(A/N)
Happy birthday to me.
This chapter was long and arduous, but I was determined to contain it to a single chapter so here we are.
Big thanks to fallacies, hecturnus and fluflesnufaluphagus for beta reading.
"Your record was pretty interesting, but it seems like you only made the Earl miserable after all.."
"What memories have you been watching?! I assure you it goes both ways!"
Undertaker and Emiya
Dear Rin,
You are probably never going to read this, but I've taken the liberty of christening this journal 'Rin' in your honor. The cover's red and prickly, and it reminds me of you. Take that bit of information however you will.
Dante believes that hell is an inferno. My own history forces me to concur.
He further posits that the deepest circle of hell is freezing cold and reserved for treachery of the highest order. I wonder just who it was I betrayed, Rin, that I now find myself in a sunless, frozen hell of my own making.
Dante did get one thing wrong: at the center of lake Cocytus isn't Lucifer gnawing on the bodies of Cassius, Brutus and Judas, but my master, who has taken care to name himself Ciel Phantomhive. Whereas you had fire in your blood, befitting of the setting my current master has ice within his veins. Serving him is thankless, and I chafe under his rigidity, belligerence and downright ingratitude.
Of course, I wouldn't be me if I didn't take care to give as good as I get.
And that isn't to say that there aren't moments where one can find amusement.
As I'm sure you're aware, unlike you, I've never been fond of teaching.
Lecturing and humbling, however is a different matter, as the first morning with my master has proven.
"Good morning, Master." Archer set the tray at his bedside table. "It's time to wake up."
His master merely groaned, burrowing further into his pillow.
Impatient, Archer flung the curtains to the side, enough for a muffled yelp to be elicited from his master as rays of sunshine shone in.
"Up, master." He tapped the pocket watch bestowed to him by Tanaka. "It's 7:30 AM, and we both have a lot on each of our plates so let's not dawdle. I've taken the liberty of preparing the Casablanca blend from Mariage Freres: mint and bergamot. I do hope it's to your satisfaction."
Without further ado, Archer went and poured his master a cup of steaming hot tea as his master groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes. Setting the teacup on a saucer, he passed the hot drink to his master.
"With regards to the day's events, I've planned out my tutoring for you as follows. In the morning there shall be your lessons on Latin, followed swiftly by you handling the earldom's administrative affairs, then we shall break for lunch. After that, barring any interruptions we go through basic typewriting lessons-"
"Emiya."
And there it was. Right on time. Archer sighed. "Yes, Master?"
His master's trademark scowl was firmly plastered onto his face. "This tea is boiling hot. How do you expect me to drink it? Are you trying to burn my tongue?"
"... my apologies, Master," Archer muttered, even as the two of them knew that Archer didn't feel apologetic at all, "but if the tea's too hot why don't you just blow on it like a normal person and try it again in a bit?"
"Blow it." Ciel repeated, slowly. "Fantastic idea, Emiya. Next time I invite Aunt Frances over to tea and it's too hot I'll just blow on it like a fire bellow. We can each do our best impressions of an owl. Hoo. Hoo." He set the cup and saucer aside with a clatter. "Next time, ensure that the tea has steeped and rested itself to a drinkable temperature before serving it to me, is that clear?"
Archer resisted the urge to roll his eyes, giving a short inclination of his head. "Yes, my master."
His master huffed, swinging his feet off the bed and into his slippers. Archer looked at the to-do list he held in his hand.
"As I was saying, in the afternoon after we go through your basic typewriting lessons, we'll go shooting. After which, if all goes well, afternoon tea, followed by music theory, then dinner. If we do remain on schedule, I shall teach you billiards in the recreation room, followed by supper and your personal time off. Breakfast will be served in the dining room. I shall see you there." He tucked the list into his shirt pocket and prepared to leave the room.
"Wait, Emiya!"
He stopped halfway to the door. "Yes, master, what is it now?"
His master, still swathed in his nightgown, crossed his arms. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Archer frowned.
"I assume you're a big boy and don't need me to hold your willie as you relieve yourself."
"Oh, piss off, Emiya." Ciel burst out in an indignant flush. "Clothes, Emiya. Clothes."
"They're right there, Master. All prepared for you." He pointed at the ensemble attire laid out at the foot of his master's four-poster bed.
Ciel merely glared, tapping his foot as Archer stared in incomprehension.
Suddenly, it clicked.
"You've got to be kidding me." Archer tried – and failed – to hold back a smile. "Are you seriously telling me you can't even dress yourself?"
"Of course I can," his master flushed, "but this is part of your duties as a butler besides. Consider this part of your training as a butler."
"Alright then, prove it." Archer motioned towards the pile of clothes he'd laid out. "Dress yourself. If you demonstrate you can do so in an efficient manner, I'll dress you without further complaint going forward. Go on."
His master looked at the set of clothes – dress shirt, gabardine peacoat and trousers – and back to his servant, suddenly uncertain.
Archer hid a smirk. "Or is my master an invalid, needing his butler to do everything for him?"
"Fine. Shut up and watch me." Scowling, Ciel lifted his nightgown over his head and reached for the dress shirt in a hurry.
Archer watched as his master fumbled with the buttons clumsily.
Archer watched as his master gave up midway to put on his trousers.
Archer watched as he attacked his buttons with a renewed effort, teeth clenched.
Archer watched as he strung his arms through the peacoat..
Archer watched as he was stuck, yet again, on its buttons.
Archer watched as he struggled to do the knot on the peacoat's back.
Archer watched as he hurriedly put on his stockings and shoes.
Archer watched as his master redid a button that was improperly done, lips curled in a snarl.
"There." His master finally snapped the button in place, full of ill-placed triumph. "I'm done."
There was a click, and Archer checked the projected stopwatch in his hands.
"Amazing, master." Archer held up the offending article for his master to see. "You took ten whole minutes to dress yourself, half of that time you spent trying to button your cuffs. Simply amazing. Come, let me clap for you."
He gave a short smattering of applause, relishing his master's deepening glower and embarrassment.
"Right, needless to say, you've failed this exercise." He stated matter-of-factly, shaking his head. "We'll keep working on that tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll be waiting in the dining room with your breakfast while you freshen up."
Bowing once, Archer headed to the door, ignoring his master shaking in anger.
"Look on the bright side, Master." Archer pointed out, one foot out the door. "I dare say your tea is of the right temperature to be drunk by now."
He closed the door, and there was a crash as a teacup was flung where he stood once before.
Ah, joy.
Shaking his head with mirth, Archer set off in readying the dining room, leaving his master to stew on his own.
Unfortunately, when it comes to lecturing and humbling, my master has gotten the idea that two can play the same game.
I've spent the better part of an afternoon wondering whether this is due to me being a terrible influence, or whether he always was such an unbearable little shit since he was an infant.
I'm leaning towards the latter.
"Today we have for you omelette aux fines herbes ," Archer pulled out the chair in the newly renovated dining hall as his master made to sit, "boudin blanc, ravioli of ceps and walnut, and the customary bread and butter."
All from a trip to market, Archer thought as he poured tea into his master's cup. While it was nice to go about shopping, he knew that the current arrangement could not stand. He'd have to find local grocers and set about having them make deliveries of foodstuffs to the manor. The essentials, at the very least.
The manor probably had such previous arrangements before, hadn't they? He'd have to ask Ciel or Tanaka one of these days on what deliveries were made.
"For tea, since so much of it went undrunk in the morning, is the Casablanca blend served at the appropriate temperature, or coffee if the master so prefers it."
"... Emiya."
How he was beginning to loathe his master calling his name,
"... Yes, master, what is it now?"
Ciel Phantomhive gestured towards whatever offended him at the moment.
"What's wrong with this picture?"
Archer frowned, peering over his master's shoulder.
An omelette, three parcels of ravioli with a burnt butter sauce, a sausage nicely roasted, and a bun speckled with seeds. All delicately arranged on a plate, wiped clean with no errant specks of sauce. A small dish of fresh creamery butter sat to the side.
All things considered, Archer was rather proud. He'd set about preparing pasta dough at once as soon as he'd procured the necessary flour and eggs, using a small sheet of it before saving the rest in the larder for future use. The better part of the morning was spent on mise en place that would last long into the future. Even now, in the cellars a small barrel of soybeans was in the process of fermenting itself, and Archer looked forward to the day he could use miso again.
He straightened up, clearing his throat. "I beg your pardon, Master, but I cannot see anything to complain about."
"Really?" His master said flatly. "Get this into your thick skull, Emiya. I'm not talking about the food, but the table setting. Fetch me paper and a pencil."
Bemused, Archer did so, projecting a leaf of lined paper and a pencil for his master to use. Snatching the articles away, his master began sketching the rough outline of a plate.
"To start with, bread and butter are served on a different plate entirely, separate from the main course." Ciel spoke clearly, taking care to illustrate a smaller, separate dish to the plate's eleven-o-clock – this had the unintended effect of making the entire drawing seem like a kindergartener's attempt to draw the earth and moon. "Along with the bread plate and butter dish comes the butter knife. The lack of any of that is your first mistake."
"If you are intending to serve a variety of dishes at once, take care to not have all of it on the same plate, making sure you have a fixed plate in front of your guest." He tapped the larger circle twice, eraser-first. "For shared dishes, your duty is to serve them tableside upon request. Remember that."
He went on, sketching further sets of cutleries beside the main dish. "Silverware is meant to be used from the outside in. It does not do to be only provided one set of cutlery like you did. One begins at the far right with the soup spoon; that piece of silverware. With the fish course comes the fish knife and fork," he sketched out a knife with a wide, flat spatula blade, "and then for the penultimate course we have the meat knife and fork." He sketched out the longest knife yet.
"Finally, we have the dessert set, upon which the fixed plate is replaced," he sketched a miniature set of fork, knife and spoon laid out neatly to the north of the dish, "and thus the table setting is complete."
Ciel gestured towards the otherwise bare table with his pencil. "I'm not going to quibble about things like centerpieces and decorations, we're not going to have guests anytime soon, but I have to insist that you follow this general set of instructions. Is that clear?"
Archer sighed. "Yes, master."
Credit where credit was due, his master sounded almost patient during his lecture, and Archer respectfully stepped back as his master picked up the knife and carved a slit into the soft bun. Smearing a thick knob of butter in between, he then asked, "And what's for dessert?"
Archer blinked.
