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There is a secret Rider has, and that is that he can access his ultimate Noble Phantasm without manifesting it into the world around him. Such is the beauty of a reality marble. Waver takes no notice when Alexander sits down and withdraws into himself - he is already fast asleep, having crawled into bed and cast a spell for dreamless sleep moments after they returned from Caster’s workshop.
For a moment, Rider is a twinkling of gold dust, and then he has form again, now standing in the desert that the Ionioi Hetairoi calls theirs. Tents dot the sands in neat formations, and some part of Rider has to laugh at how distant his own is. Of course he would arrive on his own outskirts. He nearly curses it, but no, it is to his advantage.
Within moments of stepping into his camp, Rider is overwhelmed by familiar faces rushing to him, and he greets them all in turn. To five messengers, he asks that his best generals, bodyguards, second self, wife and friends be gathered for a symposium in his own tent, and they all disappear without asking for specific names. The king’s confidants do not need to be named, only gathered.
They are all waiting for him by the time Rider reaches the central tent in the heart of the camp, draped across seven triklinions, a table of wine and water set before them. Most of his friends have their wine cups in hand, and the scene plays out like it always has. Long haired Eumenes and strong jawed Craterus are kept as far away from each other as possible, while white bearded Ptolemy and Thaïs, fair of hair and bright eyed, share a sofa together. The seer Aristander, now forever with greys in his curled hair and handsome beard, sits on his own sofa, speaking to Calanus of philosophy and asking after Calanus’ gods. Leonnatus, dark and slim, listens as well, sipping from his cup every so often. Perdiccas lies on his own sofa, long limbs everywhere, listening to the discussion but offering no commentary of his own. Roxana, with her dark curls and ever present half smile, is leaning on the edge of her own sofa, making some sort of crude joke that has Hephaestion trying to eat his own hand rather than burst out laughing. For a few precious moments, none of them realize that their king has joined them, and Rider basks in the scene’s perfection before he destroys it.
“My friends,” he begins, coming to recline on the triklinion beside Roxana. She wraps one of his great arms around her waist, rests her hand atop his. Rider smiles at the touch, steals a kiss from her, then continues. “This war we find ourselves in has taken a strange turn, and I require council on how to go forward.”
“Stranger how?” Craterus snorts. “We have had all manner of history crammed into our brains and been told to fight against other kings and warriors we have never met for a cup that grants wishes!”
“Presumably he’s going to explain before demanding further council,” Eumenes shoots back.
“Already with this,” Hephaestion mutters, staring upward at the ceiling. “We’ve been here two minutes.”
“And a painful two minutes at that,” Roxana adds.
Leonnatus coughs politely. “Please, my king, explain this sudden turn of events.”
Rider gives Leonnatus a moment’s grateful smile before proceeding, recalling the night’s adventures: of the location of Caster’s workshop, its gruesome contents - which causes the entire symposium to blench, the sudden reappearance of Assassin in his or her multitude and that these events, and recalls the actions of Berserker a few nights prior before making his ultimate point.
“These things do not suggest any definition of heroism,” he says. “Leading me to suspect corruption within the system this war uses to function. I ask you this, my friends: how should we proceed?”
Leonnatus speaks first, voice calm and nearly amused. “You call us all here when Mr Velvet is a part of our numbers and has lived through these events? It would be quicker to speak to him and be done with it.”
“I would, but not long after I was summoned by his younger self, he found his way to me and said that for the sake of his being here beside us in death, he cannot act as an oracle,” Rider says.
At Rider’s silence, Hephaestion speaks. “But he told us the narrative of these vents before, correct? When we all found ourselves in this desert and tried to cobble our histories together. There were so many men here that you made a point of speaking and listening to all of them recount their lives - especially those that did not march at our sides but instead followed you in spirit centuries later..”
“Alexander, is this a collective attempt to mine our memories for little gems of information?” Ptolemy asks, an undercurrent of amusement rippling just under the surface of his question.
“Of course,” Rider replies cheerfully. “It simply felt important to explain why we cannot be direct in our investigation of the matter.”
