.
.
1.
"Okay, first of all, we need to do something about your face," Waver said.
Lancer watched quietly as Waver hefted a large book and dropped it loudly onto the table.
"So, the thing to do about a curse is try to negate it somehow. You were born with it, so no barriers or mana cancellations will work. And it's not as if we can cover it with a bandaid or tape. We'll have to overlay another curse on top of it, something strong enough to negate its effects," Waver said.
"I see," Lancer said. Waver frowned, flipping hastily through the pages.
"That's it!" Waver said. He tapped his finger on the page. "I'm going to give you the Curse of Repulsiveness."
"...I beg your pardon?"
"I'm going to curse you so that any woman who looks at you will be physically repulsed," Waver said. "This will work. If I lay it on top of your love spot, it should negate any charm magic that's coming off of it. So your curse should be gone."
"I see!" Lancer said. He smiled, broadly. "My lord, I look forward to this! Please show me how this magic is done!"
"No problem," Waver said, and he rolled up his sleeves.
xXx
.
Unfortunately, Waver made the curse a little too strong.
"Um, so..." the female cashier shifted, uncomfortably. "What...uh, happened to your friend?"
"Huh?" Waver said. Behind him, Lancer was perusing a shelf, picking up a few take-out rice balls. The cashier winced and shuddered.
"Nothing happened," Waver said. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh," the cashier said. "So he was born...looking like that?"
Waver looked back at Lancer again. If anything, Lancer looked pretty good-looking, tall and lean, the fabric of his shirt stretched tightly over broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and torso. I should get him a bigger shirt, Waver thought, frowning. Lancer caught his eye and waved merrily.
"What do you see?" Waver asked. The look of sheer horror certainly didn't match the cheerful man who was delightedly picking through bento boxes and setting them in his basket.
"Why, his face!" the cashier said. She shuddered again. "He's so disfigured! It looks like he was doused with acid."
"Uh..."
"And that smell," she said. "It smells like filth and rotting sewage."
"Um..."
Servants certainly didn't smell like anything, not that Waver was up to sniffing Lancer's armpits or anything stupid like that. And if anything, he knew Lancer was playing around with Mackenzie's cologne earlier, even though Waver told the idiot not to splash the whole bottle on himself, except that Lancer had never seen cologne, since that stuff was reserved for kings or high nobility and Lancer was just a wandering knight.
The problem here, obviously, was that Waver Velvet was Too Good at magic. Ordinarily he would be flushed with pride that he had overcome a centuries-old curse with a few simple incantations, but this was proving to be a bit too much. He sighed and wished he had taken things down a notch.
"My lord! They have these fruit-flavored beverages I thought we could try." Lancer came up behind him, waving around a bottle of grape calpico and stuffing it in his basket. "Furthermore, these rice balls look delicious. Did you know they have bits of crab meat stuffed in them? I look forward to trying them! Er..." Lancer blinked. That curly lock of hair bounced cutely over his forehead.
"Oh," Lancer said, looking the woman. "I beg your pardon."
And he smiled brightly at the woman, who proceeded to duck and hide behind the register.
xXx
.
"Well that was certainly different," Lancer said, smiling. He was carrying a bag of groceries in each hand, smiling broadly.
"You're not mad?" Waver said.
"Mad?" Lancer said. "Why should I be angry when my lord has blessed me with such a glorious gift?"
"Huh," Waver said, as a mother grabbed her daughter and covered the girl's eyes. "So...this is good for you, seriously?"
"The curse I was born with unduly burdened me with the attentions of the opposite sex." A woman shrieked and dove into an alley. Lancer smiled. "It is quite refreshing to have the opposite effect."
"I see," Waver said, doubtfully.
"Excuse me, but there are children, here," a woman said, testily, while behind her a line of schoolchildren cowered behind her back.
Waver facepalmed.
xXx
.
Saber blinked, then frowned. Then blinked and shook her head.
"Revulsion magecraft," Saber said. She squinted. "And...charm magic?"
Waver had never seen someone look so thoroughly confused.
"My apologies," Lancer said. He was clearly enjoying his effect on Saber a little too much. "I was born with this curse, which my lord has augmented. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it. You can blame my birth or the fact that you were born a woman."
Saber grimaced and shook her head; behind her, Irisviel retched politely behind her hand.
xXx
.
2.
There is always a momentary bit of disorientation after a Servant is summoned from the Grail. A whirling dark, a sudden gust of wind, the sensation of falling into a vortex of spinning blackness, until waking up, reconstituted, sparks of mana floating in the air.
He looked around. The forest was dark but the trees were traced with starlight. There was a low fog that settled heavily on the ground.
