The Hand that Feeds You
by SMYGO4EVA
Servants were meant to fight, meant to serve their Masters – it was in their name; no more, no less. The Servant classes of Lancer and Rider were both strong warriors, it was by expectation; they had to be, no doubt. However their approaches were vastly different.
Lancer's true name was Cu Chulainn, the warrior of legend, a child of light, and he was as traditional as can be; there are certain ways to make a war truly worth something, let alone a reliquary. He fought because he could prove himself a capable warrior, and this war was a superlative, rather than the world beyond it. Rider, on the other hand, was the fabled Medusa, a creature cursed by the gods of old, her eyes damned to turn one who gazed upon her to stone. She was a lost thing; she served one master, but dedicated herself to another, one who most deserved protection.
They both knew where their loyalties lied, or at least they thought they did. As much as he loved tradition, Lancer fought to survive, as all warriors did. He respected his opponent's combat skills, maneuvers, and he studied them. There was a unique creativity in what he could figure out about another Servant, what made them alike and different. Respect was a funny thing; it can grow into so much more, or forever be stagnant.
The few times they had crossed paths, the one named Cu Chulainn came to respect the monster titled Medusa, and to his greatest surprise, she felt the same. Her chains coiled around her like the snakes that perpetuated themselves in the legends of her being, and his weapon glowed the crimson that was not of this world.
They wouldn't call it love; love had no place in the Holy Grail War. The word seemed like both wishful thinking, and held a promise of hope, which was rare in this chaotic time. Nothing was certain, as once they had served their purpose; they would be gone, back to whence they came.
It was a paradox of their time spent in the War; they were Servants, and yet they were Servants to no one.
