middaeg | [ SEMI-OPEN ] I stand amid the roar

[ The scene: nighttime, a cold breeze off the water, the modern city lights reflecting off the shore and scattered in the clouds above the strikingly red metal beams and railings arching up above. A bridge stretches across the dark river, wide and paved, devoid of cars or human residents of the city where it represents an iconic sight featured on burgeoning websites and brochures. Instead, near the middle of the bridge over the water, two men stand facing one another in what seems cordial camaraderie, golden cups in hand. ]

[ Apart from them, atop Iskandar's enormous mare, Waver watches the two Heroic Spirits share a final drink.

Apart from him as well stands Waver once again-- less human, less skinny and scared, only slightly taller but perhaps a little more grown-up.

It feels like a time long past, a distant dream even outside of what he knows is a dream of a memory now. Another reality. A reminder.

He watches the scene unfold, a strange spectator to one of the worst and yet most vital moments of his life. The seconds tick by toward the inevitable.

As Iskandar finishes his drink and turns back to the smaller, human Waver waiting anxiously for him on the bridge without seeing the intruder, he finds himself too intent on the scene to notice that he -- the real him, the 'new' him -- is not alone. ]

Edited 2020-04-14 22:19 (UTC)

[ She recognizes this place.

She wasn't here on the night in question, but it would be impossible for her to forget the great bridge, lit up by all of the lights, the cityscape around them that fades into the darkness. Much like Waver, she is different from the time she was here.

She has a tail, claws, and now a pair of black-brown-red feathered wings tucked in tightly against her back. The memory plays out in front of her as Rider turns back to the Waver-that-Was and she doesn't know if she should continue watching or slip away. ]

This is their final duel, isn't it?

[ She can feel that tension from the 'old' and 'new' Waver. It's not hard to guess. ]

[ Waver starts, turning suddenly to find Saber there as she had not been before-- and looking far different not only from their time in Fuyuki, but even since the last time he saw her. His gaze snags on the wings, but he makes no comment. So that was why he hadn't quite been able to place her scent when he'd thought she was a type of Turnskin like him. She's not.

But that doesn't matter. Waver doesn't try to chase her away, knowing by now that it's pointless. The scene will unfold regardless; time and space and even consciousness are strange here in this dreamworld. He's walked through several unexpectedly himself already, and he knows it's not so easy to simply turn away.

After a moment, Waver nods solemnly. ]

Yes. [ He agrees softly, turning his gaze back to the men on the bridge as they talk, laughing together. ]

The night of Iskandar's last charge within the Fourth Holy Grail War.

[ He has no idea what fight Saber was waging this night. He hadn't seen her again until arriving here, and they'd hardly talked about it. He barely even talked about the War with Diarmuid, or with Iskandar. The bittersweet nostalgia squeezes his chest, fists tight and trembling at his sides.

But he looks on, straight-backed and unflinching as the two kings on the bridge part, and the world begins to shift and warp around them through Waver's memories. Suddenly, Iskandar's armies stretch forth across the horizon. The wind kicks up sand, whipping the horse's mane and Iskandar's cloak, but it doesn't touch the Monstrous forms of Saber and Waver at all. ]

You're here now. Don't look away.

[ She had been elsewhere, dealing with her own problems, and so had not witnessed the end. But now she is here to see a memory of it. Perhaps, most importantly, Waver's memory. The young man who loved Rider - who loved Iskandar. ]

I will not turn away. [ She confirms this with the slightest of nods, gaze still drawn to the two figures and the way they part. She knows how this ends, how it must end, but to turn away and ignore it would do them a disservice. Would disrespect Waver. She does not flinch as as the desert winds whip up and the massive army surrounds them. She is not a participant, merely an observer. ]

Magnificent. [ She murmurs. Rider's Noble Phantasm is enough to stir the heart. ]

[ Waver's lips twitch up in a faint, nostalgic smile.

He's there too. Dwarfed by the enormous expanse of the Reality Marble and its army, and obscured by Bucephalus's mane and Iskandar's much larger form, there is a small, human, Command Spell-less Waver, finding the thrill of battle at his King's side.

It doesn't last long. This is Waver's dream, and Waver's fear and anxiety that permeates the very fibers of it beneath their feet, though they stand apart on seeming nothingness now in the midst of the fight as the world begins to tear itself apart beneath the force of Gilgamesh's blade. Seeing it even now fills him with dread, but still he doesn't look away.