"Dessert? For… breakfast?"
Ciel stopped.
Ciel turned to his servant with something akin to disapproval.
"What else would I be referring to?"
"You're kidding me." Archer groaned, rubbing his temples warily, "You want a sweet dish for breakfast as well?"
"Don't do that in front of company. It's unsightly." Archer dropped the offending hand. "And what's your problem?"
"Master." His voice was flat. "Normal people don't have dessert with their breakfast. Come to think of it, normal people do without the entire thing too, and focus on the main dishes. You're already going to have enough sweets today for lunch, afternoon tea and dinner. Are you seriously telling me you want to have more for breakfast?"
Ciel took a bite of the bun, chewing it slowly as he gazed unamused as his incredulous servant.
Ciel swallowed.
"Emiya. This is normal."
Archer grit his teeth.
Archer closed his eyes, imagining his master drowning in a vat of caramel.
"Very well then." His tone was clipped. "Dessert will be a compote of mixed berries, chantilly cream and sugar shards."
Because it's the only thing I can throw together on such short notice, Archer mentally added.
"It will be served after you finish the main dish. May I take my leave to fetch it?"
His master had moved on to the omelette. "You may."
Bowing once, Archer reverted to spirit form, hurriedly making his way into the kitchens.
Unreasonable little shit.
Beyond my normal duties as a butler I've been voluntold to take up the position of a tutor, teaching music and Latin and other highfalutin stuff nobles learn to convince themselves they're better.
I'd normally object and say it's not my job, but whatever summoned me into this era has seen fit to provide me with a working knowledge of Latin as well, consigning me to whatever this is for some inexplicable reason.
There's nothing to be done but to make the most of it.
"Mistranslations, master. Mistranslations abound."
Ciel pursed his lips, watching as his servant capped his fountain pen. The worksheet lifted straight from Weston College – when the hell did he find the time to go? – was now awash in liberal lashings of red ink, as his butler (who'd insisted on being called Emiya-sensei, whatever that meant) looked up from his work.
"You can take a closer look later but let me just highlight this mistake that I find particularly egregious." Emiya slid the worksheet across the desk, tapping the circled portion.
"Now. Can you tell me what you did wrong?"
Ciel shot his servant a glare. "If I knew, I wouldn't have made the mistake in the first place, would I?"
"Eh." His servant demurred. "Allow me to remind you that you are, as a matter of fact, making multiple mistakes right now, despite my best efforts to convince you otherwise. But another discussion on your stupidity won't do the both of us any favors, we're so pressed for time as is, so take a close look at your answer and try to discern what you did wrong."
Ciel Phantomhive's lip curled.
His servant had taken to teaching remarkably well, but it had the side effect of making him even more insufferable than usual. Emiya had even taken care to project a set of reading glasses befitting of his persona as a professor, producing a handkerchief to polish it as Ciel took another look at what he'd written.
Translate: "The scout alerted Caesar with his great loud horn."
Explōrātor admonētur Caesar cum magnō eius cornō
Scout is Explōrātor, magnō is the singular ablative for 'great', cornō is horn…
… what's wrong with this, god damn it.
Ciel stared at his answer sheet for a few moments more before sitting up, chagrined.
"Illuminate me."
Emiya huffed, sliding the worksheet such that it was perpendicular to them both. "You used the preposition 'cum' with the ablative of manner when there's already an adjective modifying the ablative. Furthermore, you declined horn as part of the second declension instead of the fourth – easy mistake to make, but a way to remember is that most fourth declension nouns are based upon the supine and are masculine besides."
"Horn is an object and isn't masculine." Ciel felt the need to point out.
"Yes, it's a neuter noun, and as always there are exceptions that prove the rule."
His eyes narrowed. "That just sounds maddeningly unhelpful and deliberately confusing."
"You're learning Latin. Being maddeningly unhelpful and deliberately confusing is par for the course." Emiya muttered. "Besides, while English doesn't have it, you'll find most European languages engage in some form of grammatical gender."
He tapped the worksheet again. "Finally, you used the demonstrative pronoun 'eius' instead of the reflexive possessive. That's three mistakes in one translation. While you got the general point across, this is shoddy work."
Ciel watched as Emiya uncapped his pen, and on the page's margins scrawled the correct answer. "The correct translation as a result would be 'Explōrātor admonētur Caesar magnō suō cornū'."
Idly, Emiya tapped the pen on the palm of his hand.
"Well then, Mr. Phantomhive," that unholy glint in his servant's eyes was back, "I believe punishment is in order. Hands out, please."
Warily, Ciel did so.
SLAP
Ciel flinched before the lack of pain registered, opening his eyes to a fresh stack of papers in his hands.
"These are Weston College's supplementary worksheets," Emiya moved behind the desk once more, "tailored specifically for those falling behind and in need of catching up. You will complete as much as you can within the hour, and I will grade you once more."
"Right…" Ciel muttered numbly, absent-mindedly setting the sheafs of paper onto his desk.
His servant blinked.
"Something wrong, Mr. Phantomhive?"
"It's just…" the boy looked away, "when you said punishment, I was under the impression it was of a different sort."
Emiya's responding gaze was flat. "I don't condone corporal punishment."
Ciel blinked. "Could have fooled me, you third-rate excuse of a devil."
Inwardly, he was pleased to see his servant glare.
"The goal is to punish you, Mr. Phantomhive, not maim you." Emiya shook his head. "Besides, if I wanted to inflict pain upon you. I wouldn't hit your hands but the back of your knees."
And at this, the unholy glint was back.
"And this isn't the punishment. Due to you failing this worksheet miserably, there shall be no dessert served to you for lunch today."
"What?!" Ciel stood up, taken aback.
"You heard me." Emiya shrugged. "I can't hit you, you're my master, and these supplementary worksheets can't be the punishment, they're part of the program. Ergo, you must be punished in a different way. Carrot and stick, master. And to think I went to all the trouble of preparing the chocolate gateau Lizzy said you were fond of."
Unbidden, there came an involuntary twitch to Ciel's eyes as he imagined unspeakable things done to his servant.
"Chop chop, master. This should take you half an hour at the very most." And with that, Emiya went back to the book on architecture he'd been studying, concentrating on the chapter on glasswork.
Ciel looked at the worksheets in front of him, deeply sour.
"Whatever." He spat. "If the dessert you served for breakfast is anything to go by, it probably wasn't very good anyway."
Emiya-sensei languidly adjusted his reading glasses. "Margaritas ante porcos, Master. Margaritas ante porcos."
… Irrumator, Ciel thought acidly as he attacked the worksheets, murder on his mind.
He was, he considered whilst funneling the reduced strawberries into a jar, in his element.
Strawberry preserves, Archer licked his finger clean. Perfect for his afternoon tea.
Taking a quick look at the pots on the stove – where stews and soups were simmering merrily – he headed off into the larder, and opened the projected refrigerator, chock full of fresh produce and other perishables. A tray of panna-cottas was in the middle of setting, and Archer gave it a good wiggle to see how far they'd come. They'd be ready for dinner.
He sighed, deeply content. Finally, some leisure time, Archer thought as he nestled the jar between a carafe of milk.
Dusting his hands off in satisfaction, he made his way back into the kitchen that he'd spent an inordinate amount of time refurbishing.
Between the stove, the roaring fire, the fridge, the grill, the french cooking suite that took up a great chunk of the kitchen, hooks to hang game upon and the larder, Archer felt at peace. Granted, all the modern furnishings were bound to draw a few eyebrows, but he'd be damned if he'd let anyone else enter what he considered his safe space. Even his master.
Ciel Phantomhive had stayed in his study after a thoroughly unsatisfactory session of Latin and asked to see the earldom's accounts. After giving him a brief lesson on the definitions of terms like 'accounts receivables', the difference between current and non-current liabilities and assets and all the other requisite knowledge to read a balance sheet, Archer had left his master to his unenviable task. Accounting, he shook his head. Bless his master's shriveled heart.
He opened the Dutch oven containing braised beef cheeks on the stovetop and frowned. The stew was a little over-reduced, and he could see bits of carrot and potatoes well on the way of turning into mush.
I need more wine.
Sighing, he turned down the fire and made his way into the ruins of the cellars, running through his plans in detail. A hermetically sealed wine cellar, he mused. I need to check the room for leaks, install the vapor barrier, seal the concrete floor, install a cooling unit, a door with double paneled glass…
All that work for a master who wasn't even of drinking age. But his guests inevitably were; nothing but the best for guests of the Phantomhive family, be they nobles, the odd looter and assassin, and other unsavory characters his master would rub shoulders with.
Archer stepped down into the cellars and grabbed a bottle of merlot, fully intending to head back up before he stopped.
Archer looked at the cellars again.
Archer looked at a particular blank stretch of wall.
…
Archer was pissed.
Putting the bottle of Merlot back in place, Archer practically flew his way up into his master's study, knocking to the beat of 'shave and a haircut'.
"Come in."
Archer burst through, guns blazing. "Where are they?!"
Ciel Phantomhive blearily looked up from a thick ledger of the earldom's accounts. "Good afternoon to you too, Emiya."
"Don't you be pleasant with me!" He barked. "Where are the vegetables I've stored in the cellar?"
His master blinked. "Those were vegetables? They were making such a stink that I took them for garbage."
Archer sputtered, seeing red. "Master." He ground out, making a valiant effort to keep his voice level. "What you mistook for garbage were preserved vegetables and meats I planned to use for cooking. Kimchi, sauerkraut, pickled mustard greens, pickled napa cabbage, miso, and a particularly delicious fish sauce known as garum."
"If you're talking about the container of rotting fish I discovered dripping its remains into a jar," his master flipped a page nonchalantly, "you can save your explanations, there's no way in hell I'm eating that."
This little-
"And besides, I took a small tour of the manor briefly this morning and I could smell it through the ground floor." Ciel looked up, face blank. "It's your own damn fault for storing them in the cellars. I took them for refuse and just threw the lot out."
"Why didn't you just ask me what they were? I could have just told you they were used- come to think of it, why didn't you ask me?" his eyes narrowed, "It's not like you to just pass up an opportunity to lecture me on my own shortcomings as a glorified slave."
His master, Archer noted, briefly smiled before setting the thick tome aside.
"I didn't want to trouble you." Ciel lied through his perfect teeth. "I daresay you had enough on your plate already, so I took it upon myself to throw out the garbage for you. And here I thought I was being nice."