And then he saw it: the figure of a boy, squeezing his eyes and covering his ears with his hands.
He was supposed to say, I ask of you, are you my Master, but the boy sprang to his feet and said, "You're my Servant, right?"
Diarmuid blinked. "Well?" the boy said. Diarmuid nodded, gravely.
"Indeed," Diarmuid said, and he gave him a low sweeping bow. "I, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Lancer-class Servant and First Knight of the Knights of Fianna, have answered your call for the Grail."
"R-right." The boy twitched, nervously. "Uh...you can get up now," the boy said.
"I thank you, my lord," Diarmuid said, and he straightened. His lord frowned and fiddled with his sleeves.
It didn't take Diarmuid long to figure out that the boy - Waver Velvet - did not like being called lord. In fact, "My Lord," "My Liege," "My Liege Lord," and even "Sir," seemed to make the boy uncomfortable.
"Just call me 'Master,' if you're so bent on calling me something," Waver said. "And stop kneeling! Whenever you do that it's just weird and awkward."
"But my lord-er, Master...I only wish to give you the respect that you deserve."
"Ugh, whatever!" Waver said, but Diarmuid could see the faint traces of a blush rising on Waver's cheeks.
The boy seemed most at ease when Diarmuid was in spirit form. It was probably easier to think of him as a familiar that way, and wordlessly Diarmuid obliged. He followed the boy around the city, silently mapping out the terrain and familiarizing himself with the city's landmarks: the mouth of the Mion river, the shops and busy streets, all potential battlegrounds for the conflict to come. "Why aren't you saying anything?" Waver said, suddenly.
Master?
"Like, why aren't you talking? It's really weird. Like I feel this magical energy following me, it's like I'm being followed by a ghost."
Forgive me, my lo- Master. I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable, but I was concerned about the curse of my love spot. Shall I take physical form instead?
"Not now, you don't have civilian clothes on, people are going to stare."
Diarmuid followed Waver silently. Waver furrowed his brow.
"We should probably get you some clothes in case you do need to materialize," Waver said, after a long moment. "Ne, Lancer. What size do you think you wear?"
Size?
"Like, measurements?" Waver walked into a department store and started thumbing through a rack. "Do you think this would fit you?"
I'm not sure, my lord. Er, Master. Perhaps I should have to try them on?
"I'm not wasting mana for you to materialize, just tell me if you think this would fit."
Ah...I believe so. But I am not familiar with modern clothing, so I am not entirely sure.
"Good enough," Waver said, and he stuck the shirt in his basket.
Unfortunately, the shirts his lord picked were a little too tight around the neck and arms, but Diarmuid was able to solve this problem by cleverly cutting a tiny slit along the collar of the neck and sleeves. He was rather pleased with himself - men of his time had no skill with tailoring and he was unsure how to use modern scissors. Of course, the Grail gave him adequate enough knowledge of the modern world - for instance, he was fairly certain he could drive a car or navigate the subway if he had to - but even though he was aware of what scissors were used for, he wasn't entirely sure how to use them.
And so it was that Diarmuid spent an inordinate time staring at a pair of his lord's scissors, frowning a little at the two loops (finger holes?) and finally resigning to opening the blades and using the sharpened edge to scrape tears into the fabric. He would have felt more comfortable splitting the fabric with the edge of his spear, were he not afraid of accidentally rending the shirt completely in half.
His lord, unfortunately, did not much care for Diarmuid's ingenuity.
"Why did you cut them?" Waver said. He snatched the other shirts from Diarmuid's hand "You idiot! You're not the Hulk, we could have returned them," Waver said. Diarmuid frowned.
"...Hulk?" Diarmuid said. Waver sighed, exasperated.
"Are you serious? I thought the Grail gave you knowledge of the modern era," Waver said. "Also, what were you doing with those scissors? That's not how you use them."
"I...er, tried putting my fingers into the handle here, but the blades did not close properly," Diarmuid said.
Waver rolled his eyes, then turned on his computer. He typed into the keyboard and showed him the image. "That," Waver said, and he turned the monitor toward him, "is the hulk."
Diarmuid laughed, delighted. "Ah!" Diarmuid said. "He is large and green and his clothes do not fit him!"
"It wasn't a compliment, idiot, give me back my scissors."
He handed him back the scissors, then sat back on the bed, wondering if he should shift back into spirit form or if his lord would rather he keep him company. He waited a few moments, watching as Waver worked on the computer - tracking ley lines and marking places of spiritual power, evidently - before picking the scissors back up in his hand.
"My lo- Master," Diarmuid said, correcting himself. "May I ask you a question?"