It's almost over. The bridge returns. Waver's fists are trembling at his sides. ]

[ The army stirs something of nostalgia in her. It reminds her when she led an array of glittering knights to fight against the invaders that threatened her home. Not quite the army of conquest that Iskandar carries with him, but... soldiers, all loyal to the man who leads them to victory. It stirs the soul.

But it all falls away, bit by bit, as Gilgamesh dismantles it. Then they are left on the bridge and Saber watches without flinching, without looking away. She will witness Iskandar's end and honor it. It is the least she can do after intruding on it.

The outcome was never in doubt, was it? ]

[ There's nothing to be said. They watch in silence, and though they stand apart from the figures in Waver's memories, something about the dream makes it effortless to hear what's going on.

It occurs to Waver that Saber can probably hear it too, the voices that seem to slide around them on the air that isn't really here, carrying easily and yet sounding slightly far, as if removed to another place. Another time.

Waver can't tell her to leave and look away now. So Saber will see it all: she'll see their final goodbye, the moment that Waver chose the path and price for the rest of his life.

It lingers, drawn out dreamily. The flash of Iskandar's smile is brilliant in the dark.

Waver watches his back, then and now, wiping his tears on his sleeve but never lowering his eyes.

When it's over, it's just the small, human Waver and Gilgamesh left on the bridge. Even from a distance, it's easy to see his shoulders shaking. ]

[ Saber does watch it all, from beginning to end, unmoving and unflinching. She has seen battles, she has seen war, and although this whole scene is tragic, it is also noble in its own right. To look away would be an insult to Waver and Rider both, so she watches and waits, expression set. ]

What happens next?

[ She still watches Waver and Gilgamesh, unsure of what route the war takes from here. ]

...I don't really know, for sure.

[ Waver admits quietly. He knows a bit of what happened. The fire. The lack of a real winner. But the truth is, he abandoned vying for the Grail well before then, and he doesn't know the details of how the War really ended. Only that it was bad, and it wasn't worth the pain and the loss of so many people's lives.

Waver shakes his head. ]

I went home after that. Back to the house of the family I'd been staying with near Fuyuki.

I heard about the devastation on the news.

I don't know what happened to Gilgamesh.

[ Gilgamesh, who on the bridge walks toward Waver, stops before him and-- spares his life. Waver, clearly terrified, meets his eyes and refuses to fight just as much as he refuses to beg for mercy, but the King of Heroes leaves him be, Servantless and helpless though he is.

The dream world fades as Gilgamesh does, leading only the faint, rippling after image of the human Waver falling, weeping, to his knees. ]

I admit I... don't know what happened to you, either.

[ he realizes quietly, looking away. ]

[ Interesting. Saber listens and watches and seems slightly surprised that Gilgamesh simply let him live. It's not what she would have expected from him. But of course, her experience with Gilgamesh during the Grail War was terrible. ]

I... fought. I lost the one i was meant to protect. Gilgamesh and I fought and he had the better of me - but the Grail was there. Within both of our grasps.

[ She frowns and closes her eyes, remembering the moment that her Master had told her to destroy the Grail. The way the magic had coursed through her veins and forced her to do something she had no desire to do. ]

...my Master ordered me to use my Noble Phantasm to destroy the Grail. Bound by magic as I was, I had no choice but to follow his instructions and then - then everything ended and I was returned to Camlann - and then here.

[ Berserker stands in silence a few paces behind Waver. This must be the Grail War he was a part of...The same one Diarmuid was also a part of. The two Servants are familiar to him, both from Aefenglom and Chaldea. A climactic battle or an agreement...The former seems far more likely, knowing the two Servants involved.

He approaches now, an unwilling voyeur in this dream. May as well see what he's been shown... ]

This was your battle, wasn't it?

[ That's not right and he knows it. It was never Waver's battle. ]

[ And yet, the choice of phrasing makes Waver's heart beat faster. He turns, somehow unsurprised to see Berserker even though in the dream things like scent and even space can be distorted.

It's a painful memory, but also a proud and cherished one. Waver will not tell him to look away. ]

No...

[ He shakes his head, looking back at scene before them, where they stand behind his own past self waiting for Iskandar atop Bucephalus, watching his back. Until he turns, and the two kings walk away from each other, smiles fading into seriousness. ]

...and yes.

