"How to treat and train your midget Master, For Dummies"

[Rostam]

It did not take Rostam particularly long to get back to his small Master’s base – with her being as light as she was, and his strength and speed, it would have taken much shorter than he actually took to getting here. The delay was due to his decision that fresh air was good for the child (as that is what his Master clearly was, at least, in his eyes), and he could see some color returning to her cheeks after she banged her head on his helmet like that. That was unfortunate. He’d rather have had her actually hit him – not that his forehead would have been any softer than the bone helm, but at least his forehead lacked the sharp edges that the helmet had in excess. Pondering this further, he allowed the demon’s visage to fade from his head; here, he would not require it. Considering his options further, he crouched so as to not repeat his earlier mistake and crack the ceiling with his head, and ‘walked’ to the small kitchen, fetching a small towel, wetting it in cold water, before laying it across his Master’s bruised forehead.

Thankfully, her headbutt did not carry much force or else she would not have gotten off with just a small cut and a bruise, Rostam concluded. He’d cared for hurt soldiers before – on the battlefield, sometimes all they’d had was depending on a comrade’s knowledge to bind each other’s wounds. Rostam, of course, rarely needed such attention, due to his invincible battle raiment, however those under his command often did. You learned all sorts of things, spending 600 years on a battlefield… Of course, the most he could do was bandage – nothing fancy. The cold water might help his Master return to consciousness that much sooner, and was quite comforting – at least, for him it always had been. He knew full well she was not going to be pleased with the results of today’s skirmish and he could not blame her for it… However, regardless of her like or dislike of it, it happened the way it did, and he was prepared to explain his actions calmly.

Still…

It was quite impressive that his Master mustered enough courage to assault him like that, even knowing it was useless. Her anger and frustration certainly were there, but a measure of bravery as well – something Rostam valued quite highly. He could not help but look upon the small form that lay stretched out on the bed, and think to himself that she is the smallest of any child he had ever trained or raised in any capacity. It was a bitter thought – he had not even been there to see his own son grow, nor did he contribute in any way to helping him, save for teaching him a final lesson that should never have been taught. No parent should outlive their child… The giant sat, cross-legged, beside the bed upon which he placed his Master, and, as quietly as he could, folded his hands, assuming a meditative state.

He could not allow thoughts of his foolishness to obscure his duty, or his current goal. Two Servants, presented in that way… and the both of them – Assassins. How was he supposed to respond to that? Thankfully, he now knew the faces of both, and was confident that no matter how they hid their identity as Servants – which both had done successfully almost the entire time – so long as he knew their faces, that was enough. To the farr, walls were meaningless, after all. It was disconcerting to see children fighting in a War that should have been the battleground of adults, who had full right to gamble their future on combat. But children… Cutting a child’s life was a great crime. Even ones such as the fool who ran his mouth at him might grow up to be excellent men. After all, youth was permitted to be foolish. And the other, the small girl? Why was she even here?

Perhaps… A visit to the Mediator was in order, Rostam decided, his features darkening.

[Katyusha Kohklova]

Katyusha waded in darkness, an oppressive veil of nothingness consuming her very being.  She must be standing on solid ground, for she could feel it beneath her feet, but when she tried to move about and explore her surroundings her body refused to budge.  It was as if she had no body to move at all-- simply a pair of eyes floating in an abyss with the sensation of standing.  The dead silence of the place had begun to make her anxious, but when it was broken she immediately wished for it to return.

FAILURE

The voice boomed through her very being, shaking her to the core.  It was an inhuman voice, neither man nor woman, that echoed with absolute authority. As it spoke, a pair of massive yellow eyes emerged from the blackness, staring through Katyusha with a hate-filled glare. Flames burst from the haunting orbs, searing through the pitch black but not offering to illuminate a single feature of the landscape. The heat engulfed the girl, and she could hear her skin bubble and pop as it began to melt away.


