a certain wisdom in keeping one’s head down, and if it was intentional Waver had to respect that kind of cleverness. If it was sincere…well, the end result was still the same for Bram himself even if it reflected terribly upon his family.

But compared to his sister, the woman before him who was silken elegance hiding a poisoned blade? The choice in heir for an old and storied mage family could not have been more wrong. Sola-Ui would have been perfect as the bearer of her family Magic Crest, which was both glowing praise and damning condemnation as Waver saw it.

“Consolidating the power of the Spiritual Evocation department with the El-Melloi house and therefore Mineralogy was the best Father could do to recover.” Sola-Ui continued. “I was slated to become the wife of a Lord and ensure that both our houses would be respected as we deserve. Kayneth chose to cement that further by participating in a grand battle for the Holy Grail; emerging as the victors in such a ritual would have left no question as to the strength of Archibald and Sophia-Ri alike.”

…Something about that statement pricked at Waver’s mind like cloth caught on a single thorn, and he couldn’t help but to examine it searching for what felt wrong there. It made sense that Spiritual Evocation would send a representative to a ritual such as the Holy Grail War; there was no better source of catalysts than those who dealt in the business of manifesting spirits. No doubt Sola-Ui would have given Shishigou a prepared catalyst had he accepted the job as her proxy Master to begin with. So ten years ago, what a spiteful and angry student had intercepted had been the Sophia-Ri household's contribution to match the Master from the Archibald house.

Victors, she’d said. The strength of Archibald and Sophia-Ri alike.

Waver quickly bit his tongue rather than speak what he was thinking in muted horror. Sola-Ui didn’t just hate him because she suspected what had truly become of Kayneth in a war clear across the world. She knew, because she had been in Fuyuki with him. She must have been; given what he knew of both involved, Sola-Ui would refuse to take no for an answer and Kayneth would have barely objected. Why should he have, so assured of victory as he had been? What better way to prove himself to his fiancee?

“And then you happened.” she scowled. “Having an artifact like that be stolen, do you have any concept of how embarrassing that was for Spiritual Evocation? When he realized you—a worthless, powerless, lowborn nothing—were responsible, he was furious. But that was nothing next to how I felt. In one single careless act you damaged everything, made a complete fool out of Kayneth and my entire house both at once.”

Calm and impassive, Waver still said nothing. He couldn’t speak against any of what she said, not only because he had chosen to let her speak her mind but also on principle.

She was right, after all.

“After all that, he still wanted to keep to the shadows and let Berserker overpower any resistance. Which, I will acknowledge, would have worked. But it was shameful–to be seen as a coward as well as foolish wouldn’t have been fixed by any victory. Especially with you so flagrantly out in the open without a care in the world. I told Kayneth that if he expected to recover from that kind of insult, then he had to see it punished severely. There’s no room in the world of mages for people who just allow such slights against them to go unanswered.”

Again, she was right. Kayneth would have been the laughingstock of the Association had they both come back alive; one of the twelve Lords simply allowing his own student to sabotage him without repercussion? Not even putting the Holy Grail itself on display in his office would have been enough prestige to overshadow that kind of weakness and stupidity.

“Once you were out of the way, we were going to deal with the Einzberns and that ridiculous Archer. But then one night…nothing. Berserker gone, Kayneth missing, and I knew it was because he’d gone after you. I knew you must have done something, must have cheated and lied your wretched little way out of what should have been no more difficult than trapping a mouse. But though it disgusts me to say…it’s just as you said. No one would ever have believed me. It would have been political suicide to even try to claim ‘Waver Velvet murdered Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi’, even within the context of the war. Then you just have the nerve to take everything else, to show up years later with his title like you deserved it?!”

Sola-Ui’s voice was rising in pitch and fervor both, and he had to admit that was sort of a relief. It was better to face unveiled fury and disgust rather than contempt hidden behind diplomacy. Especially when it came to someone who had clamped down on her hatred for the sake of her image, to scratch together what shreds of dignity were left to a secondborn woman in a world where both of those qualifiers already made her less than in the eyes of so many others.

“You ruined everything for me, again and again, and now you dare to show your face in Fuyuki a second time?!” A delicate fist was driven into the armrest, Sola-Ui leaning forward in furious accusation. “You dare to lie to me like I’m some kind of gullible fool and condescend as though you care about any of this?! You think I believe that you care about anyone but yourself?!”

The silence was broken only by the sound of Sola-Ui breathing hard after the crescendo of her tirade, and through it all Waver had said and done nothing but allow it. She deserved her anger, and it had been his intention to let her have it as the Clock Tower would not allow. His chest ached from the pounding heart within it, head on fire from the strange sense of heavy unease combined with the suffocating feeling of a Servant’s presence—but his expression was utterly calm and even as he took off his sunglasses and slipped them into a pocket. Fixing Sola-Ui with the steadiest stare he had likely ever held, Waver finally answered:

“I owe you an apology.”

Her mouth dropping open like a dead fish, Sola-Ui spluttered half-syllables in response to what must have been the last thing she expected.

“You’re right,” he continued before she could find footing and renew her tirade in earnest. “That day, I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself. My own advancement and hatred of Kayneth were all that mattered to me, and I acted with no thought for how it would affect anyone else. All that anyone can do is seek their own survival in crawling out of the pit of vipers that is the Clock Tower, and I am sincerely sorry that I denied you that by acting on a child’s impulse. I don’t regret what I did to Kayneth himself, and I don’t regret what it led to—but I do regret that it caused you trouble as a result. For that and that alone, I’ll apologize to you.”

“You-...you can’t be serious.” she stammered, eyes wide with disbelief and still burning with anger. “You think empty words like that matter now-”

“Of course I don’t. Sincere or not, words are just that and nothing more. But what else do you expect me to do, exactly? What else could I even do? I sold my soul to the Archibald house and became Reines’ figurehead, then worked myself to death keeping the family standing in recompense. I sure as hell can’t enter into a political marriage with you, and I’m sure neither of us wants that anyway.”

Sola-Ui’s mouth twisted in nauseous revulsion, a feeling which Waver wholeheartedly agreed with.

“There’s also no need to put forth any illusion that you cared about Kayneth or his status outside of what either could do for you. It’s clear as day that you didn’t want to marry him, and I certainly can’t blame you for that. There really was nothing else you could do to elevate your house as well as your own personal status, and to speak bluntly: as a mage, you were right to do so. All of us are just eating one another alive hoping to come out on top, whether now or in however many potential generations.”

“What,” she hissed, “are you rambling about.”

“I’m saying that it’s unfair. You have talent in more than just magecraft. I’m agreeing with you that Eulyphis made the wrong call on his successor. I don’t believe your brother would have had the nerve to come this far and risk everything in a war for the Grail just to get ahead, and marrying you off to a stuck-up noble would have been a waste of your potential on top of being inhumanly cruel.”

The whole time he spoke, there was barely a flicker of emotion on his face. Even as his heart pounded, even as he began to feel lightheaded, even though he vaguely wondered whether or not she’d managed to cast some kind of poisoning spell in the air—Waver remained completely focused. He had to get this right. He had to choose his words with exceptional care, or else he would have to kill her just to stay alive himself.

“Surely you don’t think a system where someone like you exists to propagate a bloodline is one worth justifying the existence of. You can see it better than either your father or your brother,” he began cautiously, words weighted by the conviction that had been a steadily growing pressure upon his shoulders for years, “that the Association is worse than stagnant, it’s degrading. How many people have there been exactly like you; more talented, smarter, and completely ignored for pointless reasons of stature? How much potential advancement has been lost to carelessness like you no doubt think your father had in bequeathing his Crest?”

She had begun to silently seethe again, and recognizing when the kettle was near to boiling, Waver chose to pull back from the immediate pressure of a sore subject and continued from a more direct angle: “There’s something else I have to do. An ambition that surely won’t be accomplished in my lifetime, and can’t be accomplished alone.”

Sola-Ui leaned back in her chair, interlacing her fingers and radiating judgment so cold the room itself felt like it dropped several degrees.

“I ask again: what are you rambling about? Stop wasting my time and get to the point.”

“I’m going to change the Association.” he shot back, finding a small satisfaction in the way Sola-Ui blinked several times in heavily veiled surprise. “If you had learned from a teacher who had given a shit about your talents rather than brush you off as a second child, how much more power would you have attained? And how much longer do you really think the world of mages is even going to last in an era like this unless they learn and adapt?”

While it was true that the Association had existed for at least two thousand years, it was as plain as day to Waver that it wouldn’t be forever. He’d known it needed to change even as a teenager, regardless of how careless and stupid he’d been in expressing that idea.

“My students can do that—will do that. Definitely not in our generation and probably not in their own, but with their full potential realized they can cause a paradigm shift. Things don’t have to be like this, Sola-Ui. If we work to shift the foundations now, the Clock Tower can stand even stronger in the future. If the world of mages looked at people like us and judged on merit rather than birthright, imagine how much could be accomplished. But before I can see any of that through, I have to deal with this problem here, in Fuyuki. If you truly don’t believe me about the Grail, fine—but if that’s the case, then cooperate with me for a while and I’ll find a way to show you the truth. We can’t afford to be at each other’s throats; there’s far larger problems at work whether you believe me or not.”

In the time it had taken Waver to state his case, the brief surprise had been frozen over by the cold stare she fixed him with once more.

Please, he thought desperately while struggling to keep his expression calm and calculated. The coiled wire concealed around his forearm felt heavier than a chain, every part of him tense and unbending as steel. Please, please just go along with this for a little while. Don’t make me kill you.

Slowly, Sola-Ui rose from her chair, which prompted Waver to do the same. Left hand nearly white-knuckled on his cane, he extended his right in offer of some semblance of a truce.

“Hate me all you want. When we get back to London, you can try and kill me as many times as it takes for you to be satisfied. But until then, let me try to prove that I have no intention of being your enemy. What do you think?”

A sharp crack resounded through the heavy air, and with it a sting of pain as Sola-Ui harshly slapped Waver’s hand aside.

“People like us.” was the snarled answer, echoing his words and spitting them as acidic poison. “Even the overlooked heir of a proper bloodline is more valuable than gold compared to the trash excuse of a mage that you are. You dare look at me and say ‘people like us’ as though you’re anything compared to me? The best you can ever hope for is to die with enough significance for your name to become the smallest footnote, and even that would need a miracle to attain.”

Waver let out a quiet sigh and lowered his hand to his coat pocket—out of sight, curling his fingers around a glass vial. A thought was taking shape in his head—an uncomfortable realization piecing itself together from a faint suspicion. Taking offense to that was one thing, but taking so much offense as to prioritize it as the first thing she addressed over Waver’s admittedly mad ambition…?

Even that would need a miracle-

“Oh.” he said without thinking as the answer clicked into place. “...This isn’t about me stealing that catalyst at all, is it? Not half as much as you want to think it is.”

“Excuse me?” she answered coldly, taken off guard by the abrupt change of subject.

“...You’re not participating in the war on behalf of the Association or the Sophia-Ri house.” Words strung together slowly as a thread led backwards from its conclusion. “If you were, you would never have tried to hire Shishigou as a proxy. But the fact that you’re here means you’re confident in your chances, so you must have used an incredibly powerful artifact. So I have to wonder where you procured it from without your father or brother realizing what you needed it for.”

She sought the Grail for recognition, but not in the way Kayneth had. For him, it was just another line on an impressive résumé under ‘accomplishments’, something that simply polished an already mirror sheen of a reputation to shine that much brighter. There was no significant elevation in status that would have been achieved if Kayneth and Lancelot had claimed the Holy Grail.

The other Master had frozen in place before him, dark eyes wide with the shock of an implied accusation. Mouth opening and closing wordlessly, Sola-Ui took a step back.

To her, it was everything. Victory here would be undeniable truth that the overlooked mage had power and skill that others ignored, proof of worth in a worthless existence.

“...That’s what I thought. When you realized Shishigou wasn’t going to work out, you stole a catalyst and ran to Fuyuki planning to fight in a battle where bloodline and status mean nothing. So that once you attained the Grail, no one would ever disregard you again.” Waver confirmed quietly, staring her down with all calm professionalism gone. There was ice in his blood now, grave severity in his voice as he drove the point home with all the finality of a knife to the heart.

“You’re exactly like me, Sola-Ui.”

For the look on her face, he may as well have outright stabbed her. The conclusion was met with a sharp intake of air followed by silence, as though she had outright forgotten how to breathe at all. If he struck right now, while she was grappling with the worst insult imaginable, maybe—maybe—he could cut her down before her Servant manifested to counter.

And then what? He would die anyway in the very next instant. But if he could take out a major obstacle in the process, then the others could take it from there. Diarmuid could make a contract with Irisviel, Ilyasviel still had Berserker, with Kairi and Maiya they could handle the rest easily. Wasn’t this exactly the outcome he had lined up contingencies for?

All he had to do was swing a hidden blade across her throat.

Mind racing, screaming do it what are you waiting for this is exactly what you planned for, and yet he was entirely still in the mere second that stretched into an agonizing eternity. That immense pressure and directionless dread still hung heavy in the air, suffocating and overwhelming.

The observation Sola-Ui had taken as a critical blow was a double-edged sword that had backfired on Waver himself, who now saw her hatred for what it really was—she hated him like he had despised Kayneth, and now he found himself on the other side of one of the worst nights of his life. One flick of a switch and motion of his arm, and Lord El-Melloi II would be every bit the pragmatic mage that his predecessor was. Exactly as he needed to be in order to see this war brought to an end.

But when it counted, at the last second which would decide everything…Waver Velvet was just a coward.

Blazing with the fire of pure rage flickering back to life to burn away the shock, Sola-Ui’s face twisted into sheer fury with white-hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. There was no coming back from this, no further negotiation to be had—if such an assumption was made, it would have been instantly dispelled with her next word.

“Lancer.”

She snarled the name like a command, and behind her a Servant materialized from the heavy air—a fair-haired knight in simple but gleaming silver armor, stare of sea green fixed on his Master’s target.

Immediately it was understood why the atmosphere in the room had felt so wrong, and why he had felt sick as soon as he walked in; not merely the ambient magical pressure, but it was colored by the faintest, slightest air of fresh water and salmon scales. Far too late he realized that Sola-Ui would know exactly what weakness to strike. She knew what Kayneth had attempted to gain as a catalyst and who Waver summoned as a result—so he had been thoroughly outmaneuvered to assume she would not plan for exactly that eventuality in this second attempt.

There was not a moment spared for wondering this Servant’s true name, because he knew that face immediately. He knew those eyes, remembered that gaze from a distant memory where it had been colored by cruel resentment. A memory that was not his own, but the last fading sight of another.

In frozen horror, with absolutely nothing to protect him from the massive spear in the Servant’s grasp, Waver Velvet stared down the legendary hero he had disliked on principle for a decade. The leader of the Fianna who was descended from silver-armed Nuadha and possessed all the knowledge of the world.

Sola-Ui had called forth the one enemy even Diarmuid ua Duibhne had never dared raise his blade against.

Fionn mac Cumhaill.

Notes:

either i write with the speed of a cocaine-addicted hamster or i lie on the floor for months on end vaguely wiggling a pencil in a notebook

there is no middle ground

happy friday

Chapter 24: Hold Me Like A Grudge

Summary:

the world is always spinning and i can't keep up
faster and faster, can't do it on my own
part-time soulmate, full-time problem

As carefully arranged as it had been, the house of cards was blown away in a hurricane of catastrophically bad decisions. Under no circumstances should Lord El-Melloi II have hesitated to kill Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri—as a mage, the mistake was an embarrassing lapse in judgment and common sense alike. As a human, if he was indeed still one at all, it was a choice that would cost him his life in the next instant just as the exact same hesitation had cost the prior Lord El-Melloi his own.

Cruel irony, however, was not on his mind at that particular moment in which time froze. He’d practically forgotten about Sola-Ui, staring in horror and disbelief at the form death took standing beside her. Eyes as green and cold as seaglass fixed upon Waver with sheer indifference, the mage obviously registering as neither inconvenience nor threat. He was nothing to the illustrious knight before him, and the difference in power was like the earth to the most distant of stars.

It was a stare that made him resemble Kayneth in a way, and that of all things was what snapped Waver out of shock to ground him in the imminent disaster where he had cornered himself.

The opponent before him could not be defeated. To even think for a second that he could match one of the greatest knights in recorded history was laughable, and entertaining the impossible was suicide. It would be just as suicidal to do nothing, as well. So what was left with even the smallest percentage of success?

Obviously: the same as had once been done by a knight who was honorbound to never fight the lord who sought his death.

The time between two heartbeats had barely passed since the Servant manifested, and yet Waver knew exactly what had to happen in the next instant. He had to act first in this standoff they were locked into—and in a stroke of either anger-driven judgment or astounding luck, Sola-Ui spoke rather than order Waver’s death with a thought.

“Do you have any last-”

“Fervor mei sanguis.”

The incantation was spoken before she could finish the thought, the fragile glass vial hidden in his hand crushed in a tightened grip and hidden compartment of his cane snapping open simultaneously. Instantly, blinding light and shining silver erupted into chaos in the room with a swirl of motion and deafening sound of shattered glass.

---

A chair clattered to the floor as Saber bolted to his feet, ordinary clothes turning to armor so quickly that he was fully prepared for combat by the time he had straightened up to stare off at nothing. Irisviel recoiled in surprise at the sudden motion, but the reason for it was something she could immediately understand. Saber was so tense as to resemble a coil about to snap beneath the pressure, bright gold eyes staring off at an enemy he could neither see nor perceive just yet—a Servant sensing his Master in immediate mortal peril.

She saw clear as day the conflict written all over the hard-set lines of his face. Duty versus necessity; an easy thing to understand which to prioritize, but not so simple to drive oneself to act upon. Sensing that his Master was in immediate danger, but knowing the castle still needed defending…

What was correct was not necessarily what was easiest to do.

“We’ll be fine.” Irisviel said sharply to cut through whatever warring thoughts were tangled in the Servant’s mind. Pragmatism be damned, she couldn’t stand by and let whatever was happening continue if it could be prevented. Someone had to think of anything other than the pragmatic course of action. “Go. Please-”

‘I can’t…turn back from what I am now. Even if I could, it wouldn’t change anything.’

“-…please save my reckless brother.”

Maybe that was taken as an implicit command or whether it was just the slight push that was needed to make a decision, in a rush of motion too fast for any human to perceive did Saber vanish in a blur of red and gold.

---

Volumen Hydrargyrum was without question a magnificent example of a Mystic Code, even if it was one of Kayneth’s own innovation. Its inheritor of all people knew well that it was at once a guardian’s shield and a reaper’s blade. A weapon without equal, in the hands of a talented archmage.

Waver was not by any means a talented archmage.

Where Kayneth’s wind and water affinity had been perfect for controlling the motions of an element with the grace of rivers and speed of a gale, Waver possessed neither; his earth affinity was the antithesis of both. Better suited for the manipulation of metal itself, an unflinching rigidity that made it impossible to utilize the mercury weapon as it had once been used against him. Add to that his comparably pitiful magical energy reserves unsuited for so refined a Mystic Code, and the end result was an uncontrollable display of haphazard force with no elegance behind it. 

Under cover of a few seconds’ blinding light from the vial he’d shattered in his hand, mercury that could not seem to determine what form it took writhed as if it were a several-headed hydra, smashing everything within range with the force of hammers striking the earth—he thought he heard Sola-Ui shout in distress followed by a crash, but with his eyes closed against his own light screen it was impossible to know for sure. Lancer—Fionn would surely defend his Master first, which bought Waver enough time to struggle with his limited control and direct the rampaging Mystic Code to the side where it shattered several of the hotel room’s massive windows.

No time to think. No time to reinforce his leg or recognize he was actually very afraid of heights. There was barely even any awareness he was moving until his foot had pushed off of broken glass on the window's ledge and left him suspended in midair four hundred feet over Fuyuki City in the half-second before gravity caught up with time.

Come on, damn you, he thought as initial momentum fell off and the wind whipped past in the start of a sudden and rapid descent. Work for me, just this one time-

If it came to dying in an escape attempt or letting that bastard take his head off, Waver would choose the insane option a thousand times. Even though it left him rapidly falling thirty-two stories towards solid concrete in the stupidest course of action he had ever taken.

Focus, concentrate, don’t think about how much dying is going to hurt if you can’t get it under control.

Silver streaked through the air after him, an animate rivulet falling in tandem with its wielder as Magic Circuits forced into overdrive burned like a furnace through his entire body—Volumen Hydragyrum twisted and shuddered in impossible shapes as if pulled in every direction at once, stretching and reluctantly shaping itself into some semblance of a falling platform underfoot at one end; the rest stretched towards an oncoming rooftop in a gradual and slight change in angle and descent. It was already the best Waver could possibly have hoped for, the strain on his Circuits and the rushing wind of near-freefall both threatening to force him to lose consciousness. Keeping his eyes focused on the point where the mercury was heading and trying to find footing on what was barely a platform, he reached back and harshly pulled out the elastic holding his hair in place; freeing the final emergency reserves of magical energy that was common for any mage who wore theirs similarly. There was only so much that did to mitigate it, but he was at least able to stay conscious and keep Volumen Hydragyrum briefly stable.

This is as much as I’m going to manage to slow down. Nothing for it, either I live or break every bone in my body—

Beneath him, the platform of mercury and the stabilizing line to the rooftop itself remained in some thin semblance of form until the instant Waver touched down, losing all form as the mage landed in a half-roll half-skid that carried him what felt like halfway across the roof; about halfway between the top floor of the Hyatt above and the streets of Fuyuki below. Stunned, coughing, bruised and scraped, but still alive.

For the moment.

Get up, get up, get the hell out of here, screamed his thoughts while his vision spun unpleasantly with every breath torn out of the winter air, go, get out of sight before that bastard and Sola-Ui notice where you ended up-

Forcing himself to his feet, Waver held out a hand and struggled to get the scattered liquid silver to coalesce—twisting like an uncontrollable sea serpent it reformed itself and moved as though forcibly pulled back into the vial hidden in the handle of his cane. Reines would do worse than kill him if he lost the El-Melloi Mystic Code now, and he was a hell of a lot more afraid of her than he was Sola-Ui. Now he just had to figure out how to get down to ground level, but that was a little easier. There was a fire escape a few stories down; half a second to find air past what may have been cracked ribs, and he spoke an incantation he could control. Wire snaked out from around his right arm for a quickly reinforced safety line, and moments later he was relatively out of the open and leaning against a steel railing trying to recover. He’d spent all these years trying to improve his magecraft and Circuit capacity, and for what? Even just that much had nearly knocked him out entirely? Why—

It’s because you planned for a Lancer, not a Saber, remarked simple logic in his thoughts. Lancer wasn’t difficult to support even as a child, but Saber is the class with the most raw power behind it. That requires a larger magical energy reserve, and you’ve used everything you can allocate to yourself—any more and you’re putting Diarmuid in trouble. If Sola-Ui summoned that bastard first, then she’s really screwed you on this one.

Outgunned, outmaneuvered, and outperformed. Frankly, he was impressed more than he was angry with her; this was so far out of left field that he never would have seen it coming. Worse, there was nothing he had that could counter this situation. Gilgamesh would have been more than a match—but the last thing he wanted was to get Rin or Ilya involved, which also counted out Berserker. And under no circumstances was he calling Diarmuid to this fight. Any other Servant, any other hero, then Waver would have already called the knight to his side…but not this. He couldn’t ask Diarmuid to fight an impossible enemy he had gone so far to avoid crossing blades with in life. There had to be some other way around that potential outcome.

Once he was fairly confident he could move without completely passing out, Waver lowered himself down to ground level and tried to shake off the screaming adrenaline that had set his entire body to shaking and heart pounding in his ears. Stupid, that was stupid and crazy and if anyone ever heard about it he would catch seven shades of hell. But he’d survived, and that was enough for right now.

Immediately after that thought finished, behind him in the dark alleyway came a breeze smelling of river water and the click of a woman in heels being set down on her feet.

From somewhere in a mind gone blank with panic came a resigned understanding: Lancer was always the fastest Servant.

Knowing he was already dead where he stood regardless, Waver started to turn and raise his hand to fire a desperate Gandr-

-and the world exploded in white-hot fireworks before his eyes, a strike having connected with his midsection throwing him through the air to collide with a solid brick wall he could swear he felt crack under the impact. It was that or several bones shattering on contact, and either felt likely from how the air was knocked out of his lungs with a suffocating crash of immediate and blazing agony.

Ah…Gilgamesh was right, wasn't he?