This was the final battle Iskandar waged in the Fourth Holy Grail War. And I was by his side to witness it.

[ If Berserker looks closely at the Waver whose hands are resting in Bucephalus's mane, amidst the vivid details and colors of the dream, he'll notice that Waver has not a single Command Spell. ]

It was a glorious charge.

Watch, [ Waver urges, even though his hands are shaking.

The world around them begins to crumble, warp and change. The sound of hundreds of swords and spears and shields rattles in the sudden wind as the armies of Iskandar stretch out into the desert where the bridge had once been.

Bucephalus surges forward. ]

Edited 2020-04-21 05:54 (UTC)

[ A final battle without Command Spells...What kind of Master was Waver? Too kind for his own good, he's sure. A Master that can't be decisive is one that generally ends up dead. How could he have survived this fight...? There's no way a Servant would have mercy on a Master without a Servant. ]

...As you say.

[ Berserker watches obediently, his expression neutral, even as the world seemingly falls apart around them. A Noble Phantasm that's a Reality Marble. Interesting...If he were a less broken person, he would probably have some sort of emotional attachment or response to the scene playing out around him. As it is, he's seen countless bloody battles against armies all on his own. Wars are nothing new to him.

He watches not for his own benefit, but because this is important to Waver. If it's important to him, it must be worth watching. ]

[ The scene moves on without them. They stand apart on solid ground that isn't real while the sands twist and crack beneath their feet and the cheers of the army of Iskandar rend the air with a cry for battle.

He's there too. Dwarfed by the enormous expanse of the Reality Marble and its army, and obscured by Bucephalus's mane and Iskandar's much larger form, there is a small, human, Command Spell-less Waver, finding the thrill of battle at his King's side.

It doesn't last long. Gilgamesh draws his weapon.

The shouts turn to screams. The desert turns to darkness. The bridge returns, and Bucephalus stops.

Waver's fists are shaking at his sides. Even now, the dread that fills his chest when he sees that terrifying Noble Phantasm permeates through the whole dream like a tension in the sky, a heaviness in the air around them. He takes a ragged breath.

It's almost over. In his memory, Iskandar grabs him by the collar and lifts him from the horse, letting him down onto the bridge in what is obviously the beginning of a last goodbye. ]

[ Berserker can't understand this. His mindset as a Servant was certainly not the norm...Perhaps if he weren't an Alter, he would understand the craving for a battle like this, a grand finale. Hm. This isn't about him, though.

He knows how this ends and it's not with Rider's victory. The two Servants are simply a mismatch -- the battle was decided the moment it started. How unfortunate for Waver...A Master too attached to his Servant is a liability. ]

...He fought until the very last. [ As he himself would have, but for a very different purpose. A "king" though he was, he didn't truly understand the ambition of the King of Conquerors. ] You grew too attached to him, despite the realities of a Grail War...

[ For a while, it seems Waver didn't hear him, or isn't listening. He's still fixed on the scene before them, the final words Iskandar said to him on the bridge. His sworn promise.

It hurts to watch, but he won't look away until it's completely over, and Iskandar has faded from the dream, his Servant body shimmering and dissolving into golden sparks that disperse back to the Throne. It hits him all over again how incredibly lucky he is. What Aefenglom has given him.

Only in the silence does he answer, finally looking up at Berserker even as the dream keeps going, Gilgamesh slowly approaching the tiny, trembling Waver on the bridge. ]

You're right. I may have gotten 'too' attached, as you say-- but I don't care.

I threw myself into the lies of the Mages' Association and the grand promise of being able to get everything I'd ever wanted on a wish. I was an idiot. And then I met him... just as big an idiot, with bigger dreams to match.

I'll acknowledge my mistakes, but I won't regret them. I won't wish I never participated or never got too attached.

[ Gilgamesh stops before Waver. It would be laughably easy to strike him down where he stands, defenseless. Waver remembers the terror still, but he doesn't look away from that red gaze. ]

[ And for that answer, Berserker can't help but respect him a little more. He didn't expect Waver to back down from the choices he made, but somehow hearing how firmly he defended those choices stirred something in him. It reminds him of who he should have been, in a way: living a life with no regrets, even if some of the choices made were mistakes. ]

I never said you should wish for those things. Humans are foolish beings that do foolish things...That's all.

