Author's Notes: You can blame the wine and blame Gio all you want, but the truth is, I'm a damn nerd and I couldn't sleep for anything last night and came up with this FMA/Fate Zero AU and it got way out of control. Will it get bigger? You bet your ass. But I need to finish the series first. Just know that I'm crying over this as I right it. Because I am a weak person. So, for you, Gio, beautiful songstress and writer of my favorite fic, the AU you inspired me to write. This AU is wild and expansive. I've got so many ideas for it. The title comes from Brandon Sanderson's "The Well of Ascension" because let me cry over his writing okay. I just started on his colab of the Wheel of Time series and I'm very emotional.
Disclaimer: I own neither FMA nor Fate/Zero and do not make me sob about that.
good men don't belong legends
part one: a good man goes to war
Warily watching his older brother run about the room, Alphonse sits in his wheelchair quietly. He's always been known as the quieter of the Elric brothers, but he's never felt it quite so sharply until now. Ed, his older brother by a year, is leaping about the room, shouting in glee as he does, more emotional and excited than Al has ever seen him before. For his part, Ed is typically quiet, prone to moody bouts of silence, and when he does show his emotions, it's usually explosions of anger and defensiveness.
Honestly, Ed is the most emotional person that Al has ever known, but he does try so hard to hide it.
Right now though, Ed doesn't seem to care at all. He gleefully holds a box in his hands, practically skipping as he bounds about. Al is silent in his wheelchair, more than happy to let Ed revel in his glory. It's not often that he's able to see his brother smile so broadly, if at all. Ever since the accident, Ed hasn't smiled much at all. Oh, he tries, of course, being the big strong brother that he is, but he hurts too, and he's been desperate to not let Al see that side of him.
Finally though, Al's curiosity gets the best of him and he wheels himself over to his brother. "What is it?"
Planting his feet on the ground, Ed gives him a wild grin. "It's our salvation!" His grin is almost manic, close enough to scare Al a little. He's never seen Ed look like this before, a bright gleam in his golden eyes that seems both unusual and familiar. Maybe it has to do with their father. Mom always said they had his eyes, even if Al can't remember him like Ed can.
However, when Al peers inside the box, all he sees is a glass flask, a bulb so that it might hold liquid and a little tube that would filter the liquid out. It's cracked on one side. He sits back in his seat, feeling a little more than disappointed. "It's junk."
"No, it's a relic," Ed proclaims proudly. He says the word with reverence, but there's a flash on his face that almost looks like contempt. Al knows from that split second that this object once belonged to their father, who left them when they were just children. This thing now though, despite Ed's distaste for it, holds the key to everything they've been dreaming of. That's how Ed is looking at it at least. "It's our key to get into the next Holy Grail War."
Al gasps. "Brother, we're too young!"
His eyes turning to molten gold, Ed grasps the box tightly against his chest. "I'm a brilliant alchemist! Mom said that we're the tenth generation of mages in our family. That means I'm strong." They read the same books, though Ed is a little more ahead of them. Al sinks in his seat though. They're still young. Most mages that compete in the Holy Grail Wars are decades older than them and much more advanced. Even if Ed won't admit it, Al knows that experience can sometimes count a lot more than natural abilities. "I'm going to summon the strongest Servant and win the War."
"Brother…" Al bites his lip. More than anything, he wants to persuade his brother to hold off – to wait for the next War – but he knows that Ed won't. Al knows, somehow, that the command signals will appear on his brother's hand, his eagerness and pure kindness a beacon to the Holy Grail. Ed is too good. He's too desperate. He wants to repair their home, their life, their family.
Ed is everything the Holy Grail will want in a Master.
"I can do this," Ed proclaims, his entire face bright now. "I can win! Everyone thinks about the top three classes, but I'll sneak in with another." He laughs, clear and earnest. It both breaks Alphonse's heart and gives him hope, especially when Ed lays a hand on his arm. "You'll walk again, little brother, I promise."
"You need to be quiet," May whispers to Xiao Mei as they crouch behind the house. The small panda seemingly glares, her animal eyes glowing in the dark, but May ignores it. The oldest and largest house out of all the Xing clans, it's more of a palace to May. She's not used to such extravagance. Then again, no one in her clan would be, not even her, despite being the daughter of a king. She's the lowest of the high, in her mother's words, worth little more than a shrug of the shoulders.