There was no comparing a human to a Servant. To try would be as comparing a person to an insect, the gulf in their very existences was that great. Even the weakest of Heroic Spirits could end countless lives and barely even blink, at least where matters of sheer power were confirmed. And this? This was by no means the weakest of Heroic Spirits.

I really am going to die here.

“Is this the valor of modern humankind?” came a voice Waver did and did not recognize through the screaming haze making him curse the fact that he was still conscious. Struggling to focus, he realized there was a hand on his collar roughly holding him upright and those cool green eyes fixed upon him with a spark that was almost ‘distaste’. “I would have expected those who command heroes to meet their fates rather than flee from them.”

You’re just pissed off someone else tried to get away from you, he wanted to say but lacked the air to try.

“Enough.” interjected Sola-Ui, folding her arms and glaring at the sight before her. “Call your Servant. I want this settled, so you know exactly who it is that defeated you.”

“T-told you…already. I’m not…fighting you.” he choked out, tasting iron and copper in his mouth. Eyes locked on Fionn rather than Sola-Ui, because if this was the last he ever spoke then he’d be damned if he wasn’t going out as a knight rather than a coward. “If you want t…to kill me…then just do it.”

Dimly, he realized that defiant challenge was not one issued to Sola-Ui at all. The knight barely an inch from snapping Waver’s neck glanced out of the corner of his eye to his Master in silent questioning—she inhaled sharply as if having expected a completely different situation.

“I—don’t you dare—I will be taken seriously and you will accept my challenge or-…”

The hell he would. If he wanted to kill Sola-Ui, he would have done it back in the hotel and spared himself a lot of injuries. If he had the nerve to truly become a heartless mage, then he would call Diarmuid right now and order him to kill his oathsworn king.

And Waver Velvet could do neither of those. He was a failure in all he had ever set out to do, and because he was a failure it would be left to others to finish the task laid out before them now once he died just as worthless as he had ever been.

“There’s something…I always wondered.” He could hear his voice fading without the energy or breath to devote to it, but if this was how he died, then he wasn’t going to let Sola-Ui drag it out assuming Waver would change his mind. There was no one left to help after he’d pushed away every single ally he had, so if this really was it…then better to hurry up and be done with it rather than linger in this much pain.

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

Fionn’s eyes focused on him again, and the mage summoned all the breath he could find to ask:

“Could Oscar ever stand to look at you again after what you did?”

The fist that collided with his face was almost worth it for the brief flash of surprise and anger that had preceded it. Dropping to the ground in a crumpled heap, a cough that was almost a laugh of mad resignation shook a broken form with the last strength he had. Fionn would absolutely skewer him in the next instant, and this miserable failure of a negotiation would end alongside his own Holy Grail War.

Fine. That's fine. Kill me and get it over with. He's twice the knight you ever were and you know it. He’ll…he’ll definitely…

Was he afraid? It was hard to tell when the only remaining thread of conscious thought was frayed and pulled tight enough to snap. Logically, sure, but in the moment he just wanted everything to stop rather than take one more ragged breath that would hurt as badly as everything did right now.

…I’m sorry, Diarmuid. I should have at least…told you my name.

On the edge of blacking out, the last thing Waver heard was a gunshot bursting through the night like thunder.

---

“Ilyasviel,” called out Irisviel, trying desperately to hide her worry. Saber had left only a matter of minutes ago, but she was well aware that nervous tension would only intensify until this night was well and truly over. “go get Maiya and Berserker, we should start work on the bounded field until…until Waver gets back.” He was coming back, she told herself. Saber would make sure of that, he had to.

Her daughter looked up from where she was putting a broom back in a supply closet, scarlet eyes fixed on the older homunculus intently. Thinking carefully and weighing options, or so it seemed.

“…Mother, I think we should stay inside for now.” she finally said with a heavy intent to the words, closing the closet door and taking her mother’s hand. “It’ll be…safer.”

Instinct wanted to tell Irisviel that something about this was wrong. Ilyasviel was acting a little too intent, obviously hiding something that both of them knew she was hiding. But what-

“Is Maiya still upstairs?”

“Mm-hm.” Ilya nodded. “We finished cleaning up the glass and blocking the windows for now, she’s looking for something more secure to cover them.”

Then it clicked into place; her daughter was alone in this hallway with no cheery sun-kissed shadow at her heels.

“…You didn’t-”

“I did.” she confirmed calmly. “Saber might have to listen to his Master telling him to do something stupid, but Berserker only has to listen to me.”

---

Wind rustled the Master’s scarlet hair as something whistled past her ear, narrowly missing her by less than inches. The bloodied mage at his feet briefly forgotten, Lancer spun around with a spear appearing in his hand as he faced the source of the thunderous gunshot…a figure at the other end of the alley stepping out of the shadows with a flintlock pistol twirled around his finger.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, madame, my aim is not what it once was.” Yellow eyes untouched by his amicable smile glittered in the night, drifting from battle-ready Servant to stunned Master. “You see, I had meant to aim for your head. The years truly have dulled my skill, I am afraid.”

“You’re not his-…” the red-haired woman began, and the false smile widened. That was quite a telling sentence to break off, but he only had half of the picture so far.

“‘-not his Servant’?” he finished cheerfully. “My, how would you have known that?” The spearman spared the briefest look over his shoulder at the woman, and the pieces of a very interesting picture began to paint themselves before the newcomer’s eyes. “No, I am not contracted to this mage—just a merchant sailor, nothing more. And while I am loath to interrupt what I’m sure is well-earned vengeance against him for one foolish thing or another…I’m afraid I am under orders to keep him from dying.”

The pistol spun around two, then three times in his hand before being lazily pointed skyward in nonaggression.

“I am one who abandoned his true name, a hero with no grand acts of heroism to speak of. Please, you may simply call me ‘Berserker’.” he added with a tone so light as to almost be melodic.

The woman sneered, holding up a Command Seal-branded right hand.

“Your parameters—what kind of Berserker would be this weak, much less speak clearly? Lancer, finish-”

“Ah, I confess you have the right of it!” he interrupted cheerily, dropping the pistol into a holster on his belt and holding up both hands as if in surrender. “I am weak beyond belief; such is the fate of a Heroic Spirit like myself. I can surely not stand up to you, good sir knight—whoever you may be.”

“Then you waste our time.” the spearman answered, shifting into a fighting stance.

Berserker’s eyes glinted like a cat’s in the darkness, smile stretching into something showing far too many teeth and radiating malice.

“Exactly so, clever knight. I’m stalling, in fact. I have no intention of fighting you—surely I would lose if I dared try.”

At which point one of his raised hands curled all but one finger, pointing upwards.

“However, I like his chances.”

It was the Master who looked up first; Berserker noted her Servant was wise to hesitate, as if he was bluffing. But the sudden pressure that began to fill the air could not be denied—magical energy and alike. Berserker didn’t need to look back to know what was behind him; he saw Lancer’s face contort into the recognition and disbelief of one who had just seen a literal ghost, and that was far more interesting.

Atop a building with a clear view of the encounter, a figure stood in verdant and cobalt armor framed by the silver light of the full moon hanging low in the clear sky. Starlight glinted off the swords held in either hand, each shrouded in an aura of the divine and demonic in brilliant vermillion and gold—Moralltach and Beagalltach, fury and passion itself given form in the man who held them both.

In a band of knights legendary for their strength and skill…he was the most powerful, most dangerous, most clever, and worst of all most slow to anger.

Diarmuid ua Duibhne, first of the Fianna, stood overhead like the spectre of death itself—honey-gold eyes fixed on Lancer with nothing but rage burning behind them.

His very presence radiated pure killing intent in a way that made even Berserker shiver, though the smile on his face only grew with the anticipation of what was to unfold next. He knew Saber would be focused only on the fair-haired Servant who appeared frozen in place, unable to back down and uncertain whether to attack—all present could surely feel the vengeful fury pressing down like the weight of the magic radiating off of paired blades. It was always so refreshing, he thought, when the too patient and too kind found the limits of both. Berserker knew from experience that those types were the worst to cross when that time came, and that was proven in the next instant.

Lancer must have moved in the slightest way, some imperceptible thing that a Berserker lacking in combat instinct couldn’t have noticed. Whether that was to retreat or finish off a wounded Master, it was irrelevant—what mattered was the instant reaction it caused. The very air trembled with the sudden descent of what may as well have been a meteor, blowing clear past Berserker in a gust of wind and trail of cursed magic; both weapons brought down hard against a lance raised to defend against the onslaught too fast for the red-haired Master to even see. Beneath them the ground seemed to shake with the impact, cracking beneath Lancer’s feet as he struggled not to lose ground. The immediate follow-up was a kick to his armored chest, spear held too high to defend against a further assault. Flying back in a blur of gold and silver, Lancer came to a skidding halt beside his Master with a harsh scowl and hurried attempt to regain his stance.

Saber, however, made no move to follow. Standing between the enemy Lancer and his own fallen Master, he spoke in a language Berserker was surprised to realize he didn’t understand; an ancient dialect that might not have been heard in a thousand years or more. The words were unknown to him, but the meaning was clear as the murderous rage with which they were growled:

You will not touch him again.

Notes:

gonna be real with you this chapter was about to be called 'rivers in the desert' but then i got my hands on the new fall out boy album and well what was i supposed to do, really

status page update

Chapter 25: Not Ready To Make Nice

Summary:

forgive, sounds good
forget, i'm not sure i could
they say time heals everything
but i'm still waiting

To a man such as Berserker—with no grand deeds of valor or godslaying to a name long discarded—the sight before him was truly a once in two lifetimes’ experience. The child of a dark god rocketed past him in a gust of wind like the worst of an oceanbound maelstrom, paired blades slamming into the defensively raised lance of a shining silver and gold knight who radiated nobility and divinity alike. The clash was over as soon as it had begun, the pair breaking apart as Saber forced Lancer back with a crushing strike to his chest.

Strange, he thought. After Saber had shown no hesitation in nearly slicing Archer in half, why not press his advantage here? Instead the knight stood between Lancer and his own grievously injured Master, snarling words with a clear meaning in a completely unknown language-

Yellow eyes flicked to Lancer who appeared no less stunned by the sight before him even as clear understanding spread across a face framed by flaxen gold hair. He spoke in the same ancient and incomprehensible tongue, voice colored heavily with derision and judgment.

And still, Saber did nothing. Hands white-knuckled on the hilt of both swords, tense and prepared to attack at the slightest motion, but unable to make the first move.

Or unwilling.

“Oh, surely not,” Berserker mused with only some effort to hide a note of excitement. This truly was the most interesting development he could ever have hoped for, and to see it through proved a worthwhile endeavor indeed. Walking in casual, ambling steps to the unconscious mage on the ground, the sailor knelt down and took his wrist to check for a pulse. Still alive, which would have been an honest surprise had his Servant not been standing right there with no sign of disappearing. “Saber, you don’t mean to tell me he is-”

“Be quiet, Berserker.” was the snapped response, which confirmed several things. Not the least of which was that Saber was rapidly calculating a course of action in an unwinnable situation. Stay to fight Lancer, and his Master might just die of injuries this severe. The pair could drive him off, surely, but that posed the same risk on top of potential crossfire. They needed to get rid of the opposing Master and Servant now, else risk an outcome he had promised Ilyasviel would be avoided.

“Would that you had ever guarded your king with half that ferocity.” Lancer scoffed, and if his identity was in question that very quickly sealed it.

“The king I served would never have done this!” Saber shouted, anger and disgust echoing through the alley and flaring the demonic swords’ aura like tinder thrown on a fire. “We believed in a valorous leader, not a man who would cut down those without the strength to fight back against him!”

“Indeed you did.” In stark contrast, ice seemed to run through Lancer’s blood and chill his very words themselves. “But at times, one’s loyalties must take precedent over their personal pride. I do not expect you to understand that, Diarmuid.”

Knights really did have no talent for devious subtlety. It was a shame, but his own talents were going to be necessary after all lest this turn into a conflict they had no time for. From the look on his face, Saber wasn’t going to hesitate much longer before he overcame whatever held him back from making the first strike. Berserker glanced between the pair, then to the red-haired woman watching this unfold in frustration.

…Frustration, not surprise. The look on her face was that of someone who had expected the vanishingly small probability of two closely connected heroes once more crossing paths in a Holy Grail War. Lancer himself had been shocked if only for a moment, that much was abundantly clear. So why wasn’t his Master?

That small contradiction was exactly what he needed to sink in claws and draw blood with only a few words:

“Why, madame, could you have foreseen this?” he asked in a light and melodic tone as if charmed by her ingenuity. “I surely would never have expected to see two Heroic Spirits from the same country, never mind the same time period. And certainly not ones that knew one another. The odds must be astronomical, no? Unless…perhaps so clever a mage knew this Saber’s true name from the very outset somehow?”

Lancer’s eyes flicked to the woman beside him with a critical glare, and that was the opening he needed for the killing shot with honeyed sympathy dripping from poisoned steel:

“…Oh…you didn’t tell him, did you?”

Lancer and Berserker’s eyes were now fixed on the woman struck speechless, while Saber was bristling fury at the other knight as though he saw nothing else.

“Master.” Sounding almost suspicious, the silver knight turned to her with a frown as sharp as his lance’s blade. “Were you aware of this?”

“I—that’s not—does that matter? We-”

“We’re leaving.” he cut in sharply, contempt in cold green eyes as the spear in his hand vanished. In a flourish of golden hair, Fionn mac Cumhaill turned his back on them and began to walk away.

What a terrible insult. Berserker mused with idle fascination. He knows he won’t be attacked—he doesn’t even consider Saber a threat right now.

“Wh—Lancer, wait-” She looked quickly from the departing Servant to the pair opposite her, then spared a brief glance to the professor bleeding and broken on the ground. Seeing something she desperately wanted, scowling with a look Berserker understood deeply; the need for vengeance and the knowledge it was just beyond reach of one’s fingertips. With no other course of action left, she turned and swiftly followed after the departing knight in quick and furious steps.

“It’s good you came when you did.” Berserker remarked, tearing a strip off of the bottom of his shirt to tie around a bleeding gash in the professor’s arm. “I doubt I could have stalled for longer than that.”

Silence. Saber had not moved, staring off at the blank space where the two had stood; his swords vanished, hands curled into trembling fists in their place.

“…Saber.”

Was it shock, incandescent fury, hatred, or all of the above? Berserker couldn’t help but think he desperately wanted to know the answer to that. If he hadn’t already promised as much to Ilyasviel, then finding the answer to that was incentive enough to be sure the mysterious and secretive Master actually survived.

“He’s going to die if you don’t act quickly, Diarmuid.”

A beat of silence followed, and the spiritual pressure in the air lifted as if in a breeze. Saber turned and quickly knelt down to Berserker’s level, eyes sharp and bright with restrained panic as they glanced over his Master.

“Why—what happened?! What are you doing here-?”

“Never mind.” Berserker shook his head, unable to keep a small smile off his face. Tonight had truly proven to be a fascinating endeavor; the Servant he had often regarded as little more than a mouse had finally proven beyond all doubt to instead be a falcon. “Just when I was beginning to think I didn’t like you…well, forget about that. I don’t suppose that you have any healing ability?”

There was a brief and withering look cast over Saber’s shoulder, and it did not take a scholar to understand his thoughts on that question.

“No. What of yourself?”

“None that I can use right now.” Sailing right past a heavy implication, he picked up a dropped silver-handled cane and spun it around as if testing the weight. “I’ll speak with my Master and let her know what to expect—take him back to the castle. I will follow once I am sure the princess and her knight are not tracking us.”

“Berserker-” Conflict and pain twisted a face that had been colored by murderous anger only seconds before, and there was something about that which felt…disappointing. The cane was brought to rest against his shoulder as he considered the sight before him, then let out a soft sigh of mild inconvenience.

“…Remember this feeling. Cherish it as a sacred talisman, for it will grant you what is needed—if not for yourself, then for the broken fool in your arms. In your heart is instilled a feeling that was not there before-”

Not that he expected Saber would understand the meaning behind those words, or if he did he would curse the very idea as unchivalrous. These sorts always did find the idea distasteful, but was a necessary evil any less necessary for its cold lack of honor?

“-vengeance.”

---

‘Shock’ was too light a word for what Saber had felt upon tracking down his Master immediately after leaving the castle. It had taken only seconds, and yet that was precious seconds too long judging by what he had found. Saber had expected to see the crimson-cloaked Archer, hoped to see his Master in combat with no more than an enemy mage, yet what did he find? The situation before him was exponentially worse than he could ever have imagined on every possible front, but…

For just a moment, he didn’t care.

What lit a white-hot fire in his heart was not hatred, but sheer fury and revulsion. Revulsion that one he had devoted his life to, who he had believed in as a paragon of honor, would have struck at one with no chance of defending themselves against all the power of Nuadha’s bloodline. Fury that said it no longer mattered who stood over his defeated Master, because this was the final straw for one who had tolerated too many near misses on the mage’s life already.

The Holy Grail War meant nothing. Destroying the Grail was meaningless. Nothing existed except the enemy before him—and this was an enemy no matter how logic screamed that he didn’t want that to be the case.

You will not touch him again, was the threat that left him in an ancient tongue.

Even now you would betray me? came the derisive response, and those words in a voice he knew too well chilled the fury in his heart with a sharp splash of reality.

Saber stood opposite a Servant that had critically wounded his Master, and the response to that would naturally have been to take him apart and make Archer’s wound look like barely a scratch. To claim he did not want to would be a lie; it would have felt justified. For any knight to defy their honor like this was beyond unforgivable, and to repay that cruelty in kind would have been right.

Yet no matter how justified, no matter how righteous, no matter how much he would have desired to obliterate the enemy behore him, the knight of the sword had frozen on the spot in a state of hyper-awareness, waiting for the slightest indication of an attack while simultaneously praying to an entire pantheon that the fight before him didn’t come.

‘Diarmuid’ hesitated to do what ‘Saber’ knew to be necessary, because the instant he lashed out more than he already had would be the instant he betrayed oaths that had defined his entire life.

‘We believed in a valorous leader—’

And what came of that, whispered a bitter thought as shouted anger caused the air to tremble. Where did that lead anyone? What became of all the Fianna who believed in him and in you?

“In your heart is instilled a feeling that was not there before—vengeance.”

Diarmuid could say there was no resentment lingering over the way things had unfolded, and that would not necessarily have been a lie. Fionn had been right to despise him after what happened with Gráinne, no matter how unforeseen and unpreventable it had been. He had deserved his anger and grudges, but did that mean that fault laid with the man who bore a curse or the woman who had fallen to it? With those who encouraged him to leave, with those who named him traitor? Did fault lie with anyone, or had it all been a wildly unpreventable and unfortunate spiral of the whims of fate and circumstance? If Fionn resented him so much, then why did he not strike when he knew his opponent’s heart was wavering? And if neither Fionn nor Diarmuid were truly at fault, then how could he bring himself to fight a man who was not—should never have been—his enemy?

You’re wrong, he wanted to say to Berserker. But those sharp yellow eyes told no lie; they saw straight through chivalrous armor and pained conflict to the simmering fury burning underneath. Anger at himself for a curse beyond his control, anger at circumstances spiraling beyond his reach, anger that this situation was pushing him into a confrontation he never wanted.

The broken mage in his arms coughed in a shuddering breath, blood spattering across ocean-blue armor. He’d carried the professor through the city skyline a half dozen times, darting across high rooftops through the cold winter air as he did now, and though thin and feather-light as he was…he had never felt so frail. His Master was proud and courageous, unyielding to even his own fear. This seemed so fundamentally wrong; he should never have been this wounded, this terrifyingly mortal, this-…

‘The person they are intended to become’, she had said, both entwined with and opposing ‘who they want to be.’

In that instant, he finally understood what had eluded him all this time. This was what Irisviel feared would destroy him, the desperate need to be seen as anything but weak which drove him to carry everything on his own shoulders. Until he had finally collapsed beneath the unmanageable burden.

‘Diarmuid’ felt hesitation and conflict grasping at his heart like entwining thorns at the sight of his king. Felt a cold and crushing fear that any ragged breath would be his Master’s last if the knight of the sword moved even a half-second too slowly now—anxiety and worry leading his steps to be that much quicker, to hold the unconscious mage to his chest like a priceless treasure.

Saber wanted nothing more than to tear apart the enemies they stood against. Wanted to destroy Archer and Lancer alike for the unforgivable act of striking those weaker than themselves, for striking at his Master—there was no other response a Servant need answer with but bloody devastation.

The mask of ‘duty’ concealed the ‘weakness’ that would hinder what needed to be done, and therein did it all at last ring with crystal clarity.

I’m just the same as you, aren’t I?

---

“Lancer-”

“I should like to hear an explanation, Master.” cut in the knight sharply. With the Servant having traded armor for an elegant suit of gray and blue in contrast to his lady’s red, they might have seemed to the untrained eye a quarreling couple walking down the street together. But to the Berserker concealed in the shadows, the conflict ran far, far deeper. “Your rivalry with that man is not mine to judge; if he is your enemy, I will cut him down. But I would know just what happened. He knew me at once, beyond the trappings of a Servant class. Am I to believe that you knew his Servant in the same manner?”

The woman’s face twisted into a scowl unsuiting of her delicate features—yet very suitable of something that laid beneath, Berserker thought.

“…You heard him for yourself. That mage is my enemy—he stole our catalyst and summoned a Servant ten years ago. Obviously I knew he would do the same again, and Lancelot wasn’t enough. I needed someone stronger than him—I needed someone stronger than the powerful Servant we had initially planned for, and you were the obvious answer to that.”

Having not heard the tense discussion in the hotel for himself, Berserker quietly turned over this sharp explanation in his head. A powerful grudge indeed, to be this fierce even after a decade. It sharpened eyes that shone like light off the edge of a razor, forged iron in her stance as she stopped walking to face down a great hero with determination and defiance.

“With you, I can win and claim the Grail. You’re more than powerful enough to kill Diarmuid.”

An elegant princess with fire in her heart and venom in her blood…what a wonder to behold.

Fionn regarded her with a critical stare that was difficult to read; ocean-green eyes searching in silence with his mouth pressed into a thin and severe line. He did not speak at first, and concealed in shadow Berserker felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth.

Is he, came the silent question in the mad Servant’s mind. The scarlet Master believed victory was a matter of course, but the silver Servant was calculating odds that did not appear to be overwhelmingly in his favor. If he knew himself stronger than Saber, Berserker reasoned, he would have struck back rather than disengaged regardless of being outnumbered.

If Fionn knew he was stronger than Diarmuid, would he not have simply killed him—either now or long ago?

The situation grew more fascinating by the second. The need for retribution for some perceived wrong was in every inch of the mage’s stance, in her sharp words and insistent declarations. Perhaps it was vengeance well deserved—that was not for Berserker to decide. But the knight before her almost seemed to be judging that desire, silently weighing it with a veil of distaste darkening his gaze.

Ah—you see where this leads, no?

“My lady.” he began at last, words as chilled as a river in winter, “I am your Servant, and as such I will without question act as your blade. Your ambitions are my own, and together we shall seize victory in this war. By my hands shall you claim the Holy Grail.”

‘However?’, thought Berserker with no small amount of amusement.

“However, I would caution you to take care upon the path you walk.” His calm and pointed words cooled the burning of his Master’s fury, her scowl lessening to a small frown of irritation. “Chase your ambition and claim the prestige you have been unjustly denied, but do not allow your grudges to blind you to the road beyond. Think upon potential consequences before acting rashly, lest you scatter obstacles along the road beyond.”

“…As long as we reach the Grail, it won’t matter.” she conceded, fury and tension in her demeanor lessening as if she were a ticking time bomb the Servant had masterfully defused. “If that means fighting Saber, I expect you to excel as befitting a proper mage. We can’t afford to focus on what’s beneath us. For now, we need to find somewhere else to establish a base—that idiot ruined a perfectly good hotel room.”

A princess with poison where her heart should have been, and a knight well aware such venom would destroy more than just her alone. What a pair, the situation tugging at the corners of Berserker's mouth as he watched them continue on down the street, bitterness turning the smile empty...yet a spark of amusement lit yellow eyes in the shadows. Through the thin fog of madness and vindictive amusement, he could almost hear words spoken to him in another life:

‘Those who pour out vengeance run the risk of tasting a bitter draught.’