[ He keeps his gaze on the scene playing out. Standing before the King of Heroes without a Servant to protect him...Surely Gilgamesh won't take mercy on him. ]

[Actually, Waver is the first person they notice. He is standing there, gazing at the scene in front of him intently. For a moment they think about leaving but the second they want to make the turn they notice that Gil is a part of this particular memory. And Iskandar as well. And not very far away from them is another Waver. A younger one. One without dog ears.

And really, in many ways Enkidu can be terribly naive. Their logic can be beyond ridiculous and perhaps they will never entirely get this thing called humanity. But what is happening in front of them is quite clear, actually. Two kings share a last drink before they will fight against each other on a battlefield.

They remain silent for a long time and when they speak up their voice is soft and even.]

I am well aware that we do not know one another very well, but I hope you do not mind if I watch. Gil is my friend.

...your friend.

[ With a nickname, even. Gil.

Enkidu came at exactly the right time. Gilgamesh on the bridge is currently rebuffing Iskandar's offer of camaraderie with a brief mention of his one friend. Not that Waver understands this, of course-- but Enkidu might hear, even if they aren't close. In the dream, distance matters little. ]

You can watch if you want. Just know that I won't tolerate any disrespect.

[ What he'll actually do about it remains a mystery, but Waver sounds very serious. ]

[Enkidu nods deeply.]

Yes. [They silence when they overhear those words. Where Gil firmly upholds that decree he once made. In a way it moves them and the corner of their mouth twitches a little. On the other side, they would want him to make new friends. Ones who did not look like they did.

And Iskandar isn't a bad choice at all.] Gil speaks about me. [They pause briefly and move to look at the young ~~dog~~ man next to them.] Is this...your Grail War, Waver Velvet?

[And oh, oh no.]

I would not dare to disrespect another's memories. After all, memories shape a soul.

[ Waver glances over again in surprise at the revelation. The 'friend' is... this person? They don't seem the least bit like the kind of person Gilgamesh of all people would be friends with-- but Waver knows first impressions don't always account for much.

He doesn't comment on that, despite his evident surprise. He only nods. ]

That's right. It was the Grail War in which I stupidly participated, though I wouldn't call it my War.

[Most Grail Wars aren't pleasant. They corrupt and twist and in most cases there is a lot of suffering. Yet, Enkidu distances themselves from such things, always focusing on their role as a weapon.]

May I ask you why you have regrets?

Regrets?

[ Waver shakes his head. ]

No. That's not what I said. [ It's not entirely untrue, but there are many things he would never regret as a result of his decision, ignorant and thoughtless as it had been.

Meeting Rider, most of all. ]

I didn't understand what I was getting into. I made some foolish decisions. I wish things had turned out differently.

[ Enkidu is about to see why, if they haven't figured it out already; Iskandar and Gilgamesh are facing off, and it's clear who is about to disappear. ]

But I wouldn't have chosen any path that didn't lead me to him.

[ striking though the bridge may be, it is one Gilgamesh has never seen before, yet he now witnesses himself standing upon it.

watching from his current vantage point, with those cold, distant red eyes, there is no mystery as to what is transpiring: this is a Grail War, and Gilgamesh, preparing for the battle, is a Servant, a participant in this war. this is not the Moon Cell. no, it is his garden. it is Earth.

from his present perspective, he does not recall visiting Earth at any time that would correspond to the visual presented by this dream, and yet there is no strangeness in the idea. Gilgamesh could be summoned from the Throne to different eras, and he is aware of ... other eventualities, besides that of his and Hakuno's journey. so this is simply another outcome. another summoning.

and looking upon it, seeing himself, Gilgamesh wonders how many of the other former Masters and Servants in Aefenglom might know him through this or another war. is this Saber's war as well? is this where she encountered him originally? if so, many things begin to make sense. but Saber is not in this memory. no, instead, there is the King of Conquerors -- and.

ah.

as the battle continues to unfold, start-stopping with the impenetrable and ever-shifting rhythms of dream time, Gilgamesh stands silently and solemnly beside this older Waver, this Waver whose body has changed. the Gilgamesh in Waver's dream is bright with armor and stands tall in his full splendor. it is the only Gilgamesh Waver has ever known. for the real Waver, the real Gilgamesh beside him may appear slightly different -- wandering through dreams almost lazily, unhurriedly, he is not in the mode of battle. his hair is softer, relaxing his face so the features are not so sharp nor so inhuman, and the armor has been traded for robes. he still looks majestic, adapting Coven fashion to the extent that he can. where possible, he chooses fabrics and colors to remind him of home and the splendor of the King.

beside Waver, the real Gilgamesh has his arms folded, watching the scene with a very faint smile. it is not cold or cruel, as his expressions often are. this is a battle of legend. the Gilgamesh frozen in time trades in his own smile, his own cruel laughter, for an expression of such absolute flatness that the contrast itself could astound a mere mortal. ]

Mm. [ Gilgamesh is barely addressing Waver; his eyes are fixed upon the dream itself. ] I see.

