...
Lancer's beady eyes went wide, "I can't reach her."
Aaron froze. He remembered the night he was injured, and the one who injured him; the one who nearly killed him. He remembered the sensation of his thoughts running into a brick wall, then unable to alert his Servant.
The words touched his tongue: 'It's Archer. Archer's attacking!'
-But he didn't say anything. He only looked on, dumbstruck.
Rider, ever quick on the draw, turned like lightning to face his Master, "Master! Permission to aid the Master of Lancer!"
-But he remained frozen. He didn't want to fight Archer again, and, in the back of his mind, the possibility of this being a trap occurred to him again and again. But he wasn't so deaf that he couldn't hear his Servant's plea, the panic and the desire to help, and so he gave a pale-faced nod.
"Go ahead," He murmured, hardly more than a whisper.
Rider, without any concern for his Master's hesitance, nodded in return and, fast as ever, scooped up Lancer like a football-
"Whoa- What are you- Ack!"
-And sped off into the distance, golden light trailing behind them.
Aaron stared into nothing, stumbling backwards and back more, reaching a low-cut wall and collapsing onto his bottom, his head falling into his hands with all the weight the world. He wondered if his suspicions were correct, and if, while his Servant followed this rabbit trail, Archer would send an arrow through the flesh of his exposed neck and end his suffering.
"But then-" He thought out loud, "I've never been that lucky."
The falling rain flicked his forehead as he rose his face to the sky. It was a light rain, and the droplets mixed well with the haze that already clung to the city, bringing the fog from indigo to silver.
It disgusted him.
The way the rain washed away the fog of the war turned his stomach in a way he couldn't describe: an ire directed at God Himself. This was no longer the fog of the war, but the fog which had followed him through all his life. Then again, perhaps there was never a difference, and the rain only washed away the façade to reveal its sameness: to reveal how nauseatingly typical it all was.
How typical that the moment he resolves himself, the moment he goes to try- the moment he goes to escape the chains of his life, that would be the moment when God comes to smash what hopes he had with His own fist.
Such is life.
Melancholy turned to rage, but before his anger could break from his chest and lash out at the falling rain, Rider returned, and faster than any had expected- including the Servant himself.
He was out of breath, and Lancer, who he set respectfully on the ground, was frazzled as well. He almost looked like he was in a stupor, and who could blame him? Who could guess the profound embarrassment, shame, and fear that made its way through his small heart? Only Aaron, but he was never one for empathy.
Rider turned to his Master, unable to look him in the eye, "Master of mine, I... I couldst not find Lady Heping, Master of Lancer. I-I doth not know wherest she has awayed to, nor who hath taken her."
Aaron took a deep breath, swallowing the screams of anger that had filled his throat, and returned his eyes to the earth beneath him, "It was Archer."
Rider jolted straight, "A- Aye? Art thou certain? Could it be so?"
"Mhm. Something similar happened when he attacked me. He has some... something that allows him to block telepathic communication. If he can block out magical information... he can probably prevent himself from being tracked, too."
The Servant turned his noble gaze to the stupefied pig, "Lancer, my cousin, shouldst there be some cause for Archer to attack? Art thou enemies beyond the normal course of the war?"
Lancer shook his head dismally, "Archer has nothing to do with it. Its our Masters: they were against each other before the war even started."
Rider turned back to his Master, "Master, with thine permission, I would ask that-"
"No."
Pigsy gasped, "What?"
"Master..."
Aaron continued, "The girl's personal problems aren't any of our business." He shrugged, as if to shake these problems from his shoulders, "Maybe we can negotiate with Archer at the war council tomorrow, but, until then, aggravating tensions will only make things worse for us, and we have bigger things to worry about- like finding a place to stay in the meantime."
"Master, I must protest-"
"-Yeah! We have an alliance you dick!" Lancer spouted.
But, although the words were strong, they warbled and shook like the beads of tears starting at the edges of the Servant's eyes.
"What alliance? We never agreed to any conditions."
"Yeah! Because Berserker interfered!"
The words were briefly trapped in his throat before he pushed them free, "Exactly. No promises were made, and so there are no promises to be kept. We're just strangers, Lancer: you shouldn't expect anything from us."
"Why I oughta-"
Rider lowered a hand to block Lancer's path, and kneeled down to look him in the eye, "Lancer, o friend of mine, I shall speak with mine Master. Perhaps thou shalt use this time to look for thine own, and to allow me to speak of thy behalf."
Pigsy shot a glare at Aaron, but took a step back regardless, "Fine. But if I find her-"
"I shall accompany thee- aye."
He nodded, and ran off in the night, leaving the Servant and Master alone with themselves.
"Master-"
"-Rider."