"What is it?" Waver was busy typing on the keyboard.
"How do you use these?" Diarmuid said.
"What? These scissors?" Waver took the scissors from him and stuck his fingers and his thumb into the handles. Unlike when Diarmuid tried it, the blades closed properly when he pressed his fingers and thumb together. "It's pretty easy, I don't get why you were having so much trouble," Waver said. He cut a piece of paper in half to show him.
Diarmuid frowned and tried holding them again. The blades pried apart when he closed his fingers into the handle, the paper folding awkwardly over the blade. "They still do not cut," Diarmuid said. Waver sighed.
"You're using the wrong hand, dummy, use your right hand." And then, as if realizing what he said, Waver turned.
"You're left-handed," Waver said. Diarmuid cocked his head.
"...is that so unusual?" Diarmuid said.
"I'm just surprised. I thought people didn't like being left-handed in your time, you know, since they're the Devil's leftie and that sort of thing. I thought it was discouraged," Waver said.
"Well I was cursed at birth," Diarmuid said. Waver looked at him doubtfully. "I do try to use my right hand most of the time. But for new things I find my left to be easier." Diarmuid picked up the scissors with his right hand, carefully. "Hm. The blades really do fit better when you cut with your right hand, don't they?" Diarmuid said.
"Give me that," Waver said, and he took away the scissors. "By the way," Waver said. "You never did tell me your wish."
"Wish?"
"What you want to do if we win the Holy Grail."
If, not when, Diarmuid noted to himself. His Master was definitely the cautious type. Diarmuid smiled. "I only wish to serve by my Master's side and battle beside him honorably," Diarmuid said. "In that regard, I suppose the Grail has already granted my wish."
"Huh?" Waver said. "What kind of stupid wish is that, anyway?"
"You yourself do not have a wish," Diarmuid said.
"That's different! I have my reputation at stake!" Waver said.
"As do I," Diarmuid said. He folded the shirt over his arm, quietly. "In life, I failed to live up to the standards of chivalry I swore to uphold. I only seek to rectify my failings."
"Well I bet you've never had to serve a lord as young as me though, right?" Waver said. He wasn't looking at him. A shadow had fallen over Waver's eyes.
In battle, Diarmuid could easily read his enemy, his intuition and finely honed instincts allowing him to avoid any potential traps. But here he failed to detect the slight note of bitterness in his Master's voice, and answered him accordingly:
"Well, certainly I was surprised by your age, but thus far I have no complaints about your abilities," Diarmuid said. Waver's eyes narrowed.
"So it's true, you were disappointed with me," Waver said, and Diarmuid became aware of his misstep. "Well?" Waver said. "It's no wonder you're disappointed. You could have had someone more experienced. Someone who knows what they're doing!"
"Not at all," Diarmuid said, quickly. "I have been acquainted with other lords and ladies much younger than yourself. That is a station with which you were born. Age and experience are not requisite to being sovereign."
"So you're saying it doesn't matter that I'm young, you'll just blindly serve whoever, right?"
"Ah..."
"Tch. Whatever." Waver crossed his arms. "Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me. Okay? So sorry you couldn't have a greater lord!"
Waver was glaring and staring furiously at the ground. Diarmuid hesitated, suddenly unsure.
"My lor-" Diarmuid corrected himself. "Master. I meant no disrespect. Please forgive me for offending you."
Diarmuid kneeled quickly, showing his contrition. Waver huffed.
"Stand up, you idiot, I told you I'm not a lord."
Diarmuid stood, uncertainly. He watched as Waver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glaring angrily at the floor.
"It's just that," Waver began, and he glared. "It's just that you're intimidating, all right?" Waver said.
Diarmuid blinked. "Intimidating?" Diarmuid said. Waver blushed and glared.
"You're like, ridiculously good-looking, you're tall and heroic and...stuff. And I'm just this twerpy dweeby kid who summoned you! The relic I used wasn't even mine, I stole it from someone else. And you're telling me you just want to fight some glorious battle by my side?" Waver said. "C'mon, let's be honest, here. If I were you, I'd be really disappointed," Waver said.
"But that is not so!" Diarmuid said. "You are wise beyond your years and highly skilled and knowledgeable! You corrected me on the use of these scissors," Diarmuid said.
"I'm starting to think maybe this was a bad idea," Waver said, and he sagged, heavily. "I just wanted to show them - I just wanted to prove that I could do it! Those bastards at the Clock Tower think they're all high and mighty...but maybe they're right. Maybe I shouldn't even be doing this."