No, Archer thought viciously, no part of you meant to be nice.
"While I appreciate your… initiative," he finally said, "I'd appreciate it even more if in the future you consulted me with regards to anything related to food and the kitchen. It is, after all, my sanctuary."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't put things that stink in the cellars. God knows it's not at all good for the wines." His master shot back.
"What wines? You don't even drink! The most you'll ever indulge in is a bit of brandy during evensong, and that isn't stored in the cellar besides!"
"Be that as it may," his master's eyes narrowed, "I don't want you storing your… food in the cellars. Find someplace else. Perhaps the stillroom."
Archer grit his teeth, bowing once. "Yes, master."
"Good. Now leave me to my accounts," Ciel reopened the tome with a sigh. "The matters of the earldom aren't going to settle themselves. And get over yourself, it's only been a day, you can make your preparations again."
As if I don't have enough to deal with, Archer thought as he exited the room, already planning his revenge.
A pristine chocolate cake glazed with buttercream and cherries was set tantalizingly out of his reach on the dining table.
"Lunch today includes a pumpkin and carrot soup with sunflower seeds and croutons. The main dish is beef bourguignon, slow roasted beef cheeks with potatoes and turned carrots and pearl onions. The dessert that you are not allowed to eat is the aforementioned chocolate gateau with cherries, conveniently placed on the table for you to admire."
Ciel glared at his servant. "Is that really necessary?"
"Well, I didn't want any accusations of me not having made it." Emiya was the face of innocence as he correctly described how to best piss off his master even more. "I dare say you want to be assured that your servant is capable of catering to your sweet tooth. I look forward to the day that I am allowed to serve it to you, but alas-" he shook his head, "it was not to be. Not to worry, Master. I'm sure the rest of your lunch is delicious."
I have three command spells, the thought occurred to Ciel with disturbing clarity as he watched his servant smile with all the sweetness of rancid butter. Can't I just command him to keep his mouth shut? Or at the very least, command him not to give me any lip?
For a moment, he imagined blissful silence, visions of his blasted servant being the picture of perfect obedience.
No, he rid his head of such thoughts, if I command him to do so he'll have won, and he'll know it. I'm not letting this third-rate excuse of a hellspawn get to me.
Sighing, he picked up his spoon, sampling the creamy orange soup dotted with seeds and fried bread. It was good, Ciel had to admit, munching on an errant crouton. Not something that he'd order at the Langham, but still good nonetheless. To his credit, his servant learned quickly, and Ciel noted with some satisfaction that Emiya had learned from the morning's mishaps and provided him with the requisite sets of cutlery.
Even if one is patently unneeded, Ciel thought, sourly glancing at the dessert fork and spoon in front of his fixed plate.
… that cake did look good, but he'd sooner go back to that dungeon under the abbey and have a gaggle of nuns and friars run a train on him again than admit it out loud.
He looked up, hoping to surreptitiously give it a better look, only to nearly choke at the sight in front of him.
"I've outdone myself." Emiya rhapsodized, having made himself at home and taking large bites of the layered cake in front of him. "This really is delicious. Never have I tasted a mousse this airy. And the chocolate isn't cloying, either. Couverture chocolate really makes all the difference. The addition of cherry pits into the butter cream really gives it the tinge of acidity and bitterness this cake needed."
The servant carved himself another piece, only to make a show of remembering where he was, and finally looked up to his master.
"Apologies, Master. I forget myself." Emiya gently waved the slice in front of him. "I was probably too hard on you. Like what you did with the garbage earlier this morning, I should endeavor to be nice every once in a while. Would you care for a slice?"
SLAP
The plate was unceremoniously flung to the floor, buttercream and ganache splattering across marble tiles, such that the overall tableau was akin to that of soil streaked in by guests after a particularly rainy day.
I'm going to kill him, a vein throbbed in Ciel's forehead, if this goes on, I really am going to kill him.
"That was a perfectly good cake you just saw fit to throw to the ground." Emiya stood up, shaking his head. "You know, if it wasn't for the fact that I can simply project new plates, we're going to have problems with replacing them if you make a habit of this."
"For once, Emiya, shut up." Ciel snarled, pointing behind him. "Act like a proper butler and stand behind me as I eat. Don't ever do that again."
"Certainly, master." Emiya inclined his head. "But I feel the need to point out that I was serious: you really could have had a piece-"
"I don't want it." He insisted. "I'll be damned if you ever see me asking for it. Now get behind me!"
Nodding once, his servant obediently pushed in his chair and made his way behind Ciel, arms behind his back.
Refusing to acknowledge him any further, Ciel broke a piece of fork-tender beef cheek with his spoon, chewing ferociously.
The remnants of the cake sat untouched.
As is inevitable with two people living together under one roof, one learns more about the other through mishaps and misadventures.
I know more about him now than I'd care to ask, and vice versa.
And to think it started with Saber.
Archer found the cat sunning itself in the gardens as he trimmed the shrubs along the main entrance.
A bright orange tabby, it carried itself with the air and disposition of a king as it regarded Archer from where he laid. How wondrous it was that such a little thing could create such a large shadow with the late afternoon sun.
"Hello there." Archer called.
The cat licked its behind in response.
Dismissing the clippers, Archer made the customary psst-pssts as he crouched down, hand extended. "Come here, kitty."
At this, the cat finally dignified Archer with a response, meowing softly as he trotted over without a care in the world. Sniffing his hand, the cat allowed itself to be scratched under the chin, purring contentedly as it tilted its head giving Archer better access.
Archer had never given serious thought whether he was a dog or cat person, but if someone were to point a gun to his head and demanded he choose, the choice was obvious. That blasted hound in blue spandex really seemed to put a nail in the coffin on that matter.
"What's a little thing like you doing here?" He murmured, moving on to give the feline scratches behind its ears. "Were you always here, or did you come after this place's been blown to pieces?"
The cat butted its head onto his knees.
"Yes, yes, quite right." Archer agreed, picking the cat up and nestling it within his arms. "What silly creatures we all must seem to you, aren't we? Do you have a name?"
The cat merely readjusted itself in Archer's soft embrace, turning here and there.
"No. Of course you don't. People have names because we don't know who we are. But all you cats are self-aware and don't need names at all, do you?" He tucked the cat belly-up, scratching its chin.
The cat didn't object; rather, it had seen fit to close its eyes, a small blep of a tongue hanging out as it lolled its head back.
"Still, it wouldn't do if I just called you 'cat' all the time. I shall call you Saber. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Saber merely meowed in response, burrowing further into his chest.
Archer smiled. Holding this soft, small living creature and seeing how it settled with complete trust within him, Archer felt a warm rush. He put a hand on the cat's chest and felt its heart beating. The pulse was faint and fast, but Saber's heart, like his, was ticking off the time allotted to its small body with all the restless earnestness of his own.
It'd do the manor some good to have a cat, he reflected. Rats had settled in the manor's darkest corners, and though Saber looked like a lazy bastard, he hoped to put his – Archer looked at the cat's abdomen to double check – her to the test soon.
"You must be starving." Archer murmured as he opened the manor's doors. "Freezing, too, no doubt. Let's get you someplace warm, then you can gorge on all the rats you want."
Saber plopped down onto the entrance hall's carpeted floors, looking around in deeply unimpressed silence.
"That's right. Hunger is the enemy." Archer bowed. "I'll leave you to it, then, Saber."
And with that, he gently swung the door shut.
Right. Back to work, he thought, projecting the pair of shears again. Those shrubs weren't going to trim themselves.
"Two hundred pounds of floor. Five pints of milk. I think it goes without saying that whatever the previous arrangements were," he looked through the yellowed list of invoices, "they would be unnecessary for the estate as is."
"Right, course, sir." Sam the shepherd nodded, his deerstalker cap bobbing about. "I'd be happy to renegotiate the terms of our weekly deliveries of milk and flour when the young master is available, but a general estimate of what you'd need going forward would be much appreciated, good sir."
"Please, call me Emiya." Archer muttered, giving him a once-over. "There's no need to stand on ceremony with me. I am but the earl's humble servant, after all."
"Where do you come from?" A boy piped up from where he sat on the wagon, tearing his gaze from the remains of the mansion and to Emiya. "Me and Gramps have never seen you before."
"I'm a recent employee contracted to my master Ciel Phantomhive while Tanaka is on medical leave." He handed the sheafs of invoices back to the shepherd. "There will come a time where he'll make his visits to the earldom to gain a better understanding of what's going on, but is there anything you'd wish to be brought to my master's attention in the meantime?"
"Well, nothing so drastic and pressing," the shepherd scratched his head, frowning, "But the construction of the aqueduct's been halted ever since the fire, and the sooner it's up and running again the sooner we'll rest easier."
"Of course." Archer nodded. "It might take some time, I hope you understand; we still have a lot to do to get our own affairs in order before we can take a better look at the plans in detail, but I'll ensure we get back on track as soon as possible."
The man and his grandson looked back at the smoldering ruins of the estate. "It's going to take quite some time, I'd imagine."
"Yes, well," Archer sighed, "we'll have builders come in the night to work on it. Best believe that we'll restore this place to its former glory. Anything else?"
"Nothing, Mr. Emiya, but do send our regards to the little lord, would ya?" The shepherd took off his cap, deep in thought. "'Twas a terrible thing, what happened here. Never seen anything like it in all my years. It's a miracle he managed to return from the dead, from wherever he was."
"You're too kind. I'll be sure to send your well wishes to him in the meantime. He will come visit your village as soon as he can."
"Much obliged, sir." He nodded. "In the matter of the weekly deliveries, shall we halve the usual amount to say, a hundred pounds of flour and two pints of milk?"
"That seems like a safe bet. Bring them later in the week whenever you're free in the morning. I'm sure my master will be happy to see some semblance of normality return to the estate after-"
At that precise moment, there came an ear-splitting roar. "EMIYA!"
Sam the shepherd flinched, gaping at where the noise came. "What was-"
"That would be my master." Archer looked very tired. "It seems I've messed up again, one way or the other."
"Are you in trouble?" His grandson piped up.
"Probably, though I struggle to understand just how-"
"EMIYA YOU THIRD-RATE EXCUSE OF A BUTLER, GET OVER HERE NOW!"
Archer hurriedly inclined his head. "Sirs. Don't let my master scare you. He's just very stressed at the moment. See you later in the week."