Not anymore though. Opening the lid of the box just barely so that the glow gleams on her face, May stares down at the stone. She's the youngest person in the world to ever lay eyes on the stone. In truth, she was never to see it, never even know about it, but people have such loose tongues around her. After all, in most people's eyes, she's little more than a child. The only reason she's here is because it's her eleventh name day and every prince and princess celebrates their name day at the Xing palace, regardless of whether or not the Emperor actually cares.
Nonetheless, May counted herself lucky to have her name day around this time of year. Every child of the Emperor knows about the Holy Grail Wars. From the time they are born, they are taught about it, in hopes that one of them will be chosen and they will win it. For the Emperor, for their Father.
May smiles as she closes the lid. She alone out of her sixteen siblings knows the truth. She, the youngest of all of them, the quietest, the most temperamental, the smallest, the least expected, knows what must be done in order to even be considered by the Grail. Because while her siblings fought with and betrayed one another for their father's approval, May realized early on that it was on the human that helped create her that chose who fought in the War. The mysterious Grail chose, and she was determined to be worthy from the very minute she realized that.
When the seal appeared on her hand the night before her name day, May nearly cried. And when she stole the relic, passed down through her father's family since before time could be remembered, she kept silent as could be. She closes the lid now and breaths as quietly as possible. In minutes, the palace guards that protect the vault will see that the relic is missing. Whether or not they or the Emperor understands the meaning of its disappearance is beyond her. No one will believe that a young girl is a Master in the Holy Grail War, but she will show them. She'll show all of them.
"We need to leave now," May sighs, casting one more wistful glance at the beautiful city. Xiao Mei nuzzles against May's leg, and she scoops the small animal up to place on her shoulder. It will be a long time before she lays her eyes on this sight again, but she swears, to the gods of old and new, that her people will be able to look at it too when she returns.
Winry is standing in front her of parents' graves alone when her hand begins to burn. She gasps in shock and bends over, grasping onto her right hand tightly. When the burning finally subsides, she stares down at the strange red mark on the back of her hand with wide, blue eyes. She's never seen or heard anything like this before.
"What's happening?" she whimpers, but her parents do not hear her cry. They're dead, killed in a war in which they were only trying to save lives while everyone else ended them. Her lip trembles and tears build up in her eyes, but she doesn't make a sound after that. Crying is good for the soul, or so she has been told, but she doesn't know whether she's supposed to cry or not.
For a long time, she stands in front of her parents' tombstones, her eyes drifting to the grey stone and then back at the red mark on her hand. She doesn't know what it is, certainly doesn't know what it means, but after a while, she thinks she can remember her father having the same mark on his hand once before. She asked him about it once, didn't she? He'd merely smiled and ruffled her hair, said that it was nothing for her to worry about.
He was wrong apparently – wrong and now dead.
By the time she drags herself back to her grandmother's house, Winry is too tired to think. She's spent days crying and sleeping, not knowing what else to do after her parents' unexpected deaths. Her granny sets a bowl of hot beef stew in front of her, but Winry barely notices it, stirring spoon idly in the liquid.
Abruptly, Granny Pinako snatches Winry's hand, her grip firmer than what some old codger should be capable of. "What's this?" she demands, her tone as sharp as her eyes as the light of the dining room shines almost menacingly off her glasses.
Winry jerks her hand back and hides it nervously. "Nothing!"
She doesn't know what it is. As far as she's concerning, it is nothing. Still, while she doesn't know, in her heart, she knows that it is more than anything in the world, more than she could possibly dream of. Nothing for her to worry about. Her father should've told her when he'd had the chance, when he'd been alive. Weren't things passed down through mage families? They may have been a young mage family, her Granny being the first to have magical prowess in three generations, but still, it would have been nice to know something.
Instead of being angry at Winry hiding something, Pinako collapses in her chair, a solemn expression filling her face. It's sadder than when she found out that her son and daughter-in-law had been killed. "Oh, my dear sweet child…" Her words are filled with a weight heavier than one being stuck with the task of raising their child's daughter. "You dream of something greater than the world. It will take great training to prepare you for the War in two years."