"You feel inadequate," Diarmuid said. It wasn't a question. Waver looked up at him, wonderingly. "But, my lo- Er. Master. It is true that lords and ladies are born into their station. But from what I gather, magi are the product of their talent and hard work. That to me seems by far more admirable."
"Really?" Waver looked up. Diarmuid smiled.
"Indeed," Diarmuid said. "For one to summon a Servant at such a young age belies an incredible talent. I consider myself lucky if that is the case."
"Well, your luck rank is actually really low, so..." Waver pushed back a strand of hair, frowning. "You...you really don't mind? That you're serving someone as lowly as me?"
"You are my Master," Diarmuid said. He smiled. "If you are lowly, then certainly I must be lower."
"That doesn't really make me feel better," Waver said, doubtfully. Diarmuid smiled broadly.
"In any case," Diarmuid said, and he extended a hand. "I realize this is a few days late, but I look forward to working with you. May our battles be filled with luck and good fortune."
"Right," Waver said. He shook it, tentatively. "Uh, by the way," Waver said, and he cleared his throat. "If you want to call me your lord, I guess I'm okay with that..."
"Truly?" Diarmuid said. Waver blushed and glared.
"Look! I'm just letting you because you get tripped up whenever you try to call me 'Master.' And stop smiling!" Waver said. "You look like a little kid, calling someone 'your lord' shouldn't make you that happy, okay?"
"My apologies, my lord!" Diarmuid said, happily.
"Please don't wave around those scissors," Waver said.
xXx
.
3.
They were walking back to the Mackenzie household. Around them, the streets of Fuyuki were quiet, the hollow moon hanging above them like a fat earbob. Their footsteps echoed along the hard concrete, and Waver watched as Lancer absently tapped his spears along the signposts along the road.
As it turned out, Lancer didn't have very good stats. Other than his agility and his ability to think his way around his terrible luck, his strength and other qualities were hopelessly average.
That is true, my lord, but I daresay my fighting prowess is equal if not better than Saber's.
Lancer's voice in his head, even though Lancer was walking beside him. Waver sighed, heavily. He had forgotten they shared a telepathic bond.
They had just finished fighting Saber. Well, "dueling" would be the more accurate term, the battle devolving into a good-natured sparring match. "While there is no honor in a battle fought without an exchange of names, allow me to offer my regards," Lancer said. "It is impressive for a woman to fight this much without even breaking a sweat."
"You need not be so humble, Lancer," Saber said. "Even without knowing your name, words from such a master of the spear do me honor. I accept them gratefully."
"Um," Waver said. "Does that mean you guys are done fighting, now?"
"That all depends on my Master," Saber said, and she glanced back at Irisviel. Irisviel smiled.
"I don't see why we need to continue," Irisviel said, smiling.
They ended at a draw with Saber and Lancer exchanging pleasantries, Saber beaming up at him despite the (newly cursed) repulsive nature of Lancer's face. They left on good terms, and Lancer wouldn't stop smiling.
"She's an enemy, stupid, you shouldn't be grinning like that," Waver said. "And by the way? I just expended like, all my mana for your stupid sparring match. We didn't even kill an enemy today," Waver said.
"I cannot help myself," Lancer said, and his smile widened. "It is rare to battle so skilled a rival! I look forward to crossing arms with her once more!"
"Your stamina is terrible," Waver said, because he was tired and grouchy and he felt like complaining. "And how come you fight with two spears, anyway? Any idiot knows you're supposed to use two hands!"
Lancer smiled. "It is to confuse the enemy," Lancer said.
"Huh?"
"What can be done with two swords is not easily accomplished with two spears." Lancer smiled. "The enemy will likely expect a feint. After all, a spear is a weapon normally wielded with two hands. However, should you master the technique, fighting with two spears can be quite advantageous." He twirled his spear around, thoughtfully.
"A spear may be used to thrust and cover a broad area repelling the enemy. However, should the enemy break through its defenses and step into close range, it would be very easy to counter and strike before the spearman can adjust. Two spears, however, negate this. The long spear, like so, can swing and cover a broad area for long-range attacks. The short spear can thrust, stabbing the enemy at close-range. In this way, two spears are better than one."
Lancer seemed very proud of this. Waver frowned and scratched his head.
"Yeah, but..." Waver frowned. "Doesn't it tire you out?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mean, your stamina sucks. And you're waving around two heavy spears on top of it."
"Ah, well-"
"And don't tell me you weren't getting tired, I'm not a warrior or whatever, but even I could tell your attacks were getting slow."
"Er, well typically I am able to finish them off before that happens," Lancer said. He smiled, his eyes creasing into two adorable half-moons: "Saber was just that excellent an opponent."
