They have a strange living arrangement.
At night she forces him to take spirit form. He must promise not to watch her undressing and he agrees. So she pulls up the covers alone, turning her back to him, and he may have materialized on the floor with a book to read. Yet despite such innocent starts, he has somehow taken to sleeping in her small bed. She twists and turns in fretful sleep, later unremembered dreams of golden swords piercing and ripping apart at her hero and then to turn towards her own frightened, quivering form. She does not remember the content of these dreams, only that the first time it was a comfort to wake next to her snoring servant and shift so she lays against his chest. So it has become an unacknowledged habit. Sometimes a hand or arm will wrap itself around her small waist and she is in an impenetrable fortress, safe. She wonders if he realizes in sleep if he is holding someone. She wonders who has the privilege to be held by Alexander the Great. Such thoughts are truly embarrassing, but she reassures herself that the snores are evidence he is deep in sleep and is not aware of her neediness. She is wrong. He knows, but her pride is so delicate he will not tell her.
To Waver's consternation, the Mackenzies adore Rider. If she had her druthers, they would never have known of his existence, but one day she is called down to dinner to find a servant (who had an hour ago been in spirit form) sitting at the dinner table.
"Waver!" Glen calls out, "Alexi here dropped by to see you."
"Oh did he?" she glares at a shamelessly grinning, fully materialized Rider.
"They have graciously invited me to dine with you tonight!"
"You should have told us you had a guest or I'd have cooked something special," Martha chides, coming out of the recessed kitchen, bearing trays of food.
"He's not supposed to be here," she grumbles, sliding into the wooden chair.
"Don't trouble yourself," Rider says, "the simple pleasures of home and hearth are what are truly best in this world." He takes a bite of fish with flourish and a contented grunt.
"You are such a flatterer aren't you, Alexi!" Martha turns winks at Waver, who stares sulking down into her rice bowl.
"We were worried about how Waver was doing at her school in England, but if she's managed to meet a strapping man like you, well, I guess we were worried over nothing." Glen is smiling conspiratorially in Waver's direction, a friendly hand on Rider's back. She is mortified. The best plan of avoidance seems to be to start eating vigorously and to ignore the scene in front of her. The chopsticks make rude clicking sounds as she shovels the food into her mouth.
"Waver and I are quite well acquainted, but she has never told me she has such wonderful people for grandparents!"
"Oh!" Martha hides her smile behind a polite hand, "we are not so important all the way out here in Japan."
"But we are honored to have you and to come so far away from home! How long will you be staying?" Glen asks.
"I should have all my work completed in about a week or so."
"Well, why don't you take the extra key? You can come over any time you like to eat or rest or visit Waver."
"How kind of you! I will gladly take you up on such an offer."
The meal continues full of drinking and cheer despite a very sullen Velvet lady. Afterwards, Rider offers to help clean the dishes, but Waver stops him with a sharp "no" and practically drags him up away into the hallway.
"You kids have fun!" Glen yells after them.
She unceremoniously pushes Rider into the room and slams the door shut.
"Didn't I tell you to take spirit form when you come and go? Now you're going to have to pretend to come in and leave every day, to explain why you're here! I'd think you'd have some sense, since finally you're the one who will inconvenienced!"
"Every day? Can they not be convinced I am sleeping in your room most nights? Surely they would not object to that. You are of age, after all."
"What are you talking about! Not with you!"
"It should only be for a week."
"You know what, fine! Have it your way, but I hope you at least brought the water from the river. Honestly, you are more trouble than you're worth."
The sight of Caster's lair and the revelation of Assassin's survival leave Waver feeling hollow and nauseated. She sits on the edge of her bed, hugging her knees, trying to will the cruel images out of her mind. Yet each time she manages to focus on the grave face of Rider across from her, the red of his hair grows dark and streams out into the sickening sea of blood. The brown of the walls fractures and falls away and the dark rolls in from the edges of her vision. There are bodies, numerous corpses. Wide limpid eyes, so similar to her own not so long ago, stare helplessly. She feels a phantom memory of jagged bone scraping at the edge of her shoe. The columns are framed with ornaments of torn muscle, seared limbs, glistening viscera, the entire scene is painted: a ghastly celebration of cruelty. Tears well up in her eyes.
"You are safe now." Rider's voice is low and solemn.
"I know! I know!" she tells him, muffled and quietly hesitant.
"Then do not cry, young Master. You are a strong girl."
"Easy for you to say! Are you making fun of me again? Because I'm not a conqueror? That's what you think isn't it? Such things are normal for you, I suppose. I'm just a stupid girl who gets sick at the sight of a real war-"
"You know nothing!" He growls and jabs her in the head with a single finger. It is not a violent action, but acts as one sharp force to silence her and send her sprawling back on the bed.
