Work Text:
Contrary to what most people thought (well, what most of his students at the Clock Tower thought, and frequently whispered behind his back - as if he wasn't aware of this) Lord Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi was not a fool. He was altogether too cocky, and more than a little bit too obsessed with his own talent, but he was not a fool. He knew from the moment he heard it who had stolen his artifact. He knew a lot of mages, colleagues and students both, who would have killed to take his place in the Fourth Holy Grail War, but the colleagues respected him too much and the students were too scared of him to so much as think about stealing his summoning artifact.
All, that is, except for one boy.
Waver Velvet had been a thorn in Kayneth's side since the day the boy enrolled in his class. It wasn't that Waver wasn't talented - rather, it was that he was. Kayneth had seen the seeds of potential in the boy - potential to someday be as great as Lord El-Melloi himself. Normally, he would have welcomed such talent, taken the boy on as a sort of prodigy, and one day stood proudly beside him as the boy accepted some title or position at the tower. Of course, it would not be anything quite as prestigious as Kayneth's own El-Melloi title, he reassured himself, but something pretty good nonetheless.
But there would be no doing that with this boy. No, Kayneth had realized from the beginning that any seeds of talent within the boy would have to remain un-nurtured. The problem wasn't that he was only a third generation mage - certainly it would limit his options in the future, but he could still be moderately successful.
It was that the boy wanted to change things.
That paper he had turned in - that damned essay DARING to postulate that the way things were done at the Clock Tower were wrong. That lineage should not be taken into account, and that - Akhasa forbid - raw talent should be the only considering factor in determining a mage's success!
So he had rejected the boy, shamed him, spurned him, done anything within his power to make Waver understand his true position in life. But the boy had only grown more confident, more egotistical, more certain that he was right and Kayneth was wrong. And it had been this desire to surpass his teacher that had led him to steal the book right out from under the lord's nose.
Yes, he had known from the first minute that Waver Velvet had been the thief. Just as he had also known from the first sidelong glance his fiancee gave to his last-minute replacement servant that he had to get Rider back. Lancer was strong, certainly, and his loyalty was most impressive (though Kayneth considered it to be no more than his due as Master) but his damned love spot was working its magic on Sola with every second, and that simply Would Not Do.
So he set a trap. Finally, Diarmuid's damned sense of chivalry would benefit his Master - though Kayneth had had to expend a Command Seal to force him to send the message to Rider (informing the other that he respected him as a fellow warrior, and desired a one on one battle to prove once and for all which of the two Servants was more deserving of the Grail) he knew the boisterous King of Conquerors would have no reason to doubt that Lancer's intentions were sincere.
His Master, on the other hand (if the boy even deserved to be called that - in Kayneth's mind "thief" was a more appropriate term) would be suspicious. Hopefully, the no-good weakling's will would be easily overpowered by that of the King.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"It's a trap."
The first time his Master insisted that, Rider merely ignored him. The second time, he laughed and told him to stop being so paranoid. The third, he flicked him on the forehead with enough force to send him flying across the bedroom and into the wall.
"I don't know why you keep saying that, boy. Lancer is an honorable foe - I witnessed that in his battle with Saber. If he is foolhardy enough to challenge the King of Conquerors, I say we accept. It's a chance to easily defeat one of our enemies, right? One step closer to the Grail!"
Waver shook his head emphatically. "Sure, Lancer may be honorable - but his master isn't. Trust me, I know Lord" he made a face of disgust as he practically spit the older man's title out of his mouth "El-Melloi well. He's my old teacher at the Clock Tower. And he wouldn't know honor if it slapped him in his wrinkled old face. He's an egotistical bastard who hates my guts and wants me out of the War as soon as possible."
"He was the one who was supposed to be my Master, was he not?" Rider asked. "The one who wouldn't even come into battle with his Servant, but stayed behind and gave him orders from afar."
Waver nodded. "Yes, the one you argued with. I don't know why he'd choose us as his first targets - even with Assassin out of the War, there are other Servants that would probably be easier to beat than you in one on one combat. The only reason I can think of is his personal grudge against me - he's still really mad at me for stealing your artifact, and wants me out of the War for good." He gulped as he realized that Kayneth probably wanted more than his simple withdrawal from the competition. "That is, he wants me dead."
"Then I shall fight Lancer, and prove to this Kayneth that my Master is the superior one, and that he can't be rid of us as easily as he thinks. Do you not have faith in your Servant, boy? Do you not think that I could beat Lancer easily?"