Waver sighed, heavily. "Oi, Lancer," Waver said. "These are other Servants you're going after, not just some run-of-the-mill goons. If I were you, I would have just used your Noble Phantasm. Just jab her real quick with that yellow spear and run away. Then you could engage her when she's really wounded, or else wait for another enemy to finish her off."
"That would not be very honorable," Lancer said, frowning. "Furthermore, I respect her far too much to play such petty tricks on her."
"I get it, I get it, I was just thinking out loud," Waver said. "When would you use your Noble Phantasms, anyway? Neither of them seem to be particularly fair play."
"Hm. Well I suppose I would use them in times of mortal peril," Lancer said. "If my lord's life is in danger, then the rules of chivalry are forfeit. I would protect you with my dying breath," Lancer said.
"What if your own life were in danger?" Waver said.
"My life is worth nothing if I am unable to protect my lord," Lancer said.
"Ugh, I was afraid you'd say that." Waver frowned and crossed his arms. "Look. I don't want you to go sacrificing yourself for me, okay? I'm in this war too, and for it to mean anything I need to put my life on the line. I can't just spend the war hiding behind my Servant. Got it?"
"I will try my best to remember," Lancer said.
xXx
.
For some reason, they kept running into Saber and her Master in town.
"Do not be a stranger, Lancer," Saber said, smiling. "You are welcome to join us for lunch."
"Ah, but Saber. I did not wish to disturb you and your lady," Lancer said. Beside them, Irisviel politely kept her eyes fixed away from Lancer's face, quietly holding her breath and covering her nose. Saber leaned forward, offering them a chair.
"You should not be so unfamiliar. Did we not share our passions together last night?"
"Indeed we did," Lancer said. "To be sure, my heart pounded steadily when you peeled away your armor."
"As did mine with the thrusts of your spear," Saber said.
"Um," Waver said, before their conversation could veer into the embarrassingly pornagraphic. "You guys are talking about that fight you had last night, right?" Saber and Lancer looked up at him, frowning.
"Of course we are," Saber said. "What else could we be talking about?" Waver reddened. Irisviel giggled.
"Waver-kun. You should just let them talk." Irisviel winked. "Earlier Saber was explaining her A-rank riding ability. Saber, do you mind telling Waver-kun what you told me?"
"Why, I was merely explaining to Irisviel that so long as I could take the reigns and mount it between my legs, instinct and intuition will surely take over."
"Huh?!" Waver said. Irisviel giggled.
"I do not see why Irisviel finds that so funny," Saber said.
"Neither do I," Lancer said. "Perhaps it is because we are not from this time?"
"I suspect that to be the case," Saber said. Waver groaned.
He glanced at his watch. Saber and Lancer were talking excitedly about battle tactics, absolutely paying no mind to the fact that they were supposed to be enemies. Waver really ought to be scolding him, but as far as things went, Saber and her Master seemed harmless enough.
"Are there no other Masters here?" Waver said, glancing around. Irisviel smiled and shrugged.
"It seems you and I are the first to arrive," Irisviel said. "Of course, the Matous and the Tohsakas have their strongholds within the confines of the city. But neither of them have made a move, so..." she smiled. "At least we can enjoy ourselves, for now."
"Huh," Waver said. Irisviel smiled gently.
"I know you and I are technically enemies," Irisviel said. "But Saber has been so happy since she met your Lancer. I think they would make excellent friends."
"They do seem to have a lot in common," Waver said, frowning. Irisviel seemed to know what he was thinking, because she smiled gently.
"I know we may have to fight each other someday," Irisviel said. "But there's no reason not to be friendly until then, is there?"
"I guess not," Waver said.
xXx
.
They walked back from town, scouting for clues about the other Servants in the area.
"Perhaps we can enter in an alliance," Lancer said. "Saber and I would work well together, and her Master seems like an upstanding young woman."
"They wouldn't have anything to gain from it," Waver said. "First of all, besides your agility rank, you're average at best, and I'm not exactly a top-tier magus. They'd be stupid if they wanted to ally with us. We'd only drag them down. But not only that," Waver said, and he hesitated. Lancer tilted his head.
"She's an enemy we'll have to defeat, sooner or later."
Lancer looked at him quietly, and for a moment Waver could see the face that was the stuff of legends: dark hair against pale skin, the pools of his eyes setting into something like sorrow.
"I promise you, my lord," Lancer said, and his eyes slid upwards.
"When the time comes, Saber will fall by my spear."
xXx
.
4.
Night fell like a thick black curtain over Fuyuki, and Lancer made his way to the rooftop to keep watch. At first there was nothing: just soft night sounds, the silver haze of moonlight and the yellow tangle of electric lights from the city below them. But then there was a flare of mana, sharp bursts of power cutting through the sky like tiny blades.