Notes:

berserker really is just that messy bitch eating popcorn 24/7

he loves drama

 

if you see typos or mistakes, no you don't it's 1am

Chapter 26: Memoria

Summary:

and i know, i know it is fate
but even so, i will have faith
i’m not afraid
so give me strength
i am who i am ‘cause of you

You are fourteen years old when your mother passes down the family Magic Crest—a pitifully empty thing, not even a sprout ready to take root. But you know better; you know you can make it more than it is. You are sixteen when your parents fall to an illness you can’t remember the name of, and only later do you learn a mage’s Crest is designed to keep them alive through injury and ailment both. You wonder several times over the next few years if it would instead have been you and your crestless father, had Sylvia Velvet not given away what could have saved her. For what you can not possibly understand is the first time of many, you wonder why it was you who survived.

You are too young to remember when or how the curses you bear came to be laid upon you. Too young to know your life’s course was decided with the death of a half-brother you never knew at the hands of a father who did not raise you. A secret kept for a lifetime, truth spoken only when that grim fate was deliberately made unavoidable. You wonder in a fading mind if that fate would ever have come to pass at all, if not for that intervention.

You are nineteen years old, and the quiet chuckling of a lecture hall carves deep scars in your mind and heart. ‘Failure’, they call you. Diluted blood, talentless wretch full of immature and juvenile fantasies that you could ever achieve what comes easily to others. You know there is no other course of action but to keep screaming for recognition; no family, nowhere else to go, and no hope to do anything but exist in a plce where you don’t belong. You would grow to curse your arrogance, yet childish pride remained rooted in the knowledge that you were—that you are right. Scratching and clawing for every inch of power and improvement was still moving forward, no matter how incrementally small the distance.

You are a knight. Your body, heart, and soul are devoted to the cause of the Fianna, to the sworn companions who stand at your side and to the king whose betrothal you celebrate. So elated are you at the occasion that for a moment…you forget. And a moment is all it takes for the daughter of Cormac to catch sight of you, of the curse you have borne for all of your twenty-five summers. She catches you by firelight—grips your arm and kisses you breathless before looking upon you with desperation and pleading in her eyes. Pleading for you to run away with her, and desperation enough to lay a curse leaving little other option.

You are a mage. You have no experience, no body of work, and no hope to become worth anything, and yet you choose a fight with someone leagues beyond you. Because someone believes you can succeed. You choose to defy the lord with murder in steely blue eyes, even as your body is shattered on the ground. You will never walk the same way again, but in that instant you know the sacrifice of one leg or your entire life is worth victory here. You trust in the man who sees worth in the worthless, and as your Command Seals glow you scream defiance with all your heart and demand the victory you know he can claim-

You look to your closest brothers-in-arms for aid, for the counsel you have all so readily shared between one another in times of strife. You hear them one and all—Oisín, Oscar, Caílte, Diorruing—say exactly the same thing. Run, far from the wrath of he who you defy in doing so. Run, though you bear not the fault for this. Run, though it be the death of you. Run, for you will have countless enemies—and if they catch you, they will kill you. But first, they must catch you.

You are nineteen still, yet the fires of battle have left you feeling far older. You wait for nightfall as the sun hangs lower and lower behind a magnificent skyline, sitting high atop a bridge over a destroyed riverbed. It’s beautiful, you hear him say, and as you look at the valiant figure framed by the red-orange of twilight you begin to understand the unfamiliar feeling in your chest. You know why it is you feel like you belong somewhere, for the first time in your life. He looks to you with gentle eyes of honey gold and though the sensation that twists in your heart is utterly new, you realize in that moment that you have been lost to it for some time now.

You hear her speak the words, have heard the same from countless others. I love you. I love you. I love you. You know they believe it to be true, and you know it to be a lie each and every time. It is not you they love, none less worthy to be loved than yourself. Those feelings are wrought only of the curse you bear, with Gráinne as with so many others. Heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak, and each chips away at your heart that little bit more.

Your first heartbreak was not the fleeting courtship of schoolchildren. Your heart was shattered in fire and blood as scorched earth and smoky skies twisted in a vortex of blessed light and primordial flame. You feel the white-hot burn of your Magic Circuits as you force them to answer, as you struggle in vain to close a mortal wound, and all he does is smile. You hear his gentle encouragement as he dies in your arms with no trace left behind, and part of you dies alongside him.

You know he won’t save you. You know he may even be right not to, even though there was never any other path to take. He deserves his anger, and in turn do you perhaps deserve this ending. You hear Oscar cursing and threatening his grandfather, and lament that you lack the strength to dissuade him. You lament the dread in your heart of knowing this may well be what breaks apart a brotherhood of knights your actions put under terrible strain. Countless times you wished over the years that it had never come to this, but wishing did nothing to change the outcome. But if just once, you as an unworthy knight could wish for a miracle, then your sole selfish desire…is just to try again. You can prove yourself as a devoted knight. You swear you can do it right next time.

You sell your soul for power, sacrificing your name to a young woman as cruel and capricious as the fae themselves—all in the name of becoming worthy of he who had faith in you. Your belief in him is inviolate, your commitment to seeing his faith through an unshakable drive pushing you forward through the hellish world of mages. You watch yourself flake away beneath the mask day by day, and you tell yourself it has to be done. You tell yourself this is the only way to fulfill your promise. And as the years go by, you return to wondering why it was you who survived.

You meet a stare of seaglass green malice with quiet acceptance and the taste of blood in your mouth.

You scowl at steel blue derision from where you lie trapped with shrieking pain in a shattered leg.

You are a Knight of Fianna.

You are Lord El-Melloi II.

Your name is Diarmuid ua Duibhne.

Your name is-

The quiet thump of someone dropping down to sit beside him felt to Saber as though he had just awoken in a cold sweat with a sharp slap to the face; eyes wide, breath catching hard in his chest, and far too many things running through his mind in a jumble of chaotic realization.

“I’ve never seen Mother so furious.” chimed the matter-of-fact voice of Ilyasviel von Einzbern, pulling him back into the present and away from unfamiliar images made achingly familiar through memory not his own. Her mother—right, of course. He had brought his Master back to the castle, to a horrified and infuriated woman who had swiftly begun work on healing his myriad injuries—how long ago had that been? Minutes, hours, an entire day? There were traces of early morning sunlight through the windows now, the pair of them sitting on the floor of an empty hallway.

“Is he-” Saber found his voice only briefly, realizing it sounded unsteady in a way that tasted of bitter apprehension.

“That’s what I came to tell you. She says he’ll be okay, but it took a lot of effort. Recovery’s going to be up to my brother from there.” Stretching long legs across the floor, the teenager folded her arms and slouched against the wall. “You looked like you needed company, sitting here with your head in your hands like that.”

“…You sent Berserker to follow him.” Saber mumbled into his hand before raking it through his hair in an attempt to look much less worn down and overwhelmed than he felt. When Ilyasviel hummed a wordless confirmation, he met her eyes as steadily as he could. “Then I owe you both my gratitude, as does my Master. Berserker’s aid may well have saved his life.”

“He already told me what happened. As much as he knew, that is.” Scarlet eyes watched the Servant in a sidelong stare, as if looking for some indication of what he was thinking. “…Are you angry?”

“Am I-…what?”

“Are you angry.” She repeated it in a way that made it sound less like a question and more seeking confirmation of what she had already guessed. Unprepared for so blatant a confrontation of something he had already felt so conflicted about and in the lingering haze of drifting memories, Saber could only stare at her and blink in confusion for a moment. He opened his mouth to question just what on earth she meant by that, and when the words failed he simply closed it again. Ilyasviel sat up a little straighter, pushing silver hair off of her shoulder with a flourish of a hand marked by thin and sharp crimson lines. “It’s okay if you are. I am.”

As Saber watched in speechless uncertainty, she dropped her shoulders with a heavy sigh; resigning herself to explaining something in very clear words.

“When I was a little girl,” she began to elaborate, speaking in the slow and deliberate words of one winding up to take the first steps on a very long story, “my parents told me they would need to go far away to do something very important. And one night as I was falling asleep, my mother stroked my hair and told me that we would be apart for a long time. She said, ‘even if we don’t see each other for a very long time, Ilya, I will always be right here by your side—so you should never have to feel lonely’. That we would be together forever and ever, and because I was a little girl I didn’t understand enough to question it. When I repeated it to my father so he would know I wasn’t sad they had to leave…he looked at me like he wanted to cry. ‘Two weeks’, he said. He promised that if I could wait, he would come home, and I believed him. I was too young to do anything but believe my parents, because I love them and they thought they were telling the truth.”

She pulled her knees to her chest, eyes sharpening as she looked off at a point on the floor—in the shadow that fell across her face Saber realized he saw far more of Archer’s dangerous gaze than Irisviel’s pensive stares.

“…I waited, and the next thing I knew Mother was breaking into the castle in the dead of night with a woman I had never seen before. She said we had to run away, and we did. We ran through the forest, through the snow, past the wolves and traps and boundaries of the Einzbern castle like I was a princess in a fairytale. And I didn’t…understand any of it. I didn’t understand why Mother returned when she said she wouldn’t, or why…or why my father…”

Ilyasviel buried her face against her knees with a frustrated noise, muffled by the fabric of a long white skirt.

“We came here, to the outside world I didn’t know and this empty castle with no one but some stupid kid stumbling after my mother like a lost duckling. And the more I thought about everything that happened and everything I was too young to understand, I realized I was angry. I hated him for intruding, I hated Maiya for not protecting my father, I hated my mother for hiding the truth and my father for dying when he promised to come back.”

While Saber couldn’t say he understood why she was telling him any of this or if she even had a reason at all, his heart ached for her all the same. This girl was as a sister to his Master, and he was right—she was too young to have to shoulder any of this. Tied in with the sympathy was a strange note of something he suspected was akin to regret—had his own children cursed him like this, after he had left with full expectation to return and yet failed to?

And yet, the clear contradiction was what caught Saber’s attention, the present rather than the long distant past. She claimed to have hated them, and the irritation furrowing her brow and sharpening scarlet eyes said those words were true. Yet if that were the case, were her actions and words truly those of someone who held such anger for those around her?

“What was it that changed?” Saber asked in patient encouragement, gently pushing her to continue. Whatever the reason, Ilyasviel must have wanted to speak on this to him rather than Berserker—whether there was a purpose or not, he intended to listen if that was indeed the case.

“…It took a while. There were a couple months where I closed myself off and shut down. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or do anything, and every time I saw him studying Mother’s alchemy or Maiya hovering around I just wanted everything to disappear. I wanted to be with my parents, counting chestnut buds in the forest or reading in front of the fireplace. One night I caught that dumb kid alone in the library practicing our magecraft and I just lost it. I started shouting and demanding to know who he thought he was stealing my life from me.”

It was remarkably easy to picture the young woman beside him as a little girl, raging in pain and anger at the easiest available target. Saber couldn’t even say she was wrong to feel that resentment; it must have felt a massive upheaval and betrayal besides.

“I remember yelling that he should’ve gone back to his own family and given mine back to me. Which…” Ilya sighed heavily, stretching out again and leaning back until her head touched the wall. Staring out the windows on the other side of the hall, there was a small frown of regret on porcelain features. “…was a little cruel, given what I learned later.”

He didn’t have one, Saber confirmed to himself—it wasn’t a tremendous logical leap given what little he knew and what faint traces of memory he had seen. The kind of parents like the woman he had seen in that distant dream would not have let a reckless child run off on his own and fight to the death in a battle between mages.

“He looked straight at me with that same stare my father had that day. Like he knew something terrible, but couldn’t bring himself to say it, or like he wanted to cry but wasn’t able to. All he said when I was finished yelling was… “I don’t have anywhere else to go’. Then he just…went back to stufying, as if it was the only thing he had.”

And if it had been done regardless, the mother who cautioned her son against even involving himself with such cold-blooded creatures would have welcomed him back in equal parts anger and relief upon his return. Saber’s heart twisted for his Master and Ilyasviel both; they had just been children, and Ilyasviel was still but a child herself.

“I guess…” She huffed out an annoyed breath, blowing silver bangs from her eyes. “I guess after that I started to figure out he and Maiya weren’t the problem. I started joining in on their alchemy lessons—because it made Mother happy, and because seeing her smile made things feel a little more normal. But it…wasn’t the same. Not without my father. And I…I was still angry. The older I got and the more I learned about what actually happened in Fuyuki, I was so angry and now I didn’t have anyone I could blame. It wasn’t my brother’s fault, or my mother’s, or Maiya’s. So I just let that anger sit where it was until now.”

Slowly, Ilyasviel raised a hand as if reaching toward the sky beyond the windows; slender fingers outstretched, and crimson seals displayed clearly with distant scarlet eyes admiring them in silence. The three segments took an elegant form, sharp angular edges flowing together into a shape Saber likened to a dagger half-drawn from its sheath. Elegant, but dangerous—perhaps not unlike Ilyasviel herself.

“…You can’t summon a Berserker by accident. I read about it before I called for him; it has to be done with intent.”

“What-?” That aspect was beyond the knowledge Saber had been granted by the Grail, which seemed sensible; he wasn’t a mage and there was no need to understand the intricacies of the ritual. All he needed to know was the Master-Servant system and how it functioned, the rest was for those who conducted the rituals to understand.

“Mm,” Ilya hummed in acknowledgement. “I summoned a Berserker on purpose.”

“Why?” was the incredulous answer before Saber could stop himself. It seemed like Ilya harbored her own Madness Enhancement to take a risk like that, especially as young as she was. What if she had called someone incapable of reason, more immediately violent than the simply insufferable man they knew now? If things had gone poorly, she or anyone else in the castle could have been killed.

“Because I wanted someone to be as angry as I am. I wanted someone to rage and scream with me against how unfair all of this is, and destroy whatever might take away the things I love again. E—Berserker promised to do that for me.”

The answer was a simple one, spoken with chilled edges as her branded hand fell to her lap and that scarlet gaze lowered with it.

“I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care about the ‘Mage Killer’ or ‘Archer’. I love my father—I love ‘Kiritsugu Emiya’, and I always will. My father was kind, and loving, and that day when we said goodbye…I know that was his real heart no matter what else he did or what he’s become. But Mother and Maiya can’t fight back against him now, and even with you around he’ll try to kill my brother without even thinking about it. So it has to be me and Berserker. I have to stop him from killing us, because I love him.”

“Ilyasviel-” Saber breathed out an attempt at objection, but what could he say? Archer had nearly killed his Master twice already, and she was right; given the current situation, he doubted the others held the white-hot iron will of the young woman beside him now. Berserker may have appeared pathetically weak in comparison, but Ilyasviel no doubt understood something about him that no one else did.

“I can’t ask anyone else, Saber. You don’t have to swear or promise anything—but when the time comes, please help Berserker as much as you can. If you agree to back us up, I’ll tell you something really important that I think you need to understand.”

…It was a difficult position to be in, and yet at the same time it was very simple. He already wanted Archer’s head swiftly removed from his neck for putting his Master at risk, but this was something different; yet more secrets in a family that was beginning to seem comprised of nothing but. Even so, was this not one grounded in care and concern? Ilyasviel couldn’t ask anyone else but Saber and Berserker; the others had been abundantly clear that she had no place in this conflict at her age, and Saber himself was inclined to say the same.

But did that mean she lacked the right to be a part of what had so irrevocably shaped her life for so long? And if her will could not be shaken or redirected, would it not be his Master’s wish that his young sister be protected?

“If it is within the boundaries of my contract,” he began carefully, “then you and Berserker alike shall have my aid in this endeavor. But I-”

“‘-won’t lie to him’ or something? Yeah, of course I know that. But if they don’t ask, then you don’t have to lie.”

…The technicality was hard to ignore, and silenced by that blatant loophole he said nothing as Ilya pushed herself off the floor and dusted off her clothes.

“Listen, okay? I love my father. I love my mother, and Maiya, and my brother. But sometimes—like now—they can be really, really aggravating. I asked if you were angry because I’m really, really pissed off I almost lost my brother because he did something stupid. And I’m mad that you got forced into a situation like that, against that Lancer.”

Right—of course Berserker would have elaborated even to that extent. Saber tried to keep the sudden resurfacing conflict off his face, but the way Ilyasviel leaned over to look at him in concern betrayed that he wore the look regardless.

“…It’s okay.” she added a little more gently. “For listening to me and agreeing to help, here’s what I think you should know.”

Reaching over, with one finger she lightly poked a spot on Saber’s chest—just above his heart. With a smile that curled across her face like the first sprouting plants after a long winter, Ilyasviel imparted something that sounded somewhere between insightful wisdom and a secret shared between friends:

“Feelings aren’t mutually exclusive. You can be angry with someone and still love them. And you can be angry because you love them.”

---

Standing guard atop the castle roof was where Maiya Hisau felt calmest, and given the way the night had gone it was calm and security that were both abundantly necessary. If Waver’s contingency plan became necessary—that was to say, if he died either now or in battles yet to come—then things would be difficult. She didn’t know how long Irisviel would be able to support a Servant, if she could at all. Relying on Ilya and Berserker…left a bitter taste in her mouth that she didn’t have a name for. If she thought about it…actually, the whole thing tasted like that. She had never liked Waver Velvet, intruder mage that he had always seemed to be. But she didn’t hate him, not enough to want him dead even if she had pulled a gun on him in conflicted anger. Maiya never liked anyone, save for Kiritsugu and his family. She was an extension of the Mage Killer’s arm, his sword and shield who had been cast adrift with his death and left with no purpose but to protect Irisviel and Ilyasviel.

So what was she to do, when he was the one they needed protection from? Could she put him in her sights and pull the trigger, to protect a peaceful life she did not feel she deserved? And could she trust a lord of the Association to still hold to the best interests of the family Kiritsugu had so loved?

Was there even anything left of Kiritsugu at all?

Kill he who had given her purpose in the past in order to protect who she loved now. An insurmountable task, an impossible decision. But what if Kiritsugu’s—Archer’s actions hastened what they now sought to prevent? Surely he knew what kind of disaster the Grail would bring, he must have known. Surely he too would want to halt the Holy Grail War, but through the most efficient means he deemed possible.

…It ached to realize she could no longer follow that method. Not at the cost of Irisviel and Ilyasviel alike. If that made her weak, made her an unsuitable weapon in Kiritsugu’s arsenal…then so be it. She would not belong beside the Contender, but fight alongside the Einzbern wings of light. That felt…perhaps not right, but better.

A sharp buzzing vibration in her pocket thankfully interrupted her thoughts before they tangled further. Drawing Waver’s phone from her coat, she pressed a button and-

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO EXPLAIN WHY I SAW YOU FALLING OUT OF A WINDOW?!”

-held it at arm’s length away from her head as a shrill voice cut through the line, with a strangely familiar raucous laughter in the background as what sounded like a young woman went on a tirade.

“You run your stupid mouth about how I’M the one in danger, I’M reckless and too young or whatever and acting like you’re in charge, and the minute Caster and I go on patrol I just happen to see you flying off t-”

With a press of the same button, Maiya hung up. This was not remotely her problem. For a moment there was silence, then a long few minutes of incessant vibrating as the screen lit up with several rapid fire and error-laden text messages with various expletives and admonishments.

…She felt the corner of her mouth twitch for an instant at the knowledge this was absolutely Waver’s well-earned issue to deal with later. Silence fell again once the girl—Tohsaka, she guessed from what they had discussed of Caster—exhausted her reprimands, and for a moment that seemed like it would be all.

Minutes passed, and then the phone vibrated again with the display of a different number. Either the girl was incredibly stubborn, or…

Click.

Dead silence on the other end.

Maiya did not speak, because she knew better than to give anything away. Strategically, it would be a severe misstep to let on that the owner of this phone did not currently possess it, even if it were a sure thing that only his allies would be in contact through it. There was no such thing as too much caution.

Four seconds, then five. Finally a voice broke the silence, in the dangerous and low growl of a lion challenging something that dared threaten it.

“What the hell did you do to him.”

Not a question by any means, but pure snarled fury that carried something far more deadly than a raised voice would. The logic made sense; if Waver’s phone was in another’s possession, it was a safe assumption—the truth, even—that he was himself injured or worse.

“Nothing.” Maiya answered at last, in her professional calm lacking all emotion. This was currently within expected parameters of the plan as it had been laid out to her. This was almost certain to be ‘Kairi Shishigou’—if she had not been assumed to be an enemy, she would have doubted the capability of this friend of his. “He’s incapacitated. Recovering.”

“Yeah? And why should I believe that? Where the hell is he and who the hell are you?”

“…We have a mutual ally in Waver Velvet.” In the face of that simmering, growling rage, she continued with all the icy calm the mission required. She had been asked to give information enough to prove her case, and entrusted with the contact of someone who could help them; from there it was all routine. Do exactly as required, and things might yet turn in their favor.

Silence, again—just as tense as before, but seeming almost thoughtful as the man on the other end considered this statement.

“Prove it.”

She had always insisted upon passcode after passcode, phrase after phrase that would detect impostors and protect their secrecy. And for all Waver had rolled his eyes and complained about her abundance of caution, maybe he had truly taken that caution to heart. Learning his name would not be impossible, she noted while searching for the note he had written for her, but even a single layer of added security could prove vital.

“He thought that might not be enough. In which case I was asked to say-”

Holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, Maiya unfolded the single page and felt some genuine satisfaction in the fact that the neatly written line made no sense to her. Clever.

“-‘the third and sixth generations die with us’.”

A quiet curse was muttered on the other end of the line, sharp with what sounded like begrudging acceptance.

“Shit, you’re actually serious.” The concession was enough to set her assumption in stone, safe one though she knew it had been.

“Kairi Shishigou," she confirmed. "I am Maiya Hisau, and I was asked to extend a request for your aid.” Short and to the point; details would follow, as they always did.

“He’s already got it.” was the irritated growl in response, followed by a sigh of resignation. “Maiya, right? How about you start from the beginning and tell me exactly what’s going on?”

“The situa-”

“Wait. I’m going to need to give that dumb bastard absolute hell anyway.” That too was within expected parameters—what was said next was not. In fact, it deviated so wildly from what was expected that Maiya was briefly struck speechless:

“So why don’t you tell me where in Fuyuki you are, and I’ll be right over so we can talk face to face.”

Notes:

i tried something new and a little weird with the dream sequence opener to this one, we'll see if it works and how it pays off next chapter

this ended up WAY longer than i thought but there's a lot of moving parts coming together so here we are

Chapter 27: Name

Summary:

did you lose yourself somewhere out there
did you get to be a star
and don't it make you sad to know that life
is more than who we are

Five hundred and thirty-eight killed, with so many injured that the reports could only estimate. Fuyuki’s residential district in Miyama had burned twofold that night, from both the Holy Grail War’s ending and the horrors that stirred within.

That number had burned itself into his mind in the days that followed, when it was deemed safe enough to venture out from a hidden castle into a city that would bear those scars forever. If Tokiomi Tohsaka’s home had not been on the edges of the city, the death toll alone could have easily been in the thousands. Five hundred and thirty-eight people either immolated without a chance to understand what had happened, or dying in agony alone and afraid on that ruined battlefield…

How many times in the last ten years had he returned here? To nightmares of skeletal ruins barely recognizeable as having been peaceful homes, to the overwhelming smell of burning corpses and thick black smoke billowing past a swirling void moon in a starless sky. Knowing it to be only a dream, but powerless to wake from it.

Why did you save me, he wondered again, walking through hell one step after the other. You didn’t even know me. I was nothing to you. I’m still nothing.

The crunch of splintered wood underfoot sent a cloud of ash and embers across the ruined ground.

Why did you protect me, he asked someone who could no longer hear him. I wasn’t worth it. I’m not worth it.

Fire raged in all directions, a hell on earth that would claim every life unfortunate enough to be within its reach.

Why am I still here?

Why am I still so weak that I need someone to save me?

Why am I the one that keeps surviving?

---

It was little wonder that he’d again dreamed of that burning circle of hell; awakening gradually to a constant haze of incredible pain was something very familiar in that regard. He opened his eyes to a too-familiar too-opulent room, blurred vision gradually clearing to the sight of his bloodstained shirt and jacket carelessly thrown across a chair with the vague and distant thought of that’s going to be annoying to clean-

Everything hurt, from the pounding in his head to the sharp pain of a dozen healing scrapes and gashes to the dull yet deafening full-body ache of cataclysmic injury.

“…what happened?” Waver mumbled in a daze, trying to separate tangled dream and memory from stark reality. How long had he even been unconscious?

“In all honesty,” came the pointed response, “I feel as though I should be the one to ask that question.”

“Dia-?!” He made the mistake of sitting up abruptly, words cut off with a choked sound of pain and stars swimming in front of his vision, immediately doubled over in pain and struggling to breathe past what must have been fractured ribs.

“Master-” A careful touch rested on Waver’s back, the presence at his side radiating concern. “Don’t move, you’re still wounded.”

