She reads: "The King gave control over the lands he had conquered, and the rights to the taxes from those lands, to the local nobles. He then mustered his armies and marched off, taking them further east. He continued on his campaign . . . because he wanted to reach Okeanos, the furthest ocean."

"Well I'll be. This is a book about me! You are a strange young lady. I am right in front of you every day. If you want to know something just ask me."

It is so simple from his point of view. She flushes in embarrassment. Not all of us can be as cavalier and confident as he. Not all of us can admit reverence to the objects of our interest. Not all of us are bathed with sincerity when we speak. So we are afraid and we hide, grasping for morsels on the sly. Waver does not expect him to be sympathetic, so she attacks with her meager ammunition.

"According to this history book, you were really short when you were first alive!"

Waver knows almost nothing about Alexander the Great. It was out of character to not have studied, but that had been the freedom of the Grail War. A powerful servant would mask her faults and her dreams would come to fruition with speed and minimized effort. If not the means to victory she will then be the origin, inarguably a role of paramount importance. The servant would be a tool. The person is irrelevant.

He wishes to be reincarnated, he tells Saber, and at his words Waver can feel her opinion of Rider shift into piercing clarity. She rubs her eyes, suspicious of perhaps a physical change. Yet this is the same Rider she kissed with the weak mortal need to commiserate and be comforted. He is a holy spirit, but here in his t-shirt, drinking wine and speaking of dreams, he is now hauntingly human. Because he is selfish. Rider always had the front of childish self-absorption, but his ultimate subservience hung over all their interactions. If she ordered him to die he should against reason turn that shining sword to extinguish the glory he stood for. This was the supremacy of a master: even if unused, they possess the ability contradict the essence of great heroes and legends. The complete loss of their agency diminishes their humanity. The mage's skill is in how far they have dragged down a once brilliant and strong soul; the servants are trophies. The mage's power trip, but such were the rules of he Grail War. Unbreakable.

She resolves that when they win she will destroy the Holy Grail.

Yet while they are still caught in its net Rider fights at his bonds. Against all rules his desire to live burns; he must be his own man. Waver understands. He calls her small not in association with physical size, but because of the limit and nature of her ambitions.

She is not selfish enough. She wants to live, but not for herself, she had wanted to exist for the sake of others. Rider does not have the privilege to choose and he envies her. She has much to learn.

On the banks of the Mion River she expects her instincts of self-preservation to kick in. The purple haze burns her eyes, but there is no Rider to hide behind as he flies to fight Caster's beast. She stands vulnerable in front of the other masters. She could run now. She could call Rider back and retreat. The encircling faces are, critical or earnest. Everyone seeks guidance. It is overwhelming.

This is no arena to prove your worth.

She realizes that even if she were to devise the perfect plan that it will not change the other masters. They are set in their minds regarding Waver Velvet. How many even know her name? True, she does not know all their profiles either. She only knows they are better than her.

A part of her wishes to impress, it adds to its traps of anxiety and convoluted thought. It has dominated her for years, but there is a new voice now. A more vocal part of her mind rears its head, clawing at her inhibitions. It screams to act. Do. The you is not important.

Rider depends on her. She wants to be the master he deserves. So, the previously self-contained Waver Velvet, she must realize that the Grail War will be the first fight she cannot fight alone.

"Einzbern, do you have any ideas?"

The plan is made and she has not been completely useless. She is the one who always knows what and how she will do something, but the Grail War forces her to release her habit of control. She is satisfied with her small part, if it will work. Lancer jumps off, one spear lesser, and she feels a tugging in her chest, but her mind is only focused on Rider. This is the first time he has not been near her since the war began and though she finds her eyes flitting towards Lancer, her servant's absence sends a worry through her that overcomes what she knows to be the Love Spot's curse.

Saber takes her stance and the gold of Excalibur lights up Fuyuki. All are enthralled. The King of Knights' Noble Phantasm slices and burns through Caster's abomination, waves of sound and water crashing, then gone like the dreams of the soldiers the light represents. The people of Britain, thousands near millions now, rest upon the shoulders of that little girl. Saber lives for them above herself. So she suffers, taken hold of by the curse of ideals.

At end, Rider lands his chariot to face his own little girl, and though her hair is not yellow she still reflects the light around her. Unlike Saber, aged from living for her people, it does not pain him to look upon Waver. She glows with true youth. Archer is a monster; he loves Saber because her goals are self-destructive. The two servants will never see eye to eye. Rider looks upon his master and knows he loves her because she will live.

"Rider, are you all right? What were you and Archer talking about?" She comes running to him, face open with concern. The gangly body scrambles into the chariot and bends its neck to stare expectantly upwards. A contemplative hand comes to Rider's chin.