"Do you sense it, my lord?" Lancer asked. He squinted his eyes, looking closer. "A Servant is challenging us."
"Can you sense where it's coming from?" Waver asked. Lancer shook his head.
"All I can tell you is that it's coming from the east. But my lord: it seems there is more than one Servant there."
"Anyone we know?" Waver said.
Lancer looked back at Waver, a slight gust of wind blowing in his hair.
"I am not sure," Lancer said. Waver leaned on his knees and stood.
"Well," Waver said. "I guess there's only one way to find out."
xXx
.
They ended up fighting both Rider and Berserker.
Lancer ran. His body pitched forward, just barely blocking the blow from Rider, Berserker closing in on him from behind.
"Lancer!" Waver said. "To your right!" and Lancer whipped around, narrowly avoiding the blow.
Rider had stopped his sword.
"Rider," Lancer said. Rider was shaking. There was a shadow over his eyes, but Lancer could see the man gritting his teeth, trying to withstand the command spell his Master had given him.
"What's wrong, Rider?" Kayneth's voice boomed. "I told you already: help Berserker kill him."
"Lancer," Rider said. His voice was strained. "I'm sorry."
And an explosion of lightning burst in front of him.
Concrete exploded, throwing shards of rock and detritus upwards and falling around him, the large hooves of Rider's chariot pounding and slamming into the pavement. Lancer leapt forward and barely avoided getting rammed over, the side of his ribs crunching against spikes on wheels.
"Lancer!" Waver said, and he healed him. Lancer felt the bruises on his ribs receding.
"Thank you, my lord!" Lancer said. He hefted his spears.
He has fought multiple enemies before. Has faced hundreds of soldiers, has found himself outflanked many times. But this was entirely different. To his left, Berserker tore through the air at impossible speeds, swinging wildly, everything he was touching turning lethal and black. To his right, Rider's Gordius Wheel swung and ripped a path toward him, the spikes of the chariot's wheels nearly impaling him. As a Servant, Lancer was blessed with unnatural speed, but even with this, he could barely keep up. Were it not for his agility, he would have been killed a thousand times over.
Lancer whipped around, looking for a way through them. He ran but Beserker smashed his way in front of him, thrashing the buildings and tearing off one of the streetlights, aiming for him.
"Keh!" Lancer dove head-first, escaping the blow, only to find himself in the path of the on-coming chariot. Waver started.
"Lancer!"
Lancer's eyes widened.
Beserker grabbed onto his golden spear.
"What!" Waver started. Anything Berserker touched became his Noble Phantasm. Even if it belonged to another Servant's. He saw Lancer twist his body, eyes widening with horror at the realization that Gae Buidhe, the golden body of his spear, had started swirling with black, the gleam of the blade turning ashen and burning black like coal.
Berserker roared and charged forward.
The ox screamed. Hooves pounded on pavement. And the blade of Gae Buidhe, the Golden Rose of Mortality, smashed into Lancer's shoulder and sliced through the meat of Lancer's arm.
Lancer slammed heavily against the ground, his spears clattering beside him.
"Lancer!" Waver started towards him.
"Stay back!" Lancer said. Waver stopped. It was the only time Lancer had openly defied him. "My lord. Berserker used my Noble Phantasm against me," Lancer said. He stood and Waver could see the gash on Lancer's left arm, blood dripping down his hand and onto the pavement. "I fear he has severed the tendons of my arm. I cannot move my thumb or fingers."
Waver stared at him, stricken.
The ox cantered to a stop, the chariot swinging gently, while behind them Berserker crouched, a dustcloud of black blowing around him.
"Lancer," Waver said. "Break your spear. You won't be able to heal unless you destroy it!"
"I cannot," Lancer said. His face was pale. "My lord, without the use of my left hand, I will not be able to break this spear."
"Oh no," Waver said. Across from them, Berserker roared.
Waver saw Lancer heft his red spear with his non-dominant hand.
Lancer was a dual-wielder. He was used to wielding his spears with one hand. And yet...
And yet his stamina sucks, he's not right-handed, and Beserker and Rider are going for the kill!
Lancer picked up his spear and took a stance. "I shall hold them off," Lancer said. "My lord. Please use this opportunity to get to safety."
"What? I'm not leaving here! You're injured and-"
"My lord! I am begging you!" Lancer said.
Beserker and Rider charged forward.