“It is also impossible to ask us to remember the stories of every single man and woman who serves,” Eumenes cuts in. His voice is as sharp as ever, and he scowls as he speaks. “Had we made a traveling library, as Ptolemy suggested at the start of our reunion, we might be better serviced, but to recall that much information--”
“--And I am loathe to agree with Eumenes, but he is right in this instance,” Craterus adds, tossing the long haired secretary a smug grin. “There’s an awful lot to sift through.”
“So let’s not rely on our collective memories,” Roxana suggests. “Who has he befriended here? They would remember details more readily than we who have heard thousands upon thousands of lives.”
Aristander clears his throat loudly, which is enough to give him the floor. “There’s no need to search that far,” he says with a smile.
“Speak,” Rider commands, and all eyes rest on the king’s favourite and most trusted seer.
“There is little to tell,” Aristander continues. “For he himself admits to utter ignorance as to the cause of all of the system’s corruption - he only knew it was there and that it impacted the other spirits summoned, such as you have witnessed tonight, my king. In speaking of destroying this poisoned chalice, Lord El-Melloi II has only said to me that the force that overtook this drinking cup was absolute in its vileness, and that he and his companions could place no name to it. We are as blind on the matter as he is, and that is having personally destroyed the thing.”
“So basically we know we’re dealing with something nasty but that’s it,” Hephaestion says flatly, crossing his arms across his chest. “And this thing has been an enigma for--”
“--Aristander,” Roxana ventures slowly. “When you say absolute in vilenes, what do you mean?”
“Only what it means on the surface,” Aristander replies. “The nature of the problem was that there was something absolutely corrupt within impacting the system, but what--”
“--Could it be related to the one god that they worship in Israel?” Ptolemy asks. “They had their strangeness in dichotomies.”
“But such information would be contemporary,” Calanus says. “Their religion survived, and others came of it with similar ideas. We’ve all had the same sudden information drilled into our heads about the other religions that have one god in the modern world. Those traditions continue into the present. If it related to the one god that either Israel or the other two religions worship,this corruption would have been instantly recognized.”
“But those aren’t the only religions with one god,” Roxana adds. “The people of Bactria followed the teachings of Zoroaster. According to him, there is only one god, Ahura Mazda, who all good comes from, and Angra Mainyu, who is the source of all destruction and evils.”
“Do we know of any other older religions with one god though?” Eumenes muses, reclining in his seat. “Ptolemy--?”
“That I could only think of a single example and that another had to be supplied should be answer enough,” Ptolemy responds. “Our gods are fickle, and - ah, Calanus? What about yours?”
Calanus frowns ever so slightly. “Fickle would not be the word I would use, but the sentiment you are going for holds true.”
“Mmm,” Rider hums thoughtfully, knowing full well that this discussion could turn into a lively debate involving the wine cups going flying or a flat out brawl if Eumenes and Craterus look at each other again. “Roxana, you’ve likely told me this before, but for the sake of everyone else having the same information, elaborate on Angra Mainyu’s role in the teachings of Zoroaster.”
“In the brief?” Roxana draws in a breath. “Ahura Mazda created all of the good in the world, because he dwelled in goodness and light, and Angra Mainyu matched all of Ahura Mazda's creations with dark inverses because he dwelled in ignorance and evil. The only thing that Angra Mainyu could not match was humanity. So, all chaos and evils in the world visited upon mankind are Angra Mainyu’s attempts to win over Ahura Mazda’s creation once and for all and claim it for himself. If it is a negative thing, it is Angra Mainyu’s creation.”
Silence follows Roxana’s explanation, permitting the symposium time to digest her words.
“If,” Perdiccas begins, daring to shatter the quiet. “If this corruption is not related to Angra Mainyu, it may still be wise to act as if it is threat equivalent to this dark creature.”
“Go on,” Rider prompts.
“Consider it like this,” the general continues. “This is vile and absolute corruption. If the closest thing we can think of for its cause is the source of all harmful things known to creation, then we must proceed with great caution.”
“You mean to say let us treat it as a thing we have an understanding of in order to have some level of what to anticipate in the future?” Hephaestion leans in.
“It is better than continuing blindly.”
“There is that,” Rider murmurs. “But we have still not answered my first question, friends. How shall we proceed?”
“Cautiously,” the entire symposium choruses, half of them deadpanning, the other half completely serious. Rider laughs, but no one laughs with him.
“Supposing that our threat is what we believe it to be,” Eumenes offers. “Then all steps should be taken not to fight.”