[ finally, he looks over at Waver -- and should Waver dare to make eye contact now, should he not flinch and do so, he will see those same eyes that he faced in what for him was some long while ago. the expression is an exact replica, the exact same distance that cedes nothing. ]

Here we pay witness to a moment of glory, unique in its own existence.

[ and though he he has maintained that faint smile, there is no mocking in the words. none whatsoever -- as he did in Waver's memory, so too now does Gilgamesh regard the King of Conquerors' battle with himself with the proper merit it deserves.

Waver may think that is all, and indeed, it seems as if it will be, but all at once, there is a flicker of recognition: almost human-like, Gilgamesh finally seems to see Waver. at least a little. there is someone beside him in this dream -- a being who exists as more than a mere witness to two heroes, though Gilgamesh is only just barely seeming to acknowledge him. behind those eyes, Gilgamesh appears to consider something very heavily, very deeply, and yet whatever it is, it might as well be at the bottom of a distant ocean. ]

Ah. You must be the one the King of Conquerors spoke of.

[ Waver Velvet, the boy whose supposed ordinariness, attested to by Flat Escardos, at least, had sparked a considerable amount of controversy. perhaps now is the time to see what Waver's character is truly made of. ]

[ For a long while, Waver's gaze remains steadfastly fixed on the scenes unfolding before him from his own memories. How vivid and real it all looks. Caught up in the rush of emotion between the nostalgia and the tangle of fear and love and loss all twisting around inside his chest to see this place and this battle once more, Waver doesn't immediately notice he is not alone.

The voice is not one he expects to hear beside him. In the dream, Gilgamesh draws his weapon, that terrifying Noble Phantasm that still fills Waver with dread-- and that dread solidifies into a sharp reality all at once, making his breath catch in suddenly-freezing-cold lungs.

The remembered scene crumbles around them as Iskandar's Reality Marble falls apart, both in the dream and in their perceived presence. The world lurches with the feeling in Waver's stomach.

Those red eyes feel impossibly heavy, pinning him in place just as they had that night. For a long moment, Waver only stares up at that cold gaze, the eyes that have haunted his sleepless nights. He has to remind himself to breathe. ]

...Archer.

[ It is how Waver knows him, and he has no idea that this Gilgamesh is not in all ways the same. It doesn't even strike him as odd that he's addressed in that way. If Gilgamesh never bothered to remember his name, it wouldn't be surprising.

Thus far, Waver's managed to avoid meeting him, especially alone, in Aefenglom. Though he'd been aware of the King of Heroes' arrival, Waver had no desire to face him directly. And now, he has no choice. They're alone here, and they both bear witness to one of the last battles of the Fourth Holy Grail War. ]

Yes. I am Waver Velvet.

[ The dream world lurches and twists once more, images sliding into one another and away. One moment Iskandar is still mounted on the bridge, and his brilliant smile shines in Waver's memory. The next, he's bloody, pierced through, shimmering and fading into golden dust. And the next moment still, Waver and Gilgamesh stand alone on the bridge now, face to face-- an echo of them now as Waver turns, looking up at him. Now and then, he squeezes his shaking hands into fists. ]

[ the conclusion, Gilgamesh thinks, was inevitable.

he is a man who knows his own disposition absolutely. as soon as he saw himself upon that bridge, clad in full armor, Gilgamesh knew that this was a conflict which he, his dream self, himself in this memory, took very seriously. in this manner, the King of Heroes paid to the King of Conquerors that rarest of offerings: his own respect.

and even as Waver stands beside him, full of tension, remembering this moment with the fear and terror and love of a boy who is all too small for his age, Gilgamesh watches the battle with a different perspective, that of a hero-king witnessing a glorious spectacle. from Gilgamesh's view, his actions towards Iskandar convey a degree of respect which would be unfathomable for Gilgamesh to show to nearly anyone.

he used nothing less than his greatest treasure, Ea. ]

The outcome was decided from the start.