Winry blinks in confusion. "The War…? But the war is now, isn't it? That's what killed Dad and Mom."
Pinako reaches out and Winry gives her grandmother her hands, including the marked one. Her Granny sweeps a calloused hand over the mark. "This is a different War, one I'd hoped you would never be a part of, one that makes me wish I had never known magic."
A wind seems to blow through the house. Winry doesn't understand. One day, she will, and she will be harder than her grandmother and parents ever could have been.
"We must ensure that we win the Holy Grail War."
"There are more…extraneous variables for this one that the last few combined."
"Then we must be even more careful than before."
Father turns away from his partner after proclaiming a truth that he's loath to speak about. Of course, truth be told, he's never been fond of the gold-toothed man, to the point where he refused to ask the man's name or tell his own, but his partner has never asked. At least the man has loyalty. And that is necessary when it comes to working together in the Holy Grail Wars.
It is every man for themselves, but if two Masters were to find each other at the start in order to form a truce, it could change everything.
This is the fourth Holy Grail War that Father has competed in. It is why he was given the name Father in the first place. No other Master has been called upon so many times. He must win this time. The Grail must be speaking to him, proclaiming him the rightful owner before the War, to have given him the command signals so many times. It's given him a longer life not known to mortal men. This is more than just a War to Father now. It is his life, his sole purpose, his very being.
"I'm surprised you chose the class that you did," the gold tooth doctor admits idly. His voice is idle; his words are not. Father knows probing when he hears it.
And he smiles casually. "Assassin is stronger than he appears. That is what I want."
The doctor tilts his head. "To look weak?"
"To be a surprise," a boy's childish voice responds from the shadows. It's still a slight shock even to Father to see an innocuous, small boy step into the light, wearing a schoolboy's outfit. He doesn't look older than ten. His eyes are near black and yet strangely glittering, his smile sweet. Father has spilled the blood of children that look less innocent than this one in order to summon a Servant.
Father tries not to laugh when his partner startles, not out of fear, but confusion. "You are a Servant?"
"I am Assassin," the child replies, gazing up at the old man. He turns his eyes to Father, a child looking to their parent. There is nothing in his eyes. It's a strange sight. He holds no contempt, no disgust, no hate. He merely awaits an order for his Master. It is more than any other Servant has given him. "I do hope that your cohort's Servant is more impressive. I am not fond of wasting time."
After clearing his throat, the doctor moves to the table and slides his hand down the dull side of a gleaming sword. It's old-fashioned, but looks as if it was crafted the day before. "Then I will not delay further. I found my needed relic."
Father watches without blinking as the boy moves towards the table, his gaze burning and yet light as he stares forward. He just barely avoids needing a stepping stool in order to see what lies on top. For the first time though, Assassin smiles, and it is not childlike at all. Cold pierces Father's heart and he feels a swell of glee build in his soul. "You will summon Saber? A strong class indeed. And this one…" He chuckles. Oh, no, he is not an innocent child to toy with at all. Who is this Assassin? "I am the strongest of my class, but this would be a mighty foe indeed."
For someone as proud as his Servant to admit that… Father does not even blink. He is allied with Saber for the time being, but he knows that if it comes to it, his Assassin will do whatever is necessary to sever those bonds. After all, assassins work alone and in the dark in the end.
It is a well-known fact that participating in the Holy Grail Wars is passed down through the generations of the Armstrong family. Olivier has known this as far as she can remember, studying the tactics that her family has used in the past, learning other families' and mages' weakness and strengths, working on her own. When she struggled and failed, her father would pat her on the head while she ranted and raved.
She would not lose! She would win the War!
Her father did say that she was far too strong-minded.
Half the time, whenever she practiced magic, she would use too much mana and whatever she was focusing on would explode into ruins or sometimes even turn against her. More than once, she had to duck behind something, lest she be injured by her own attempts at magic. She merely contained too much magic in her soul to be contained though. Her father did say that she was stronger than most and her determination and anger only fueled that power.