DRUNK               REJECT
             FOOL      
                               CHILD
      WORTHLESS 


Each time a new insult was thrown, another pair of eyes appeared to douse Katyusha in more searing flames. They rose in an unholy chorus, denying her very existence. She tried to shout-- to cry for help -- but her throat was long since burned to ashes. All she had left was her bodiless tormentors and the smell of burning flesh.

----------------------------------------------

Katyusha bolted upright in a cold sweat, screaming and crying at the same time. For a few seconds she was still in that horrible place, burning alive while the eyes revealed her every flaw. And then the pain began to set in. It felt like her head had been chopped in two. She reached up to her forehead and winced as she tested the tender flesh. Slowly but surely, reality seeped back into the girl's mind. It was only a dream, she reminded herself. She must have sobered up after she knocked herself unconscious-- she only had nightmares like that when she wasn't blacked out. A drink. That's what she needed. It'd all be better if she had a drink.

The girl felt around until she found her bottle and frantically unscrewed the cap. She tilted the bottle to her lips, but didn't feel the satisfying burn sliding past her tongue. Empty. Katyusha gritted her teeth and cursed. She heaved the bottle as hard as she could, shattering it on the nearby wall. She nearly hit Rostam with it, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered until she found another bottle. Anxiety was mounting as her eyes darted around the room, searching for the glint of glass. "A drink..." she managed to whisper as she fumbled about the nearby table. "I... I need... Where... DAMN IT!" With the strength of rage, Katyusha flipped the table, again nearly missing Rostam. Fear began to play about her face, and her eyes bulged as if they might explode out of her head. She was hyperventilating, and shambled about the apartment until she finally found the jugs of vodka she had finished distilling that morning.

Katyusha looked as if she had found a long lost relative, and practically broke the jug trying to get it open. She sat leaning against the wall and poured the contents of the jug haphazardly down her throat, spilling most of it down her shirt and into her lap. With a relieved sigh, the fatigue returned to her body and she went limp. The girl stared glassey-eyed at her servant with an emotionless visage, clutching the jug as if it might fly away if she loosened her grip.

[Rostam]

Rostam’s eyes had been closed when his Master awoke with a start, but he had not been resting. He merely thought it more respectful to allow her to vent before acting in some way that would intrude into the world in which she seemed to be trapped in right now. Should the situation have progressed beyond what it was… Then he would step in. The state she had been in now…. It was all too familiar. From the experiences of others to his own, he had been witness to many of these. He did not know what she thought, or what she saw, but the sheer amount of torment and pain, only a fraction of it coming from her forehead, had been quite sufficient to paint the sorrowful picture of what had happened. He did not pretend to completely comprehend it, but only great grief caused similar symptoms.

He watched, wordlessly, as the girl grew more desperate, never once turning his head, but able to see the bottle and table flying at him from the corner of his eye: both flew by quite close, but one clattered uselessly to the floor, the other smashing into pieces that showered his battle raiment with glass. It was a sad scene, to see his Master reduced to this, to be reminded of all those others who had been reduced to similar states… And of himself. As evidenced by rapid cut-off of angry screams and the bubbling noise that now filled the room, it seemed like she found what she was looking for. At this point, the entire body of the Servant shuddered slightly, as one of his great hands curled into a fist, making the gauntlet creak with the power of Archer’s grip.

The more he witnessed, the more he saw – the glassy eyes, the half-dead appearance, the small stature and desperate clasp on the bottle, the bloody forehead and the carelessly spilled drink, the more angry he got. How could he ever have belittled her by comparing her to a child? True, he mused, most people that existed now were children compared to him – what else can a 600-year old man call those who, at best, are 1/6th his age? As someone in that position, his duty was to guide, to teach, to educate, to train….But this wasn’t about that, he decided, towering over his Master – this was about respect. One’s own… and towards others.