It all came back as sudden as a bucket of ice water dumped over his head—Sola-Ui, Fionn, and Waver’s complete and abject failure to accomplish anything. The inability to fight, the certainty he was about to die, and the defiance to face it without showing fear. He was back in the Einzbern castle; Irisviel must have pulled him back from being a step away from death for the second time. How he’d gotten from point A to B was certainly one of myriad questions, but right now that felt completely irrelevant. When Diarmuid spoke again his voice was soft, and though Waver didn’t dare meet his eyes he could hear the gentle admonishment as clear as day.

“…Why didn’t you call for me?”

Because I was afraid. Because I won’t ask you to fight him. Because I don’t want to have to kill her.

Those were the answers a human would have given; what ‘Waver Velvet’ thought. But it was thinking like a human that had gotten him in this situation, wasn’t it? A human wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Sola-Ui; even if it cost his own life, that would be one less enemy and leaving their side with a clear advantage.

“We don’t…have time for this.” spoke Lord El-Melloi II, discarding humanity and running reinforcement through his right leg before forcing himself to his feet. Magic Circuits shrieked in white-hot protest alongside every single part of his body, but he was alive. That was enough, that would have to be enough to figure out what to-

A hand caught the mage’s wrist as he reached for a bloodstained shirt, the other at his back as though justifiably worried he would collapse at any second.

“It’s midmorning.” said Diarmuid with a return to that unfamiliar pointed insistence. Blinking in shock, Waver made the critical mistake of looking at him and finding something sharp and intense that would not under any circumstances be argued with. “We have more than enough time for you to explain what you were thinking.”

“I-…I…” Even a Lord of the Clock Tower faltered when met with that stare, struggling to rationalize the situation he had caused for himself. “…I had to handle this on my own.” That was true; Sola-Ui’s presence was his mistake alone to rectify.

“Confronting an enemy Master without your own Servant.” was the flat confirmation of how foolish they both knew that was. “What if you had been killed? You know what becomes of a Servant without a Master, and where would that have left our allies with only Berserker on their side? What did you expect I would do, forge a contract with Irisviel in your place?”

The question was asked as though it were absurd, and silence was the only answer. A pained betrayal flashed across Diarmuid’s face; he stepped back like he’d been burned, and Waver quickly looked away rather than face that condemnation.

“That’s…exactly what you thought.” confirmed the Servant in breathless shock. “What you said when you left…that I should protect them no matter what-”

“It was the only thing I could do.” countered Lord El-Melloi II. “If things went wrong, they would still need you. Even if we don’t know how long Irisviel will be able to function for, I had to be sure you would be able to protect them without me.”

Calloused hands took him by the shoulders with perfect control; careful not to aggravate injuries, but firmly enough that it left no choice for the mage but to meet gold eyes that seemed to burn as yellow-orange firelight.

This was not the unquestioning deference of Lancer or the quiet patience of Saber—this was a steadily simmering anger belonging only to Diarmuid himself.

“Do you value our contract that little?”

“I-I-…that’s not the issue. All that matters is seeing this through to the end, you can easily do that without me.” A mage couldn’t care about the emotional aspect. A mage had to cut themselves off from everything that would not achieve their goals. Even as his heart wrenched and twisted in his chest, even as he felt his resolve withering under that sharp stare, Lord El-Melloi II had no choice but to dig his heels in and-

“Then if our contract is not the issue, why did you not call for me?” he heard Diarmuid ask again, and the answer this time came honestly as a tangle of emotions began to boil over.

“Why the fuck do you think?! You can’t possibly want to fight him, and I couldn’t ask you to!” There was the contradiction, then. A mage would not have that hesitation; Servants were nothing but their Master’s blade. It would matter nothing at all to pit brother against brother, parent against child, lord against knight. But he had taken one look at the man he knew to be Fionn mac Cumhaill, and that course of action had immediately been called ‘impossible’.

“Of course I don’t!” Diarmuid snapped in a way his Master had never heard before, hands dropping from the mage’s shoulders with frustration breaking through the calm in his expression. “This—of everything that could possibly happen in any Holy Grail War, this is the single opponent I would never have wanted to cross blades with! But even though that is true, do you truly believe I would fail to defend you even from him?”

Would his Servant ever fail to defend him? No, and in the mage’s heart this was a fact beyond question. But in his mind where doubt and fear ruled over truth, no answer could be formed. All he could do was stare in silence, eyes wide with disbelief at a show of emotion he’d never seen before. Diarmuid pressed a hand to his head with an irritated sigh, seeming to collect himself and silently measure whether he should have said whatever he was thinking.

“…Do you think you mean nothing to me, Waver Velvet?”

…and his heart stopped in his chest at that sharp accusation, cold horror turning his blood to ice in a way even the wrath of Fionn mac Cumhaill had not accomplished. He knew, he knew, he knew what his Master was, knew he was worthless and weak and a thousand other things and now everything was crashing down around the mage in every possible way he dreaded. The words themselves as well as their meaning had completely failed to process correctly, pounding headache growing into the deafening slam of a hammer on the inside of his skull.

“Wh…who told you-”

“Your secret was not betrayed by any you entrusted it to.” Diarmuid answered simply, his steady expression showing nothing of what he was thinking. But his Master knew damn well what must have been going through his head, the sheer disappointment and disgust of knowing what he was contracted to. “What your waking mind closed off, your resting heart revealed. Or to repeat what you said to Lady Tohsaka: ‘your mental shielding needs work’.”

Cold panic seized his heart—what did he see what does he know oh god he knows I failed him I failed him I—and the professor staggered backwards out of reach. The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he tilted precariously before dropping to sit down rather than collapse entirely. He had to breathe, had to get away from all of this, had to slam shut that iron maiden shell and destroy the human self before it risked everything they set out to accomplish. This could still be salvaged, he could still try to find Sola-Ui again and-…and…

“Don’t. Just—don’t touch me, stay away from me, don’t-”

“Waver-”

“Don’t call me that!” he shouted, hands brought up to his head as though that would contain the screaming of his own mortified shame—he knows you’ve been lying to him knows you’re pathetic you were never worth him you were never worth loving—

“…You have faced things no one should ever have to.” He heard Diarmuid’s voice again—barely registering as if over a tremendous and impassable distance, but softer and bearing a very careful patience. “And you call yourself weak for surviving through hell again and again? You liken yourself to mages like Assassin’s Master when you rage against their vile methods? You think yourself unworthy when all you ever did was-”

“Stop it, damn you, I never...you should never have had to—” Feeling as though he had utterly ceased to exist in his whole body, the mage raised his right hand to his chest. The sigil branded there in three crimson segments felt like it burned with a white-hot fury, yet no magical energy flowed to activate it despite his panicked thoughts.

Three words. So simple an order that it would be done immediately with no chance for resistance; such was the power of a Master's will. And it was right, wasn't it? This was what a mage had to sacrifice to protect the world. This was the decision Lord El-Melloi would have made. It was what Kiritsugu Emiya would have done. It was necessary now that things had gone so wrong.

‘Forget ‘Waver Velvet’.’ Forget I was ever human. Forget my past, forget my failures, erase it all and know me only as what I am.

He was a mage. He had to be a mage. He had to kill every last bit of weakness if he ever wanted to accomplish anything worthwhile, so what else was left? He could recover this situation, he could stop this before it went any further, he could kill off every last bit of his human self and forge the mind of ice and steel that would be strong enough to see this through.

Saber would never be Lancer; that Servant had died long ago and with him had died some piece of his Master. But to eradicate it all, standing on the precipice of…not remembering but at least knowing what they had seen and done together? So close to the horrifying reality of knowing who his Master was, and so easily wiped away in a flash of scarlet? Wouldn’t it be safer to erase it all, said the voice of pragmatism. Wouldn’t it be better to admit the truth, screamed a heart twisting itself to the point of shattering.

“S…Saber, I—” The words came out forced and strained, struggling through what felt like thorn-covered vines strangling him with every breath. The blinding headache reached a crescendo as it matched the rapid rhythm of his own heartbeat, eyesight blurring with tears burning from fear and self-hatred to the point that everything before him disappeared. So much so that he didn't clearly see his Servant step forward slowly to sit beside him, a gentle touch brushing long hair from green eyes.

“You can stop now," he said softly, taking his Master's face in both hands. “You need not fight alone any longer, Waver.”

The only answer came in a choked sound of something anguished lodged in his throat, hand falling uselessly to his side without the branded seals ever so much as sparking to life. He couldn't do it, because it was immeasurably wrong. Because he wasn't Lord El-Melloi. Because this was nothing but the last screaming extinction burst of Kayneth’s shadow, the cracking and crumbling of the iron prison breaking as a human heart reached for the hand offered to pull it from wasting away in isolation.

Because the instant he heard his own name spoken, he had completely fallen apart just as he had known would happen.

"I-I-...Diarmuid, I—" The words hitched in his throat like claws frantically scrambling for purchase on ice, painful and unable to do anything but stumble. He had to say it, he had to apologize for nearly doing the unthinkable and unconscionable, he had to—

Gentle arms wrapped around trembling shoulders as Diarmuid pulled a thin frame against his chest, battle-worn hand stroking lightly through long hair.

It was Lord El-Melloi II who had wanted to undo everything and kill his past self with no chance for recovery.

And it was the terribly, terribly afraid Waver Velvet who broke down sobbing into his knight's shoulder, clinging to him like the last possible connection to life itself.

“I'm sorry,” came the fervent litany between erratic gasping breaths. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-I don’t—”

“That's enough.” came the soft voice next to his ear; compassionate, patient, everything he didn't deserve to hear. “My courageous, beautiful, foolish lord...there is no one I would fail to defend you against. Even if that means protecting you from yourself.”

“Y-you...even...even after I—you still—...”

What was he doing? He’d almost committed a betrayal that would have made Fionn look charmingly innocent, and Diarmuid was still saying something like that? Why? Didn’t he realize how worthless his Master truly was? Didn’t he-

“You are better than you believe yourself to be.” he interrupted calmly, pulling back by inches with his hands again coming to rest on his stricken Master’s shoulders. “Regardless of all that you hide, I need not see your memories to understand you are not capable of being like Assassin’s Master or Archer—even if you yourself think that untrue.”

“…stop it.” Waver protested weakly, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes. “If you’ve seen anything then you know I’m just as wretched as the rest of them. I’m not what I promised I would be.”

“Mm, utterly heartless.” Diarmuid hummed in a voice that made it very clear he thought otherwise. One hand was drawn forward over bandages supporting a damaged collarbone, catching the necklace which now hung unconcealed. Regarding the thin ivory shard with a raised eyebrow and dubious amusement, then glancing back up to its owner’s stricken face. Oh…of course, he would once again recognize the ancient catalyst, know the fragment of a cursed half-brother’s tusk for what it was. And of course Irisviel would have been right yet again.

He really had just worn his heart around his neck all these years.

“Listen to me,” the knight spoke again, hand falling from Waver’s pendant in favor of curling a finger under his Master’s chin—ensuring his complete attention, leaving the mage frozen in place and unable to look away. “Even the greatest of knights may falter and fail—there is no shame in that. To stumble is human; to lack the strength to stand again is not weakness. What requires a powerful resolve is to reach out and admit you can not stand alone. And true courage lies in trusting those who reach back to pull you to your feet that you may continue forward.”

What a terrifying concept. It felt far easier to destroy himself trying to shoulder as much as possible than risk being seen for the weak failure he truly was. Better to put himself and only himself on the line as expendable, because otherwise meant risking the people he wanted so badly to protect. Irisviel had made the barest mention of the very real likelihood that she would not survive this war, and all Waver had done was double down on putting himself at risk in a crazed attempt to remove an obstacle before them. To give her and the others what he saw as just a little more of a chance to survive, even if it cost his life.

“I can’t.” he managed to say, breaking eye contact with that steady and calm gaze that made his heart race. “I can’t-…I have to be stronger than this. I-…if I don’t, if I’m not enough, then—”

Then what was the point? If he couldn’t accomplish anything through his own power, on his own merit…if he couldn’t stand on his own, then all he would ever be was Waver the failure. Unable to protect anyone. Helplessly reaching to the black and cold skies as the unattainable stars blinked out one by-

“—then is that not why I am here?” The interruption was as gentle as a whisper and as sharp as an arrow striking through the flaws in broken armor. “Am I not your sword and shield alike, to stand and fight when you can not?”

“Wh-…”

A gentle hand guided him to look up again, brushing away tears that Waver didn’t dare acknowledge he’d shed in the first place.

“I am your knight. It was you who asserted as much yourself, who spoke of implicit trust. And I ask you now to affirm that faith or reject it, because you must understand this above all else: I can not do this without you.”

An absurd declaration. Diarmuid would never lose to anyone, not as Lancer and certainly not now as the strongest of all the seven Servant classes. Regardless of whether the goal was to attain the Grail or destroy it, he would be able to accomplish even the impossible and it didn’t matter at all who his Master was-

‘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 wasn’t true at all, was it?

He’d understood that years ago, with the brief but crushing horror of considering what could have happened if he hadn’t stolen his teacher’s chosen catalyst. No other mage would have even thought twice before sacrificing their Servant to protect themselves, and the idea alone nauseated him even now. It could never have been anyone but him, because he understood what it was to desperately need to prove himself as more than what others saw. He was so painfully lonely that he would have seen even a Servant as a companion rather than a tool. So weak and afraid that he would naturally find the beauty inherent in chivalrous strength.

Because he was a flawed human and not a perfect mage, Waver Velvet was the ideal Master.

And now, knowing what they faced—who they faced, was it any wonder Diarmuid looked at him now with something earnestly distressed as he struggled to get that idea through his Master’s head? It wasn’t ‘I can not do this without you’ right now—true as that was, it was the larger picture while the smaller disaster was close at hand. The real underlying declaration was ‘I can not fight Fionn mac Cumhaill alone’, wasn’t it?

So then, who was it that was going to stand at his side? Who had been protected and supported by Diarmuid again and again without objection or complaint, and who was it that would return the favor in earnest now that it was needed of him? His knight who never asked for anything was requesting his Master’s help, extending that hand both because it was needed and perhaps to spare his lord’s pride by not making him reach out first.

“…you won’t have to.” he finally managed to say, leaning his forehead against his Servant’s with a quiet sigh and gingerly bringing his arms around the knight’s shoulders. “This is…something I can’t do alone, either.” That was certainly no longer in question, given his attempt to handle things alone had ended in a suicidal escape attempt that had swiftly failed. There was no way forward that didn’t involve relying on others; Irisviel, Maiya, Kairi, Ilyasviel, Berserker—but above all else there was the one who had been at his side before any of them. Who would stay at his side even though Waver found himself undeserving of that steadfast loyalty, who would walk through hell and back with him without the smallest hesitation.

The twin blades of Diarmuid ua Duibhne never fought alone. So too were the Servant and Master not whole without the other; only in tandem could either truly shine.

“Then if that trust remains earnest, let us start over.” Diarmuid answered softly, carding a gentle hand through loose dark hair. “Forget all this concealment and secrecy, and we can begin anew. A unified front as lord and knight, with no lies spoken between us. 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.”

Could he do that? After a decade of living with jagged shards in place of a heart and frigid armor for a mask, could he really allow himself to be Waver again without hesitation, knowing how frightening it was to show that humanity and weakness alike?

…How stupid.

If a foolish teenager had known himself to be invincible so long as this Servant was at his side, why on earth had he ever doubted it now? For Diarmuid, he would risk every vulnerability and know beyond all doubt that he would be safe. For Diarmuid, he would soar past distant stars to become everything he had sworn to be and more. To give him every bit of the support that Fionn had failed to in ages past, and seize victory together lest the world burn to ashes around them.

“It was always yours.” was the quiet confirmation that said little and yet a thousand things more. “It was Lancer’s long ago and I will gladly entrust it to Saber now—that heart’s long since belonged to ‘Diarmuid’ no matter the manifestation.”

But that didn’t change the feeling that had been left as embers in his chest for years, or make any difference to how it flared up again and again with every word exchanged.

“…I know.” He heard the words spoken barely a breath away. “I am not your Lancer; that person and the experiences you shared exist now only in your own heart and mind. But I understand myself well, and have seen enough to better understand…that I surely knew as much in that time as well. So if ever you doubted that, I would wish to set your mind at ease.”

Unsurprisingly, that statement did much the opposite and Waver straightened up with confusion surely evident on his face. Of course, they both knew he could not—would never have Lancer’s memories save only for seeing them through Waver’s own eyes. But even knowing that, what was he implying? He couldn’t possibly have meant to infer that Lancer had-

“Diarmuid…? I don’t—what do you mean?”

There followed a soft and tired laugh that made his heart skip several beats, calloused hand brushing dark hair from Waver’s face. Fixed with a look he could only interpret as ‘fond exasperation’, Waver could scarcely bring himself to confirm what he didn’t dare to believe before the scant distance between them closed in the gentle warmth of a chaste kiss, brief and yet long enough to wipe Waver’s entire mind into a blank slate. He could never truly bring himself to say the words, not knowing how many times they had been heard to be empty. It felt insulting, somehow, to dare presume he was some exception that could heal scars from millennia prior. That was not a line he would dare to cross unless Diarmuid crossed it first, and until that very instant Waver had been certain there was no chance of that happening.

Despite the shock and the fervent pounding of a frantic heart…there wasn’t anything panicked to him now. Doubt, certainly, but only as a distant echo of the thought I’m not worth it, while reason prevailed and the situation at hand readily disproved that. Diarmuid would never mislead him, would never lie or give him any reason to do anything but trust him wholeheartedly. Even broken and damaged, Waver’s heart had still belonged to this knight for ten long years—there was no changing that.

So what else was there to do but answer that kiss with his own; just as brief as self-conscious nerves took hold, but with nothing but genuine sentiment behind it. Magical compulsion was not the root of these feelings he’d carried all this time, and more than he wanted those feelings known he wanted their sincerity to be without question. That was vastly more important than anything else, and fate forbid Diarmuid ever think any of this was a fabrication borne of a curse.

But, judging by the way Waver felt a small smile as much as he heard it, that was not in question.

“…Fight by my side and allow me to fight by yours in turn.” the knight spoke softly as if swearing an oath once more. “Believe that my hand shall be there should you falter, and I shall trust that you will ever do the same. Trust me to guard your heart, and my own will be yours evermore. Let me act as your sword and shield, and I will cut a path to the future you desire.”

His head was spinning from injury and circumstance both, but the words cut straight through the haze without any resistance. Golden eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness, a renewed determination now sharpened into something brighter, and the pair of them knew there was only one question left.

“I ask of you.”

The one thing to truly seal that this would be a true restart, a way to see things begun anew. Diarmuid took Waver’s scarlet-branded hand in both of his own, and with an insistent resolve spoke the words:

“Are you my Master?”

And to this impossible miracle given form, this legend manifested as the answer to a heartfelt wish, the person he loved more than his own life, what other answer could be given? Breaking out into a bright smile that reflected someone much younger than he felt, Waver tried valiantly to stop his voice from cracking as he answered:

“I am Waver Velvet, proud Knight of Fianna and Master to a loyal and courageous Saber. By this contract do I entrust my life to you, and I swear…I swear to be a guiding star suiting such a hero.”

A promise forged in blood and fire, long awaiting its fulfillment. Beyond the Clock Tower, beyond the persona of a mage he had crafted…there was still a human who chose to burn brightly and guide others to reach and surpass the limits of their potential, to lay the groundwork of a better future in the wreckage of a dismal present.

Right now, even injured and with an insurmountable enemy looming on the horizon, the weight of struggling to attain a future at all felt much lighter on more than just one person’s shoulders.

Notes:

me: surely this chapter won't run longer than i think
me but kermit in a hood: lol.

also rq just as an aside, you can find me on twitter and tumblr at seer0ftime and i'm working on mirroring/reposting this series over on squidgeworld you know, just in case.

also i need to remember to go back and fix some typos throughout this whole mess but until then pretend you don't see anything

Chapter 28: Farewell Wanderlust

Summary:

i promise you I'm not broken, i promise you there's more
more to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door
goodbye to all my darkness, there's nothing here but light
adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night

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.

Notes:

i have to apologize profusely for how long it's been--ao3 writer's curse is beating my entire ass and this+the next chapter are like pulling teeth for how many threads have to come together. it's a little awkward and clunky for that reason so like, just bear with me for a while

rest assured there's ostensibly a plan for the next sort-of-an-arc coming up once all that resolves

Chapter 29: The Other Side

Summary:

just let me give you the freedom to dream
and it'll wake you up and cure your aching
take your walls and start 'em breaking

Kairi Shishigou had known his former assassination target for less than an hour, but he had known of the young Lord for a fair while. Rumors traveled the Clock Tower in the way insects traveled a rotting corpse, and it was in that way that both of them recognized the other long before a single shot had been fired—yet Kairi still couldn’t quite place how the mage in green could really be such a threat as to take the risk of paying someone to kill one of the twelve Lords in the first place. Then again, knowing what he did now—that ‘Waver Velvet’ was about as powerful as a mouse in a den of serpents—maybe it did make sense. Usually people, even hardened mages, looked at the necromancer with revulsion, or like he was going to beat them to death with his shotgun. But this one, who Kairi had expressly actually been about to kill?

There wasn’t a single trace of fear to him even while a loaded gun was pressed to his chest. None as he confirmed his Crest was all but empty—proven by a faint glow in the simplest geometric shape on the back of his neck. None whatsoever as he poured both of them another drink in the back corner of a dimly lit bar, shrugging as he claimed his parents to be the second son of a second son and a woman who practiced magecraft in only the most casual sense. How someone like that ever became Lord El-Melloi (‘the second’, followed a sharp correction and clarification) was quickly brushed off as ‘it’s a long story’, but there was no dishonesty to be found in that statement; enough that Kairi genuinely believed it was one hell of a long story. Time passed, and the conversation bent in the other direction—El-Melloi remarking he’d heard Kairi’s name around the Association here and there, and with a strangely wry smile mentioned he was said to be near as dangerous as the Mage Killer in his prime.

“—so that’s honestly got me curious as to the truth of it. Necromancy’s not a popular field, sure, but you’ve still got talent and skill in it. What makes someone like that turn to something as dangerous as freelance work, especially without a successor?”

What, indeed.

“Could ask you the same thing.” was the swift deflection. “Third generation, I’d think you would be in a hell of a hurry to produce a fourth.”

The two stared each other down in silence; El-Melloi’s sunglasses had moved to his head, unobscured green eyes steady and calm as they focused on Kairi past the rim of a half-empty glass. The air was heavy with the mutual understanding of treading dangerous ground, brushing fingertips against the locked door of a matter neither truly wished to examine in depth.

…And then the young Lord, this thin little mouse, smiled with that bright spark of defiance in steady eyes and said something so unbelievable that it rang as the impact of a hammer to shatter the tension:

“I don’t care about reaching the Root.”

Behind his own sunglasses, Kairi blinked. He’d seen plenty of people lie as smooth as silk and as easy as breathing, and indeed his first instinct was to assume this was the same. But no one, no one who called themselves ‘mage’ would ever say such a thing and expect it to be believed. Throwing aside the ultimate goal of any and every mage living and dead as though it meant nothing would have been proclaiming oneself completely insane, and yet here he was, smoothly setting his glass back down on the table and regarding what must have been a look of shock with placid interest.

“Forging a path to the Root over generations,” he explained in a voice that suggested he was having mercy on the necromancer’s stunned silence, “and eventually touching the source of all existence is the purpose of all magi, and our Crests are the crystallization of the knowledge gained by our forebears—this we both know. However, this also means Akasha exists in a place where there is nothing and yet everything, a boundary of emptiness beyond the World itself.”

“Yeah, of course.” said Kairi once he found his voice, staring in disbelief at so matter of fact an explanation. It was a truth every mage knew, and yet he couldn’t quite understand why that was of no interest to the man before him—a Lord of the Clock Tower, at that, if the others knew such a thing-

“So I don’t care about it.” spoke El-Melloi simply. He tapped the worn wooden table between them, and for a moment Kairi noticed an oddly-shaped scar on the back of his right hand. “This is where my concerns lie, Shishigou. What exists beyond the boundaries is of no relevance to me, even if I did have the power to pursue such an ambition. I wouldn’t fault others for choosing to seek such a path forwards, but then I would have to ask: if everyone’s seeking what lies beyond, who’s going to actually give a fuck about this world?”

Just like that, it began to make sense. He spoke with the confidence of one presenting a clear black and white truth, even though that truth was madness to the society in which they both operated.

“…Y’know,” ventured Kairi who suddenly felt like he was navigating a minefield, “I’ve heard it said your course only accepts students with more power than control or sense. Way you’re talkin’ now, it almost sounds like you’re planning a hostile takeover of the Association.”