"You barbarian!" she springs back up, incensed and screaming now, "You can't do that to me!"
"Then how else am I supposed to get you to stop spewing nonsense? Physical action was the only option!"
"You don't have to hit me!"
"Then what?"
She snarls, hands flying out to grasp the sides of his face while she lunges forward. For a split second he thinks she intends to ram her forehead into his, but no, she is kissing him. It is hard, no affection, an act of power and dominance that ends quickly as she throws his head back with an angry howl issuing form her mouth. She is running now, down the hallway to the bathroom, leaving Rider dazed and confused.
The bathroom is blissfully and shockingly cold against the heat of her body. She sinks into the empty tub, beating at its sides until her knuckles feel raw. There is someone at the door, but she can't hear their words over the pounding in her ears. She leaves the door closed and does not respond, and soon she is left alone by the sound of retreating footsteps. She moans and lets her head loll back, closing her eyes and praying her entire world would disappear.
It is still dark when she wakes from unexpected sleep. Her body aches as she gingerly climbs out of the bathtub and opens the door, tiptoeing back to the room. Rider is lying on the bed, wearing his civilian clothes. She sees him stiffen as she enters, but he does not look at her, continuing to stare at the ceiling.
"I took spirit form, but the Mackenzies were awoken and confused by the sudden disturbance."
She stands over him, arms folded defensively. "More work, of course. Now I have to hypnotize that away in the morning."
"I'm sorry."
"You should be."
They are stuck at a stalemate. Minutes pass and neither speak. The girl and the man watch each other warily, each scared of how to proceed. Yet there is a calming affect in the soft murmurs of their breathing, the only sounds to fill the space.
Eventually Rider speaks. "I am not untouched by such carnage as we saw in Caster's lair."
"Don't talk about that, please." A faint shiver runs through her.
"No, it is important that you understand. I do not show emotion, because a king must endure. That is our duty: to take the burdens of our people and overcome them. This is what I must do for you."
She sighs and plants herself heavily on the edge of the bed. "Have you really seen things like that often?"
"Never so many children, but men, many men. Sometimes families. And I looked upon them knowing I had a hand in their end, in their sacrifice."
"How can you live with yourself?"
"Sometimes I cannot, but it was all necessary. I suppose I grow a tough shell from practice. I was born a king."
"You had no choice."
He nods. She thinks about that strong jaw and how it stood over the people of Macedonia. She thinks of the horror that sun cracked face has seen and how it still smiles at small pleasures like home cooked meals. She thinks of his offer of alliance to the other servants and realizes he was not being naïve, he knew the purpose of a grail war. Yet her hero had hoped to prevent bloodshed; unlike the others he had tried to stop the war before it had even begun. He had not accepted the necessity of a war, for Alexander the Great knew of the horror that came from battle. So he fights because he must, and if he must he shall do so with grandeur. Waver Velvet wonders at how she has summoned a servant so wonderfully heroic. She is unsure if she deserves such majesty.
A curious hand reaches out, thin fingers catching in his beard, and moving up to cup his face. Then a tentative thumb runs over a cheekbone and he does not protest, so she moves to trace that grand nose with an index finger. He lets her attentions continue as she leans forward, pressing against his side, absorbed in her tactile exploration. He can see she is concentrating, by the tight line of her lips. Now fingertips run across his brow and it tickles, so he arches them. A slight hitch in the heaving of her chest against him denotes her surprise, but the now confident digits move to press against his temple. They rest there, feeling his heartbeat. He can feel hers too.
Soon it is as if all the blood in her veins is flowing towards that point of connection, which throbs gently and painlessly. Waver feels her entire self concentrated in her fingertips, touching Rider, but she is not being drained of energy. They bind to each other here, a merging of souls at one physical point, and she feels inexplicably pulled down by the energy clasped where their skin touches. Her head droops and soft dark hair brushes against his chin. Her lips part and she exhales in exaltation, the breath ghosting along his skin.
She is kissing him again, this time tentative and soft. He wants to raise his head and press into her embrace, but he cannot risk losing this gift by being too bold. So he reciprocates as best he can from his position, but as the kisses continue, a hand raises to stroke the paleness of her cheek. They kiss languidly and quietly for a time, until she backs away, mouth glistening. Her eyes are sad, but she smiles at him, as she rolls back to lie facing him on the bed.
"I suppose you can sleep here tonight."
They fall asleep still in their clothes and a moth fluttering around the burning lamplight.