"Probably," Waver admitted.
"Then we should accept his challenge!"
“Moron, listen to me! It. Is. A. Trap! Kayneth is….” Waver grumbled the next part under his breath, reluctant to admit it “…one of the most powerful and talented mages of the modern era. He’s got something up his sleeve. Accepting Lancer’s challenge is a bad idea.”
Rider didn’t listen. But, really, when did he ever? Moments later, Waver found himself lifted bodily from his position on the floor, slung over Rider’s shoulder, and deposited unceremoniously into the back of his Servant’s immense chariot. As the divine bulls raced off towards the location which Lancer had specified, the youngest Master’s continued shouts of “IT’S A TRAP YOU MORON” were swallowed by the roar of the wind.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“I knew you’d come, Rider,” Lancer smirked. Waver, intently observing the situation from the edge of the deserted park Lancer had chosen for the Servants’ battle, noticed that the Servant did not seem as confident as usual. Diarmuid was nowhere near as brash and loud as Iskander, but Waver had observed the Servant’s poised and self-assured demeanor during his battle with Saber. The Master’s certainty that something was very wrong increased by the second.
“I, Iskander, King of Conquerors, accept your challenge,” Rider boomed, stepping forward into a large, silvery puddle. The edges of his great cape brushed the surface, sending ripples across its shining surface.
Wait—puddle? Waver was confused. It hadn’t rained in days, and he couldn’t recall the river having flooded recently either. Plus, that puddle didn’t look like water….or behave like water either. Had it been water, Iskander’s cape would have caused drops to spray everywhere, instead of just ripples. It seemed to be a thicker substance, something like…
“RIDER, WAIT!” Waver yelled. But it was too late. The mercury began to twine around Rider’s legs, affixing the immense Servant in place. Within seconds, Volumen Hydragyrum had surrounded Rider from the knees down, rooting him completely to the spot. Though the King of Conquerors struggled, Kayneth’s magic was unrelenting.
Rider was caught.
A dark chuckle sounded from behind the now clearly upset Lancer. Though he remained in the shadows, the voice was obviously that of Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi. “So you are mine, as you rightfully should have been, King of Conquerors. Now all that remains is to take the Command Seals from that little thief’s hand and you shall serve me, your rightful Master. Come here, boy. Admit that you’ve lost, and I’ll let you live. After all, I just need to cut off your hand to take your Spells.”
For several tense seconds, Waver remained motionless, as though he too were trapped in mercury below the knees. As if in a dream, he saw Rider continue (futilely) to struggle, and Lancer approach, his long weapons held out before him, prepared to sever Waver’s hand from his wrist—
--and the young Master did the only thing he could think of to do. He ran.
“Lancer! After him!” shouted Kayneth furiously. Though he could hear the sound of the Servant’s swift footsteps behind him, Waver didn’t look back. He wasn’t as out of shape as most mages at the Tower, but he was no match for a seasoned warrior like Diarmuid. Running through the streets of Fuyuki would buy him a few minutes at most. He’d have to think up a way to save Rider—and fast.
But his brain refused to function properly. All he could think of was Rider, Rider, Rider, Rider was captured and it’s all my fault, I’m going to lose Rider, it’s all my fault. He didn’t even care if Lancer killed him or let him live. Losing the King who had come to mean so much to him in such a short time would be worse than dying. Worse than losing his chance to win the Grail. Worse than anything.
This realization surprised the boy. When had his dreams of winning the Fourth War and achieving worldwide acclaim been replaced with dreams of using the Grail to keep Iskander by his side permanently? When had the opinions of the mages of the Tower become second to Rider’s opinions?
When had he fallen in love with his Servant—no, his King?
Tears blurred the boy’s eyes, and he stumbled, throwing his hands out in front of him desperately in an attempt to keep his balance He barely managed to stay on his feet, but he could hear Lancer behind him, gaining with every second.
His breathing had become harsh and ragged He was surprised Lancer hadn’t caught up with him by—
CLANG! Something long and golden blurred past him. He spared a brief glance to the side, just in time to see one of his opponent’s lances miss him by inches, striking a metal garbage can and knocking it to the street. Waver saw the silver cylinder rolling at him and did the only thing he could think of: he jumped. His feet cleared the trash can and the fallen lance by inches. He could hear his pursuer bend to pick up the thrown weapon, buying Waver a few more seconds.