"Talk, damn it!"

He does not comply, but the smile he casts is not usual confidence or mirth, instead oddly serene.

"Okay, have it your way! Just stop staring at me and take me home." A hand tugs at the edge of her hair and her eyes drop down, suddenly self-conscious.

He chuckles and places an endeared palm on her head. "You look beautiful," he says, "but I hope you shall never suffer to see such light again."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I suppose I thought I could tough it out," the voice responds sheepishly.

"You idiot," she says, but there is no anger in it. She crams in a final mouthful of rice and takes a drink, then begins to unfold the sleeping bag, "you can't do this alone."

The fabric is warm. She lies down and looks up at the sky that is a traitorous, blissful azure. She can imagine the disembodied Rider is sitting next to her. If she only were to turn her head she might see him. It is easier this way. This could be a normal picnic and they might be regular friends or lovers. That is another life.

"You used your own stored power when you could have used mana from me, didn't you? What's the big idea?"

"I'm a natural soul eater. If I involve you when I expend mana at my maximum rate, it could put your life at serious risk."

"But this is a battle I got us into. Unless I bleed or make sacrifices there's no point at all of winning this war."

If they win what becomes of Rider? She is supposed to kill him. Her wish for the Grail must be worth all the pain she will have brought upon him. The worth of the Grail . . . doubt has begun to pick at her mind. She is ashamed, but there is no way to back out now.

"All I wanted was to prove that someone like me could take what they wanted with their own two hands," she laments.

"I hope you realize that you can only achieve that if the Grail truly exists. I once did something similar. I fought ferociously for something that might not even have existed."

"Okeanos . . ."

"Correct. They all followed me on my quest without a single doubt. Many died along the way, all dreaming of Okeanos until the very end. When I gained this era's knowledge I had to accept that the world was an enclosed sphere. I've had my own fill of letting people die for fairy tales. If the Grail's existence were certain then I would have no objection to you risking your life. I would win in the end. I would win it for you. It would give me great pleasure to bring you something you so desired, even at cost to myself."

This is the crux of the problem. That Rider cares for her and she for him.

"Even if it doesn't exist, we still have to fight for it! I'm your Master, so I'm in the same position you were. I'm the one who is going to have to watch you die and I've decided I'm not going to let that happen. So, you have to do what I say and I say you take my mana now!"

"Listen to my young lady giving orders! Excellent! If I rest all day I should be able to materialize come nightfall. Then I shall be ready to go another round. "

She does not know how to say she does not want him just for fighting. She once begged him to take spirit form, but now she misses the large presence at her side.

"Another round?""I shall fight Saber first. The Ionian Hetairoi must be saved for the last fight with Archer."

"Why . . . Saber?" Her eyelids droop, as she yawns, stumbling over the small question.

"Because I must be the one to defeat her. It is my responsibility. If I do not show her the right path to true kingship I fear she will never learn. That would be too sad to bear thinking about. Now, cease keeping yourself awake and sleep. Rest is the battle that you face right now."

Sleep catches her quickly and soon gentle snores are added to the birds' chirping.

Rider waits. There is another he hopes to bring to true kingship.

It is dusk when he regains form, but the forest is utterly dark by the time they are sated. Rider hums with magic energy. Waver feels cleansed. Her clothes are balled up on the edge of the blanket, but his cloak is warm where it wraps around their otherwise naked, entwined bodies. She murmurs into his chest and he cannot hear all she says, but he does not think she wants him to hear, for the sake of her own pride.

There is one question that rings loud and clear. She has pulled her crumpled clothes back on and finger combs her hair into a semblance of her straight bob. She kneels where he still reclines, hands folded in her lap. It is a devotional pose. So she implores her deity for knowledge.

"What do you honestly think of your Master?"

He tells her the truth.

Rider fancies her a flower. She has a strong foundation, a spindly body culminating in a thick head. Like all plants she needs water and nurturing to grow. She is budding now, but he knows she has potential. Yet he worries, for he knows with enough force she can be trampled down. So he resolves to build a fence around this flower, protect it at all costs, and it will grow to be the strongest and most fragrant in this worldly garden. This is part of his dream.

So when he calls Saber the flower of the battlefield, what Saber takes as mockery, Waver knows to be a compliment of the highest order. She thinks she should be jealous. Rider values Saber for her heroic spirit. He wants to conquer the King of Knights.

Waver Velvet has already been conquered; she has no need for jealousy. Rider's modus operandi: without destroying or degrading them, he seeks to rule the very souls of his followers. Saber does not understand that Rider will not diminish her, in conquering and adding them to his legion, he elevates his followers to the shining heroes they can be.

Thus, he is the true King of Conquerors. Waver Velvet has joined his ranks.