"Although I hesitate to repeat myself, as I should not need to, I shall: I must protest this. Thou art making a severe mistake; a mistake of judgment, morality, and of character. We hath a duty to the Master of Lancer, as per our alliance, and, as a king, a general, and a man, I shall not stand by as thoust forsake OUR responsibilities."
"Our responsibilities? My responsibility is to win this war, and your responsibility is to help me. Even if we had a true alliance with Lancer's team, which we don't, the answer would be the same. Did ya really forget that we're all here to kill each other? A temporary alliance isn't anything sacred- why the Hell should we risk our lives for something so meaningless?"
Rider swung his fist as if to fling his Master's words to the ground, "Bah! Hell to the alliance! When a villain doeth evil, must one rely on the thin excuse of a ceasefire to stop him? No! Evil is opposed for the sake of goodness, with any other motives serving only to decorate his victory. When a lady is being tortured by a brute, must one only interfere in exchange for a kiss? No! The end of her tears is enough of a reward- unless thoust would suggest a married woman be any less worthy of rescue than a maiden.
"Master- Aaron, if we waited for the promise of reward before doing any good, no good would ever be done! Have faith, Master of mine, goodness shall be rewarded in time, but, even so, the end of evil should be reward enough, no? Especially the end of Archer, thine own enemy?"
The words were filled with light, but served only to darken the shadows in Aaron's heart,
"Pfft. All that arguing, but you're no different than Yanni."
Rider lowered his hand, but not in defeat. Around him was the air of a snake coiling into its defensive curl,
"How so?"
"The only reason you can afford to be such a damned idealist is because you're strong. Because when something goes wrong, you can punch and brutalize it into submission! Don't you realize? You can only talk about these heroics because you can follow-up on those promises, but what happens when you can't? What happens when that 'evil' you hate so much takes your goddamn head off, huh? What good are your ideals then?"
Even behind his faceplate, it was clear that he had to bite his tongue, "With respect, I understand thou hadst nearly been robbed of thy life, but must thee lose thy heart as well? What cause is there to lose hope now, of all times?!"
"What is more empty than hope? Hope is just the certainty of the powerful: it's nothing to be proud of!"
...
Light creates warmness. The two cannot be separated. The warmth that radiated off Rider's body was subtle, so subtle as to not be noticed- until it became cold.
...
Rider marched forward and lifted his Master by the collar, looking him in the eye, "Tell me then, if goodness and hope are virtues of the strong, Master, why should I, king of the Tuatha de Danann, Son of the Sea Manannan Mac Lir, and champion of light!" The glow of his body surged to never-before-seen radiance, "-Why should I serve someone so weak?"
Self-righteous anger welled up inside him, and he grabbed at Rider's arm with the fury of an animal, "See this?! This is exactly what I mean! The moment something doesn't go your way, every hero becomes nothing more than a damned tyrant! 'Goodness' isn't a virtue of the strong, it's a construct of the strong- one built for no reason then to keep power in their hands and out of everyone else's!"
"..."
"..!"
Rider let go, and Aaron fell to his seat again, "Thoust speak of weakness as if it were a sin, when it most certainly is not. But, never fear, mine Master, for although weakness is no sin, thou shalt remain a sinner.
"Children are weak. The elderly are weak. The crippled are weak, and so must be protected by those who we call strong. Thyself, mine Master, art not weak, but merely small. A small speck of a man without even enough respect to spare for himself. A man so small that he would miss the entire world to be made willfully blind by a passing blade of grass!"
He reached up and, for the first time, moved his hands behind his faceplate, undoing whatever clasps that hung it there, and pulling it away to reveal a pale face both fair and regal. Even Aaron, drunk on his own hatred, was made still by the sight. The beautiful yet masculine lips of Rider, of Lugh, pursed and shifted, and he spat on the ground at Aaron's feet.
He put his faceplate back on, and turned his back to walk away.
All the forgotten fury returned, "Hey! Where are you going!?"
In desperation, he flung out his right arm, his Command Seals glowing on his arm, "Rider! I order you-"
But he was interrupted by words carrying the same force as that which decorated his shoes, "Spare me. I go nowhere, for I, and I alone, possess enough decency not to abandon someone so worthy of pity. Alas, I cannot bear to face those empty eyes any longer. Good day."
With that, Rider disappeared into gold ether, and out of sight.
"Rider...Rider! Come back here!"
-But why would he? Why should he? Aaron could not answer these questions, for even he understood his Servant's anger. He understood exactly, which only made him angrier.
"Shit!"
He threw his arm towards the Parthenon, sending a streak of lightning flashing across the marble.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"
He threw his arms without purpose, sending bolts across the plaza and into the night sky. In his tantrum, and the light show that was paired with it, he almost looked like the Berserker that he feared so desperately- but lacking in anything that could be considered stature, power, or authority. A creature who does not lack will or cause, but worse, one who rebels against himself.
....