When the mark appeared on her hand, Olivier was not surprised. She merely harrumphed that it arrived so late and went on about her day. As far as she was concerned, the Grail should've known the second she was born that she would be destined to fight in this War. It was nearly a month before one of her sisters spotted the telltale mark on her hand and told their father. She would have liked to have taken her relic by force or found out, but as it was family tradition, he merely gave it to her.
"You will lead our family to victory," her father says, bowing as he hands her the relic, a metal gauntlet with strange markings on the knuckles. It's nearly five times to size of her hand and twice the size of her father's, who has the largest hands that she has ever seen in her life. The warrior that wore this gauntlet must have been a massive and fierce warrior, truly a Servant destined for her.
Olivier takes the relic in her hand and smirks. It's heavy, almost too much for her to hold with one hand, but she refuses to hold it any other way. This Servant will bow down to her, whether he giants over her or not. She will be the Master, after all.
The Holy Grail War did not sound interesting at first. Oh, Kimblee heard about it at the Clock Tower when he was there, and it practically bored him to tears, if he was capable of tears. People would whisper about it, mostly older mages from ancient families, but he didn't see the point in it.
After all, none of them could ever want the Grail enough for it to call on them. They were weak, pathetic, little creatures. He could squash them all like bugs and they would only have time to gasp in indignant rage that someone like him could defeat them. It would have brought him great joy to do so.
Everyone believes that power in magic came from generations upon generations of mages in a family. That's why the Armstrong family and the extinct Hohenheim family are so revered. Kimblee is the first of mages in his family for generations. His parents shipped him off when he was a child and died shortly after. He never truly knew them. He doesn't truly care. They had no magic dancing in their fingertips, not like he does, so powerful that he didn't know what to do with it when he first went to the Clock Tower.
He was bullied, shoved aside, told that he was nothing – but he learned and he waited and he watched. He listened. And he knew, above all else, that he was destined for more.
The command signals appear on his hand before anyone else's for the next Holy Grail War, a full two years before May Chang is even born. He is young when it happens, not even a student at the Clock Tower yet. It's a surprise even to him when he learns what the marks are about, but he is curious and bright and he enrolls in the school right away. It puts him in debt, but he doesn't care. The Grail has aspirations for him that he doesn't know about yet. That's enough to interest him.
By the end of his school, no one bullies him, if only because they are afraid of him. There is something wrong with him, a few people say, but Kimblee pays them no mind. He tugs on the gloves that cover his hands and hide the command signals that tell the world who he is. Honestly, he doesn't care if people know that he's involved in this War or not, as it's merely an exercise in curiosity for him, but there are other things that he doesn't want people to know about.
Like the murders. Being in prison would not help his cause.
Kimblee sighs at the sight of the woman gagged before him. Her eyes are wide with fear, red like blood, hair white as if she has seen a ghost. But no, she is just an Ishvalan, another component to his cause. After all, every summoning requires a sacrifice, most especially a Servant for the War. "You should count this as an honor," he tells the woman as he leans down to look her square in the eyes. She jerks away from him, fear terribly evident on her face. It's a heartwarming sight. "You're helping me win the War!"
When he starts the incantation, it almost looks as if the woman's eyes go white with fear, the pupils so small against the bright light of the magic that glows in the room. He can't wait until the walls are painted as red as her irises with her blood.
A fifteen year-old Ed grins furiously as he holds a palm out towards the flask in the alchemy circle that he created and blue lights crackle around him. He will be a Master and his Servant will appear. Al sits a few feet back, his wheelchair pressed against the wall, and looks on in worry.
In his mind, Ed is completely confident that everything will go according to plan. People look down on the Caster class, but he knows it in it and out. It is his family's class and no one knew it better than his father. Ed has read the books to the point that he can recite them by memory. Every time anyone else tries to summon Caster, they always fumble and fail, unable to match up with them. No one will expect this, as all believe the Hohenheim line to be dissolved. His father may have been a bastard, but he was smart and the magic he passed along to his son even greater.
It's almost as if Ed doesn't even need the Caster Servant in order to perform the same results. He's a mage in his own right at such a young age that it would astound anyone. It could have been Al though. Only one child is allowed the rights to their parent's inherited powers. He can feel the power in his little brother simmering underneath his weak surface, but Ed knows that he must be the one to carry this burden for now.