“Hostile?” he echoed with the edge of a smile. “No, of course not. But you underline my point very well, Shishigou; it’s true that many of my students lack control of their potential, and that’s exactly why I’ve chosen them. No other department would, and in Escardos’ case most other departments have certainly tried.” That came with a short huff of derisive laughter and roll of those sharp green eyes. “I respect that your perspective is sure to be different, where your family’s at least twice the age of mine. But I’ve found the traditional weight given to Crests and bloodlines a tremendous disservice. What I want is to change this world, even if that should mean overhauling the Association brick by foundational brick. In that respect, perhaps it’s no different than devoting one’s life to chasing Akasha.”

Not only did Lord El-Melloi II believe what he was saying, he believed it with the very same conviction that led other mages to pour their very lives into their bloodlines, their Crests, and their research. An impossible goal. Unattainable in a single lifetime, but to lay foundations for the next and the next that progress would someday be made.

This man barely past his mid-twenties, who put forth the appearance of a frail and unthreatening lecturer, was deadly poison to everything the Mage’s Association had stood for since the time of Solomon.

And worse still, there was a gravity to him that could not be denied. It was what had stayed Kairi’s hand when he’d held this man at gunpoint that same day, what led him to accept the offer of a drink to break a stalemate. That complete lack of fear, the calm declarations of complete madness, and the strange undefined gravity that made some part of Kairi Shishigou want to believe his words. El-Melloi—no, Waver Velvet spoke, and it made him want to think that those ambitions might be a little closer within reach than the Root.

He opened his mouth to respond, and strangely all he could find was the truth.

“The Shishigou line was cursed a long while back. You said your father was from a branch family—we’ve had less and less of those. Straight line with less and less descendants for the last six generations, and now I’m the last one.” As he spoke, he watched the other mage carefully—seeking any sign of duplicity, anything that might suggest this was all an elaborate act to draw out vital information. Not because he disbelieved the words of the man before him, but because he could scarcely believe someone like Waver existed at this point. There had to be a catch somewhere, something he wanted more than just ‘not to get shot for a freelancer’s halfassed paycheck’.

But nothing showed on his face save for quiet patience; hands folded on the table, eyes focused as he listened with intent patience. Just as cautiously, Kairi continued:

“So a few years back, I—we adopted a girl from an older branch of the family. About as distant as relatives get, but with enough of the same blood to accept our Magic Crest.” That sharp analytical stare hadn’t left, and in it he saw Waver’s eyes narrow with a slight tension to his hands. He wanted to say something, but from the way his mouth pressed into a thin uncomfortable line, he damn well knew better than to interrupt. Maybe he even saw where this was going, with the unique benefits of one both outside the situation and able to gauge an unfortunate past by the circumstances of the present. Satisfied enough that no interruption was coming, he continued despite resignedly dragging his feet through every word:

“…Turns out, curses like that account for loopholes now and again.” Muttering that bitterly into his drink, Kairi set down a half-full glass. “Her Circuits didn’t reject the transfer, so I didn’t understand-…” He paused in a brief stumble over his words, scowling under the steady gaze of the mage who was now as still and silent as ice. “…Figured out later that the Crest itself became poison when the curse activated in full. There’s no transferring it at all, adopted heir or otherwise. That’s about when I quit the research thing; figured freelancing and mercenary work would at least get me the hell out of the Clock Tower.”

None of what he said was necessarily a secret. Common knowledge, no, but such could be heard in the right circles, from those who had been active in Spiritual Evocation at the time. And of that number, most if not all held the same reaction; that it was a shame to lose so skilled a researcher, that the imminent decline of the Shishigou bloodline was a loss to the Association, that the death of the family’s Crest was a tragedy-

“What was her name?”

-and not a single researcher, lecturer, or mage would ever have thought to speak those words in so quiet and careful a voice. Which was exactly why he’d allowed himself to continue; he wanted to see what the man before him would say. How he would react, and whether he was spouting complete bullshit about his disregard for Magic Crests and the Association both.

But seeking a response did not mean he expected to hear what he did. Though a part of him wanted (for reasons beyond him) to believe those mad declarations were truly sincere, the rest knew there had to be a catch, something dishonest or self-serving. And yet still—even now, there was nothing. No trace of a lie in how those sharp features had softened, once-concealed eyes bearing something difficult to define. Sympathy, to be sure, but there was something pushed back behind that—anger, perhaps on behalf of a child he’d never known and a father he’d just met.

His own eyes wide behind dark lenses, Kairi may as well have been sucker punched for how those words struck him.

Had he even dared speak her name at all since the funeral? Since he turned away from the path of a respected mage?

Had anyone ever asked?

“…Tsubaki.”

A brief silence fell, broken only by Waver muttering ‘camellia’ under his breath as if in appraisal with a thoughtful look—committing it to memory with care and caution.

“That’s a beautiful name. I’m…sorry that happened, Shishigou. You couldn’t possibly have known—I mean hell, I don’t know of any mage who would anticipate a risk like that.”

A weight Kairi hadn’t fully been aware was settling on his chest as he’d started to speak now felt ever so slightly lighter, and this too was something unexpected. To answer with sympathy not for the Crest, not for the bloodline’s fate, not even with a ‘and that’s proving my entire point’, but solely with thought for those personally affected and lost…

Kairi could discern it clearly now in the harsh lines of his face and gentle care in his eyes; the shape of one who had lost faith in the path of a scholar as it wound and twisted like a hangman’s noose. But where the necromancer had chosen to turn his back on it and live at arm’s length with his regret, Waver had elected to stand where he did not belong wearing the mask of Lord El-Melloi II and force the world to change to accommodate, then push it to change ever more. They had both seen the rust that made up the gears of the Clock Tower, and understood it as only they could.

This was not a mage at all, which was precisely why this human was named the deadly ‘Scourge of Mage Society’.

And, passed a brief thought across the necromancer’s mind, if someone like that could lay the groundwork to a newer Association…well, maybe he could stick around for a while and see how that kind of ambition unfolded.

---

This was, in a word, fucking weird.

Waver had always drawn people to him, whether he was cognizant of that fact or not. Not just his students, but a small number of highly respected lecturers and researchers in the Clock Tower saw Lord El-Melloi II as a valued source of insight even apart from his high status. Kairi Shishigou himself could easily attest to the fact that he just held a strange sort of charisma that made others gravitate to him, even trust him (at least, the people that didn’t want him dead).

But this? This was way past anything even Kairi expected, currently finding himself in a spacious if dusty library sitting with two Einzberns, two Servants, and a mercenary he could tell half expected to shoot someone in the next ten minutes.

With the delicate clink of porcelain on wood, a smiling Berserker set out several cups of tea for the assembly gathered around the table, barely short of humming for how cheerful he was in stark contrast to the otherwise heavy atmosphere. Catching Saber’s eyes from across the table, Kairi arched an eyebrow in the knight’s direction and tilted his head towards the other Servant, wordlessly asking the obvious question—is that really a Berserker?

In answer, Saber only shrugged helplessly with a look of resignation; okay good, so everyone else was just as confused on that front. The woman he’d spoken to earlier—‘Maiya’ sat as rigidly as ever, one hand surely on the holster at her belt and the other lying tense beside a teacup that held as much sugar as it did tea. Berserker slid into a seat beside the younger Einzbern, who thanked him under her breath with a pat to his arm. The elder Einzbern—Irisviel had been leaning forward with an intent stare for some time now, hands interlaced neatly on the table as though that would hide the tension in her fingers.

When Waver had spoken of being involved in the previous Grail War, he had been very careful to leave out details. Which meant the idea of being allied to the Einzberns at all—much less a pair gone rogue, especially for ten years—had been one of the last things Kairi had expected. The fact that Waver had been going around doing insane shit on his own was less shocking given the necromancer knew damn well the kind of self-sabotaging idiot he could be, but this was a whole new level of self-destructive that still left a terrible taste in his mouth.

But it was still true that Waver drew people to him regardless of how reckless he was or of whether or not he realized he was capable of commanding respect. In that way, it wasn’t the greatest shock that a group like this was looking to him for help.

“This has to be a joke, right?”

In the center of the table laid a cellphone from which came the voice of Rin Tohsaka, and sitting beside Diarmuid was its owner—bearing a red mark on his face approximately the size of Irisviel’s hand, Waver pinched the bridge of his nose with a furrowed brow.

It had been no less than twenty minutes since he had begun to retrace the outline of the situation—the leylines, the keystones, the true nature of the Grail, their current enemies being a Counter Guardian as well as a Clock Tower mage partnered to Servant Lancer. Kairi had to admit that understanding the scope of the enemies they faced was a much larger surprise and more concerning besides; not only a Master-Servant pair but an agent of Alaya itself stood between them and preventing the end of the world. The latter rung strange to him; Counter Guardians were supposed to stop threats to the world, so what was it that made this one a problem?

…Then again, he trusted Waver more than he did the Counter Force, so there was no argument put forth.

“I fucking wish I was kidding, Tohsaka.” he answered, Kairi barely repressing a snort of laughter at the sheer exasperation in the face of certain failure. “Look, I’m going to give you the bottom line as plainly as possible: what I said before still stands. The ritual being performed on Tohsaka-owned land is now a threat severe enough that the Counter Force is involved. As long as we keep the number of defeated Servants low, we can postpone the Grail manifesting long enough to cut off its mana supply. Assassin is dead, but Berserker and Rider’s Masters are here with me right now. Counting my Saber, that makes three. The last piece we need is for you and Caster to cooperate with us.”

As he watched in silence, he caught Waver meeting Irisviel’s eyes as he spoke; wearing a look of trepidation her mouth pressed into a thin line, but she nodded once in implicit permission to continue. That too struck him as significant; Tohsaka’s Caster hadn’t been touched upon in detail just yet, but there was a heavy weight there. He knew Waver hated to defer to anyone, so to take a cue from irisviel meant either she was that important or it was that critical a problem. The fact remained that he was right and they would need Caster—no matter who that Caster happened to be.

“Why didn’t you just tell me any of this in the first place?” Rin scoffed in haughty annoyance. “Giving me all that annoying ‘I can’t tell you yet’-” and at that she mimicked Waver’s accent in a way that made Kairi bite his tongue to stop from laughing outright- “when you could have just come out with it and not wasted my time…the twelve Lords really are insufferable.”

“Preaching to the fucking choir on that one.” Kairi muttered under his breath, and beside him the corner of Maiya’s mouth twitched imperceptibly.

“I didn’t want you involved if I could help it, but that ship has long sailed on several fronts.” Waver admitted, casting a sidelong glance to Ilyasviel placidly drinking her tea. “I know it’s a losing battle to hope you’ll keep yourself out of trouble. So I’d rather we all got into trouble within reach of each other and handled the fallout as it comes.”

The rustling of a phone reciever being covered preceded indistinct muttering on the other end of the line, and in the pause Kairi elected to gauge Waver’s response over that of the others. Slouching with an arm over the back of his chair, Kairi deliberately put forth the appearance of someone who felt absolutely no concept of fear in the face of the looming apocalypse; partly because death simply didn’t frighten him, and partly because if he did feel afraid, he wasn’t one to dare show it. Waver, he knew, was different. It had been a mistake all those years ago to assume he was fearless.

No, he had learned, Waver Velvet was very afraid of death and loss and pain like any other human. He simply pushed on regardless, letting that fear take him running straight through danger rather than away from it.

Across the table Waver was staring intently at the phone, focused and tense in a way that was rare for him. Not only rare, almost unheard of—because it meant he was terrified, and if he was showing it even that small amount it meant he trusted every single person in this room to see him as Waver Velvet, not the Lord he presented himself as. Which, Kairi reasoned, made it a hell of a lot worse that this insane endeavor was risking every last one of them at Waver’s own word and strategy. One miscalculation, and the young teenager calmly sipping tea could be cut down in an instant. her mother could be struck down—or worse, lost to the Grail. And at the end of it all, even in the best scenario, the knight who laid a hand over Waver’s in silent support would disappear like no more than a dream before dawn.

You idiot, Kairi thought for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. You should have just told me. Why the hell were you doing all this yourself?

“Tohsaka—” Shaking his head, Waver seemed to find his voice again, calling for her attention in the brief silence. “It’s exactly as I said before: if we pull this off and spin it just right back in London, you’ll be hailed as the mage that prevented the worldwide exposure of magecraft, or the dutiful heir that stopped a calamity on her land.”

“…The Association won’t like it.” came the answer after some further indistinct muttering. “What’s the plan if we don’t ‘spin it right’, or if you fail entirely?”

“If we fail, there’s not going to be a whole lot of consequences since that outcome ends in all of us dying.” Waver countered that flatly, grim honesty laid out clearly to everyone listening. “But if we survive and can’t talk our way out of destroying a source of True Magic, then the answer’s obvious.” Obvious, and yet there was a second’s hesitation…no, not hesitation, reluctance to answer because the answer was one no one present would like:

“In that situation, you become the returning family head who tried and failed to stop the Scourge of Mage Society from destroying a path to the Root. The Association will love that shit, especially for how much most of them hate me. We’ll twist it to make you the Tohsaka heir who reclaimed her birthright after Tokiomi was seen to have died in a catastrophe on his own land.”

Kairi felt himself straighten up in his chair more than he was consciously aware of doing so. Felt the scowl forming on his face as he bit back a loud objection—trust him, he’s an idiot but he’s not stupid, you know he’s got something planned-

“I’ll assume responsibility for the whole thing.” Waver declared as though putting the finishing touches on his own death warrant. “Whether they want to kill me or put a Sealing Designation on me, they’ll have to catch me first.”

Had he been aware of anything other than the ice cold look on Waver’s face or the litany of what the fuck are you thinking running through his own head, Kairi might have noticed everyone in the room was now staring at the man who had made a suicidal declaration—and none doing so more intensely than the knight at his side. Unseen by everyone in the room (except perhaps Berserker, whose eyes wandered lazily from Waver to the rest over the rim of his teacup), those golden eyes stared straight through his Master as if searching for the answer to a question left unspoken.

Silence passed for an eternity of several seconds, and the haughty voice that followed did not belong to the Tohsaka heir.

“Hah-! Quite the gambit, mongrel. Have you an actual course of action in mind, or is this mere excuse to throw your life away as a backup plan?”

Irisviel looked from Waver back to the phone at that arrogant laugh, and were it possible for her to look paler Kairi estimated that might have just done it.

“…I think so.” answered Waver in a voice laden with tension. “I don’t want to risk approaching the keystone at the shrine until we can find a way to have it evacuated first; otherwise risks too many casualties if things go wrong. However, that leaves us with options.” He cast another quick glance to Irisviel, who closed her eyes with a resigned nod.

…Who the hell was Caster, anyway?

“My proposition is this: we split into two teams, each with two Servants. You and Tohsaka go with Irisviel, Maiya, and Ilyasviel with Berserker, and handle the keystone at the civic center. While it should be deserted late at night, the building is out in the open enough that safety in numbers should be considered especially with K—Archer left a largely unknown factor at present.”

It occurred to Kairi that Waver had been cautious not to actually name either the Counter Guardian in question or the enemy Lancer; he’d mentioned Sophia-ri by name, and no one had been less surprised at her involvement than him. But there were still pieces here left unspoken, and that was needling at him with that same annoyance of just fucking talk to me, Waver that stuck sharp in his head.

“And?” cut in Rin Tohsaka. “What about the second group?”

“That’ll be myself, Saber, Shishigou, and his Rider. We’ll be heading to the church; a smaller group to handle that one quietly. If we can avoid being caught out as breaking the rules of the Church’s neutral ground, great. If not, then we’ll have the firepower to at least get out alive.”

…On the other hand, he hadn’t had a chance to speak about his own Servant’s capabilities, so they were both operating on a measure of assumptions still. Even so-

“Hold the fuck on, Second.” interjected Kairi at last—and his name was only ever ‘Second’ when things were professional, so that drew Waver’s attention immediately.

“You have an objection, I take it?”

I’ve got about a half dozen and a few choice words to call you, he almost said, but refrained for the moment.

“Yeah, why the hell are we breaking the rules of the Church before dealing with the temple? Evacuating however many people is just a matter of hypnosis and suggestion, either of us can do that much. If you want to get in deep shit with the Holy Church before we’ve even finished getting in deep shit with the Association, then of course I’m gonna question what you’re thinking.”

Even as he berated what seemed like a stupid decision, that thought was still in the back of Kairi’s mind—trust him, there’s always some crazy angle-

“My reasoning is twofold.” And sure enough, there was an answer for everything as Waver worked through his answer meticulously. “First of all, Ryudoji Temple is the one location in Fuyuki where several leylines intersect—we’ll have to be cautious in dealing with that one as it is, and unless I miss my guess there’s a high probability the Grail itself could manifest there in the worst case scenario. Tohsaka, is that incorrect?

“…No, that’s true. There are a few places with the appropriate concentration of leylines to manifest the Grail—where my house used to be is only one of them. The temple is a prime location, so there’s a very real chance that could happen. So what’s the other reason?”

“I told Sola-ui that the ritual was irrevocably fucked. Whether she believed me or not is irrelevant; the thought’s still going to be in her head, and whether she does it on purpose or not she’ll probably be watching for me around critical points in Fuyuki where the leylines intersect. And of those points, the temple is a secluded open space surrounded by forest. Ideal conditions for most Servants, but bearing a critical advantage for hers; the freshwater lake behind it.”

Kairi opened his mouth to ask what the lake had to do with anything, but paused. Next to Waver, Saber suddenly looked distinctly uncomfortable and was no longer watching his Master—or indeed, meeting anyone’s eyes at all. Aware he was definitely lacking context for something here, it still felt heavy enough not to question further.

“…Fine. I’ll go along with that, but let’s try to avoid getting caught. Last thing I need is trouble with the fuckin’ Executors.”

“Likewise. What about the rest of you—is there an issue with that approach?”

Saber merely shook his head in silence; Maiya met Waver’s eyes wordlessly, which seemed to pass for confirmation.

“I’m fine with it.” chimed Ilyasviel as Berserker looked to her for an answer. “Berserker and I can protect Mother and Maiya just fine, but I guess a little help wouldn’t hurt that much.”

On the other end of the phone, Rin spluttered wordlessly over the sounds of Caster laughing obnoxiously in the background. Irisviel, who had been resolutely silent this whole time, stared at Waver until he met her gaze; out of the corner of his eye the necromancer saw her mouth silently form the words Are you sure about this? Waver answered with a single sharp nod, and Irisviel soundlessly asked: Will you be safe?

Did she mean now, or after all was said and done? A Sealing Designation was as good as a death sentence, and it was the kind of thing mages far more powerful than Waver were left running from and living in exile to escape. Similarly, to openly defy the Church meant being in the immediate sights of the Eighth Sacrament Assembly—much less chance of escape.

Whichever the question was meant for, it looked like Waver wasn’t fully sure either—and yet the answer he gave without a sound would be, Kairi suspected, exactly the same regardless.

I trust Shishigou.

Fucking hell. If he’d known back then that this frail little mouse of a revolutionary would get him in this kind of trouble…

“Fine,” snapped Rin’s voice once she’d regained her composure. “We can be there and ready by sunset.”

“Glad to hear it.” Waver looked around to the assembled group with the look in his eyes that meant he was calculating something, analyzing probabilities and assessing the risks involved—and choosing to continue on regardless of how the numbers worked out. “Then all of us should start preparing now, and be ready to head out at nightfall.”

…Well, if he’d known back then, he wouldn’t do anything differently at all, would he? Kairi Shishigou had chosen to walk beside death long before he’d even met Waver Velvet; he just made flirting with the concept a hell of a lot more exciting. As ever that young and reckless Lord made people gravitate to him, want to believe in what he said and even follow him in hopes to see those words made reality.

If that meant following him into hell, then he could be sure Kairi would be barely a step behind.

Notes:

i made another minor goddamn numbering error so i'll have to go back and edit a minor goof from a couple chapters back

anyway i'm still kicking. this was supposed to start with a short flashback but then it got away from me as usual. if you see errors no you do not it is 230 in the morning

Chapter 30: How To Save A Life

Summary:

try to slip past his defense
without granting innocence
lay down a list of what is wrong
the things you've told him all along
and pray to god he hears you

The clearest course of action was set as best as he was able to set it; Waver loathed the idea of splitting up and walking directly into danger, but he forced himself to accept it as necessary and inevitable. He could not balance the amount of things needing attention and places to be all at once on his own. Similarly, he had to accept that he was far from the strongest member of their group; that Rin alone was leagues beyond him, to say nothing of Ilyasviel. He would prove a hindrance more than anything else if things came to a direct fight, so tasking himself with avoiding a fight would be the wiser option. And if a fight came regardless…then he would be support to those much stronger than him, and they would find a way out of trouble.

…The possible future that laid beyond the slowly approaching night was not something he could linger on right now. A dozen ‘what if’ possibilities hanging over his head like an executioner’s blade were nothing but distractions; things had to be taken one step at a time.

In the red-orange glow of a beginning sunset, the door leading to the Einzbern castle’s balcony opened and closed several feet behind him. Waver snapped a silver lighter closed and sighed in smoke and steam against the cold winter air, not turning to face who he knew would be standing there.

“We need to talk.” came Shishigou’s voice laden with gravel and resignation both, slow steps taking him to lean against the railing next to Waver—who wordlessly passed over the lighter for the necromancer to spark his own cigarette in turn.

“Last time one of us said that,” was the tired response as Waver stared out at the forest beyond the castle, “I remember it ending in a lot of shouting.”

“Yeah.” The lighter was dropped back into Waver’s hand and returned to his pocket, Shishigou scowling as he seemed to search for words that weren’t further shouting.

“…I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Rather than leave Shishigou to figure out where to even start, Waver admitted that much—wholehearted honestly at last, and long overdue as they both knew it was. “I thought…it would be better if it were just me in the line of fire. If I was the only one at risk of getting killed, I could plan accordingly and accept that it meant the others would be in a little less danger for it.”

“And you were alright with that?” growled the necromancer, dropping the lighter back into Waver’s hand.

“You want the honest answer?” Not looking at his companion, Waver stared out at the forest and asked a question he knew the answer to. The honest response was not one he wanted to give, but-

“If you don’t start telling the fucking truth, I’m going to shoot you.”

-but it was warranted and needed at this point.

“Then…yeah. I was fine with that.” A knight lived to serve, to aid those in need. Acting solely in service of those he loved was the obvious course of action to Waver. “If risking or sacrificing my life is what it takes to give the rest of you an advantage, buy you a little more time? What else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to give a fuck about the consequences, Velvet.” was the growl in a tone of explaining a very simple concept to a complete idiot. The sharp rebuke felt like another slap to the face, and served to silence Waver just as quickly. “What about all those kids back at the Clock Tower? The damn Archisorte princess? Which contingency plan did you have for any of them if you never made it back to London?”

The truth was, there wasn’t one. Nothing past a last will and testament that left everything he could to Irisviel, the El-Melloi class, and Reines alike—and whatever corpse could be recovered left to the necromancer beside him.

“At least there’d still be a London left if we can manage to stop this. Whether I’m alive in it or not is a secondary concern.”

…It was, he began to realize, more than a little tragic that was the best he could hope to do for the people who meant the most to him. But what else was there? Even in a miserable situation, even if one was left with nothing and no one, as long as they were alive then nothing was truly over. As long as the world itself could persist and the people in it survive, then nothing was hopeless. Even if it meant Waver himself wouldn’t live to see what became of any of it.

There was no sharp reaction fueled by anger this time, but a hand that reached over to Waver’s shoulder turning him to face the freelancer properly. Shishigou’s sunglasses were pushed up to his head revealing the gentle brown eyes that betrayed a fearsome appearance, now lit with the flame of frustration and worry. The scowl on his face was harsh with controlled anger, though it looked like he was halfway to biting clean through the cigarette in his mouth from the tension.

“When I got a hold of Maiya on your phone, I thought you were dead. I thought somebody had killed you, and that the last thing I’d ever hear you say was a goddamn voicemail apologizing and asking for my help. Do you have any fucking idea what that feels like.”

…No. Of course he didn’t. Waver had lost enough in his life, but never with that kind of detachment; he could remember seeing his parents before they’d died, knowing it was an inevitability. Lancer had died in his arms with a smile, and in both cases there was no room for uncertainty; stark reality of someone being there and then being gone in the next moment. Feeling something sharp and jagged in the back of his throat, he silently shook his head.

“When I got here, that Einzbern woman was nearly in hysterics after trying to put you back together. I didn’t even see Saber until now for how he didn’t leave your side. You think whether or not you live or die is a secondary concern to them or anybody else here?”