[ this is said neutrally, coolly, as it is an objective fact.

still, as the scene plays out, Gilgamesh's eyes take in all the details: the reality marble, the bridge, the bright lights of the modern world and its musky, heavy, city darkness. this boy's agonized expression. and finally, his own words to this boy:

Your loyalty is splendid. Let none tarnish it.

-- well. Gilgamesh's eyes flick again towards Waver, seeming to appraise him once more. ]

Ah. You must have great pride that your king fought so valiantly. [ even if he was overwhelmed... he went down with great pride. there is no shame whatsoever in this. ] You followed in his path, of course?

Of course.

[ Waver echoes in answer to both questions, squaring his narrow shoulders as he straightens up a bit more. There's no reason to be afraid here. Not that the knowledge stops his racing heart. ]

He is my King now just as much as that day when I swore myself to him.

[ His voice is sharp, despite the faint tremble around its edges. And it bears some insult, simmering anger that Gilgamesh would even imply otherwise. Anger at his dismissal, the way he seems to watch on without a care; his cold objectivity registers as disinterest. ]

...and I won't accept anyone, even you, disrespecting his battle.

Please don't speak lightly of it. [ Waver continues forcefully, fists tight at his sides, though he doesn't raise his voice. ] He fought with all his strength and pride. You can't say the outcome was decided from the start. Don't devalue the merit of the fight and the spirit behind it for its ending.

[ Waver is still shorter than Gilgamesh, so the King of Heroes must naturally cast his habitually unforgiving gaze downwards to properly behold him. he does so now, looking at Waver just as he did on that bridge. only, this second time, he takes the boy in more, appraising him in accordance with his own words, his own injunction to remain loyal.

his scimitar-sharp smile is paired with his cutting eyes, red as a ruby but hard as diamonds, but chilling as it may be, there is something under that feral look, a kind of wild appreciation for this boldness that Waver displays. that a mere Master of such diminutive stature, a boy, should speak thusly to the king of all heroes, the first among them. never mind that Gilgamesh here is a Witch, not a Servant. his presence carries over and Waver feels it instinctively in his bones. but Gilgamesh does not seem displeased by these words. ]

Oh?

[ to Gilgamesh, Waver's response is... unexpected, perhaps.

he speaks slowly through that smile, but the atmosphere around him no longer seems so distant. he looks at Waver like a monarch stirring on the throne and casting his eyes at a supplicant who has come to him to inform him that something is amiss within his city-state -- that amusement is not friendly, for it cannot be so, but neither is it hostile, and it allows the smallest of access points to Gilgamesh's mood and thoughts. ]

Quite bold, aren't you? I have taken the heads of mongrels for less. [ he looks even more pleased. it may register as threatening, but that pleasure seems to be suffusing him slowly. ] But those lesser insults were spoken by men who did not have the valor to intrigue me. To criticize me to my face in the name of your King -- lift your shoulders. Cease your trembling.

[ you must never, ever show weakness or a lack of resolve before the King of Heroes, who knows only strength. ]

Now, I shall address these words of yours: it is my actions that speak, and in the battle with your King, I spoke when I drew Ea.

[ Ea is... a part of him. it is more than a mere blade, more than an origin Noble Phantasm that precedes the first sword. it is something like Gilgamesh's alter ego, the brilliant symbol of his might and majesty. and he should not show it for just anyone. ]

There can be no greater compliment.

[ finally, after a long pause, he closes his eyes and exhales, as slight as the rest. ]

I begin to understand what the King of Conquerors sees in you, Waver Velvet. Yet it seems you have much to learn about the language heroes speak to one another.

[The colours are wrong. It's the middle of the night and, while the construction site should have had every tone sucked away by the darkness, it seems almost to be coloured in inky shades of purple and black and navy. Heightened. Streamlined. That's the only way to describe it. Fuyuki itself, though present and glowing beyond the concrete, is insignificant and dull compared to this battleground.

"-accept your challenge!"

Snow white, royal blue, sceptre gold. Saber and her Master are bright, as though the broken lamps and lights overhead were actually working. The third figure to stand centre stage is another that Waver will know: Diarmuid, but perhaps not looking as he's used to. The Lancer is electric; proud and playful and alive, eyes lit up with the sheer joy of the duel. The two Servants move with such precision and elegance as to almost be dancing.