Ed smiles back at his little brother encouragingly. He will use up all the magical power in him to give his brother his body back, to bring their mother back, and then it will be Al's turn to pass it along. Ed doesn't hold any illusion about his survival in this War. He never has. Al is the hopeful one.
But for this moment, Ed hopes beyond hope that his Servant, the one he is summoning, will help him accomplish his goals.
The explosion of the arrival of her Servant blows Winry off her feet. She cries out as she flies back and tumbles against the floor. Pinako, who just barely managed to stay on her feet by grasping onto the wooden threshold of the door, rushes to her once the wind dies down. Light still crackles eerily in the room, delicate thunder and sound of electrical charges surging in the air.
"I'm alright," Winry mumbles as she waves away Pinako's concerns. She allows her grandmother to help her up, but nothing else. However, when her eyes settle on her Servant, she freezes and grabs hold of the older woman's arms tightly, blue eyes wide in shock.
Standing in the summoning circle that Winry created painstakingly with Pinako is a beautiful blond-haired woman. Her hair is short, cut like a man's, but only for a moment. She seems to assess Winry in that moment, taking account of her look, and then golden hair descends onto her shoulders like a cape, flowing over the armor that covers her shoulders. Winry can barely breathe. The woman absolutely beautiful.
And…not who she was expecting at all.
"Archer?" Winry finally manages.
The woman breathes. She never takes her eyes away from Winry. Surely she should have thought that Pinako, an older and more experienced mage, was her Master, but it is as if the Servant knew right from the start that this young girl was her Master and accepted it before she even fully materialized. There is a hint of a smile on her face, a look that instantly makes Winry wish she could see it completely. This woman, her Servant, her Archer, could likely shatter a hundred foes with a true smile.
"I am here at your command, Master," the woman says in a clipped, military-like tone and even bows.
Glancing at her granny, Winry hesitates, not knowing what to do. She'd known that she was summoning the Archer class, one of the three strongest classes in the Holy Grail War and not someone meant for the likes of her, but she had no idea that her Servant would be, well, a woman. She feels strangely emboldened, confused, and scared. Her Servant, on the other hand, seems to have no hesitation about her Master.
"Winry," she says, "my name is Winry." The woman straightens up and nods. There isn't even any acceptance in her eyes. She is at her Master's command. Winry doesn't know how to handle this. Pinako told her that she might have to fight with her Servant for dominance, especially considering the class, but it appears as if Archer is ready to serve immediately. "You are the Hawk's Eye?"
"That is the name I was given," the woman replies cryptically.
For some reason, the woman's amber eyes makes Winry's heart beat faster. "But is that the name you wish to be called by?" Her heart swells when a look of surprise flashes in the other woman's eyes. It is the first sign of emotion that Winry has seen from her. "I will not call you by anything that you do not want to be called, not even Archer, if you wish it."
The woman bites her lip. "Riza. You may call me Riza. Few ever have, but as my Master…"
Winry rushes forward and takes the woman's hand. As she does, the metal armor dissipates from Riza, replaced by simple blue dress, so meager compared to the extravagant armor she wore before. She does not know what to say to this woman who she did not expect, but she feels a kinship towards her as well already. Maybe that comes with the whole Master and Servant thing, but Winry isn't for sure.
Riza looks down at her, still surprised, but there's a hint of softness in her eyes as well. "You are going to make this War very difficult for me, aren't you, Winry?" she asks, her strong feminine voice a mixture of resignation and teasing.
Winry laughs and grips the other woman's hand tighter, delighted and terrified and filled with wonder. She could not have asked for a better Servant. Archer shakes her head. Or is it Riza? Winry knows that she is supposed to think clinically, to think of her Servant as a class, not a person, but already she sees the woman behind the mask of the Hawk's Eye, the person who she truly had no idea about. But then, if no one else knew about her, that would be a great advantage for them. Winry hugs her Archer, despite herself.
She is still a child, much like Edward Elric, for all her loss. She knows nothing of the War.
Yet.
(Archer and Caster know better.)