“I think you’ve had enough, Master.” The jug she had been clutching disappeared inside Archer’s massive fist as he yanked it free of Katyusha’s hands, and, moving his hand aside, crushed it in his fist, causing a torrent of glass and vodka to fall to the floor. ”Whatever demons you are trying to drown, Master, I assure you this will not work on them. You merely render them mute – for a short while. But then again, you already knew that, didn’t you?” Rostam sat back down upon the floor, this time in front of his Master. ”…As did I.” He muttered. ”I told you before, when you first summoned me – If you wish for anyone’s respect, respect yourself first. What you now do is spitting upon yourself, and proving those who disdain you right.”

”To earn your own respect… I suggest you drink while the drink is pleasant, instead of until you are senseless. Accomplishments will kill the demons you try to silence with the drink. Your own situation is all too familiar to me… Which is why I act the way I do.” Rostam’s speech was disjointed, not making too much sense as a whole, as he tried to find the best words for it. Typically it was people of a bit more durable build that got into these situations, and with them, his response was a bit more physical. Should he have attempted that though, he would likely have killed his Master. Perhaps scaled down, however.. Hm. Yes, that was an idea. Rostam’s arm reached out, picking up Katyusha by the scruff of the neck, as he got up and walked, hunched over, to the only sink in the place, brushing aside equipment, and simply turning on cold water.

”A drink is just a drink, until you try looking in it for answers. There are none. There is only erasing the question for a short while. I apologize for what I am about to do, Master… But I am a soldier, not a magician.”

Having uttered the words, he changed the grip to be on Katyusha’s head instead, and shoved her head under the water, pulling her up for a few seconds, before shoving it under again. It was one of the only methods for reducing or removing the effect of the drink she had subjected herself to, that he knew. Perhaps after this she would hate him, and use a Command Seal to punish him, but it mattered little. As a Pehliva, his duty was to his Master, but the PATH of that duty was not quite as blind as a Knight’s chivalry code. He pulled her up again, this time placing her on his palm, so she was at his eye level:

”I have trained many – men and women alike. All were great soldiers. Some became heroes with their own legends. I have dealt with them in the same manner as I dealt with you just now. It is not pleasant for either of us, and it never was. My words are not wind, Master. I have seen legends rise and fall. Please… Try to listen to the champion you have picked. Respect yourself.”

[Katyusha Kohklova]

Even after Rostam forced the bottle from her grasp, Katyusha's arm automatically continued to move the invisible drink to her lips.  When the liquid did not flow, she looked at her empty hand, puzzled.  She knew she had not dropped the jug, so where had it gone?  Before she had time to realize that her precious liquor had already been disposed of, the sensation of flying overcame her body.  Was she so drunk that the world had begun to spin already?  She could hear Rostam's voice in the distance, muted by the alcohol and her own perplexity.  She could tell his face was right in front of her, but the features were muddy and unreadable.  For some reason, she thought for a moment that he might be sad.  Impossible.  A great hero like Rostam wouldn't waste time on grief.  Again, her arm moved on its own in vain, trying to supply her with more of the intoxicating drink, completely forgetting its earlier failure.  But this time her lips did touch liquid.  And then her face.  And then her head.  Rather than the fiery sting of vodka burning down her throat, Katyusha felt the icy shock of cold water engulfing her.  She reflexively tried to gasp, but only swallowed a mouthful of the frigid water.  Katyusha's head emerged from beneath the surface coughing and sputtering, but still far from coherent.  Something had a vice-like grip on her and held her no matter how hard she struggled, of that she was certain.  As the unseen force shoved her back toward the water, dread and desperation washed over her.  She thrashed and tried to scream for help, but she was submerged once more before any breath could escape her.

Again and again, Katyusha's head disappeared beneath the water's surface.  Each time the cruel knives of the intense cold chipped away at her inebriation, bringing the girl closer to reality.  By the time her grim baptism was finished, Katyusha had long since used up the last of her energy.  She rested atop Rostam's palm, broken of mind and spirit, and gasping like a fish on dry land.  Slowly but surely, the girl recovered from the shock, but it brought her no solace.  Her vodka was gone.  She was sober.  Her whole body hurt all over.  And now she was trapped in this war with no more liquid courage to spur her forward.  She could feel only fear and pain.