Craterus snorts. “Of course you would suggest that.”
Eumenes’ rebuke is swift and sharp. “He asked for suggestions, not commentary, Craterus.”
“Fight and refuse to let others take the prize,” Craterus says. “Else tell them all the risk and let them destroy themselves.”
“We don’t know if that’s the intended outcome though,” Perdiccas cuts in. “Aristander, do you--?”
“I do not,” Aristander says. “I asked one day, and was told that it will be spoken of again once this war has been fought.”
“A great help that is,” Craterus huffs.
“Move the fight to a different arena?” Roxana shrugs.
“We have won with words as much as we have with phalanxes, this is true,” Hephaestion mutters. “At the very least it might allow us to arrange others to fight and destroy each other. There’s a boon in and of itself.”
“Drink with the other kings then,” suggests Thaïs, choosing now to finally speak. She laughs as Eumenes and Crateus gape at her, and proceeds to refill her wine cup.
“On what basis would you--?” Crateus stammers.
“Let her finish,” Ptolemy chides. “We didn’t burn Persepolis down because she lacked good reasons.”
“We did not,” Thaïs agrees, raising her cup to her lips and taking a sip before continuing. “We’re looking to minimize contact with the vileness of this cup we fight for. If wine is had with the other kings, options become available to us. If they concern themselves with who is worthy to take the cup, then it can be conceded to them, the contents spilled and damage from Angra Mainyu or whatever is really in there avoided. If they concern themselves with who is best amongst them in a fight, they can be pitted together to destroy each other, leaving us other proxies to take the prize, or else we can have a clear path to do so ourselves with no interference. It may be possible to peek over the cup’s rim before we use its ability to grant the heart’s desire of those that seek it, and in that moment decide what to do about the corruption within.” She beams, takes another drink, and adds, “And in wine, there is truth. Another opportunity I haven’t thought of may become apparent then.”
“That is a ridiculous idea,” Crateus spits out, after picking his jaw up off the floor.
“It may be worth exploring,” Hephaestion says. “At the very least, the blonde one’s ego will agree to it, and the other king, who puts so much stock in proper conduct, would likely agree to negotiations if they were offered under the flag of truce.”
“She definitely would,” Rider confirms.
“It seems to me that very little is lost with this attempt,” says Ptolemy, mouth half twisted in a smirk. “And this time nothing is to be on fire.”
“On purpose, at least,” Thaïs adds quickly.
“Let’s try for not at all,” Roxana laughs. “Alexander, please promise that.”
“I will make no such agreements,” Rider says, matching Roxana’s laugh with one of his own - a deep belly laugh that shakes the poles of the tent the symposium has gathered under. “Only that I will procure a barrel of wine and attempt a discussion, based on the wisdom of this council.”
“Wisdom,” Hephaestion rolls his eyes. “Call it that only after you get results, otherwise we’re all drunkards giving bad advice.”
“That,” Roxana snorts, “has been your meetings from day one.”
“I’ll not disagree there,” he agrees.
“Imagine the two of them,” Eumenes gestures, indicating Hephaestion and Rider, “younger and with less wine. Then you really have bad advice.”
“I can see it all too easily!” Roxana laughs, and the rest of the council’s voices soon chime in, each with their own anecdotes of meetings past, of Alexander’s and Hephaestion’s embarrassing moments in their youth, of hunts gone hilariously awry from too much drink. Somewhere, Rider feels time flow on the outside of the marble, and he unfolds himself from the Hetairoi into reality again. The sun shines through the window of Waver’s room at the Mackenzie’s and Rider wonders where the best wine shop in Fuyuki is.
Waver wakes to find Rider poring over the phone directory. It takes the boy one, two, three sleepy blinks to register that he is even awake, and even longer to drink in the absurdity of his giant servant hunched over a book with pages thinner than a family bible.
“What are you doing?” Waver manages to ask, rubbing sleep dust from his eyes.
“Surely there must be wine shops in this town,” is the response, heard as well as felt through the floorboards. “There are other routes to conquering than simple fighting, boy, and they may be well worth exploring.”
A few hours later, Waver groans miserably as Rider hefts both himself and a barrel of wine onto the Gordius Wheel, wondering why his servant thinks drinking with the other kings will resolve the Holy Grail War.