And with that, he hurriedly made his way up the front steps, unlocking the doors to the mansion and swinging the door shut.
'EMIYA!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" He yelled back, sprinting to where his master was. "Would it kill you to show some propriety? I was in the middle of dealing with our regular merchants!"
"We have bigger p-problems than that- ACHOO!"
Archer arrived at his master's study and blinked.
"Master… where-"
"Here!" His master's voice came from under his desk, deeply muffled, before another sneeze was heard.
"What's going on?" Archer walked over, bemused. "If this is your asthma acting up once more, just use the inhaler I provided."
"It's not a matter of my asthma." Ciel snarled from where he sat, eyes blotchy and nose dribbling with snot. "The matter is there is a CAT in my house!"
"... Master. Are you afraid of cats, by any chance?"
"I'm not afraid!" He glared. "But care to tell me why we suddenly have a-" he was overcome by another sudden, violent sneeze, "a cat in our house all of a sudden?"
"Master. I don't know if you've noticed, but we do have a rat problem. And it was either this or I fumigate the entire estate, and I don't think you'd appreciate that very much." Archer felt obliged to point out, projecting a handkerchief for his master. "Apologies for not telling you in advance, but I saw the cat sunning itself in the gardens and thought it could take care of it for us. Is there a problem?"
"Yes, Emiya, there very much is." Ciel Phantomhive took the proffered handkerchief and blew his nose. "I'm allergic to cats."
Oh.
Well.
That was unfortunate.
His master sneezed again, looking absolutely wretched as he blew his nose into a sodden silk handkerchief.
"My apologies, master, I was not aware of your pre-existing condition." Archer gently hoisted his master back up into his chair. "Shall I fetch you some tea?"
"No, Emiya." Ciel was all business once more. "I need you to get that cat out."
"Saber."
"What?!"
"The cat's name is Saber."
"Who gives a damn?! I want it out of my sight, then I want you to clean the manor top to bottom until I can walk across the hall without collapsing into a wreck! Is that clear?"
"You want me to deep-clean the entire estate?" Archer's heart sank. "Master. That will take ages-"
"Well maybe you should have thought of that before bringing that smug creature of mass destruction into my house! On with it! It's only cleaning!"
There was naught Archer could do but bow. "Yes, master. I shall collect you for your shooting lessons when it's safe and the place is clean,"
With a dismissive wave of the hand, the earl showed him the door, and Archer left his master to his own devices.
'Mrow'
Archer turned around.
Tail swishing, Saber looked all too pleased with herself.
"Well, we certainly made a mess of things, haven't we?" He picked the cat up, holding it at arms' length. "Did you at least have a good lunch?"
The cat yawned in affirmation.
"Of course you did. Look at you, you fat bastard. Come on. For the time being, you're confined to my room." Tucking the cat back into his chest, he set off to the servant's quarters at once. "I'll feed you some tuna in the evening, until then just rest."
He felt the cat purr into his chest.
Now, granted, Archer did screw up in not asking his master's permission to bring her in, but with all the things he'd left Emiya to settle on his own, he'd thought he was given some leeway here and there.
He arrived at his dormitory and deposited Saber onto his bed with a huff. "Make yourself at home. Be back in a bit."
But there was always a silver lining, he mused as he locked the door tight.
I'll just flick dander behind his back every time he annoys me. If I play my cards right, I can have my master think he's contracted tuberculosis.
And at that happy thought, Archer projected himself a vacuum cleaner and tackled his new task with gusto.
"I thought we were going out shooting today."
"I said I was going to teach you how to shoot." Emiya reminded him as they strolled onto the manor's courtyard. "And before I teach you how to shoot, you must learn the basics of proper gun cleaning and maintenance."
"... is that really necessary?" Ciel muttered. "The guns you produce vanish in the end anyway. Besides, don't I have you to clean my gun?"
For some unassailable reason, his butler nearly choked on his spit.
"Rifle, master." Emiya sputtered, once he recovered. "Refer to your firearm as a rifle. A rifle is what you call the firearm you're holding. A gun is what you call whatever's dangling between your legs. Remember that, going forward."
Before Ciel Phantomhive could digest this disturbing tidbit of information, Emiya brusquely moved on, pointing at a vibrant orange metal tube that stuck out from the ground at an angle.
"This is a bullet trap." Archer patted it once for good measure. "Änd underneath it is good sand. After every range session we have, head here and clear your rifle. Once I judge that the chamber's clear and emptied, then you are free to move on to clean your rifle ."
Out of nowhere, his butler tossed him a khaki green pouch.
"That is a modern rifle cleaning kit. Within it you'll find the standard five-piece rod, a chamber brush, an oil brush, a barrel brush, rags, as well as an oil bottle. Today, we shall work on learning how to use each and every tool within it. I shall demonstrate with my own rifle, and you shall follow along." And then came an unholy glint within his eyes. "Only once I deem your rifle clean, we shall head in for your afternoon tea."
Ciel blinked. "Wait, what?!"
"This shouldn't be too surprising." Emiya produced his own Martini-Henry carbine away, walking over to the clearing trap with a box of ammunition. "What you need is an incentive to take this seriously; gun maintenance and range safety is serious business." He loaded a round into the chamber, locking it in place before firing once into the metal trap, moving slightly with the recoil.
"Incidentally, I feel the need to mention that today's afternoon tea features the customary cucumber, chives and cream cheese finger sandwiches you brits are deluded into thinking are good," and as his servant fired another round he felt his eyes twitch, "prawn scotch eggs with a cumberland sauce," the servant chambered another round, "scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves," there came another bang, "a variation of Paris Brest," another shell joined the pile on the ground, "as well as a victoria sponge with raspberries and lychee syrup."
There came a final bang, and Emiya ejected the shell, tilting the gun to a side and inspecting the chamber. "Clear," he muttered, before swapping rifles with a thoroughly dumbstruck master. "There. This is now a used and dirty rifle you are holding. If we are to disassemble it, you will find gunpowder in various parts. I've taken the liberty of preparing a cabine so you aren't as vertically challenged. This," he held up his own rifle, "is a clean rifle, but I shall treat it as if it's dirty and walk you along the steps of cleaning it all the same. Whenever you feel as though your rifle is clean, hand it over to me and I will inspect it and compare it to this one."
"And just how long do you expect that to take?" Ciel almost felt afraid to ask.
Emiya frowned. "I only fired six shots, Master. If you work on it fast enough the stains won't be too difficult to remove. Maybe thirty minutes."
His servant had the audacity to smile.
"Don't worry, master. It's only cleaning. How hard can it be?"
The sun was well on its way to disappearing over the horizon by the time Ciel looked up from his work.
Sitting on a groundsheet, gripping a fragment of a rag with his pincers, the boy clenched his teeth as he picked apart a particularly stubborn stain on the bolt.
I'd add more oil but all it seems to do is make things worse, Ciel wiped his brow in concentration.
It took Emiya ten minutes to teach him how to disassemble the rifle into its parts. It took more time for him to demonstrate how to use each tool, and it took him the better part of an hour for him to present what he felt was a clean rifle.
Emiya disagreed.
"See the remains of gunpowder here?" Emiya shined a torch into the breech. "You can see for yourself it's not clean."
"It was like that when I got it." He muttered petulantly.
"Master." His servant fixed him with a flat glare. "I'm willing to cut the exercise short and allow you to adjourn to your other matters, but an unclean rifle will wear down its performance in the long run. If you really think the rifle is clean, lick its interior for me to see."
Ciel stared at his servant.
Ciel looked back at the rifle.
Ciel stared at the pincers in his hand and imagined sticking it into Emiya where the sun didn't shine.
Ciel snatched the rifle back and spent another ten minutes going through every conceivable nook and cranny, wiping it down with a judicious application of oil.
Lick it, he says, Ciel thought darkly, I'll command you to lick the manor to prove that it's clean, why don't I? Let's see how you like it.
The process seemed sisyphean. Every time Ciel gained some confidence in his rifle being clean, his servant would show off a new part that somehow escaped his notice. First it was the firing pin, then the thin layer of dust on the sights, then the trigger guard assembly underleer…
If it wasn't for the fact that Emiya was demonstrating how to go about cleaning the damn thing every ten minutes, Ciel would have thrown the Martini-Henry at him, never mind the fact that it'd probably phase through him like it was nothing.
"I know this must seem terribly dull." Emiya inspected his own rifle here and there. "You wouldn't believe what some people did to make their guns pass inspection. One person I knew took steel wool and scrubbed his machine gun clean. Thing is, it scrubbed off the machine gun's protective coating as well. It rusted in a matter of days."
You're not teaching me, he thought sourly as he watched his servant disassemble the rifle into parts then back again in a matter of seconds. You're just showing off.
Sighing deeply, he snapped the stock back into place, and headed to where Archer sat, handing over the rifle with practiced nervousness.
Quickly, Archer disassembled his Martini-Henry carbine, checking bits and pieces here and there for flecks of oil and gunpowder. At some point Archer had produced a white glove. He ran a finger here and there and checking for any discoloration. Ciel held his breath as he watched his servant make short work of it all.
Emiya looked up. "It'll do."
Ciel sagged in relief.
"It took you so much longer than expected, but we're on the right track." His servant stood up, absent-mindedly dusting his knees. "Tomorrow, we move on to firing at stationary targets, but for now, let us return to the manor."
With nary a word said, the rifles vanished into motes of light, and Ciel watched numbly as his afternoon's work went up in smoke.
His servant checked his watch. "It's late. I shall have to skip afternoon tea and go straight to dinner."
At his master's withering glare, Emiya remained adamant. "It wouldn't do for you to ruin your appetite. Come, master. You can always do better tomorrow."
And with that, the two started the journey back to the manor, boots leaving soft footprints on wet grass.
"I did not know you were in the army." Ciel murmured.
"I wasn't. Well," his servant tilted his head, deep in thought, "not in the strictest sense. I worked with various armies in my time, but I've never formally joined a regiment. I guess you would call me a mercenary."
"Killing people for money." Ciel mused. "Why am I not surprised?"
"It was never for money. I guess a better term for me was a free agent." Emiya huffed. "There were places in need of humanitarian aid, conflicts that needed to be brought to a swift end, natural disasters where the goal was to save everyone…" For a moment, there was a faraway look in his servant's eyes.
"Emiya?
"Sorry, master. I was someplace else." Emiya sighed, moving on once more. "It's a sordid story with a lackluster ending that isn't fit to be told here."