Katyusha weakly raised her head to lock eyes with Rostam, her face akin to a wounded animal begging for death.  She had heard his last words, "Respect yourself," and were she in a better mood she might have laughed.  She wanted to scream at him.  To hurt him.  To run away from this war and never come back.  She was born to drunks.  Raised by drunks.  To her, drinking was love and life itself-- it was all she knew.  How could she give up the one thing that kept her strong this whole time?

The girl clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, enraged by her own helplessness.  But even as anger overcame her, a stronger sorrow washed over her like a tidal wave.  This was the exact cycle she was trying to break within her family.  If it weren't for this accursed drink her family's sorcery would never have been lost in the first place.  The Khoklova line might be one of the most powerful instead of a complete joke.  Now that she was fully sober and coherent, she realized exactly how pathetic her entire ancestry was.  And so she cried.  She sobbed with her whole body, pouring her heart out onto Rostam's sturdy palms.  It was a liberating feeling, having accepted her own weakness, and resolving to continue in spite of it.  However, she was still scared.  She still longed for that fiery liquor to take away all her fear and pain.  There were no words she could use to tell her servant how she felt, so she simply let herself continue to weep uncontrollably until her eyes and throat burned and the tears would no longer come.

At last the Khoklova heir found the strength to rise to her feet.  She wiped her face on her sleeve, and stared into Rostam's eyes.  Her posture was slouched from exhaustion, but there was still the tiniest glint of determination in the girl.  "That's twice you've seen me cry."  She growled through her tattered throat.  She was still taking ragged, heavy breaths and her face was beat red from crying, but she tried her best to sound at least a little dignified.  "Thank you for believing in me..."  She wanted to promise him that she would never drink again, that he could be proud to call her his master.  But she knew better.  She would not make promises she had no faith she could keep.  She simply hung her head in shame, unable to look him in the eye any longer.

[Rostam]

Katyusha may have felt sad and weak, and through the contract’s bond, he could sense her sorrow and despair, but the only thing Rostam could feel at this time, watching her small figure cry and then struggle to her feet was pride. “I know not of what you speak, Master.” Archer looked directly at his Master when he spoke, a smile upon his face expressing exactly what he felt. “Tears are not, and never have been, a sign of weakness for even the greatest of heroes. I are strong indeed to realize what must be done this quickly, and react the way you did.” He paused, recalling similar incidents from the past. “I am not making fun of you, Master – most I’ve treated similarly simply snapped at me or tried to kill me. I did this fully expecting you to do the same, but you did not. I apologize for this.”

The giant bowed his head slightly. Most of his students really would have attempted to attack him as soon as he had begun trying to sober them up so they could learn again, even fruitlessly. Not a single one had accepted themselves as being wrong for a second, and tried to go along with their teacher. They had too much pride, all of them… And where had that pride gotten them? All of them died before, him, all but two… One had a hand in his death, and the other went on to unite Persia with teir estranged brethren, the Turks, resolving a blood feud that lasted for generations, since Fereydun’s sons took reigns of the empire. “Cry whenever you wish, Master. Things such as this are what keeps you human, after all, no matter the degree of power you wield.”

Again, Archer paused, considering the past encounter from which he was forced to withdraw, and the current situation. It would be harsh to thrust this upon her when she was this way… But it might serve to snap her out of her current state. She needed to move past this, to know it but not dwell on it, to overcome it – that is the way things worked. There was no way she would have been able to give up the drink this way, just like that, in one day, but small steps could be taken to ensure she did. Perhaps once this war was over, she might be able to do so completely. But for that to happen, he needed to ensure his Master’s survival.