Kayneth is nowhere to be seen.

A hand catches Waver's before he can move closer.]

Don't. Please.

[Sitting behind him atop a pile of rubble is another Diarmuid. Though he doesn't look up, his open shirt, wrinkled from tossing and turning in bed, and the crackle of magic between them as their Bond flares will tell him that it's the real one.]

...Diarmuid?

[ Waver turns to him with a start. It's a strange dream, too vivid, too real. But it's not his first.

He knows what's happening. ]

I'm sorry. I just--

[ He hadn't been able to help it. He hadn't been able to resist the impulse when he saw that mirror, the way it rippled beneath his incorporeal fingers. Even now, it's difficult to tear his eyes away.

Inside his chest, his heart feels tight, pounding hard against his ribs even though his body, technically, is only tossing and turning safely in bed. ]

This is...

[ He trails off, distracted by the ringing clash of sword against spear. ]

I don't want you to see this.

[Though his words are strong, the hold he has on him is light, giving him every opportunity to slip away. It's true that he doesn't want Waver to bear witness to what's about to unfold but it would be cowardly to try and hide it from him when it pertains to something so personal to him. Maybe the reality is that he's the one who doesn't want to watch.

With the softest of sighs, he releases him. His hand feels oddly empty without Waver's in it and, for a moment, he looks a little lost, as though it had been the only thing to anchor him to the present.]

I won't stop you. You have every right to see how my Master [His teacher, he was his teacher, wasn't he?] ended our fight.

[Maybe Waver will see him in the shadows. A silhouette among concrete pillars. Seated, the spokes of wheels just visible where light filters through them.

In spite of everything, it makes Diarmuid's chest ache with shame and pity alike. He looks away, jaw tight.]

[ Diarmuid releases him before Waver can say anything else, before he can make up his mind on whether or not he actually wants to pull free. He ends up walking another step forward, after all.

In the dream, it seems his eyes are sharper, or perhaps it's just that distance and reality are concepts unnecessary and unknowable in a landscape like this. The colors are too intense. The details are too sharp. It feels wrong, and entirely unsettling.

Waver can just barely glimpse the blond, sharp-angled man in the wheelchair, and yet some part of him knows how broken he already is. He can't see his face, but he can sense -- perhaps through Diarmuid's own recollections impacting the dream -- the despair and pain. Is it Kayneth's, or is it Diarmuid's? Is it remembered or in response to the memory?

Disoriented, heart pounding, Waver stops dead in his tracks. His eyes go wide.

He feels it, the echoing shock, the bindings of the Command Spell pulling tight around the whole of this bubble in reality. He doesn't hear it, and he doesn't know exactly what Kayneth said or why, but the knowledge is suddenly, inescapably there.

Bright red blood splashes on the concrete, and on Saber's face.

Waver's mouth drops open as he cries out, hand twitching in the instinctive urge to reach forward as if there's any hope to stop the spear Diarmuid turns against himself. ]

No--!

[ Shaken, he shrinks back, as the dying Servant's final words explode around them with the echoing, deafening intensity of raging, helpless thunder. He's never heard Diarmuid sound like that, and never wants to again. ]

[It's an echo, nothing more, and yet Diarmuid swears he can feel it. The tug of the Command Spell, the uncontrollable movement of his body- gods, he can feel his arm twitch as if to mimic his past self- as he turns the spear, the pain. But more than that, it's the humiliation and rage that takes his breath away even in memory. The rush of it hasn't faded and, while the words wash over him in a heady fury, the emotion doesn't. It's still there, pounding in his chest and making his eyes sting and his hands shake.

In the final moments of the memory, Kayneth emerges from the darkness, his fiancée in his arms. Maybe at the time he hadn't fully appreciated it but the weight of the war, this ugly, vile, contemptible battle has visibly taken its toll on him; for all the quiet resentment Diarmuid felt at the time, he respected him too. Yet the man before him is broken and blank. The brilliant, arrogant glare in his eyes has been snuffed out by desperation. More surprising is how much it hurts to see it. Diarmuid hated him- hated everything and everyone in those dying seconds with such passion it makes him dizzy- but right now, the disdain in his heart is reserved solely for his own weakness.