"Yeah. I didn't ask."
His butler glared. Ciel smirked back.
"But on that note, there is something that I've been meaning to ask you."
"Yes, master?"
Ciel pointed a little way off into the woods.
"What's that?" Ciel asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Emiya turned to where he pointed.
A large mound of dirt stood like a sore thumb on the forest's outskirts.
"Ah, yes, I've been meaning to tell you." His butler cleared his throat. "It appears looters and assassins visited the manor last night."
A wave of cold overcame him. "Emiya-"
"I took care of it, not to worry." He hurriedly cut in. "They clearly weren't expecting the manor to be well guarded. But there was the small matter of the bodies, and I had to find an inconspicuous means of disposing of the corpses."
Ciel stared at the mound of dirt that was as tall as he was then back to his servant. "Inconspicuous." He repeated dully. "Emiya, that is about as inconspicuous as Guy Fawkes deciding he didn't put enough gunpowder under the House of Lords and deciding to buy more at the Sunday market."
"I know." Emiya looked rather sheepish. "It's only temporary until I find a better solution. Currently, I'm making plans of building an airtight compost bin a little way off into the gardens. It's a simple matter of disintegrating the dearly departed into bits and pieces and then using them like fertilizer in the coming weeks."
"What?" Ciel looked aghast.
"I've done some research on whether I can, and it's actually rather interesting. True, corpses will release quite a bit of acid and nitrogen as they decompose, but after they've broken down, they won't ruin the quality of the soil and will serve well enough as fertilizer. We just need to ensure that they've completely broken down until they reach a mulch-like texture, so I'd give it a little under a month before I can start applying it underneath the shrubbery in the gardens."
"Emiya. Whether it can be done or not is not the point." Ciel bit back the welling of nausea, and to anyone who looked they'd see the already pale earl steadily turning green. "The last thing I need is for my roses to stink of rotting flesh. Never mind the rats, the maggots, the animals attracted to the smell, how on earth did you think this would be a good idea?"
"Well, my other plan was to use my magecraft to reduce them to giblets and then scatter them into the woods to feed the game roaming about. I'll leave one whole to hang on the outskirts of the estate as a 'keep-out' sign like the world's best scarecrow," Emiya threw his arms wide to demonstrate, "but that seems unnecessarily dramatic, and it seems like it'd come with its own set of problems."
"Quite." The earl bit out, turning his attention back to the mound. "Emiya, for your information, my father had an undertaker in his service. I'll write to him about our little problem and have him collect the bodies when needed."
"An undertaker?" Emiya blinked. "Seems like odd company for an earl to consort with."
"My family has had colleagues serving them for generations. My father dubbed them the aristocrats of evil."
"Aristocrats of evil." Emiya repeated slowly. "Right. Because that's subtle and clandestine."
"It's evil in the sense that we do the jobs Scotland yard doesn't." Ciel shook his head, ignoring his servant's look. "Anyway, Undertaker provided my father with information on the recently deceased for cases that needed it and provided corpse collection and disposal services, no questions asked."
"So he's another cleaner." Emiya mused. "Interesting. And with regards to the rest of these… aristocrats, are they still in your service?"
Ciel stared into the distance as the manor came into view. "I've asked Aunt Ann to send word ahead that I'm still alive, and that I shall see them individually once I've been decorated and the manor's up and running, so you can imagine my rush for you to finish your assignment."
"Yeah, well, between the manor's repairs, being your tutor, learning how to behave as a butler and keeping out unwanted guests, don't expect it to be done anytime soon. For the record, I'm still seriously considering that 'keep-out' sign-"
"Over my dead body."
And that was that.
Soon enough, the two of them made their way back to the manor, streaking mud onto the front steps. And as Emiya held the door open for his master, Ciel handed his wellingtons over for him to clean.
"I'll write to the undertaker later. In the meantime, clear the mud away, make whatever repairs you see fit and prepare for dinner."
Emiya nodded. "Yes, my master."
Still, we treat each other with polite indifference and pettiness, and know not to pry in each other's business. It's a tentative thing.
But the barbs continue to fly, and between being a tutor, a builder, a cook, a butler, a bodyguard and groundskeeper all at the same time, it's difficult to restrain one's temper sometimes.
My master, the unbearable little shit, doesn't exactly help matters.
So you can imagine how miserable I found the following weeks.
"So the main difference between shires and earldoms is in the purpose of the division itself." Ciel Phantomhive lectured one morning, relishing being put in the position of tutor for once. "Shires were geographic, administrative, economic units - that is, an explicit division of land with well defined borders. The Anglo-Saxon kings divided their unified realm into such units, and the Norman kings inherited this division of land and largely kept it the same, while instituting some practical administrative changes over time. They're divided as such for the explicit purpose of collecting the king's revenue, and each shire is audited at irregular intervals. A sheriff is then required to pay that amount into the treasury each year and is entitled to all the profits made above the farm. As you can imagine- Emiya. Are you paying attention?"
"Yes, master." Archer muttered, feeling like a schoolboy all over again as he rested his head in his hand on the desk. "A sheriff is a tax collector, easy enough to understand."
"Quite so. Coming with such huge political and economic perks, the office is highly sought after, and the turnover rate was rather high."
"On the other hand, earldoms are Anglo-Saxon territorial delineations which are more or less the same as Norman shrievalties, but much larger and with the power concentrated in the earl, not the king or queen. The role I possess is that of extreme power and influence: I'm responsible for revenue collection, justice, and I can be considered a petty king in my own right."
"Petty is right." Archer muttered.
"Emiya."
"Sorry, sorry. Do continue."
"As is the case with countries with more than one person in total power, it was a recipe for disaster and rebellion, such that earls were by 1071, after the battle of Hastings, largely rounded up and executed. Nowadays, an Earl is primarily a political post, a title bestowed by the reigning monarch to people in their good graces. They're given extremely large amounts of local and regional influence, but no extraordinary powers regarding the governance of the lands which they rule over. Of course, it's not so clear-cut – with influence and wealth inevitably comes power and control – but in theory, the monarch rules over each shire through its sheriffs, not the nobles."
"No extraordinary powers." Archer's eyes narrowed. "Except for you as the watchdog. That must make you feel special, doesn't it?"
"The watchdog is a different matter entirely and it can be given to whichever family is best suited to the task. I aim to keep it within the family as much as I can."
"Right." Archer looked through his scrawlings, stifling a yawn. "So is this lesson over? Can I get back to work?"
"No. Sit back down, Emiya." Ciel barked, all business again. "After your last visit to the Midfords, it's clear you need more education on the noble circles and who's who in English society. If you are to behave as a proper butler behind me, you're going to need to have information on the people I do business with."
Archer groaned.
"So." His master clapped his hands. "A crash course on who's who. Do take notes, I shall quiz you at the end of my lecture. Let us start with the family whose sham gift of a Ming vase you broke, the Greys. We're not going to see Charles Grey the senior much in my time, I'd imagine, but do take note of Charles Grey the second. A beast on the fencing circuits, he's part of the Queen retinue as butler and chief officer alongside Sir Phipps…"
Knock Knock
Ciel looked up, half-grateful for an interruption from where he sat studying price fluctuations of the earldom's exports.
"Enter."
His butler entered his study. "Sorry to disturb you, Master. You have mail."
"Oh?"
"Yes." Emiya produced a litany of envelopes. "One's from a certain photographer named Pitt, who's delighted to hear of your return and hopes to come for lunch one day. It's clear he's in rather dire straits and will appreciate any business you'd care to send his way. The other is from Alexis Midford, who as a member of the House of Lords holds your vote before you reach your majority and are sworn in, wanting your approval on certain votes in the coming assembly. We then have the errant invoice, some notices and adverts, a love letter from Lizzy, and finally some correspondence from the Undertaker-"
"Emiya."
His servant stopped, almost flinching at the look of murder in Ciel's face.
"Yes, master?"
"What gives you the right to read my letters?!" Ciel demanded.
"I'm your servant. I thought I'd do you a favor and give you a short summary to save time. It's not like I have anyone to talk to about it."
"It's the principle of it!" Ciel snatched the envelopes away, bristling. "These matters aren't for the common folk to know about, and certain pieces of information are for my eyes only. Like the one with Uncle Alex, or personal letters and assignments from the Queen, and… and-"
"And your mockery of a love life with Lizzy?"
"Emiya!"
"I honestly don't see what's the problem." Emiya looked utterly unapologetic and unashamed. "You're going to want my input on these matters either way, and it really isn't as though you have to worry about me selling your secrets on the black market. Heck, I'm not even paid, and here I am as your loyal servant."
"I don't care, Emiya! Privacy! Privacy is paramount!" Ciel ranted, waving the envelopes in the air. "How would it look like to a regular guest if he catches wind of a butler reading his master's mail? Don't do it again!"
"Fine. I won't do it in front of company. Fair enough?"
"You won't do it at all! Treat every piece of mail with the assumption that it's for my eyes only! I mean it, Emiya! I can't allow this to go on!"
His servant sighed. "Fine. Next time I shall simply stand in front of you while you read it and tell me all about it. Happy?"
"Not particularly. Get back to work."
"Really? We're not going to discuss the matter of Lizzy inviting you to-"
"Emiya!"
"Right, right, leaving now."
BANG
A flock of birds flew up in the air from where they perched in the woods.
"Far north of center." Archer dully reported as Ciel unloaded the shell. "What did I say about drawing in your chin? Pack your arms tightly and tuck the stock as hard as you can against your shoulder."
"I'm trying." His master muttered. "The recoil isn't making it easy."
"Yeah, well, get used to it. This is already a carbine you're firing, making for a shorter gun with comparatively little change in recoil. You can't handle the larger ones as short as you are, and since your asthma restricts whatever physical training I can give you, you're stuck with this. Alright, that's enough chatting. Load up."
Ciel took the last shell from the box of ammunition, slotting it into the breech.
"Ready."
He cocked the round into place.
"Aim."
From where he stood, Ciel tried steadying himself as he kept the target in his sights.
"Own time, own target, carry on."
There was a beat of silence.
BANG
"... well, at least you're consistently hitting the board." Archer muttered, for the lack of anything better to say. "You're like Billy the Kid when he first started. Now come on, into the clearing trap. Remember, keep the rifle pointed to the ground and always treat it as if it's loaded."