“Master… Let us change the subject. You were dissatisfied with how I acted back there, I realize that. However, some things were apparent to me that were not to you, due to my nature as a Servant: Firstly, I would like to note that it is almost certain that in that fight, we faced not one, but –two- Assassins. I spotted the girl in old Italian garb on a rooftop, throwing several sections of a bamboo shoot towards the plaza where you sat eating. Seconds after, smoke erupted, and she was gone. Later – when I said we were withdrawing – I’ve seen her dematerialize behind a wall, thinking none saw her, but my sight goes beyond walls. She was well within my sense range, and that I could no sense her… There is only one known skill that does something like this – you’ve seen the other Assassin yourself, so you should know. When she did this, I knew she might have vanished to backup her possible Master – that foul-mouthed boy, or… Or she was heading right for us and I’ve had no means to detect her.”

Rostam paused, before continuing darkly: “A fight in broad daylight is forbidden by the rules of the war, and though I would have stepped in if they’d fought – it was the whole reason I’ve tried to step in – I could not be the aggressor, for then I would be breaking this battlefield’s rules, and be no better than them. I am a warrior, a paladin… I am not a knight, and thus, am unbound by some of their ridiculous notions of chivalry. However, I shall not disgrace myself by stooping to the level of a common murderer. That… Is why I withdrew, Master.” Archer’s voice grew softer still, now a mere low rumble. “I could certainly have killed one or two, but that would have had us fighting not upon a battlefield, and disgracing ourselves for a cowardly win. Had you wished for that, I could have merely killed them from afar, before they even saw me. That is… Not to mention what might have happened to you had we stayed, for our opponents certainly cared little for the rules of combat.”

[Katyusha Kohklova]

As Rostam explained his actions Katyusha felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  It wasn't nausea from her recent drinking binge, but the pang of guilt overcoming her.  She was always acting without thinking and getting into trouble, but this time she had almost gotten herself killed.  How could he simply shrug off her complete disregard for any sort of tact and explain himself calmly?  Where did he get the patience?  She wanted to apologize for acting the way she did, but what good would it do now?  After all the two had been through in such a short amount of time, her little temper tantrum seemed like the least of her offenses.  She deigned to nod and voice her understanding.  Both of them already knew she was in the wrong-- there was nothing that needed to be said about that.

Having two assassins was a strange turn of events though.  If there were two assassins, then could there be two of every servant?  Did that mean there could be even more than that?  The prospects of winning the war suddenly seemed even more dismal.  However, it did not change the fact that she had to win.  It didn't matter if there were one hundred other masters.  Likely most of the others would kill each other off without Katyusha ever even meeting them.  She decided to simply deal with the rest as they appeared.  She would fight until there was no one left, no matter what.  In spite of that, the girl's energy was long past depleted for the day.  She would spend the rest of the evening regaining her composure, and cleaning up the mess she had made.

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Katyusha stood at the foot of her bed like a suicidal teen hesitating to make the jump.  She no longer had her alcohol to comfort her, and it terrified her beyond reasoning.  She instinctively clutched at a bottle that wasn't there, and shifted nervously, trying to will herself into the sheets.  Unable to find the courage, she called out to the only person she could turn to.  "Archer?  Before I summoned you... I used to sleep inside your helmet.  It made me feel safe, like nothing could hurt me while I was inside it.  Do you think... Do you think you could let me use it again?" Rostam smiled the same way her father always did when she finished a perfect batch of vodka.  It made her homesick, but at the same time she felt relieved that she had someone around who actually cared.  He left the helmet for her and dematerialized.  She crawled inside and curled into a ball, falling asleep almost immediately.

Katyusha was floating on her back in an endless tranquil sea.  She waded motionlessly, taking in the fresh air and enjoying the cool water against her bare skin.  The sun was warm, but its light did not hurt her eyes.  She was at peace.  The girl let herself sink beneath the surface to wet her hair then came back up to tread water.  As she was wiping off her wet eyes, a bit of water splashed into her mouth.  Her eyes widened in shock at the familiar taste and the burn it left behind that she knew all too well.  She thrashed about, trying to get away from the vile liquid she was submerged it, but it only caused more to flow into her mouth.  Suddenly no matter how hard she tried she kept sinking, until she was completely devoured by the sea of liquor.