But a burning pain had begun to assault his side, as though the lance had struck him instead of barely missing, and his stomach was a tangled maze of cramps. Waver was tiring fast. Soon he would be caught. He looked down through a veil of tears at the Command Seals adorning the back of his hand. His heart lurched in his throat. For all he knew, this was the last time he would ever see that hand in its proper place, still attached to his body.
Even in his desperate flight, Waver began to notice familiar buildings out of the corner of his eye. The library where he had spent so many hours lost in the enthralling life story of Alexander the Great. The post office where Rider had sent in his order for that stupid T-shirt he was always wearing. The video game store where his Servant had practically bankrupted him, buying every existing Great Tactics game as well as the systems necessary to play them on.
The newest game was being released in a few days, Waver remembered. Rider had made him promise to buy it for him and play 2-player mode, a promise the young Master had in no way intended to keep.
It didn’t matter now. The King of Conquerors would never play another Great Tactics game in his life. Rider was trapped, and they were to be separated forever, either by Waver’s death or Kayneth’s theft of his seals. Unless he, weak, useless Waver Velvet, could find a way to prevail against an ancient Irish mythological hero with magical lances and a mole that could make women fall in—
Wait.
A mole that could make women fall in love with him.
He’d forgotten about that. He’d read the stories of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne along with those of all Servants whose identities he knew. That had been Rider’s suggestion. Know your enemy, the King had told him. And he had, though he hadn’t paid much attention to the part about Diarmuid’s Love Spot. It hadn’t seemed relevant at all, given that Saber, Saber’s Master, and any other women participating in the War likely had high enough magic resistance to ignore its effects.
And well they might…but other residents of Fuyuki wouldn’t. A memory came back to Waver so abruptly it was like being slapped in the face. They had been trying to find the video game store he had just passed, but due to neither Servant nor Master being able to read Japanese, they had stumbled into several incorrect locations before finally noticing the joystick-shaped sign indicating the store they had been looking for. It had taken nearly an hour, as they had mistakenly entered a grocery store, a lingerie store, a gardening supplies store....and the one place that just might be able to save Rider.
Waver hoped that Lancer would think he was merely trying to hide when he threw open a (seemingly) random door and ran inside. Apparently Lancer did, because he followed Waver threw the door without a second thought…
…and ran right into the Fuyuki Women’s Public Bathhouse.
For once, Waver was glad that he looked like a woman. Lancer was unable to locate him amidst the throng of nude and partially-clothed females, giving the Love Spot the few precious seconds it needed to (inadvertently) work its magic.
“Oh, who are you?”
“Hello there!”
“You’re quite welcome to intrude on our baths any day, sir….”
As the rapidly reddening Lancer was mobbed by what looked to be half the female population of Fuyuki, Waver hurriedly escaped out the back door. That had bought him a few more minutes. Now he just needed a way to break Kayneth’s spell and free Rider.
He found the deserted park again quickly enough. The sound of Kayneth’s loud, confident voice caused him to clench his teeth and fists in barely-contained fury.
“You see, Rider? Even as we speak, your pointless excuse for a Master is desperately trying to escape with his own pitiful life. He has abandoned you. Forget him and join me. Become my Servant, and nobody and nothing can stand between us and the Holy Grail.”
“Never!” Iskander growled. “Serve a coward like you who stands in the shadows while his Servant fights his battles for him? Never!”
“He is a coward too!” the blonde mage snapped. “Did you not see him run away and abandon you?”
At that, something in Waver snapped. Forgetting his complete lack of a plan, he charged forward, screaming “I DID NOT ABANDON HIM!” and, without thinking, slapped his old teacher in the face.
Kayneth staggered, momentarily distracted, but regained his composure quickly enough. Despite the red, roughly palm-shaped mark now adorning his face, his icy sneer was frankly terrifying. “What devotion, little thief,” he laughed coldly. “Looks like somebody’s got a little crush. Hah. As if someone as powerful as Rider would ever feel a thing for a useless weakling like you.”
In that moment, Waver realized something: he was no longer afraid of Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi. The mindless terror which had once gripped him every time he entered the immense lecture hall in which Kayneth taught was gone, replaced with a blazing, red-hot anger.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his voice thrumming with barely-contained anger. “You’re probably right, but that still doesn’t mean I’m letting you take him.” He didn’t even realize that he had inadvertently confessed his feelings to Rider; he was far too busy glaring at Kayneth as though his stare could melt the taller man’s face off.