Waver, if something happens to me, then I want you to-

He couldn’t even entertain the thought at the time for fear of what it meant. Fear that planning for that outcome would make it real, and that he would lose his family again. But…what was it she’d been about to ask? What was it Irisviel was willing to trust him with even after all the evasion and half-truths he’d kept to himself?

The four of us… she had said, all we really have is each other.

He felt his shoulders start to shake under calloused hands, opening his mouth to answer and finding only silence where his voice should have been. He was scared—terrified, because all his closest family were in this castle and under constant threat of imminent death. And there was nothing he could do that would absolutely, certainly protect them. Absolutely no course of action he could predict or plan guaranteed all of them would get out of this alive. In fact, it was almost a foregone conclusion that some of them would not.

For an instant he was fourteen and realizing his parents wouldn’t live through the night.

Another instant, he was nineteen covered in blood and ash.

A third instant, and he was dropping a lit cigarette to the stone and stepping forward on unsteady legs to wrap his arms tightly around a mage that smelled like blood and gunpowder. The impact of a somewhat smaller and far lighter person didn’t exactly throw him off balance, but Waver knew the brief unbalance of Shishigou suddenly on his back foot was due to surprise more than anything.

“…I’m sorry.” he barely choked out against the shoulder of a tattered and repaired leather jacket, eyes burning as he shut them tightly. “I-I haven’t been…a great friend to any of you. I wasn’t a good…whatever we were, and…” His breath hitched uncomfortably, and he felt Shishigou’s arms uneasily around his shoulders. Waver had never been one for brazen affection, so he knew this had to look like the equivalent of a neon sign flashing everything is wrong to someone who knew him as well as the necromancer did. “…This is where it’s gotten me, and there’s nothing to do but play with the hand I’ve dealt myself. I can’t fix the things I’ve screwed up in the past, and I don’t…I don’t know if I have time to rectify what even can be rectified.”

“Waver-?”

He didn’t have time. None of them did; their war would begin moving again tonight, and it was very possible things left unsaid now would be left unsaid forever. So the words came spilling out in shaky breaths, insistent and nearing frantic:

“It-…when you admitted the whole casual thing was turning into something else, I panicked. I was falling for you the same way, and I felt like I had to catch myself. It was frightening for…a lot of reasons, none of which make for an excuse. What matters is that you deserved better than me. That—that’s why I had to stop, and I know running off like I did was wrong. I hurt you, and you would’ve been right to never speak to me again. Y-you-”

“For Christ’s sake, breathe.” The arms around his shoulders tightened with the insistence, grounding Waver back in reality rather than regrets of the past or an uncertain and unreachable future. “…Yeah, it hurt, and yeah I was pissed off at you for a good while. I’m pissed off now, but it’s just like you said—can’t unfuck what’s already been fucked up.” He recognized that cadence in Shishigou’s voice a little too well; the intent and pointed words that had been heard nearly a half dozen nights after Waver woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares of fire and blood. Sharply laying out that this is reality, this is the present, this is where you are right now. “Nothing to do but keep going and clean up what we can on the way.”

“…” Waver drew a slow and shuddering breath in the frigid air, taking a small step back as Shishigou’s hands returned to his shoulders. Neither willing to completely separate just yet, one insistent on giving the support the other had always refused to ask for. But that couldn’t stand anymore, could it? If there was any hope of their survival…if there was any chance that the world might not end in fire and curses, then all of them would have to pick up the pieces and rearrange them together.

“…You know what’ll happen if the Association finally turns on you.” continued Shishigou in those sharp matter-of-fact words as the smaller mage collected himself. “Saber’s not going to be there to save you once the war’s over.”

“Don’t.” Waver cut in, voice shamefully weak as he did. It was true Servants could not persist without the support of the Grail. Truer still that he had utterly refused to entertain that fact even once; not only because he dreaded it, but because there was one silken-thin strand of possibility in a hundred thousand others, one and one alone that led to an outcome requiring a miracle. If he could grasp that single golden thread, if he could follow it, then perhaps it was possible that the only wish Waver could claim in his heart was not yet out of reach. For the moment, he took a steadier breath and looked up to meet Shishigou’s eyes, calmer if deeply weary and worn down. “…I know. But that outcome isn’t a definite one yet; if I pull together all the influence I have and outline the situation just right, Tohsaka and I might both get away as close to cleanly as we can.”

“And everybody that’s already out for El-Melloi’s head is gonna pounce on the opportunity to expel you anyway.” Shishigou countered in the plainest fact. “That’s if we live through this. For now, you say the word and I’ll follow you through Fuyuki and straight into hell. I don’t give a damn about the Association, and this world’s a whole lot more exciting if you’re in it. But unless you want to go it alone against everyone who wants you to fail, you have to say it, Waver.”

I need to be worth following, he had once told Lancer, ten years ago, on my own merits and accomplishments.

“Sh-…Kairi-”

If there was any hope at all, then he had to live up to those words and become that shining ideal. To lead was to assemble those willing to follow; to bear responsibility, but not buckle beneath the weight. To shoulder all the world with those who made the choice to stand beside him and carry it, and have the burden lightened by trust and loyalty both. Waver straightened up as best as he was able on a damaged leg with his lingering injuries, set a hard and straight line to his shoulders, and looked the necromancer straight in the eye with sharp and focused resolve.

To question any further as to whether that loyalty was certain would be an insult to those who offered it; whether it came from Diarmuid, Kairi, Irisviel, or a dozen other names he could think of. Together, they could do what Waver alone could not. The world wasn’t a lost cause yet, and the future yet unknown. But first, he needed to say the words that came more difficult to him than any other he had ever spoken:

“-I need your help.”

The answer was a sharp and sudden grin, full of wild abandon and excitement. Maybe there was some satisfaction to it, Waver noted—understanding this was a point Shishigou and the others had been trying to hammer into his head for a long time and had only just today taken root.

“That’s more like it—could’ve just said that weeks ago and saved us all the trouble!” He dropped his hands from Waver’s shoulders, one coming up to enthusiastically slap him on the back—which inspired a sudden coughing fit as the thin and still very injured mage was wracked by a shock of pain from fractured ribs. “…Shit. Sorry about that.”

“Fuck you, that hurt-” Waver choked out, trying to straighten up with a sound between a cough and a laugh at the absolutely pathetic state of things. “Goddamnit, you absolute bull in a china shop-”

“Alright, alright, quit shouting or you’ll probably break something else.” Shishigou huffed out a laugh, settling his sunglasses back on his face and stepping back towards the door. “Take a minute to get some rest before the Tohsaka kid gets here; leave the preparation to the rest of us for now.” With a wave, he opened and closed the glass doors to the balcony behind him—as Waver watched, he seemed to pause with his back to the door. Two seconds, then five—was there something else he was thinking about saying?

If there was, the moment passed and Shishigou turned to walk back down the castle’s halls and left Waver in the silent air of a winter twilight as the skies had turned from red-orange to tones of deep crimson and violet. A slow breath to collect himself and attempt to ward off the lingering ache in his entire body, and he followed in slow steps back inside the castle. The balcony doors clicked shut behind him, and he took no more than two steps before halting.

—Ah. That was what had caused Shishigou to pause: an invisible presence, steadfast and silent. Waver stopped in turn, saying nothing and simply waiting; had he heard the entire conversation? If he had, did it matter when Master and Servant alike had resolved to hide nothing between them?

“…It is no easy life you take upon yourself.” spoke the quiet and resigned voice of Diarmuid ua Duibhne as he manifested from thin air, leaning against the wall by the door with his arms folded. “To do what is deemed necessary and be branded fugitive for the act.”

No one on earth knew that better than he did. What it was to run from a thousand enemies, and Diarmuid had done that with his own strength and that of his remaining allies. Waver had very little of the former and a handful of the latter right now; the outcome was a bleak one at best. A short life burned out in service to what he believed was right.

“…I understand that.” Waver answered softly, turning to his partner with a light tap of his cane against the floor and a deep exhaustion coloring his voice and expression alike. “But what else is there to be done about it?”

If that future came to pass, the options were limited. Let Rin take the blame for something Waver had resolved to finish before he’d ever met her? Unforgivable. Accept judgment and let the Association or the Church kill him? Unacceptable.

“Nothing.” Diarmuid confirmed in a soft sigh, closing his eyes briefly against a painful truth. In a situation with no good choice to make, nothing else could be done but to run as fast and as far as possible. As long as Waver still held the pride of a knight, they would have to chase him to the ends of the earth and fight for the privilege to be the ones to finally rid the world of mages of its wild revolutionary. “But you will be running every waking moment for the rest of your life. Ever looking over your shoulder, ever moving, scarcely able to rest.” Diarmuid pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer, meeting Waver’s eyes with neither daring to blink. The knight looked far more tired than Waver had ever seen him; not in body but in heart and soul at the prospect he laid out in clear words. “At the end of that long and tireless path will lie only your end, and it will not be one from which I can safegua-…”

A gentle right hand marked in scarlet brushed the back of thin fingers against Diarmuid’s jawline, causing him to trail off into silence as surprise and confusion brought a spark of light back to a darkened stare.

“That outcome isn’t a certainty yet.” Waver answered, and despite the fear and exhaustion that had settled in his chest there was a small glint of confidence that what he said was true. Gilgamesh had foretold his death, but what did that matter? Obviously he was going to die—everyone did. What the king had not specified was anything regarding when or how, and to Waver that meant those words had as much value as Gilgamesh’s opinion in general. “And if it becomes inevitable, I can accept that if it’s what comes of accomplishing what we’ve set out to do here. If my friends, my students, my family can live in a world that still exists when all this is over, a lifetime of running sounds like a price worth paying.”

“Waver-” His knight’s face twisted in something stricken, raising a hand to grip his Master’s own. “I…would not wish that life for you. After all that has happened, after we have only now just-… You of all people do not deserve so ignoble an end-!”

…Yes, naturally he would say that as one who had lived and died on a similar path. Always minimizing his own unjust life and death, always prioritizing Waver over himself. But in at least one small regard he was right; being hunted down and killed by an Enforcer or Executor was not something Waver truly believed he’d earned in a karmic sense. Living however short a life he would in perpetual vigilance and unending worry was not something he wanted. Throwing away his life when he was only now starting to live it again was unfair and unjust. But…

“This is the choice I’ve made. Or it’s the result of a lot of really stupid and crazy choices I’ve made, probably.” he confirmed, squeezing Diarmuid’s hand gently in reassurance. “I won’t be without people willing to watch my back. There’s still Shishigou and maybe even Maiya, if I can talk her into it. But even if it were just me…that’s okay. This is the path I want to walk, even if it’s nothing but thorns underfoot. I want to see this through to whatever god-awful end I’ve gotten myself, and when that time comes I’ll accept it.”

Silence passed between them as outside the skies had begun to turn indigo and blue, traces of the evening’s first stars beginning to flicker in the evening sky. Rin and Caster would be here soon; she was probably in the forest by now. But that was irrelevant in this moment; what mattered more than anything was standing before him desperately searching for words with a look of pain unlike any Waver had ever seen him wear.

“…Diarmuid.” Setting his cane aside to lean against the wall—the discomfort was a small price for making sure he was clearly understood—Waver gently raised both hands to frame the Servant’s face and make sure neither of them could look away. Something—whether it was facing Fionn and surviving, Diarmuid’s frustrated care, Irisviel’s fury, Kairi’s insistence, or everything colliding all at once—had lit a blazing inferno in his chest now, and everything had changed as it burned away the ruins of the iron maiden called Lord El-Melloi II which had threatened to destroy everything that was Waver Velvet.

I’m going to fight and run and do everything in my power to live as long as I can to see my ambitions realized, rang a cry of rebellion in his heart. And until then, do I not have you as my sword and shield? Am I not your réalta eolais, Diarmuid?

“Whatever ending this comes to…that doesn’t concern me right now. It’s all a hypothetical, something that exists beyond this moment and this present reality. What matters is right now, and the single step at a time we have to take to see this war through to the end. If you’re afraid for my sake, then please, help me. Protect me, rely on me, and I swear on every star in the sky I will fight just as hard to protect myself from this moment onward.”

Waver felt his breath coming a little too fast, heart slamming a rhythm almost painful in his chest. He knew from the stunned look on Diarmuid’s face that he too needed a sharp call back to the moment, to the promises they’d made and reforged only a matter of hours ago. Even if they could soon be separated forever, now was what counted. Power that was found to be lacking when alone would be unstoppable when used in tandem; if they could fight and think and breathe as one, then the servant of twin swords and the lord of modern magecraft would find the path to victory. What laid past that was not of any consequence until the potential future became the certain present.

“…yes.” Diarmuid answered at last, resolve finding its way back into his voice as he laid a hand over Waver’s—over his right and the three Command Seals branded there. A smile Waver knew too well began to find its way to his face; warm as sunrise and as dangerous as a blade which caught the morning light. “Forgive my faltering; how terribly embarrassing, faced with your own courageous heart. I swore to be at your side through any peril, and welcome you at mine…until whatever end.”

There was the knight he believed in—calm and prepared to fight back even in the face of certain destruction. If there was doubt in his heart, let him doubt; Waver would be sure to burn that much brighter from now on to show him the path forward.

…They were terribly close now, he realized suddenly in the short pause that followed Diarmuid’s assertion. Thinking little more of the action than a matter of course, Waver shifted slightly to lean even closer—barely a breath away and yet halting, asking permission without a word. Muted green locked with honey gold, communicating in complete silence without even concrete thought—Waver couldn’t be the first to act in this regard, had not been earlier that day and would not be now. If anyone deserved to be given the initiative in this, it was Diarmuid ua Duibhne who had rarely had a true choice in the matter-

-and that choice was made in the touch of gentle arms around Waver’s back and a kiss pressed to his lips, careful as if afraid to cross a line. And then far less careful at the encouragement of the mage’s immediate answer: leaning into the touch like it was all he’d ever known.

<I love you.> was the insistent thought Waver had so desperately feared giving a voice to. <Trust in me as I trust you, and I’ll support you to the end.>

The space between them was a matter of centimeters as Diarmuid pulled back with a breathless laugh, near inaudible were they not so close.

“Finally—I meet you as who you’ve become, with that foolish mask of yours at last discarded, only to see myself falter in turn.” he remarked in a gentle voice meant for no one but the pair of them. A smaller kiss punctuated the observation, no more than a feather light touch that made the fire in Waver’s heart burn with a warmth much softer than determination. “But to hear you at last speak of your resolve…what else can I ever do but match it? How could I ever do anything but love he who would put the stars to shame?” Diarmuid leaned his forehead against Waver’s briefly before he stepped away to put space between them, handing the mage his nearby cane with a smile that had begun to turn into a confident smirk. The too-familiar look of facing oncoming danger, and the will to run directly into it that made Waver himself feel fearless just to witness. “Now, my lord, shall we go to meet our allies before we all set ourselves to work?”

“Wait-” Waver’s hand wrapped around the cold metal handle of his cane, and for just a second he carefully sought the right words from the single dark corner of his mind still left concealed from all except himself. The single thread guiding him to a miracle had to exist, somewhere…he just had to find it. Diarmuid tilted his head slightly as Waver hesitated, those gentle eyes colored by a faint confusion. “I can’t say it right now, but-” the mage ventured cautiously, “I want to ask you something. Before this all ends, if things can align just right, then I’ll have a question that I need you to answer.”

The unspoken and obvious question was clear on Diarmuid’s face—why not ask me now—but that wasn’t possible yet. It would be a risk neither of them could afford, to be set aside until the danger was either at its least or at its greatest—there was nothing in between.

“-Trust that I can’t ask it right now. And I’ll trust that if I’m able to put forth that question, you’ll answer honestly. That you’ll tell me the answer you want to give, rather than what you think would benefit me.”

Letting out a small sigh, Diarmuid shook his head and took Waver’s hand to lightly pull him along down the hallway.

“And whatever happened to the present moment and taking matters a step at a time?” he asked, words light with find annoyance. “We may face whatever weighs on your mind when the appropriate time should arrive, Master. Until then, follow your own advice; focus on the task at hand that we might find such a chance.”

…Well, he certainly had a point. Waver had to believe the question that lingered in his mind and the answer he might hear weren’t out of reach yet. Nearly impossible, but not fully lost—a single tiny glint of hope on the other side of the storm. But to find it, they had to traverse the storm itself first. Side by side, support of Master and Servant given in equal measure. If there was any way to grasp a miracle…then trusting in the other’s strength was the best chance either had.

---

Irisviel von Einzbern was, in a single word, exhausted. Physically, emotionally, magically, she was tired after one of the more harrowing days she had seen in all her short years. When Berserker had happily tossed her the keys to the Mercedes claiming he’d retrieved the car from where Waver had left it, she simply stared and accepted that.

“…You don’t have the Riding skill.” Ilyasviel had observed, to which her Servant only smiled cheerfully.

When a girl introduced as Rin Tohsaka showed up with a too-familiar blond Servant at her heels, that too was accepted with a twist of painful familiarity in her chest. Gilgamesh-…Caster had glanced over her in that coldly scrutinizing way she remembered too well, and yet she could not be sure if there was recognition in those crimson eyes or if it was merely a strange sort of curiosity. Whichever it was, the answer was irrelevant—the Archer she knew was dead and gone, no different than Waver’s own agonizing over his Lancer.

…Little wonder he was so twisted in knots about the matter, if this lack of familiarity was the result.

But all of that, Irisviel acknowledged, may as well have been happening now for how strange the entire situation had been from day one, and four of them piled into a silver car bearing one or two scuffs that had not been there before.

“Berserker says he’ll go on ahead with Caster.” declared Ilyasviel from the backseat, and Irisviel heard a singsong note in her daughter’s voice as she added, “Hope your Servant can keep up~”

“Your Berserker,” huffed the Tohsaka heir, her aura of superiority very like the brief memories Irisviel had of Tokiomi, “if that’s what he even is, should be more worried about keeping up with Caster. I would have expected a much stronger Servant from the Einzbern scion, especially if you chose to opt for the sheer power of-”

“My Berserker’s the strongest there is.” Ilya cut in, asserting that sharply. “It’s not our fault if he doesn’t need to show off like yours does.”

“Why, you-”

“Girls.” interrupted Irisviel, turning the key in the ignition just a bit harder than necessarily. “We’re working together for now, so stop arguing.” Beside her, Maiya put on her seatbelt a little too quickly and sat rigidly as though bracing for impact.

“Of course, mother.” was Ilya’s concession, followed by a hmph of acknowledgment from Tohsaka. That would have to be good enough, for now. They just had to get to the civic center, sneak in, destroy the keystone and weaken the leyline, and get back. Simple, easy, straightforward--as long as they got in and out quickly, things would be fine.

“…You should probably hold on.” Unheard by anyone but Rin, Ilya added that in an undertone as her mother’s hand took the gearshift in a tense white-knuckled grip.

“Hold on to whaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

Tires shrieked against the ground kicking up a cloud of dirt and stone, the engine roared like an awakening dragon, and a streak of silver tore off through the forest with a scream of horrified alarm from one teenager and peal of sardonic laughter from the other.

Notes:

originally the last bit was gonna be the start of the next chapter, but honestly we needed a little levity and for things to actually get to properly moving again, lmao.

Chapter 31: Anger's Remorse

Summary:

driven by passion
raging like a storm
with thunder and lightning
and this hubris, i was born

Though the lights of Fuyuki City glowed bright in the late night’s darkness, the silent civic center cast long shadows over the dark alleys. Both the late hour and frigid air ensured few if any would be out on the streets of even the busier Shinto district—and that was exactly what Maiya Hisau had hoped for. Stealth was difficult in a group as large as this; more so when most of them were civilians and two were Servants. She kept to the shadows as the group crept around to the rear of the building; Irisviel behind her, Ilyasviel and Berserker with her, and Rin Tohsaka with her Caster bringing up the rear. Absolute caution verging on paranoia was how she had been taught. How she had been honed and sharpened like any good weapon, content in service to he who held the whetstone.

‘I want there to be another way, that who Kiritsugu loved above all else could be protected.’

Her hand tightened on the pistol held ready at her side, steps quick as she listened carefully to count the footsteps of those who followed after her. One, two, three, four, five, all still together with none missing—whether picked off by an enemy or having fallen behind.

‘The only people who brought him happiness…’

She didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore, and perhaps that particular compass needle had been left spinning for a very long time. Since the night she’d dug through smoldering rubble and burned corpses, throat raw from screaming his name, praying to a god she didn’t believe in that he might still be alive-

‘…I would not want to see them sacrificed.’

Was it right for a weapon to ‘want’ anything? Even if it were something desired for another’s benefit, was it permissible for het to hold that desire? Even now, after a full decade of living on the run and in hiding with Irisviel and Ilyasviel, the core of her being as ‘something called Maiya Hisau’ had been forged by Kiritsugu Emiya. If what she ‘wanted’ ran contrary to what Kiritsugu had fought and died for—what he still fought for—was it right for her to still desire it?

Would they see him tonight, a family reunited as adversaries once more? And if they did, would she have the strength to pull the trigger on the man who had taught her to hold a gun? If that conflict came to pass, what side would instinct have her take when conscious thought would be too slow to react?

“Maiya?” whispered Irisviel, “It doesn’t usually take you this long to pick a lock, what’s wrong?”

Brought out of her thoughts, Maiya fond her automatic motions had brought the group to a steel door in the back of the civic center; a maintenance entryway, easy to breach with a little work and yet she’d been staring at the lock with tools in hand for the past several seconds.

“Ah-…nothing, I will have this open in just-”

“Hmph.” Striding past the group crouched in the shadows, the golden king stood tall and managed to be alarmingly conspicuous even in street clothes as he stepped forward.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” hissed Rin in the loudest whisper a human could likely manage. “Get back here, Caster-!”

“Mind your tongue, vassal.” As the young girl’s anger was dismissed with a casual wave, Maiya was lightly pushed aside by the king with all the air of one brushing dust off of their shirt. “I believe I have entertained this paltry excuse for an attack more than long enough.”

…Oh, no. Maiya knew that look in his eyes; she remembered well that it only preceded something incredibly stupid.

“Caster-!” interjected Rin in another futile attempt as her Servant raised a hand.

“Your Majesty, wait-” fumbled Irisviel as the darkened alley lit up in a ripple of shining gold, Maiya quickly pushing the other woman behind her and bracing for the inevitable.

“Ahaha, Master, please step behind me.” was Berserker’s amused warning as a silver blade emerged from the air. With no further warning and ignoring all reprimands it shot forward, crashing into the door in a cacophonous shriek of rending metal and crumbling stone. At her back Irisviel coughed against the cloud of dust raised by the sudden destruction, Ilyasviel peeking over Berserker’s shoulder at the massive hole where once was a locked door, and Rin stormed past the group to immediately accost the Servant who met her with no more than slight bemusement.

…Honestly, she was speaking so fast and at such a pitch that Maiya couldn’t quite piece together more than the gist of ‘what is wrong with you’, but that didn’t matter.

“Enough,” she snapped, checking her pistol was loaded before swiftly stepping through the newly made entryway with Irisviel close on her heels. “All of you, mobilize, now.” Stealth was no longer a factor, and that started a timer in Maiya’s head down to the millisecond; they did not have the luxury of a slow approach. Too many footfalls echoed a cacophony down the narrow stone and metal steps, two flights below ground level until another door opened to the blinding white lights of an underground parking garage. It had been ther collective hope that the building would be deserted so late at night, and Maiya idly noted the small number of cars lined up here and there was not the most heartening sight. But if they moved fast, they could slip back out undetected and no one that might have been left in the floors above would be any the wiser.

“You said it would be as close to ground as possible.” she said to Rin, grip white-knuckled on the cold metal of her pistol. “Do you see the keystone anywhere?”

With an infuriating lack of urgency, Caster’s Master tossed wavy hair over her shoulder with a small hmph and stepped forward to cast aqua eyes around the flourescent-lit stone. At her heels, the golden king folded his arms and arched an eyebrow almost as if he were a teacher evaluating his student’s results.

“Over here.” Making long and purposeful strides, the young heir moved straight past the rest of the group to kneel at an unremarkable point on the ground, fingertips brushing the concrete with a look of concentration.

“Is this whole thing really going to work?” From where she stood, arm linked with Berserker’s, Ilyasviel spoke up in a blessedly quieter tone; stealth was a pipe dream now, but they didn’t need to keep calling attention to themselves. “Should it really be that easy to stop the Greater Grail?”