The strikes happened faster than Waver could see it: one golden flash, then another, the sound of metal clashing in the air. Beserker let out a scream, thrashing his body before dissolving into a swirl of black mist. On the ground, Lancer looked up, eyes unfocused, trying to make out the silver-blue figure standing in front of him.
"That is some shoddy spearwork, my friend."
Saber stepped in front of them, lifting her sword.
Waver's eyes widened. "Saber!"
Saber grinned at them, then turned.
"Master of Rider!" Saber said. "Our mad friend has already withdrawn. If you do not call back Rider, I shall assist Lancer and together we shall defeat your Servant readily. What say you, Master of Rider?" Saber said. She gripped her sword. "Choose carefully your words."
Waver glanced around, apprehensively.
"Withdraw, Rider." The irritation was evident in Kayneth's voice. "That's enough for tonight."
The shadow disappeared from Rider's eyes.
"How annoying," Rider said. He sighed. "King of Knights. You have my thanks. I want you even more for my armies now."
"Watch yourself, King of Conquerors," Saber said. "Or I shall repay your insolence tenfold."
"I look forward to it," Rider said, and he shifted into spirit form, a cloud of blue mana wafting behind him.
xXx
.
5.
"Stupid E-rank luck," Waver said. He was wrapping a bandage around Diarmuid's arm. "I've never heard of a Heroic Spirit being done in by his own Noble Phantasm! I mean, seriously? What the hell!"
Diarmuid's face burned. He had never felt more shame than this. The spear had cut a huge gash into his forearm and his shoulder was dislocated, and while Waver was able to pop his shoulder back in - mostly with Saber's help - the wound to his arm could not be so easily dealt with. "Forgive me, my lord," Diarmuid said. His shoulders hunched, eyes fixed forward on the floor. "It was an ability I had not anticipated."
"Yeah, well, you're lucky I can suture, you know that?" Waver tugged hard on the bandage, making Diarmuid wince. A new splotch of blood seeped through the gauze. "Ugh, is it seriously going to keep bleeding?" Waver unwrapped the dressing again, frowning at the fresh spot of oozing blood. "I think it cut through an artery. Geez, how are you even still here? With a wound like this you should have bled to death already."
"Forgive me, my lord," Diarmuid said, and he hung his head. "I fear I am using more mana to compensate."
"Well it is a pretty good cut." Waver frowned. The wound sliced deep into the tendons of Lancer's arm, severing muscle and hitting into bone. It was a wonder his arm didn't get cut clean off - if not for Lancer's arm guards, the spear would have easily lopped his hand off. "I mean, at least you still have your hand, so there's that," Waver said. Lancer sagged even more.
They tried destroying Lancer's spear. They tried using a command spell - they overcome the limits of flesh and blood, Waver figured maybe they would magically heal Lancer's arm or at the very least let him break his spear. Waver tried to be clever about it - By my command spell, either heal yourself completely or destroy this golden spear - but apparently it was only enough to staunch the blood and give Lancer the inexplicable urge to hurl his spear off the roof. ("That's not going to break it, idiot! Put it down!" Waver said.)
Saber even offered to help. "I have a Noble Phantasm that will allow me to break this," Saber said. She hesitated. "However, there is a chance you may get caught up in the blast, as well."
"Let's not try that," Waver said, because knowing their luck Lancer would get his head blown off in the process.
"At the very least, it is only your left hand which was injured," Saber said, in a sincere effort to cheer him up. Lancer just looked even more depressed.
"Actually, Saber. I favor the use of my left hand."
"...Oh."
In his head, Waver could imagine Kayneth laughing, mocking them.
How pathetic, a Servant done in by his own Noble Phantasm! It is as expected, Master Velvet!
"If it weren't for that damn Berserker," Waver muttered, and he taped up the bandage. Lancer's eyes were downcast and dim.
"Unfortunately, you won't be able to shift into spirit form," Waver said. "With a wound like this it'll keep bleeding mana. It's probably better if you stay materialized, that way I can keep an eye on your arm."
"But what of the Mackenzies?" Lancer said. Waver frowned.
"I don't suppose you can hide?" Waver said. There was a knock on the door.
"Waver-chan? What are you doing?" It was Martha. "I heard voices, is something wrong?"
"Uh!" Waver jumped up. He motioned to Lancer, frantically.
"My lord, what-"
"Hide," Waver hissed, and pushed him into the closet.
"Just a second!" Waver said, and he ran toward the door. "G-grandma! Hi! Uh, sorry! I was just watching TV-"
"What is that smell?" Martha said, making a face.
And then Waver remembered: That stupid curse! Waver wasn't sure what women saw when they looked at him, but he had an idea: someone deformed, with skin sloughing off and the stench of something decaying. Waver watched as Martha sniffed the air, frowning.