"You know," Ciel grumbled as they made their way over to the bright orange tube. "If this rifle only holds one round at a time, and you just saw me fire a shot, then what's the point of these safety procedures."
"Master." His servant chided. "Surely you understand that it's the principle of the thing."
Emiya was rewarded with an involuntary twitch of annoyance.
" One can never assume that the firearm isn't loaded until it's been cleared by the safety officer, no matter what kind of firearms you're using."
" Yeah, well, this seems like a pretty safe assumption to make."
"I don't care, master!" Archer barked. " Safety! Safety is paramount!"
Ciel looked very unamused. "You just couldn't wait to quote me, could you?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Archer retorted glibly, " but enough pussyfooting about. Come on, into the clearing trap."
Grumbling, his master stuck the barrel of the rifle into the clearing trap, cocking it once and opening the breech for him to shine a torch into.
"Clear." He patted his shoulder. "Fire away."
There was a soft click as the trigger was pulled.
"There. Your rifle is now declared safe, so now let's move onto the rifle cleaning. Maybe today you'll finally do it quickly enough for afternoon tea to be served."
"Emiya." His master groaned. "It's going to be dissolved into light anyway, can't we just-"
"Principles, master!"
Snarling, his master grabbed the projected cleaning kit and sat on the groundsheet in a huff.
"Chop chop, master. Today's afternoon tea features macarons, and I'd rather they not go to waste."
They did.
"You've got a spelling mistake here. And here. And here." Emiya pointed at the printed paper critically. "And there's no space between the words 'the' and 'question', and you somehow got the great idea to try and rectify that mistake by leaving a space between 'q' and 'u'. The opening quote reads as 'to be or nt to be, that is theq uestion'. Congratulations, master. Your first typewriting lesson ended up making a mockery of Shakespeare's most famous soliloquy."
He slapped down a fresh ream of paper in front of a deeply tired Ciel Phantomhive and his typewriter.
"Come on. Nothing else we can do but crack on."
"Can't I just write everything out normally?" His master complained.
"I assure you that this invention is how business and correspondence is to be done in the future, and it'd do you well to learn how to type in a satisfactory manner." Archer flipped the pages of the book of poems once more. "Once again, I shall dictate, let me know if you can't keep up. It little profits that an idle king…"
"No, no, no." Ciel shook his head. "Emiya. Need I remind you that you are to use the back staircase so that you aren't seen by guests?"
"What's the point of this?" His butler sighed, fresh from a run from the kitchens. "If it bothers you that much, I'll just revert to spirit form and you'll never have to see me again."
"You can't just rely on that. When we have more people over, people are going to wonder where you disappear to and reappear from. Until then, I need to ensure you follow proper procedure as a servant of the Phantomhive household. Now, pretend to go about drawing me a bath. I shall follow you to ensure you take the correct routes. Go ahead. Pretend I'm not here."
"Easier said than done, Master." Emiya muttered as he turned to his task.
"Master. See here, another mistranslation."
"Emiya. I can smell the fumes of whatever you're cooking from the second floor!"
"It took you seven minutes to dress yourself today, Master. You know, I can replace all the buttons in your clothes with something rather revolutionary. It's called velcro. Since they're giving you so much trouble, should I go on and put this plan into action? Just say the word."
"Emiya, I need tea!"
"EMIYA THAT BLASTED CAT'S ESCAPED AGAIN!"
"EMIYA!"
Kanshou and Byakuya in hand, Archer cleaved the would-be intruder's head clean off before turning back to the manor.
"I'M A LITTLE BUSY AT THE MOMENT!" He roared, the few remaining stragglers warily hanging back, "GET YOUR OWN DAMN MILK AND HONEY!"
It'll interest you to know, Rin, that this tedious and biting back-and-forth eventually came to a head during dinner on a wet English evening.
I can't say I was entirely blameless for the entire affair, but I'll be damned if you dare say I started it.
I even went ahead and served a great feast for my master to commemorate a special occasion.
It went as well as you'd expect.
"What's this?!"
Archer languidly poured him green tea as his master stared at the ensemble in front of him.
"In light of this being the end of the first month we spent together, I've elected to serve you a special feast: a multi-course dinner showcasing what England has to offer."
"So that was enough for you to serve me raw fish? Without a fork and spoon?"
"You're meant to eat with the chopsticks I've provided." Emiya pointed. "And what you just pointed out is English yellowfish tuna, the Mukozuke course. Accompanying this is the Sakizuke – the amuse bouche, if you will – of mushrooms, squid, okra and crab. Start with that. This is the beginning of the twelve-course Kaiseki meal I've prepared for you to mark this joyous occasion."
Ciel fixed his servant with a look somewhere between disgust and indignation.
"Emiya. I just had a long day going over your infernal Latin lessons. I spent hours trying to understand the schematics of the aqueduct we're continuing construction on. As usual, I've been denied my afternoon tea. I am starving. So why." Ciel sighed. "No, really, why on earth did you think serving me this is a good idea?"
"Master." Emiya began. "This is a delicacy that I'm serving you today. The fish has been cured so it's not completely raw, and the entire meal is a way for you to appreciate fresh local produce in a beautiful manner, and to celebrate the passing of winter into the early onset of spring. Please, try it If it makes you feel any better, these are the only two raw dishes we have in place, and I've prepared for you a lovely filet of beef for the Futamono course, and for the Yakimono course, blackened black cod with miso that I've fermented myself. Please, enjoy."
Ciel stared at the delicate arrangement of fish and vegetables for a long moment.
"I'm not eating this." He decided.
Archer sighed. "If you insist. I shall skip the raw courses entirely and begin with the Owan, that is, a soup meant to clear the palate-"
"No, Emiya, you misunderstand me. Whatever you made tonight, I'm eating none of it."
Archer stopped.
Lightning streaked across the sky outside.
"... What?"
Ciel looked furious as he swiveled to face his servant. "You did this on purpose."
"Excuse me?"
"You did this to get out of whatever rules you had to follow as a butler. You did this such that you could do away with basic table setting. You did this to get a rise out of me. You did this to piss me off."
"You're very much mistaken."
"Don't try and lie to me, Emiya, you're pants at it."
"I assure you, master, I prepared this meal with the utmost sincerity."
Archer lied as easily as he breathed.
Well, to be fair, it was a half-truth at worst.
It began, as with most things, with an errant thought that floated through his mind in the middle of doing laundry. Kaiseki was invented by monks to scam nobles. A peculiar bit of information, one that Archer couldn't for the life of him figure out why it chose to surface then and there of all times, but as Archer went on cleaning his master's clothes, that thought ballooned into something he couldn't control.
In essence, Japanese monks found that during cold winters in which food was scarce, they could stave off hunger by placing a heated stone against one's belly within one's kimono. The monks further devised this as part of a luxury meal that they would prepare for nobles in exchange for generous donations. They would visit a table, have a meal with the abbot with a stone in their kimono, and be served finely prepared, elaborately plated but tiny meals while the stone made them feel fuller than they were. The entire farce was treated as an elegant zen Buddhist practice. No one had the good sense to question the emperor's new clothes.
With the cost of the food itself being minimal, and the meal taking more than two hours to be served, Kaiseki can be prepared with little staff on minimal ingredients. In terms of lucrative ideas, it was right up there with the first greedy bastard that decided to sell bottled water one day.
And that was where Archer's mind wandered as he steamed his master's dress shirts.
He probably would not have given it any further thought had his master not admonished him once more over a particular fault he'd found during a meal's table setting, and it seemed that was the straw that broke the camel's back: whatever sense of self-control remained within Archer thus snapped.
Thus, Archer's great Kaiseki undertaking began.
The soybeans had finished their fermentation process and were ready to be used as miso. Rice was easily obtained. Sea bream, cod, yellowfish tuna would serve for the fish courses. A nice cut of filet mignon would serve well as the Futamono. He'd have to acquire buckwheat paste for soba, and the process would be arduous, but one should never underestimate the lengths one would go to prove a point.
Even if the point in this case was nothing more than "suck it, master".
But Archer forgot a simple truth:
Doing something ironically is the gateway drug to doing it unironically and seriously.
As Archer tried for the third time to get the dough of buckwheat paste to stick – made difficult by the paste's complete lack of gluten – he found himself oddly invested . What began as an elaborate effort to get a rise out of his pint-sized master ended as a means for Archer to showcase the very best of what he had to offer as a chef. Hell, Archer ended up proud watching his feast slowly come into fruition.
So you can imagine the complicated mix of emotions that Archer felt watching his master disparage his efforts, even as Archer could not deny that his motivations began as corrupt as his master surmised.
"It's not so much the fact you served me raw fish and expect me to eat it like that cat you stow away from me, so much as the fact that you did it to get your licks in. Eating it would only encourage you to continue on with such ideas in the future, and I can't have that." Firmly, Ciel pushed his chair back, standing up in a huff. "I'm going to retire early. Good night."
Thunder rumbled in the distance as Ciel stalked out of the dining room, his servant following close behind.
"Master, don't act like a spoiled brat." Archer protested. "You overthink too much. You're tired, you're hungry, just eat."
"What did I just say?!"
"I heard you, and I'm saying you're being paranoid and quick to anger. There isn't an ulterior motive to this. I simply wanted to provide you a special meal."
"Even now you lie!" Ciel whirled around, guns blazing. "Let us not pretend that this isn't exactly the sort of pettiness you've indulged in ever since you got here."
"What pettiness?" Archer crossed his arms. "Go on. Enlighten me, because if you're talking about the fact I force you to dress yourself in the morning you've got a whole other thing coming-"
"Not that, Emiya! I'm talking about every single barb you fling my way, every single time you under cut me, belittle me, make me do pointless tasks like cleaning guns that vanish-"
"Pointless?" Archer's voice rose, angrily raising a finger. "'Pointless' is asking me to go through the motions of walking like a normal person when I can simply revert to spirit form. 'Pointless' is asking for the table to be set in a certain manner, asking for fish forks and steak knives when such dishes aren't being served-"
"There!" Ciel seized the opening. "That's exactly what I'm talking about when it comes to what you served tonight. You don't like how things are meant to be done, so you try and supplant it with the ways of where you came from, hoping to get by on a mere technicality and see me suffer in the process-"
"Suffer?!" Archer snarled. "You call that suffering? I did not spend hours on a twelve course meal only for you to not eat it and describe it as an ordeal, and if you appreciate my efforts as your butler- no, as an upjumped slave at all, you'd go right in there and stop acting like a child and eat your fucking food!"