Truthfully, Maiya wondered as much herself. She had less aptitude for magecraft than even Waver, and in her case magical abilties were never necessary. Not when one could kill their targets with five seconds and a hairpin, at least.

“The way all of you were going about it, of course it wouldn’t be that easy.” huffed Tohsaka with a frown. “I spent hours adjusting the leyline that graceless mercenary broke into, it’s not as simple as just-…” She trailed off with a noise of irritation, eyes focused on the spot where her hand met the ground as a faint glow began to emanate at her touch.

“…The owners of this land are obligated to maintain it.” she continued. “I can’t stop the Holy Grail War like I might be able to stop a smaller ritual held without my authorization. But I can slow it down by controlling and throttling the leylines—it’s no different than turning down a valve to control the flow of water. Breaking the keystones outright is more like bending the pipe out of shape; it’s damage I’ll have to fix later, but we don’t have a lot of choices right now.”

“Better damaged land than no land at all.” Irisviel muttered half under her breath. “Will it take l-”

Maiya felt what happened next before she saw it. Not in a physical or even a magical way, but to the sharpened senses and finely honed instincts of a living and breathing weapon the something changed as instantly as flipping a switch. Tension fell with the speed and power of a several-ton iron weight, and just as cold besides. In the same moment did both Servants react; Berserker’s pistol in his hand before he had moved, Caster’s street clothes becoming the regalia of a king with a burst of glittering light.

All of them felt it, but only the Servants were fast enough to react to the presence that had perhaps been there since before their arrival. A crimson shadow darted forward in a burst of fire from the submachine gun in his hand-

…and each and every bullet was met with the strike of massive swords burying themselves into the ground as though they were shields. Cacophonous metal on metal filled the air with noise as Maiya shielded Irisviel from metal shrapnel and shatter glass of lights broken overhead in a hail of bullets; amidst it all the King of Heroes stood firm with arms folded and eyes focused upon the intruder in a damaged chestplate and ragged scarlet raiment.

“Ki-” She heard Irisviel breathe less than an inch away, unable to bring herself to finish the thought; but it was clearer than crystal now, wasn’t it? The hood had fallen away to a shock of white hair, but those dark eyes and harsh features would never be mistaken as belonging to any other.

“Caster-?!” As her very human reaction time caught up, Rin’s head jerked up to look at the Servant standing between her and death itself.

“I gave no permission for your task to be left unfinished, vassal.” he scoffed without the barest glance back to his Master. In that, at least, Maiya was relieved; they came here to accomplish something, and Rin was going to be allowed to finish by the look of things. Which left several variables rushing through her mind in the half-second as Archer—as Kiritsugu faced off with the man who had once been his own Servant, raising his gun again-

“Go,” she hissed to Irisviel, pushing the woman back behind her and towards the door. Eyes fixed on the gunslinging Archer before them, hands tight around the cold metal weapon primed to fire. “Outside the way we came, I will cover your retreat. Ilyasviel, go wi-”

“Go, Berserker!” was the shrill cry that interrupted Maiya’s orders, and with a cry of objection and surprise both from Irisviel did the sailor lunge forward with a wild look in yellow eyes and a manic grin beginning to spread across his face. The sudden assault was chaotic and unpredictable; the kind of thing she knew might almost catch Kiritsugu off guard. A cutlass glanced off the assault knife raised to defend against it, blades clashing and shots exchanged that missed by less than centimeters to strike the stone walls and burst the lights of the ceiling. Glass rained upon them, Berserker moved with a speed and mania previously unseen, and Maiya saw Kiritsugu’s dark eyes narrow as his mouth pressed into a scowl.

‘Is there any chance of reasoning with him,’ a foolish outsider mage had started to ask, and it had been so patently absurd an idea that her stare alone had silenced him. Kiritsugu Emiya only knew the one singular path from beginning to outcome, the straight and unbroken line flown by carrion crows. If someone was in the way, kill them. Kill as many as you had to, so long as the scales remained weighted in favor of the number saved.

A weight formed in the pit of Maiya’s stomach as she understood that she did not have the strength for that anymore. And it turned to solid ice as she realized she didn’t understand; she didn’t comprehend what end Kiritsugu sought here. Killing the Masters would only hasten the Grail manifesting. Killing Irisviel served no purpose as far as Maiya knew; harming the vessel of the Lesser Grail might affect the Greater, but to what extent and to what end-?

She had always understood Kiritsugu’s thoughts and movements as though they were her own; ‘Maiya Hisau’ served and functioned as an extension of his right hand, or had done so once. Now?

Her hand closed around a grenade at her belt.

It didn’t matter. If Kiritsugu’s path took him through Irisviel and Ilyasviel, then that path was wrong. Even if it was the only path he saw, she would still say it was wrong. That was the belief held as Maiya the human, not Maiya the weapon. Even if halting that path meant the destruction of the world…there was a chance it would not. And that chance was, to her, worth gambling on.

“Berserker-!” she called out in warning as the pin was pulled and grenade thrown towards Kiritsugu. The Servant leapt back to stand guardian in front of Ilyasviel as the projectile sailed past him; the cavalier King of Heroes lazily held out a hand into which a massive shield dropped carelessly from his treasury to conceal himself and his Master both.

For a fraction of a second, she met Kiritsugu’s eyes.

Was it betrayal in that steel gaze, or the deeply buried sadness she had come to understand so long ago?

…She found she could no longer read that stare, and the very next instant the world exploded in bursting concrete, shattering glass, and deafening noise. Dust filled the air, and with sharp gestures Maiya wordlessly reissued her instructions; retreat to the stairs, get outside. Caster was a better match here than the weak Berserker; the latter had held Kiritsugu’s attention for a moment, but a wild assault would not be sustainable against a preacticed killer. If they could escape with Tohsaka and Caster covering the retreat, then-

In the shadows now cast by broken lights and cloud of dust, an emotionless voice spoke over the lingering ring of the grenade:

“ Time Alter: (Gather Ye Rose) Chronos Rose(buds While Ye May) .”

Maiya did not react, because there was no possible way any mortal could react to something that transpired in the space between heartbeats. Caster’s chest exploded in splattering blood from a burst of gunfire the same instant those words had been spoken; impossibly fast for mortals, just barely visible to a Servant. The king’s crimson eyes wide with agony, fury, and shock all at once, the half-lowered shield fell against the ground with a ring like a funeral bell. In the same millisecond a shadow appeared beside the rest of them, and as Maiya began to percieve that motion had occurred instantaneously she saw the Calico raised, saw it aim for the four of them, felt the frozen tension in the air as Rin took a breath to scream alarm at her wounded Servant, heard the trigger click into place and fire another burst, saw light and fire, and-

-and then there was the darkness of oblivion.

But it was not the oblivion of death. She could still hear Rin shouting for Caster, could discern a flicker of the cracking and bursting flourescents overhead as Kiritsugu was forced backwards in the face of something. As her mind caught up, Maiya saw the shadow cast by the remaining lights—Ilyasviel’s shadow—had spread along the ground and flared up as blackened flames, incinerating the incoming projectiles.

“…Did you really think I would assume this form and leave my Master without protection?” Berserker hummed cheerfully, his eyes blighted a demonic yellow even as he smiled like an old friend. The fire that burned around the furiously focused Ilyasviel was tangible force even to someone with as little sense for magic as Maiya; it was an almost living force of rage and grudges, spreading out along the floor to force Kiritsugu back further—away from the four of them, away from the bleeding and incensed Caster and his furious Master. The Calico was thrown aside, and in Kiritsugu’s hand was raised a single-shot pistol Maiya knew would spell death for any mage; even Ilyasviel, in this state.

“Gilgamesh, get us out of here!” cried out Irisviel as she gripped Maiya’s arm; helpless to stop her husband or Maiya from fighting, unable to stop her daughter, calling to the only thread of a past long since turned to ash.

“Mongrel,” he coughed with a bloody scowl, “just how do you expect me to-?!”

It was Rin Tohsaka who spoke then with the answer to that question, her hand lighting up in brilliant crimson as Kiritsugu’s hand tightened on the pistol and Ilyasviel met his eyes as if daring him to shoot.

“By my Command Seal, Caster, grant us a means of escape!”

“You wretched little-”

Whatever Gilgamesh was about to call his Master was lost in the violent shaking of the earth beneath them, his shot ringing out and sent wild as he lost sight and footing in the blinding golden light and tremors of a massive power called forth without warning; the building’s very foundations shook as they cracked beneath the sudden pressure. Whatever was about to happen, Maiya realized far too late that it was going to take the entire civic center with it-

Brilliant light streaked from the ground straight into the sky high above with the speed and force of a rocket, wings of gold taking to the air leaving a deafening destruction in its wake. Air whipped past them at unthinkable speeds, the light blinding and the motion disorienting; Irisviel’s grip was still tight on her arm, Ilyasviel beside them with that burning flame reduced to simmering embers in the rush of wind. The golden Vimana took to the skies once more, the King of Heroes grimacing as he slouched in the gilded throne meant for its pilot. Fuyuki shrank rapidly beneath them, the former civic center visible as a cloud of debris rising into the sky as if it were a pillar of smoke from the crater where it had once stood.

“What just h-”

“Not now!” Rin interrupted Maiya’s question with a flash of gemstones between her fingers, throwing them one after the other in streaks of brilliant light. Each collided in midair with a burst of gunfire, intercepting the bullets with brilliant explosions of prismatic light and magical energy.

“Rid my property of that rat’s presence immediately, vassal.” snarled Gilgamesh through grinding teeth; just maintaining the Vimana must have been taxing with that injury, so there would be no counting on him for any further backup than trying to shake him off of the ship. Maiya reached to her belt for a second grenade as Rin answered with a volley of Gandr shot from her fingertip, but then a calm hand tapped her arm.

“It’s okay, Maiya.” said Ilyasviel, wind whipping her silver hair around. “Mother, you two look after each other and let us do this. Neither of you have to.”

“Ilya…?” squeaked out Irisviel, looking in alarm from her daughter to the Servant beside her.

“It’s okay,” she repeated with a resolute nod. “My Berserker…is really strong.” With that the young woman turned, and in the wind and chaos faced the mercenary beginning to overpower the mage’s projectiles.

“By my Command Seal.” spoke Ilyasviel von Einzbern, throwing her hand out as Berserker smiled in that cold, empty fashion, “I order you…reclaim what was borrowed.”

Her hand glowed bright crimson as one seal burned itself off—and took with it the lingering blackened embers around her arms and shoulders. Ilyasviel’s shadow changed almost imperceptibly, some weight that had gone unnoticed allt his time vanishing from it to instead entwine with the shadow beneath Berserker’s own feet. Those same black flames crawled up his body, fingers flexing as if inviting the flickering grudges to dance.

“My lady?” It was not a questioning tone with which Berserker bowed to his Master—he sought permission, and they could all hear it. There was no time to question or wonder; a few seconds more and Rin would be at the mercy of the Contender. So it was a short confirmation that Ilyasviel ordered, scarlet eyes drifting to the man moving far too fast for an ordinary human to keep up:

“…Protect what I love.”

Berserker barked out a sharp laugh and straightened up, turning away from Ilyasviel and towards the fight at hand. Spreading his arms wide, he spoke in a way that made Maiya’s skin crawl; with a very human excitement that felt so fundamentally wrong next to the flames of malice.

“Farewell to kindness, humanity and gratitude! I have been Heaven's substitute to recompense the good.”

Black flames rose high even against the tearing winds as Berserker spoke his invocation, embers fanning out into the magnificently ornate clothes of a nobleman—black and violet embroidered in immaculate gold, a cape trailing from his shoulders.

“Now…the god of vengeance yields to me his power to punish the wicked!”

Suntanned skin turned a pallid gray as though sunlight itself had become unknown to him, windblown dark hair turning stark white and waist-length in an instant, tied with an elegant black ribbon.

It was never that Berserker was weak at all, Maiya realized—because this power was overflowing with magical pressure, hatred and grudges coalescing into those flames which wrapped around the nobleman Servant’s arms to form tremendous bestial claws. The name of his Noble Phantasm was growled in a voice like that of a feral beast, though the wide and monstrous grin on Berserker’s face shone through in the joy of what only he knew was to come.

“ Monte Cristo (King of) Mythologie.(the Cavern) ”

Notes:

honestly not too thrilled with how about a third of this turned out but i've been fighting with it for weeks so it is what it is

i'm gonna level with you guys i don't know WHAT the room kirei and kiritsugu fought in at the end of zero was (apart from being, you know, the batcave) so just humor me on this one

status screen update

Chapter 32: Hold Back The Night

Summary:

but i know a hero will come
(and all of your heroes are gone)
someone's got to
(no one left to)
bring back the light

Chains ground their links together with the scrape and clank of immensely heavy iron, black metal dragging against the dirt of the forest floor. Waver’s eyes followed the trails of cold steel to their ends: massive shackles around three of four thick canine legs covered in coarse black fur. A glimpse of white fangs and low growl flashed and rumbled like distant lightning and thunder; as the unfeeling red eyes of a predator focused on Waver and froze him to the spot, Saber inched closer to his side in tense anticipation of a fight—

“You guys wanna calm down, or are we just gonna do whatever this is all night?”

“Calm d—calm down?!” Waver heard his voice leap up a full octave as he whirled to face an indifferent Kairi in shock and disbelief. “No goddamn wonder you’ve been laying low, anyone with half a brain would know who your Rider is on sight—the fuck’s he even ride, Shishigou?!”

“You done?” Kairi asked in bemusement, raising an eyebrow. He was decidedly not done by any stretch of the imagination, but as Waver took a breath to unleash a second tirade he heard Diarmuid’s cautious words beside him.

“I’m impressed. You must be of considerable skill indeed to summon and command a divine spirit.”

“Considerable skill and considerably an idiot.”

“Lighten up, Second. Are we going to the church or what?”

The sound of the car’s engine had begun to fade into the distance as the final Servant emerged from spirit form moments ago, the whole plan briefly forgotten in favor of complete shock at the sight of the monstrous wolf before them. Waver was sure, there could be no mistake. An enormous wolf—although ‘the size of a horse’ was smaller than he would expect—bearing three chains and the immense pressure of magical energy in the air around him? It could be no other but the prophesied godslayer wolf bound in chains until the twilight of the gods—Vánagandr, Hróðvitnir, or in other words:

“Fenrir’s not going to bite your hand off, just get on.”

Waver sincerely hoped the blank stare he fixed Kairi with communicated clearly how much he was absolutely not getting anywhere near the still-growling Rider, and the mild annoyance he was met with in return confirmed the wordless message was loud and clear.

“That’s quite enough, we haven’t the time to spare.” Diarmuid’s arm slipped around Waver’s waist and picked him up as though he weighed less than nothing, his light admonishment thankfully covering the small undignified noise his Master made in surprise. “Lead the way, and conceal Rider once we draw nearer to the church. I shall return to spirit form as well, and we can proceed from there. Is that not the correct course of action?”

“R-right.” Waver confirmed, settling an arm around Diarmuid’s shoulders to steady himself and determinedly ignoring the flustered burn of his face turning red. Maybe the evening was dark enough it wouldn’t go noticed—then again, the way Kairi raised an eyebrow before shrugging said otherwise.

“Infiltration and subterfuge, yeah. I got a pretty good look at the place; safe money’s on sneaking around the back. If the Tohsaka kid’s right and if I know how to read a map, the leyline’s running right under the church.” In one quick motion he jumped up on Rider’s back like he was no more dangerous than a particularly large horse, gesturing to the forest beyond the castle. “We go through the cemetery, there’s probably a route straight to the cellar. That’s about as close to the ground as you can get, and if it isn’t there…well, we’ll probably have to figure something else out.”

An accurate summation of their current strategy, though one that seemed to ignore the likelihood of several other complications. They had no way of knowing for sure whether the Holy Church itself would be likely to catch them, or what the war’s designated overseer might deem proper punishment for flagrant disregard of the rules.

Not that rules ever really stopped Waver before, and sailing through the cold air high above Fuyuki, the rules of the war were the furthest thing possible from his mind. His thoughts lingered on Irisviel and the others, hoping the combined power of two Servants, three powerful mages, and Maiya’s arsenal would be enough for whatever they might come across. If it wasn’t…if they ran into Kiritsugu, or Sola-ui, or whatever else might have gone overlooked, then-

<Master.> Diarmuid’s voice resonated in his head crystal clear over the deafening sounds of the wind whipping past and the city far below. The steadying arm around his waist tightened in a gesture of added security, the knight’s eyes meeting Waver’s own in a brief instant. <I can feel your mind racing. You need not worry so much for the others; they are more capable than you know. Focus yourself upon the task at hand, and trust they shall accomplish the same.>

…Right. Waver couldn’t possibly control every single piece on the board; he had to acknowledge that was beyond him, no matter how terrifying a thought it was. Each of them was vastly more powerful than he was, especially Tohsaka—and with Gilgamesh on their side, no less. Whatever danger they came across…no matter how much it left a cold block of ice forming in Waver’s chest to consider, he had to trust that they would be safe. If his mind was elsewhere, then he’d be the one to fail—and they couldn’t afford failure anymore. Slowly, Waver took a breath and closed his eyes; over the howl of the cold winter wind and the dull roar of Fuyuki beneath them he could hear the clack and clatter of claws and chains as Rider leapt from one impossibly high rooftop to the next beside them. Even at inhuman speed hundreds of feet above the city, a trace of cigarette smoke and gunpowder still managed to find him with its strangely comforting familiarity. All but flying over a river bearing the healed scars of destruction ten years past, the presence of his knight’s steadying and secure arm around his waist-

As long as Diarmuid’s with me, he thought to himself, holding those words like a sacred talisman, then nothing can stop us.

-He wasn’t alone in this. None of them were.

<They’ll be alright. Let’s finish this quickly.> Waver answered at last, opening sharpened eyes to the starlit night.

---

If Waver had thought the air in the chapel was stifling, then the atmosphere now was utterly suffocating. He couldn’t pin down the exact reasoning past a deep and lingering dread, but something about the magical energy charging the air felt unbelievably heavy…worse, it struck him as familiar in a way that only worsened that sudden trepidation.

Quietly closing the door behind them and slipping a lockpick back into his pocket, Kairi frowned and spoke in a growled undertone that fell so flat as to fail to echo off the stone walls of the dimly lit corridor.

“Whole place smells like death.” It didn’t smell like much of anything to Waver except cement and stagnation, but that was the whole reason he had known he would need a necromancer’s expertise in the first place.

“Well,” he started, not liking how little confidence found its way into his voice, “there’s probably a mausoleum under here, right?”

“…Not that kind, Second.” He was on edge, and Waver recognized immediately that meant something was wrong. Kairi Shishigou was not the cold and calculated sort that Maiya was; there was ever a measure of something cavalier to him even when he was staring down a target from behind the barrel of a gun. “A regular mausoleum smells like earth and dust; not much else left in most cases. Most people given proper burials don’t come up with a reason to stick around as lingering spirits.”

“You’re saying…” Waver thought for a moment that he should have kept his mouth shut for how much more uneasy he was sounding, barely a step behind Kairi as they proceeded down the hall. “-this magical energy is…?”

“Curses, grudges, resentment…the air’s thick with recent death. Feels as fucked up as that barren park the Tohsaka kid got all up in arms over, but a thousand times heavier. Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, though.”

<He’s right,> spoke Diarmuid’s voice in Waver’s head. <It’s practically tangible; this place is drenched in mortality and suffering.>

<It doesn’t make sense, though. ‘Recent’ death? Why…why does->

‘Why does this feel so familiar’, he couldn’t quite bring himself to even think. Something, everything was screaming at him to grab Kairi’s arm and pull them both back down the corridor, to turn away and leave this whole church far behind. But that was illogical, Waver insisted to himself. They had to accomplish what they came here to do; Irisviel wouldn’t back down, so neither could he.

The narrow corridor opened to a wider hall, arched ceiling hewn of foundational stone and lit only by the occasional candle against the walls, over simple rectangular shadows in the sparse light; stone sarcophagi, as silent as their occupants no doubt would be. A mausoleum, as Waver had expected—and yet that tension he felt from Kairi beside him and Diarmuid invisible at his back were impossible to brush aside.

“…I can’t sense anything over this atmospherical energy, Shishigou.” Waver ventured cautiously, taking a few slow steps along the seemingly endless hall of coffins. Down here it was impossible to judge where the leyline could be even knowing the location on a map, ‘under the church’ was their only guideline now, and searching with the senses of a mage would have to suffice. “Help me track down the keystone and we can get out of here.”

<You too, Diarmuid.> he added, glancing to the empty space where he knew his Servant would surely be. <You’ll probably have a better sense for it than either of us.>

“Yeah.” Kairi acknowledged, following with a hand hovering just over the sawed-off shotgun at his belt. “…Fuck. I knew something felt off when I came to report to the Church. Figured it was just some weird Eighth Sacrament shit—that Kotomine guy had ‘Executor’ written all over him.”

One unremarkable comment out of his old friend’s mouth had Waver trip over his own feet and quickly grab the side of a crumbling sarcophagus to steady himself. He’d heard that wrong. Surely, surely he’d heard that wrong. There was some mistake, a miscommunication, some kind of misunderstanding-

‘You still need to be cautious’, came Irisviel’s voice in a memory that felt like it had been years ago. ‘I still don't fully understand why Kiritsugu was so afraid of him, but...’

He had promised her he would stay alert. Brushed off the concern with doubt that the priest could have even survived the horrible conflagration of the Fourth War’s ending.

“Did…you just say…” he began as breathlessly as if he had just been punched in the stomach, his right hand’s grip on the cold and dust-coated stone white-knuckled and trembling. Looking over his shoulder in the darkness, Waver could just barely make out Kairi’s alarm and confusion.

“Second, what the hell’s wrong?”

<We have to leave. Now.>

“No.” Waver answered Diarmuid out loud instead of answering Kairi, unable to keep a panicked mind in order enough to think. “We have to deal with this first. We won’t have a second chance.”

It was only when he saw Diarmuid suddenly manifest with a coldly furious stare and Kairi’s expression of revulsion and horror—didn’t think anything could shake you, Shishigou, what—

Only then did he feel cold and rigid fingers begin to curl around his right wrist, a skeletal arm draped in flesh burned beyond recognition struggling with all its might, mustering the strength to reach out to the warm and living human who had unwittingly disturbed it.

Something instantly came back to him with the force of a thousand tons of pressure and the sensation of his heart stopping in his chest; the smell of blood and river water, of rotting fish and discarded corpses in flayed and amputated pieces-

No. No. Nonononononoitcantbeitcantbepleasedonttellme-

This was not the waterway atelier of a deranged Caster. This was much, much worse, and the realization rapidly coming to light was sending Waver into a horrified tailspin that kept him frozen in absolute all-encompassing helplessness and terror.

‘Feels as fucked up as that barren park the Tohsaka kid got all up in arms over-’

Kairi had been more right a moment ago than he could possibly have known. The burned flesh on the corpse (corpse???) that now made the weakest attempt to grasp at the nearest source of vitality spoke volumes, practically sang a requiem of the smell of burning flesh and acrid smoke that had choked the skies of Fuyuki ten years ago. Recent death? No—ongoing, kept at the precipice of life and death to curse and resent in voiceless agonized screaming.

Why? Why? Why?

The same question the malformed figure in the coffin—indeed, in all the coffins surely asked now consumed Waver in desperation, mind scrambling and clawing and struggling to latch on to something. Anything. Any reason this could ever be happening; no matter how inhuman and unforgivable, there had to be some reason-

‘But-’ The memory of a man who died unmourned, a distant echo whose name and face Waver couldn’t remember in the haze of sheer terror and disgust, ‘the rituals always work best when the raw materials are as fresh as possible.’

“Master-!” After an instant that lasted several thousand years, a hand sharply grabbed Waver’s collar and pulled him back, out of the feeble grip of something that was once a human. An arm was tight around his shoulders, and he was aware of the shine of crimson steel in the thin firelight.

“It can’t….they can’t be-” he breathed in panicked horror, gasping for air and struggling to resist the urge to tear his right arm off where he could still feel phantom fingers trying to take hold of it. “Destroy it.” he heard himself saying in desperate panic. “All of it. One of you, destroy it all. Please. Saber, Kairi, please, we have to leave this place a fucking crater.”

“Yeah.” Waver heard the sound of a shotgun cocking, desperately trying to force himself back to the present moment. Away from how his vision twisted with fire and blood and the awareness that this suffocating pressure was the agony of god only knew how many people- “I’ll call Rider an…”

The necromancer trailed off, and at the same time Waver pulled himself back into the present moment enough to realize why; the sound of footsteps a little further down the hall, approaching from a darkened staircase beyond the shadow of an archway set into the wall. Not a steady sound, but irregular—two sets, one further ahead than the other. An estimate that was confirmed as a towering man in the deep purple robe of an Executor stepped smoothly into the mausoleum while lighter steps still echoed further back.