She held her breath, trying not to let any more get into her mouth.  How long would she remain suspended here before her lungs finally gave out and she was drowned in the very drink she sought to give up?  It wouldn't be long.  Already her lungs were ready to burst-- begging for air that would never come.  Somewhere in the back of her head, a voice was telling her to drink.  Drink it all if you want to survive.  You can't do anything unless you drink it.  You don't need air as long as you can drink.

Something was coming toward her.  Was it up or was it down?  It was impossible to tell in the endless abyss.  It wrapped around her like a snake, and pulled her along to what she could only assume would be her death.  Her inevitable demise sapped the last of her willpower and she opened her mouth wide to breathe in the fiery water and end her suffering.

Revitalizing air filled Katyusha's lungs, rather than vodka.  She was hunched over the sink, Rostam's iron grip holding her head just above the water's surface.  She gasped and sputtered, grateful to be alive, but she knew it would not last for long.  Rostam wrenched her head sideways to meet his eyes.  The fatherly grin he had worn before sending her to bed was replaced with a disappointed glare.  "So you still haven't learned your lesson?" he asked with a voice that seeped with grief.  He tightened his grip, and Katyusha though he might squash her head right then and there.  But instead he simply forced her head under once more.

When she came up again, she was on the shore of a small pond she didn't realize.  Looking around, it appeared to be the grounds of a large castle.  She blinked, confused, and checked herself over.  She had a body-- that was good-- and appeared to be unharmed.  Rostam was gone, and she was all alone save some birds happily chirping in the nearby trees.  Had the worst of it finally passed?  She nearly jumped out of her skin as a rustling in the bushes behind her seemed to answer her wordless question.  She readied herself, prepared for whatever inescapable doom was about to erupt from the shrubbery.  But all the came out was a young boy.  He looked to be in his teens, but somehow Katyusha knew he was much younger.  He tiptoed about, apparently trying to hide from someone.  She tried to get his attention to ask him what he was doing, but apparently her presence didn't have any effect here.

The boy's attempts to hide were in vain, as a woman in a maid outfit appeared shortly and scolded him, reminding him that it was meal time.  Katyusha followed him as he was dragged back to the castle and forced into uncomfortable looking clothes.  He was escorted to the dining room and Katyusha gawked in amazement as he devoured an entire table full of food by himself.  So this was what real royalty was like.  It was the life she had always dreamed of-- a far cry away from life at the distillery.  And yet the boy seemed so sad.  She probably wouldn't even have noticed it if it wasn't a dream, even as he gorged himself on stupidly large quantities of food, he emanated an aura of despair that the girl simply couldn't understand.

But the answer came quickly as she continued following the boy throughout his life.  There were plenty of other children for him to play with, but children are cruel.  Just as she had been ridiculed for being too small, he was ostracized for his immense proportions.  Even the adults took to calling him a demon as he continued to grow.  Years passed in minutes, and he was quickly becoming much larger than any human should ever be.  As his features filled in, she finally recognized Rostam for who he was, and realized how he could understand her so well.

And yet despite it all he grew into a warrior the likes of which none had ever seen. When time finally slowed to a normal pace he was in the same courtyard she had found him in before, a war elephant changing him full speed.  He picked up the nearest weapon he could find, a wicked-looking black mace, and shattered the beast's skull in a single blow.  Katyusha stood at his back, waist deep in the corpses of those who had tried to stop the elephant and failed, as the great beast crumpled to the ground.  She looked up at him, and his hulking for blocked out the sun casting a shadow over her.  He had proven himself to everyone who had taunted him up to that point.  He had done what Katyusha had thought was impossible without the power of the Grail.  The silhouette began to spread out, and Katyusha could tell the dream was finally coming to an end.  As darkness covered the last vestiges of her vision, she thought she could barely make out Rostam turning to look her way with a fatherly grin creeping across his face.