"It smells like something is rotting in here, Waver. When was the last time you cleaned your room?"
"Uh..."
There was a noticeable thump inside the closet - Lancer probably banging his head against a shelf. "What was that?" Martha said.
"N-nothing! I think it was a cat! A cat outside! Um," Waver licked his lips. "Grandma don't open that door."
"Waver, what on earth-"
Martha opened the door, coming face-to-face with Lancer.
There was an awful moment where neither of them did anything. Lancer froze, like a deer in headlights, while Martha just stared at him, her eyes growing wider and wider.
Oh no. Waver thought. Oh no, oh no, oh no...
Martha dropped her things and screamed.
"Shit!" Waver said, and he jumped up toward Lancer.
"A vagabond!" Martha said. Lancer ducked and tried to run but Martha grabbed a broom. "A vagabond! A vagabond! Glen! Glen! Help!"
"My lady! Calm yourself!" Lancer threw his hands up, shielding himself as she whacked him with a broom. "I mean you no harm!"
"Call the police, Waver!" Martha said. She clocked him hard across the face. "Waver call the police!"
He stumbled, pitching sideways and slamming into Waver's desk. The computer monitor rocked, tumbling onto the floor.
"Glen!" Martha was screaming. "Glen! Glen!"
"Grandma! Grandma! Sleep!" Waver said, and Martha dropped hard against the wooden floor.
There was the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. "Martha?" Glen was running. "Martha, what's going on?"
"Shit," Waver said, and he ran out to intercept him.
The door swung as Waver took off, and Diarmuid stood at the center of Waver's room, not knowing what to do. Above him, the ceiling light was still swinging from the commotion earlier, and Waver's room was a mess: Martha was unconscious and sprawled out on the floor, a noticeable bruise on her forehead from where she had whacked her head on the floor, and there were papers and electronics strewn about, knocked over in the struggle. With difficulty, Diarmuid used his good arm to heft Martha onto Waver's bed, taking care to arrange a pillow under her head. As he was rearranging the sheets, there was a loud thud downstairs, and Diarmuid started a bit at the sound.
"Well, he's unconscious," Waver called out from down the stairs. There was a long pause.
"Can you, uh, help me drag them back downstairs?"
xXx
.
As it turned out, trying to pick up a body off the stairs with one good arm was next to impossible.
It took three solid attempts of Lancer trying to slide his arm around and trying to heft Glen onto his shoulder before Waver came around and hoisted him up by the armpits. "Grab his legs," Waver said, and Lancer wrapped Glen's ankles by the crook of his elbow, holding him like a bundle of firewood. "Okay, uh, just start walking backwards, I'll tell you when to turn."
"Understood," Lancer said, but as he tried to negotiate the steps Glen's lower half whacked against the stairs.
"Wait wait wait wait-"
Lancer stumbled, and Waver suddenly was bearing the full weight of Glen's body, hoisting him by the armpits and trying not to drop him. "Oi, Lancer!"
"Sorry!" Lancer scrambled. He tripped. All three of them toppled down the stairs.
Fortunately for Waver and Glen, Lancer had fallen down first. Lancer groaned, pushing himself up on one good arm and blinking slowly at the sudden stream of blood coursing down his nose.
"Forgive me, my lord," Lancer said, and he shakily wiped his hand across his nose, smearing blood across his face. "Oh no. I seem to be getting blood on the carpet as well..."
Maybe it was the look on Lancer's face, or maybe it was the fact that he had gotten beaten up by a 74 year-old Australian woman after having his arm practically sliced off by his own Noble Phantasm, or maybe it was because he was trying his hardest to wipe up the blood on the carpet and only making things worse, but Waver started to giggle.
Lancer looked up. "...My lord?"
Waver bit his lip, shaking his head. He started laughing.
"Wha-" Lancer looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "What is so funny?" He sounded more hurt than anything Waver has ever heard.
Waver started howling. "Oh my god!" Waver said. His stomach was hurting from laughing so much. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"
"My lord?"
"Oh my god, of course this would happen to me. Of course."
"I do not understand what is so funny," Lancer said. Waver howled.
"It's just-" Waver wheezed. "My Servant- my all powerful - miracle - Servant - got attacked by his own Noble Phantasm - and got beat up by a seventy year-old!"
"I was caught off-guard," Lancer said, stupidly. Waver laughed, harder.
"On top of that-" Waver gasped, tears in his eyes. "On top of that! He smells like rotting garbage! And his face scares off the ladies! And the kicker is I made him this way!"
Waver was laughing so hard he was crying. And despite himself, Lancer started laughing too.