“To what might I owe this pleasure?” asked a voice that rumbled like thunder and danced with something affable embroidering each syllable. “Forgive me, Master of Saber—I was not able to welcome you when last you were on these grounds.”

The faint candlelight glinted off the golden cross hanging at his chest, and cast heavy shadows on the friendly smile that could not touch empty and dark eyes. In the instant Waver heard that false affability fall flat in the heavy stagnation of unending death and suffering, everything came into focus so sharp it cut straight into his chest. He felt Saber’s arm in front of him as a steadfast guard, heard the near-inaudible click of a firearm’s safety switch at his back, and saw the face of the devil smiling in the midst of hell itself.

“Kirei Kotomine.” Anger blazed on a pyre built of fear, revulsion and horror turned to the same absolute simmering rage that had shattered Atrum Galliasta’s jaw. Saber was as still as a trap coiled to spring, Kairi settling his free hand on Waver’s back in silent warning unseen by their enemy. He would know when to move before Waver would; had the sharper instincts of the pair, surpassed only by Saber. Neither the knight nor the necromancer had any reason to associate the name with a threat, but the moment Waver spat that acknowledgement like poison both were on guard and prepared to strike.

All the while, those quieter footsteps drew closer down the dark steps.

“Oh?” The priest answered with a small tilt of his head, seeming for all the world like someone who had read about the concept of ‘friendly’ in a book and decided to give the affectation a try. “I was not aware I was of any interest to the Twelve Lords. Perhaps one in such high esteem in London can enlighten me to a quandary at hand—you see, as the mediator of the Fifth Holy Grail War, ensuring the ritual proceeds smoothly is of my highest priority.”

All three were locked in place as if spellbound; the moment Waver indicated anything, this basement wrought of death would explode in bloody combat, and yet none of them knew if that was the correct move. Something about the man before them radiated this should not exist, as though his whole existence were a missed step walking down a flight of stairs.

“So,” Kotomine continued, that low rolling thunder lanced with the curiosity of a cat following a mouse, “I am left to wonder how it is possible that I know of only one casualty after so many days? Mages are the cautious sort, are they not…?” He hummed as if thinking that over, and yet it was clear he knew the answer to what he asked. “Here before me I see two Masters in such close cooperation, flouting the rule of the Church’s neutrality, and I wonder…why is it I’ve heard so little of the rest?”

“Fuck your neutrality.” Waver snapped, seeing nothing but red as he focused entirely on Kotomine. let the others stay alert, he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was- “What is all of this? What the hell did you do?”

“You say that as though I am the one responsible for the state of this place. El-Melloi II, was it? This is…hm, perhaps we may consider it the results of careful salvage. Letting ten years of magical energy go to waste would have been careless of me.”

“You son of a-” Waver’s hand twitched, and that was enough for Kairi to snatch his wrist in an iron grip. Of the three, both mages knew—to fight an Executor was suicide. If Waver let his short fuse burn out now, he might even be dead before Saber had a chance to react.

“Careless how?” cut in the necromancer. “For a guy who loves the sound of his own voice, you don’t say a hell of a lot.”

The answer to that did not come from Kotomine. The sound of quiet footfalls ended with the tmp of boots against the stone floor as a young woman stepped into the candlelight, ash-pale skin seeming to almost glow in the darkness. Flaxen hair was tied up now, in an elegant bun fastened by a wide ribbon as black as the simple dress she wore.

And now, only now that he saw her veiled in darkness with that golden hair off her shoulders, did Waver understand why it was he had the nagging sense of familiarity about the woman who called herself Yvaine. He understood why she had focused on Diarmuid, that day when their paths had briefly crossed after Atrum’s death.

Stupid. It wasn’t only the air of this place that made the church stifling; it was a magical presence, muddled and mixed together with the mausoleum’s lingering grudges. The energy of something powerful that had lingered in and around this church on the hill for years.

…Ten years. Ten years since these living corpses had been brought here after suffering through the inferno that had razed homes to the ground and destroyed hundreds of lives. Ten years since a failed vessel and a failed Master had staggered away from hell and sworn never again.

“…Saber.”

“Maste-?”

“No.” He cut off Diarmuid sharply; the Servant had barely moved, Moralltach held at the ready and eyes focused on their opponent—opponents, now. “Not you.”

“I had begun to wonder, as mere idle thought to occupy my mind,” remarked ‘Yvaine’ idly as she came to stand in front of Kotomine, arms at her side and still as the marble her pale skin resembled, “if you could be that broken child from that night on the bridge. Amusing, that so insignificant a creature would pass my sight once more.”

“…Arthur Pendragon. Saber of the Fourth Holy Grail War. Can’t say I’m thrilled to be on the wrong side of two of the Round Table. One more and I’ll have to renounce my citizenship.”

<Can your Noble Phantasm blast a way out of this?> Despite the coldly cavalier tone in his voice, Waver was stalling; his words to Diarmuid alone were tense and abrupt.

<…No.> was the dreaded response. <It would only destroy this underground abomination, and us with it.>

“It is regrettable, to slay a child of Britain. But as long as there stand obstacles to the Holy Grail, my sword shall crush them without impunity.” As she spoke, a blade the color of the blackest night began to manifest in her hands, radiating power so overwhelming Waver felt lightheaded just to look upon it.

Was it worth it, to bury all of them here and now just to kill an enemy that could not be allowed to exist? Was that an acceptable price to pay to end a decade’s suffering for the countless living corpses around them?

Before he could open his mouth, the ground beneath and around them trembled with the force of an earthquake and the distant yet deafening sound of collapse and explosion from the city high above and far away—something shook gravel and dust loose from the foundation stone surrounding them, with Saber steadying herself on her sword and Kotomine beginning to reach into his coat in apprehension-

That pause was enough. But it wasn’t Waver who struck first.

“Leyding, Dromi, Gleipnir-”

The hand gripping his wrist suddenly released it as the stagnation was stirred by a chill wind—and at no more than the briefest glance Waver knew exactly what would happen in the next fraction of an instant.

<Get ready to run->

That was all he had time to think before the necromancer’s right hand lit the darkness in a flash of scarlet from his right hand.

That slight breeze burst into a frigid gale from behind them, casting a thin layer of ice and snow across the floor, arched ceiling, the countless stone coffins and corpses within—the clatter of metal falling to the ground and a growl that shook the stone foundations told Waver as much as the surprise of the blackened Servant and the annoyance worn by the priest did. The blizzard threatened to knock them all off their feet as the king raised her sword in defense of herself and her Master both-

“-shatter thy chains and chase the night on the Winds of(Vánagandr's) Niflheim(Howl)!”

A second tremor shook the earth, this one the deafening howl of a monstrous creature that swirled with the shriek of the wind that froze all it touched; the sheer force of divine strength caused the ceiling to begin to creak and give way beneath the stress, stone crumbling with all the resistance of sand as it met the chill of death itself wrought by the beast at the end of the world. In the blinding chaos, Waver felt Kairi sharply pull him by the arm, and in the next heartbeat with a tremendous crashing and rending of wood and stone did the stagnant death give way to the night air of Fuyuki once again whipping past them.

The jagged tower of ice and rubble that had once been a church retreated into the distance with both Masters astride a wolf leaping on the snowy wind—and far ahead on the other side of the city, a golden streak cut erratically across the skies.

“Caster-!” Waver uttered like a curse; he remembered the Vimana all too well, and this was no better a situation than the last time he had seen it. Whatever had forced Gilgamesh’s hand, (of all fucking people, he thought) the others might not be able to contend with it alone.

<Master,> Beside them with both swords now in hand, Diarmuid kept pace with Rider; not faster, but certainly far more agile. <they won’t make it that easy-!>

Audible even at the distance they had already put between them, a terrible crack resounded as the ice shattered with a burst of magical energy; black and terrible, propelling a woman in sable armor towards them with all the force of a jet engine. The blighted comet streaked straight towards the other Saber, blackened Excalibur smashing into Beagalltach and Moralltach’s defenses in a shower of sparks.

“Fuck do we do now, Second?!” snarled Kairi, one arm steadying the smaller mage on Rider’s back as the other raised the shotgun.

“Back across the city-” There was no other option. If Kotomine was about to follow his Servant (and god, Waver almost prayed he didn’t) they wouldn’t stand a chance on the defensive. Add to that if irisviel and the others were in danger…they all needed reinforcement, and four Servants together stood a better chance than two pairs. “-we have to reconnect with the others, I’ll figure the rest out as we go!”

<Keep up with Rider and try to hold out. If things get bad, then do whatever you have to.>

Twin blades repelled the darkened greatsword, only for all three to clash again in a contest of strength between two of the Servant class known to excel in the matter of raw power. But that alone wouldn’t be enough, and Waver knew it. He also knew with a cold and painful helplessness a fact which Kairi himself only heavily assumed:

If this came down to a contest of Noble Phantasms, there was no question things would not be in their favor.

Notes:

do you have ANY IDEA how furious at myself i would have been if FGO had released ordeal call 2 before i could finish and post the previous chapter? planned that shit for years and i would never have been able to prove anything. goddamn.

status screen updates: rider and saber

and with that we finally have a full roster +1

Chapter 33: Epiphany

Summary:

because the lives of the wicked should be made brief
for the rest of us death will be a relief

“Then let thine eyes be clouded with the fog of turmoil and chaos.”

Ilyasviel von Einzbern had never known why the dusty stone room already bore a circle engraved upon the floor. There was nothing remarkable about it, no tools or artifacts that would denote it as a mage’s workshop. It had seemed odd to her as an eight year old child uprooted from all she had known, and now as an eighteen year old girl bound and determined to do what she felt necessary...it felt like the hand of fate. Had her father stood here years before, under the faint glow of candlelight in iron sconces and speaking the incantation that would shape their family’s destiny before twisting it all beyond repair? Was this where his own contract had been formed

“Thou who art trapped in a cage of madness.”

No, she concluded. Even if this had been what so dismal and dark a room had been used for, Kiritsugu had not spoken these words tasting of electricity and blood. Ilyasviel would do what her father didn’t, because she was stronger. She was all the perfection of a crafted homunculus with all the power of a mortal mage; that was why she had to do something. No matter what her mother or Maiya or Waver said—she was strong. Stronger than all of them.

All she needed was someone just as powerful. Someone just as angry at the injustice of the cruel world that stole her loving father.

“And I the summoner who holds thy chains-!”

Someone who wanted that injustice answered with revenge just as badly as she did.

The flickering candles went out one and all in an instant; not from the swirling wind that rose from a shining magic circle, but the all-encompassing darkness that swallowed the room whole. Ilyasviel’s vision went black, and for a moment it felt as though reality itself had all been obliterated in an instant.

You...you called for me!

From everywhere and nowhere at once in the pitch darkness spoke a voice...no, not ‘spoke’, and hardly ‘voice’ at all. It was the pressure of deafening noise, a maelstrom of shapeless shadow in the roar of a relentless black ocean. In that noise was meaning, and in that did the malevolence surrounding her make itself understood.

The incarnation of vengeance!

Every nanosecond an eternity, overwhelming pain threatening to split her head from within and pressure crushing from without as that malicious intent blared in pure chaos heard only within Ilyasviel’s mind. Suffocating like the stone walls of a prison, deafening like the frigid pressure of the ocean--

I know...who you are…

You who trespasses upon the endless path to what lies beyond love and hate-

“Be quiet.”

Her mouth formed words without sound, and yet she knew there was understanding in just the same way. As she began to grasp for a shred of clarity in that endless swirling dark, Ilyasviel began to make out twin pinpricks of blood-red flame, both fixated on her like the monstrous eyes of a terrible dragon ready to snap a helpless princess in its jaws.

...Yes, this dragon would do nicely as her knight in tarnished armor. In the endless shadow, a third light shone; the fire of Command Seals blazing to life as she thrust her hand forward.

“My path is to fight back against the world that would hurt what I love. I don’t need a snarling dog pulling me along, only the strength to crush every obstacle along that road.” She glared into the limitless dark, past the glow upon her hand and into the formless dragon that laid beyond the void of screaming and swirling grudges; standing her ground with no ground to stand on, meeting that crushing pressure with anger and defiance. “I’ll call you from hell itself if I have to, and you will give me your power!”

The endless dark shuddered, blood-red flames narrowing—this was laughter, a sharp force that carried deep amusement.

So be it, daughter of winter. Speak the devil’s name, and to us shall belongeth Vengeance.

She knew, somehow, even before she clenched a glowing hand into a tight fist. There was a deep connection being formed in this instant; in mind and soul, hearts connected as the unique bond between Master and Servant forged an ironclad chain. This endless hatred, deepest shadow, burning rage...they painted a picture of hate born of love. Of loss and betrayal, and the deep satisfaction of seeing injustice met with righteous punishment. And she knew he would feel the same; that Ilyasviel’s own intent would be understood as she welcomed that shadow into her heart to see that she intended to kill anything and everything that threatened her family. Let them both be judged by the other, let Ilyasviel von Einzbern’s strength of will be recognized by the man called-

“Answer my summoning and grant my wish...King of the Cavern, Count of Monte Cristo!”

As suddenly as the darkness had overtaken her, it dispersed. Ilyasviel was back in the same dismal stone room, hands laid upon the glowing summoning circle, candles flickering but remaining lit—all had transpired in barely a second, the proof evident only in her pounding headache and the wildly victorious grin spreading across her face. In the fading glow of the circle stood a figure; calm and unassuming, a pleasant young man with wind-tossed brown hair and sun-kissed skin. He met her eyes with his own; a cold yellow, untouched by a smile that showed too many teeth to be sincere.

“You may, for the moment, call me Edmond Dantès,” he said with a slight bow. Ilyasviel was aware of the cacophany of footsteps an instant later, perceived the shocked and horrified stares of her family--but truly saw none of it. They would understand in time. They would realize that this power was necessary, that she was stronger than any of them and had the will to control the uncontrollable. “-and I come to you in the vessel of a Berserker.”

The pair saw only each other, an affable mask meeting unveiled rebellion. Anger boiled beneath the surface, and now they shared the means to reach out and grasp it.

“I ask of you, are you my Master?”

Unseen by all but Berserker himself, Ilyasviel’s shadow fell too dark and too sharp on dimly lit ground, with a fleeting trace of twin red flames vanishing within it.

---

Later, Ilyasviel von Einzbern would confide to Saber that she had deliberately called for a monster, a dark mirror to reflect her own fury and amplify it into a force to destroy everything that threatened what she loved. Though she did not doubt that swirling torrent of pure darkness and malice was everything she needed and more, there was a brief moment—and only one—that she doubted the man before her now. Once the initial summoning and resulting argument alike had faded into the background noise of the storm that was Ilyasviel, she looked at her Servant—really looked, not only with the eyes of a Master but with an intent stare seeking answers to questions unasked. A weight had settled in her chest and upon her shoulders; as she struggled to put words to the feeling, she could almost percieve it as a protective rosary made from fourteen jewels, a borrowed treasure-

-…Ah. A borrowed treasure, and that was when she knew the princess’ dark dragon loomed large around them; in each shadow, in the way the young man’s smile seemed painted on, in those yellow eyes which veiled something terrible and inhuman far behind them. The kind and caring man before her was more real than a facade, but no more than a dream and as fragile as such. Ilyasviel needed only snap her fingers, and Edmond Dantès would yield to the monster he had become. But she chose, with Berserker’s agreement, that would be something reserved for a time of greatest need. Safer, Edmond had pointed out, to let all and sundry believe him no more dangerous than the first mate of a merchant ship. Better, he continued, that his Master should hold a surefire form of protection while that useless sailor lacked the strength to truly fight.

As time passed and the war moved around them, her story came out in chunks as one dropped pieces of a burden they had carried to the point of exhaustion. The loving father named Kiritsugu Emiya and his broken promise, his abandoned weapon in human form, a floundering but devoted mother, a blunt but gentle elder brother, and Ilyasviel’s furious need to keep the rest of them from falling to the same sudden end and lack of true farewell that her dear father had. Edmond listened as Ilyasviel confided in him as she likely never had to any other, and though he spoke not a word of his deepest thoughts on the matter…in her fiery and sharp eyes he saw himself, the self that had ceased to be ‘Edmond Dantès’, but was not yet the ‘Count of Monte Cristo’. The winter princess’ bloodlust was a blade missing its handle, just as likely to harm Ilyasviel as it would her enemies. She required guidance along the path ahead, not dissuasion from anger justly earned. Guidance that would take her by the hand and lead her away from the Count’s mistakes, through the path of vengeance to the peace and redemption that man’s soul had eventually discovered.

<Edmond, it’s Kiritsugu,> she had later called urgently as a pair of Servants chased a shadow through the forest. <It’s Kiritsugu, I don’t know how, I->

She had not needed to tell him. As his cutlass struck the weakest of glancing blows, the mad Servant had seen for only an instant the cold eyes beneath that raiment…and he knew them at once, the desire for justice done by any means necessary sharpened into a master swordsmith’s finest and most brutal work. For better and worse, his Master was very like her father after all.

Ah, Faria, he had thought with a sharp and bitter laugh as Archer threw him across the courtyard, I think I have grown to understand something important. The memory came to him as clear as if the man had spoken those words but yesterday-

“God has sent you to me to console, at one and the same time, the man who could not be a father, and the prisoner who could not get free.”

<—Ilyasviel. Ilyasviel, mon trésor, speak the words and I will liberate him from his mad ambitions whatever they may be.>

Of course, she did not—that time. Which was perfectly fine with Berserker; anger born of carelessness would lead only to foolish mistakes. When she was ready, truly ready and aware of who it was she needed to kill, only then would they together call down thunderous vengeance on all that stood in their way. He would take her by the hand andguide her as Edmond himself had once been guided, to see with sharp clarity the path to her vengeance and how it led straight through the father an unjust world had destroyed twice over.

<Follow him, Edmond.> she had ordered with nothing but a stern look and a thought, later on after the castle’s other Master had left on his own. <Whatever stupid thing he’s doing…make sure Waver comes back.>

Which brought him to consider Saber. Valiant, noble Saber, who carried himself with well-earned pride as a paragon of chivalry. Truly, through and through he was an exemplary knight in power and ideals alike.

Behind every smile and affable (albeit loaded) comment, Berserker loathed him. Few had truly earned the right to be vengeful and angry as Diarmuid ua Duibhne had, yet there he stood as though he had never known a terrible injustice visited upon him. It made Berserker—no, it made Edmond sick to his stomach, witnessing what was to him a pathetic display of passivity. How cruel it was to oneself, to accept a wicked betrayal and carry on as though nothing was wrong. There was genuine happiness in his half-mad heart when the swordsman finally drew a blade in anger at the mention of Fionn’s name…and though he was not fool enough to say it, relief when he arrived to find the man himself standing over a half-dead mage. Relief, because even if Saber would not admit he had been wronged, he would take vengeance on behalf of another. Perhaps then he would understand what seemed so alien a concept to him: the compassion of angels need not come without the wrath of demons.

No one could deny that Saber was every bit as chivalrous as King Arthur, gallant paragon that he was, yet all would call it justified if Diarmuid would bear wrath worse than even Mordred, knight of treachery.

---

“Protect what I love.”

A borrowed treasure flowed back to its owner as Ilyasviel spoke, her too-dark shadow lightening as it flowed over the surface of the Vimana to Berserker’s feet. The shadows licked at his slender frame as if he were Jeanne d’Arc at the stake, black flames blazing inside and out; embers of bitter hatred in his mind caught on the tinder of Edmond Dantès and with a laugh erupted into an inferno that called itself by another name entirely.

“Farewell to kindness, humanity and gratitude! I have been Heaven's substitute to recompense the good. Now…the god of vengeance yields to me his power to punish the wicked!”

The fourteen jewels that formed a hidden relic that imprinted the wrath of God in the form of a Magic Crest and Circuits into a human body, the flames of holy recompense settled themselves into his very soul once more as though they had never left. In every inch of his body the change was felt as the flames which slew the demon Tarantella now formed around him in the shape of tremendous claws.

To me belongeth vengeance, for the day of their calamity is at hand.

And oh, how the elation in his blackened heart shone in the bloodlust of crimson eyes and a joyful grin of far too many teeth.

“Monte Cristo Mythologie.”

Nearly the instant the invocation was spoken, before any could truly realize he had moved, the Count of Monte Cristo was flying from the racing Vimana in a burst of fire—launching himself straight for the cloaked gunman leaping between skyscraper rooftops in a burst of manic shrieking laughter. The tremendous claws swiped in a streak of flame, but found no purchase; Archer had already vanished and reappeared on a rooftop nearby. The same impossible speed he had used in the forest was to be expected, of course…but what was clearly less expected was that Berserker was only a half-step behind even in the blink that Archer had moved.

“I see it now, that skill of yours-!” They had thought it a matter of mere agility, but eyes that now sparked crimson in the night could percieve what it truly was. Such movements could not be accomplished through speed alone, but time; accelerated time, something the Count doubted any human could possibly utilize with the careless ease Archer did.

Ah, but you’re not human, are you? Like me—a weapon of God, or whatever your sort chooses to mistake for Him.

For anyone else, even powerful and clever Saber, this enemy could not be outmaneuvered in single combat so long as he continued flickering through time as easily as taking one step after the other. But the Count of Monte Cristo was he who had escaped the inescapable in life, and so as a Servant there were no boundaries which could confine him—not even time and space themselves.

<Be careful,> spoke his resolute Master, <Maiya says the Contender only has one shot at a time, but it can damage Magic Circuits. Push him too far, and we'll be in trouble.>

Finish the matter before he could invoke his Noble Phantasm again, in other words.

Archer flickered out of existence for a brief moment once more…and as his time caught up to the rest of the world and his attempt at evasion was met by Berserker bearing down on him without an instant’s pause, it would be a lie to say the shock in the Counter Guardian’s face was anything but immensely satisfying. Sweeping through the air in an arc of black flame dark and ruinous as the scythe of Death itself, Berserker brought one of those massive claws down hard—it caught only the edge of cloth and swiped through empty air before slamming into shattering stone as Archer threw himself to the side, answering in another burst of semiautomatic fire. Wild, without aim or thought; a mere deterrent that Berserker himself could evade without problem. He lunged again before Archer could make the time to so much as find his footing—that was the secret. Press the attack, leave him with no room to think or attempt to outrace his enemy, and he would make mistakes. A mistake had earned him the glaring weakness left on display, the wound in his armor where Moralltach had narrowly missed gouging out his heart. Aim for that, and the battle would be over in a single strike.

“So quick on your feet, yet not a moment to spare for your own family?” Berserker grinned—no one was truly immune to provocation, not even the silent and stonefaced weapon of Alaya. The empty eyes narrowed to a razor's edge, twisted by a scowl. “Not a word spoken to even your daughter?" In a flicker of motion Archer was on Berserker's left, but no sooner was the barrel raised was the gunman's arm swatted aside, flaming claws curling into a fist with all the force of a cannonball. He struck the Counter Guardian dead on, smashing the damaged chestplate and driving Archer himself straight to the ground. The roof on which they stood cracked in all directions on impact, the staccato of Berserker's laughter joining the roar of the Vimana circling back around as the wounded Caster and his furious Master prepared to join in the attack—

—until the wind suddenly shifted course and a distant rumbling heralded another voice carried on the swiftly cooling gale to join in the song of chaos: the howl of a beast and the clashing of blades.

So they had no better fortune than us, thought Berserker, his eyes focused on Archer—who had looked up as though distracted by something with a strange look resembling dawning horror. Ah, well, the best laid plans. That was the distraction the Count had been seeking; whatever caught his attention didn't matter. He lunged forward in the time between two heartbeats…and those wicked flames met only empty air as the Counter Guardian's time was altered fourfold, broken pieces of armor left in his wake as he retreated in the direction of those metal sounds and monstrous howl.

<I'm going after him.> The remark to Ilyasviel was little more than courtesy; the angel of vengeance had taken to the air bfore the thought could even reach his Master. <I leave our tactical approach to you, mon trésor.>

From opposing sides of the city two earthshaking battles were on a collision course in streaks of gold and sable; in the next few minutes, it would be all anyone could do to be sure the sun rose on a Fuyuki City that was anything more than a smoking crater.

Notes:

i didn't honestly think this fight would drag out as long as it seems to be

[honks my big red clown nose]

should be largely wrapped up by end of next chapter tho

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Fate/galaxy hearts