After all, some great part of the blame for this all must fall on his shoulders. He failed his Master at the Einzbern estate, he failed him again in never winning his trust and he failed Sola-Ui by not protecting her. This war was corrupted from the start, yes, but so much suffering might have been prevented had he been stronger and bolder and-

And he continues to fall short in his new life.

As each of the figures fade, crumbling into ash like the Servant version of himself had, Diarmuid can't even bring himself to meet Waver's eyes, let alone say anything.]

[ The fury of the past crashes against the disgust and regret Waver can feel echoing from his Bond to the Diarmuid still behind him-- and then again, snagging against his own buried shame and self-reproach with the breathtaking harshness of tearing a half-healed wound clean open.

His breath catches in a throat too dry and tight to make any further sound, gaze transfixed on the hunched and huddled husk of his former professor, the mangled form of the woman in his arms. The tears sting his eyes but don't wet them; he can't blink, can't look away.

Kayneth's face is gaunt and grey, tearstained and ravaged, less than a ghost of the man he'd been. But even as Waver sees it through Diarmuid's memory, the echo of his hatred all around, even through his own complicated and unhappy feelings toward this shell of a man who had once made his life hell--

Even then, it hurts to see him that way.

Waver feels no sense of triumph seeing his teacher and tormentor laid low. No inkling of righteousness, no sense of justification. Only a deep, horrified, aching sadness as the scene before him crumbles into dust. A fine example of the ruinous legacy of the Grail and its pointless, gloryless Wars.

It leaves him feeling empty and ashamed, haunted by the hopeless look in Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald's eyes.

For several moments -- or for several dream-hours where time is meaningless, or only one long second -- they stand there. Silent, pained, each unable to look up. Waver can feel Diarmuid behind him. The scene hangs empty and suspended, colors fading, the buildings slabs of lifeless concrete in a world unimaginably long ago.

Eventually, Waver turns around to press his face into Diarmuid's chest. ]

I'm... I'm sorry.

[ Diarmuid hadn't wanted to show him this. Waver, selfishly, hadn't entirely wanted to know. It's too late now. ]

[Diarmuid puts his arms around him but the gesture feels heavy, weighted down with emotional exhaustion. Nonetheless, he holds him tightly. It spares him having to look him in the eye and try and explain himself and the endless series of misfortunes and absurd, stupid decisions made that brought them to that point. The details of the relationship between master and student never made themselves clear to him but from Kayneth's dark mutterings and mockery of Waver, he had worked it out to be frought with tension at best. It must be such a complex feeling to watch him fall like this. Whatever the case, he doesn't want to see the young mage's face and neither does he want him to notice the tears threatening to spill over. But he isn't sad. Not for Kayneth, not for Sola-Ui and most certainly not for himself.

Truthfully, he doesn't feel much of anything right now. He can't even take a self-pitying kind of comfort in hating himself when he's so numb.]

... he was your mentor. I understand why you had to see this.

[He holds him closer still, fingertips digging into his narrow shoulders but now there's a sense of desperation to it, as though he were the one thing anchoring him to reality. Or the dream. Or anything.]

Fools. All of us. [Diarmuid scoffs, the sound harsh in the silence.] There was never any glory to be found in the the Grail.

[A pause.]

... and my true character is just as wrathful and ugly. Don't pity me.

...no.

[ Waver shakes his head, smearing tears across the front of Diarmuid's chest. The grip hurts, a strangely physical ache that feels like it shouldn't be real in a place like this-- but it doesn't scare him. It's grounding for both of them, it seems.

His shaky exhale is warm against Diarmuid's skin.

This is real. That is over. ]

No, there wasn't. I don't know what the Grail truly ended up being, but now I'm sure it can't have been the ideal any of us sought. Not something that thrives in such... misery.

[ Waver has never seen it. He never will, doesn't want to anymore. Whatever its true purpose and abilities, whether or not anyone had reached them that night, all it brought about was suffering and tragedy.

Waver's arms squeeze harder around Diarmuid in return. ]

That's not true. And no-- It's not pity.

I'm angry.

You deserved to fight your battle. Why did he do that?

[ There had been another figure in the shadows. Saber's Master, most likely. And the way Kayneth had looked, so utterly broken--

Waver asks, though the puzzle pieces are already clear, and he knows Kayneth must have truly felt he had no choice. ]

[ SEMI-OPEN ] I stand amid the roar

all dreams end when the dreamer wakes.

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/o

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lmk how this is!

it's perfect! time for suffering!! :)

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