“Boy…” It was Rider, speaking for the first time since his Master had returned. Just the one word, the emotions contained within it unidentifiable…but it was enough to send Waver even further over the edge. He hated that stupid nickname, sure, but the thought of never hearing it anymore made him want to start crying all over again.
Instead, he stared straight into Kayneth’s ice-cold, laughing eyes, and set his hair on fire.
It was a basic spell, one the students of the Clock Tower used to prank one another when the teachers weren’t looking. Waver himself had been the recipient more than once.
Kayneth screamed (high-pitched and girlishly, Waver noticed with satisfaction,) and began to bat away the flames ineffectually with his hands. It only took a few seconds for the older mage to remember the necessary spell to create a jet of water to extinguish the fire, but a few seconds were all Waver needed
Not allowing himself to so much as glance at the still captured Rider, Waver focused on the mass of mercury binding his Servant to the ground. He knew he did not have the mental or magical strength to wrest control of Volumen Hydragyrum from Kayneth. That was a battle he was destined to lose. Instead, he cast another simple, practical, spell, one most mages had mastered by the age of six or so.
As Waver had hoped, the amount of magical energy he’d expended was so small that, when Kayneth (hair slightly singed, but otherwise unharmed) turned to face him once again, the more experienced mage did not even notice any spell had been cast. Kayneth stared at the empty spot where Volumen Hydragyrum had been only moments before—luckily not noticing that Rider still remained immobile—his mouth hanging open like some bizarre oversized fish.
“Where…No…it can’t…” He turned to Waver, pale eyes practically blazing. “There’s no way a weakling like you could successfully control the Archibald family’s most powerful magic. I hold power you have not even DREAMED of! Whatever you have tried, foolish child, it will not work. I am—“
It was then that Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi happened to notice that he was alone. Believing that Waver had attempted to steal his most powerful spell, he had recalled it to himself. As soon as the amorphous lump of partially sentient mercury had returned to his hands, the simple invisibility spell Waver had cast wore off. It had taken only seconds for the now-freed Rider to summon his chariot, sling his Master over one shoulder, and make his escape, leaving Kayneth to deliver his impassioned lecture to the empty air.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The reunited pair did not speak until they had returned to their bedroom in the Mackenzie household, each occupied with their own private thoughts they did not wish to share with the other. It was only when the chariot had been banished and Rider, knowing Glen and Martha might return at any minute, had changed back into his civilian clothes, that the Servant addressed his Master.
“What happened to Lancer?” he asked, almost offhandedly.
“I…” Waver looked away. He was embarrassed to admit the stupid ploy he’d had to use to the proud warrior King. “I kind of ran into the local women’s bathhouse and escaped while they were all fighting over him.”
To his surprise, Rider laughed, a harsh but joyful booming that may or may not have caused the young Master’s heart to speed up and a blush to creep up his cheeks. “His Master will have difficulty getting him out of there.”
“Yeah,” Waver agreed.
There was another moment of silence….and then Waver found himself picked up by one huge hand and forcibly turned to face Rider. As he sat there, staring into the Servant’s craggy, unsmiling face. Internally sighing, he prepared himself to be flicked in the forehead as Rider made fun of him for having to use such a stupid plan…
…only the sharp burst of pain never came. Instead, the Servant pulled him forward and kissed him on the mouth, passionately and not at all gently.
It was (though he would never admit it) exactly as he dreamed a kiss with Iskander would be. Rough, full of intensity and life as the man himself was, fierce enough to drain his breath and leave bruises on his lips. And though his mouth was raw and painful when they pulled away, he found himself leaning in again and again. To his delight, Iskander did not reject him or push him off, but accepted each kiss with the same exuberance with which he had initiated the first.
Finally, Waver sat back, lacking the breath to continue. Not able to meet Iskander’s eyes, he stared instead at the faded blue bedcover. “What…what was that for?” he panted.
The big Servant shrugged. “Because that was frankly amazing, and I was impressed.”
Waver’s mouth fell open. “Y-you…you were impressed….by ME?” Alexander the Great, the greatest king the world had ever known, was impressed by him? Thought he was amazing?
When he dared look up, the Servant was grinning from ear to ear. The look in his eyes was pride and happiness and…something else, something which made Waver blush the reddest hue his face could possibly become. “I always knew you had it in you. Today just proved I was right. Now, come on. I think you deserve a reward for saving the day.”
Rider’s Master accepted his reward—accepted it gladly. And when the name Rider called at the moment of their mutual undoing was “Waver” and not “boy,” for the first time in his life, Waver Velvet felt like a hero.