"No. I won't. Because even now you won't admit that you made it just to spite me!"
"Not everything is about you, master!"
"This is! It's literally a meal made for me!"
"And while we're on the subject of pettiness, if I'm being petty then you're guilty of the same damn thing."
"Nothing I did was ever done with the express purpose to get a rise out of you, they were all lessons to educate-"
"Well that just wraps a bow on the entire thing, doesn't it?" Archer snarked. "Everything I did was in the spirit of such lessons too, Master, because unless you've forgotten, you saw fit to make me your tutor as well!"
"Yes, but don't act as if you haven't been abusing whatever tenuous iota of power you have over me to get your digs in whenever you can!"
"Pot. Kettle. Black." Archer followed his master up the recently refurbished stairway. "Let's not pretend you haven't been doing the exact same thing, you little shit, with all the more power you have over me. Sending me off to clean the entire fucking manor on a whim-"
"What did you expect me to say?" And at this, Ciel whirled around, hands on his hips, and did something with his brows and voice that made Archer dearly want to smack him. "'Hurr, master, I brought something that'd make you cough your lungs out, hurrhurr, praise me', get that kind of crap out of here! There was little else to be done-"
"You know what I just realized, master?!" Archer angrily held up a hand and counted down. "When I'm not fucking looking after you, cooking your meals, tutoring you, warding off intruders, rebuilding the manor, you know what I've spent my free time doing? Getting berated by you, you unappreciative, ungrateful brat."
"Is that what this is all about? You feeling unappreciated for doing your job?" Ciel shook his head, incredulous. "Grow up, Emiya! No one's here to praise me for doing my job as earl, and I don't expect to get any anytime soon! Because who around me can? You shouldn't expect praise either for simply doing your job! No one can do my job, need I remind you that yours on the other hand can be replaced by so many others!"
"My job isn't to stay here and be your dogsbody, let me remind you! I've been sent here to take care of a problem that I'm so far completely unaware of! And instead of me investigating possible leads to get me the fuck out of here, I'm stuck here playing happy families with you! And can I just say, you think you're irreplaceable? That's rich coming from someone who usurped his brother's identity to get the job-"
"Don't fucking start with that line of argument again, Emiya," and Ciel Phantomhive's eyes turned wild, "I am sick and tired of the same arguments you offer ad infinitum. I'm tired, I'm hungry, the last thing I want to do is go through the same song and dance with you again!"
"If you're fucking hungry then eat what I fucking prepared for you!"
"Admit that you served me that just to piss me off!"
"I'm not admitting that because that's just not fucking true!"
A great clap of thunder seemed to rock the manor on its foundations. The two of them stood at face level, Ciel on the landing, Archer several steps below him. The argument seemed to have taken a toll on them both, master and servant, panting, quietly collecting themselves.
Ciel recovered first.
"If you insist on deluding yourself, I have nothing more to say. I'm not eating, I'm going to bed." And Ciel turned around, storming off towards his room. "Don't fucking follow me!"
"Fine! Then go ahead and STARVE!" Archer bellowed.
SLAM
And like that, Archer was alone.
"Miserable, cantankerous, unappreciative little bashi-bazouk…." the servant muttered obscenities to himself as he made his way back to the dining room, still stewing on the events that had just transpired.
Maybe he should have admitted to wanting to see his master react to foreign food when he started about the entire process, but what did it matter when the result was him giving it his all? And if his master expected him to swallow his pride without doing the same in return, he had a whole other thing coming.
He stared at the pieces of sashimi on the dining room table.
There really was only one thing he could do now.
The food tasted divine.
I think I struck gold with the soba in particular. What an accomplishment, making soba from 100% buckwheat paste.
So what if my master didn't see fit to indulge? More power to me.
Still, washing up the dishes allowed for one to dwell on the whole unpleasantness that transpired. One should never dwell on the past, Rin, it allows people to get the wrong ideas, like they were at fault.
While I was content to simply talk to my master about it in the morning, or better yet, sweep it under the rug with a few errant comments here and there and pretending that it never happened, the chance was stolen from me later that night.
He was in the cage again, watching him being taken away. He was on the altar, held down by monks and friars, watching that masked man bring out a knife from his coat. Who was he, what was he, that he was in both positions at the same time? Or was he no one at all? No, no, he was Ciel, he was Ciel, the one on the altar was… Ciel, and the knife came down, and he screamed as blood spilled forth, and from that blood came darkness, darkness that tumbled and extinguished the candles and enveloped the onlookers, enveloped him, his eye, he felt teeth sink into his abdomen, a gaping maw that stank of corpses and sinister stuff and he was being taken in, he felt the inferno of oblivion ravaging his feet and Ciel was there watching him, watching him from the cage and screaming-
With lightning came thunder, and Earl Phantomhive found himself back on his four-poster bed screaming something fierce.
Eyes darting across the room, Ciel huddled within the covers, imagining things in the darkness as he waited for his eyes to adjust and see once more.
I'm not there, I'm alive, I'm here, he repeated like a mantra, I'm not there, I'm alive, I'm here…
The knock on the door had him sit up, suddenly alert.
"Who's there?"
The door opened, and Emiya walked in, tray in hand.
"I heard you." He said simply, walking over and turning on the lamp, setting the tray down by his bedside. "And there being no unwanted guests tonight, I saw fit to serve you the requisite milk and honey myself."
The room was then bathed in a warm orange glow, and those things that hid in the corners scurried away for another time. Still huddled, the boy watched as his servant poured him milk and honey into a teacup, a small canister of nutmeg beside it.
Emiya stirred the mixture twice with a teaspoon, gently shaking off the excess with two good taps on the rim.
"Here, master. Drink up."
Trembling, Ciel accepted the cup with both hands, bringing the warm beverage to his lips. As the milk and honey burned a pleasant trail down his gullet, he was distantly aware of his servant silently scrutinizing him, daring him to make the first move.
Ciel said nothing, opting to take slow sips. The adrenaline brought forth from his nightmare was already wearing off, allowing him to acutely feel the exhaustion that settled deep within his bones.
The last thing he wanted was to get back into an argument with his servant.
The cup was emptied and settled onto the bedside table with a huff.
He cleared his throat.
"Thank you, Emiya, that will be all-"
He paused as an unidentifiable sound grumbled through the room. Confused, he laid a palm across his churning abdomen. Ah.
Emiya sighed. "As I thought. You're hungry."
"It's fine, Emiya, I'll eat tomorrow."
Emiya watched as he straightened his covers, preparing to go back to bed before he spoke up.
"What kind of servant would I be if I allowed you to go to bed hungry?" Emiya stepped forward, arm outstretched. "I'll make you something. Come on."
"No need-"
His stomach rumbled again.
Ciel Phantomhive pursed his lips.
"I'm not eating anything from what you prepared for dinner tonight," he warned.
"You couldn't' even if you wanted to," Emiya muttered as he helped his master into his slippers, "I finished the rest of it myself."
Ciel scoffed. Of course you did.
Allowing Emiya to lead him by the arm like a child, they made their way down the main stairway into the basement, and they reached the hallway leading into the kitchens.
Emiya flicked on a switch, and the kitchen came into view.
"Sit on that counter." He muttered, grabbing a metal mixing bowl. "Don't touch anything, the last thing we need is for you to burn or cut yourself."
Ciel did so, warily taking a stool beside the sleek metal behemoth his servant had called a French cooking suite. He watched as Emiya grabbed a sack of flour, a carafe of milk and a lemon from the white receptacle in the larder.
"What are you making?"
"I assume that you're hungry enough to not care about the niceties," Emiya muttered, sifting the flour into the bowl, "so I'm making you pancakes with syrup and butter. The flour and milk are courtesy of Sam the shepherd, who sends his regards alongside those of his grandson."
Emiya eyeballed an appropriate amount of milk, pouring it with one hand as the other greased the griddle with butter, turning a knob underneath it clockwise when done. Halving the lemon, Emiya gave it a good squeeze over the bowl, and Ciel's nose wrinkled as a sharp twist of citrus tinged the air. Seasoning it with sugar and salt, his servant gave the bowl a good mix with a whisk he conjured. Apparently unsatisfied with the batter's consistency, Archer gingerly added a few more glugs of milk, whisking frantically as he checked the temperature of the griddle.
Working carefully, he ladled the thick batter onto the griddle, working systematically until half the grill was covered in pancake mix. Turning the temperature down, his servant conjured a saucepot, chucking a great chunk of brown sugar and setting it over a roaring fire. As the batter began to bubble over the griddle, Emiya retreated into the larder, returning with a sprig of vanilla that he split lengthwise, removing the seeds with the blunt of a knife. Pacing the seeds into a metal container, Ciel Phantomhive hid a flinch as the blades within it whirred into life, reducing them to a fine dust. Emptying it into the sugar well on its way to becoming syrup and stirring once, Emiya returned to the countertop, systematically flipping each pancake, revealing their caramelized undersides.
It was as he watched his servant work that it dawned on Ciel what he meant when he said that the kitchen was his sanctuary: there was a certain sense of zen as his servant worked in silence, humming contentedly every now and then.
Minutes later, a plate of pancakes was slid across the counter, topped with syrup and a sizable pat of butter.
"There. Eat up before it gets cold."
Needing no further instruction, he dug in.
For a long while, the kitchen was silent save for the sounds of cutlery on plates and tea being poured and drunk. His servant watched in silence as he ate with gusto, smearing syrup and butter onto each piece he cut into. A strong pot of Darjeeling – second flush – was set in front of him, never mind the fact that it was close to bedtime, and he relished it washing the thick mess down.
"... you were right."
Ciel looked up, a fork halfway to his mouth.
"Pardon?"
Emiya looked uncomfortable. "I started the kaiseki meal with the intent of annoying you, though I confess that some time between planning it out and putting it into action I had become invested, and saw it as a chance to demonstrate my considerable skill."
"I surmised as such." Ciel looked entirely unsurprised, chewing slowly. "While I'm not unfamiliar with the idea of wanting to prove oneself, do so within reason, Emiya."
Pouring himself another cup of tea, he heard his servant sigh.
"As you say, Master."
He brought the teacup into his lips and stopped.
His hands still trembled.
Not in fear, but something altogether more… pedestrian.
Emiya watched his master still with some consternation.
"... master?"
Ciel gently set the teacup down, fixing his servant under his lidded eyes.
"...I'm tired, Emiya." He finally said.
Emiya blinked.
"... If you want to go to bed, just say so and I'll take care of the rest-"
"No, Emiya." Ciel sighed, looking into the swirling vapor gathered above the teacup. "I'm tired."
His servant didn't seem to know what to say to that, so he took that as leave to continue. "The income of the earldom has dipped quite a bit shortly before I took office. We can't compete with prices from America, and I need to find new ways to energize the local economy. At the same time, I need to keep track of the construction projects started and planned when my father was in office, started when we were in a different situation entirely, physically and economically. Then there's the ledgers, the lesson, my colleagues, and Lizzy…" he trailed off at the thought of his future wife. "... it's a lot, Emiya."
The admission seemed to cause the little lord to sag, and it occurred to him just how small he was, on a smaller stool on a large kitchen on the ruins of the sprawling manor he lived in. Ridiculous. That was the word. Here he was living another life, filling another's shoes, with only a servant for company as he tackled tasks that he had no idea how to start with. Like a duck floating on the river Thames, a calm exterior belied the furious peddling he had to engage in just to stay afloat. Ridiculous.
He felt very alone.
His servant shifted, leaning over the tabletop as he leaned in for a better look at his master.
"You are a child, master." He finally said. "And before you get your panties in a bunch, I mean that as a simple statement of fact. What you are undertaking is a massive task, never mind your dreams of revenge and retribution over nameless enemies. It's fine to go about it one step at a time."
"It's not good enough, Emiya," he shook his head, "I can't afford to do it slowly and at my own pace. People expect me to be the perfect heir, to be him. I can't afford to be anything less."
"... look where we are, master." Emiya gestured around him. "A month ago, this place was nothing but a charred husk of its former self, and you tasked me with restoring it to its former glory. We've still got a long way to go, but look how far we've come. The exterior is clean, the glass is mostly repaired, the kitchen is furnished, the plumbing and heating is done… it doesn't do one any favors to ignore the progress one has made for what he has yet to accomplish. All we can do is keep going."
The two allowed silence to overcome them once more. A solitary half of a pancake sat in a vat of syrup, untouched.
"... for what it's worth," Ciel said slowly, ignoring his muted sense of embarrassment, "I do appreciate you Emiya. I just wish you weren't such a bastard."
"Funny." Emiya mused. "I feel very much the same about you, master."
Ciel glared. Emiya merely grinned wider.
"My job's difficult enough without you jibing and poking holes and offering your biting remarks."
"I like to see it as me socializing and bringing levity to serious situations."
"... you must not have had many friends growing up, did you, Emiya?"
Emiya looked chagrined. "Not many. And I can't say I treated any of them with half of what they deserved."
And once more, there was a faraway look in his eyes. Not for the first time, Ciel wondered just where his servant came from. For all he was meant to be an incarnation of a hero, he'd never heard of one named Emiya.
He wondered what he could tell him.
His servant suddenly straightened, looking up with a frown.
"Oh dear. It seems we'll have unwanted guests tonight after all."
"Again?" Ciel finished his tea. "That's the third time this week."
"Yeah." Archer's eyes roamed a corner of the ceiling. "You'd think they'd stop trying after a while, but no, they're persistent, even as none of them can tell me who sent them or what they were after."
"It's not a difficult conclusion to reach, Emiya. Think about it." Ciel muttered dully.
He checked the clock hanging on the wall, sliding off the stool with a sigh.
"It's late. I'm off to bed."
"I'm off to do some beheadings." His servant muttered. "I'll clean up later."
"You do that." Ciel yawned, already making his way to the door. "Good night, Emiya."
"Good night, Master."
Ciel flicked the light switch off, and Emiya vanished into the darkness.
It wouldn't be the last time the master indulged in a late night snack with me in the kitchens, but that first time was significant in that it marked a turning point in our relationship.
As cliched as it sounds, things eventually got better, in part because they simply have to.
The stopwatch clicked, and his master stood in front of him, dressed in his Sunday best, impatiently waiting for his verdict.
"Five minutes." Archer smiled. "Good enough. You're now allowed to have me dress you in the mornings."
"Be still, my heart." Ciel snarked, even as he betrayed a look of quiet satisfaction. "I just need your help with the buttons on my cuffs should I ever ask for it."
"Of course, master." Archer made to straighten the covers of the four-poster bed. "It's unreasonable to expect someone to do it by themselves once it's already worn."
Ciel fixed his servant with a glare.
Archer looked utterly unashamed.
"The important thing is you learned something. Isn't that nice?"
"... did anything happen while I was asleep?" He finally asked.
"Undertaker's men have come and gone, he sends his regards and hopes you'll have the chance to visit him soon in London. Also, the solarium is finished, master." And Archer was pleased to see his master perk up with interest at that piece of news. "Will you be wanting your meals served there from now on?"
Ciel made his way out of the room, eager to see it for himself. "Let's start with breakfast and afternoon tea."
"Bold of you to assume you'll manage to be served afternoon tea today." Archer demurred. "After what happened the last time you attempted to shoot moving targets."
Ciel hit him lightly on his arm.
Emiya took his time reading through the latest stack of worksheets Ciel completed, this time lifted from Trinity College after exhausting Weston's supply of material. As he hemmed and hawed, making an errant note here and there, Ciel played with the fountain pen in his hands, twirling it about in nervousness.
Emiya looked up, peering over his reading glasses.
"Congratulations, master." He smiled. "A full score."
"If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…" Archer recited, watching his master click-clack diligently on the typewriter, "if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too, if you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don't deal in lies…"
Ciel held up a photograph.
"Harold West Jeb." Emiya muttered. "Trader of Indian goods."
He held up another.
"And this one?"
"Grimsby Keane. Theatrical producer. Currently in a relationship with a Miss Irene Diaz."
Ciel nodded before holding up another photograph.
"And this person?"
His servant fixed him with a flat look.
"Master. That's the Queen. Do you really have that little faith in your servant's ability to recognize famous people?"
"I'm not taking anything for granted when it comes to you." Ciel smirked, shuffling the photos in his hands. "Don't just stop there. Tell me what you know about her."
"Her father's German, she's half German, and she married a German…"
"Steak and kidney pie," Archer set down a slice stuffed to the brim with chunks of meat, "with espagnole sauce and lingonberry reduction."
His master saw nothing to comment on as he picked up the correct silverware. "And for dessert?"
"A pistachio souffle, avec une chocolate creme anglaise."
BANG
The pigeon disintegrated, and shards of clay rained down a little way off in front of the two of them.
"Good shot."
Slotting another round into the breech, Ciel aimed high.
"Pull!"
Obediently, Archer leaned back and flung the clay pigeon further to his left.
BANG
"Huh." Archer muttered as they watched the bird get cleaved in two. "Was sure I'd get you with that one."
"I'll be damned if I miss another round of afternoon tea." Ciel muttered, raising his rifle to the air once more. "Pull!
BANG
"Yes, I've contacted the contractors and they'll be here within the week. Rest assured, construction of the aqueduct is back on track."
From the little village came cheers, and a mob of villagers reached out, eager to shake his hand.
"Don't overwhelm the Earl!" Emiya called, shielding his master from the worst of it. "Let's be civilized, one at a time, if you please!"
Ciel swallowed.
"You're right. I don't care very much for these cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches."
Archer sighed. "What did I tell you? I can replace them with turkey and lingonberry in the future?"
"You do that." Ciel affirmed, reaching for another confectionary from the tiered tray. "And this is?"
"A cookie known as a Melting Moment." Archer supplied, watching as his master took a hesitant bite. "Made with corn flour and icing sugar."
It had taken more than a month, but after much blood, sweat and tears, afternoon tea had arrived for Ciel Phantomhive at last.
"That is not at all what 'God is Dead' means, master." Emiya lectured, tiredly looking up from his master's essay. "I realize for you it's only been three years since Nietsche made this statement, but I assure you that he means something else entirely."
"Philosophy would be a lot easier to digest if these philosophers gave up on making their maxims sound dramatic and absolute." Ciel mused.
"Yes, well, in this case I think it made for a better quotable at the back of the book." Emiya muttered, a copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra in his hand. "So, let me reiterate. 'God is Dead' isn't an atheist broadside against belief but an attack on the tight association of reason and divinity…"
"Delicious!" The diner was all smiles as he sampled pieces of fatty tuna that Emiya had sliced. "Simply delicious! The curing of the tuna tempers the harshness of the raw fish such that the fattiness of the tuna can be better appreciated. You're a marvel!"
"You're too kind," Emiya bowed, "it really was no trouble at all."
"You've prepared a Kaiseki meal for my return and you say it's no trouble!" Tanaka chuckled, tackling the Mukozuke once more. "Young master, this is a wonderful surprise, but there's no need to trouble yourself on an old man's account. Do you like it?"
Ciel looked up from the rectangular dish in front of him, where he'd spent the last five minutes moving the remaining bits of tuna about. Emiya fixed him a look where Tanaka couldn't see, daring him to say anything else.
His master finally sighed.
"It's… good. Of course I would call for nothing but the best for your return, Gramps."
He refused to dignify the shit-eating grin on his servant's face.
"And on that note, I think it's time I bring out the Oshinogi course of soba and clam broth. I'll be right back." Emiya inclined his head slightly before hurriedly making his way back to the kitchens, leaving his master and caretaker alone in deep conversation.
But I'd like to think that the other reason things got better was that we came out of this month with a greater appreciation of what the other does.
My master has a long journey ahead of him, but he's making leaps and bounds of progress on all fronts. And in this wretched facsimile of domestic life, I thrive.
Dare I say it? I'm proud of him, Rin.
… Look at me, being sentimental. You must be laughing behind my back.
I'd love to say more, but the night is young, there's much to be done, and there's more of the manor to refurbish.
Saber says hi. I look forward to seeing you again, wherever you are.
Yours,
Emiya.
Knock Knock
"Master. Your mail."
Archer brought forth a tray carrying the day's mail to his master, who was nursing a cup of tea and reading a novel behind his desk.
"Anything interesting?"
Archer looked grim. "Funny you should ask."
He set down the tray, and as Ciel sat up to take a better look he froze.
Upon it sat an envelope bearing the royal seal.
Buckingham Palace had called upon him at last.