22—Tender Yet Fierce

In just a few hours' time, Lancer and Sobervre will have their duel to gauge each other's strength. Shortly after that, the latter will ask the former about a particular 'Fearsome Lass'. The same lass who now works to prepare a meal for her beloved Master. Not a complex meal, her skills for such things are lacking, but a meal into which she pours all of her loving affection. Unfortunately, those feelings can only do so much in place of experience and culinary talent.

The temple kitchen is well stocked with herbs and spices, as well as a tome of knowledge filled with alchemical formulae specifically tailored to producing only the best meals.

Most people would call it a 'cookbook'.

Before she'd stationed herself in the kitchen, Caster had ventured into town, dressed in a more casual attire to avoid raising suspicion, to obtain the poultry product necessary for the meal, a simple chicken curry. Boldly, she'd decided to make the curry from scratch, yet as she now looks through the daunting list of ingredients on the printed page, this decision is quickly feeling like the wrong one.

So much…

She sighs, letting her eyes run down the page, frowning thoughtfully at each one as they dart back and forth from the page to the rack of spices to find the necessary powder. It takes quite a few minutes to collect the ten plastic vials, and even longer to mix them together in the proper proportions.

Anxiously, her eyes drift to the clock, which tells her the timing will be tight if it's to be ready, and fresh, by the time Souichirou has returned. Shaking her head, she frees herself from the clock's spell and refocuses her attention on the task at hand. With the spices mixed in proper quantity, she readies to prepare the fresh ingredients, bringing to a simmer the garlic, onion and ginger.

While that happens, she sets to work on the chicken, searing it in a skillet, and then glancing back at the book to make certain she's missed nothing.

Satisfied this is the case, she returns her attention to the simmering vegetables, moving them to a blender and grinding it into a fine, uniform paste. As it's whipped around, the scent of the garlic, ginger and onion permeates the kitchen, mixing with that of something else.

Something burning.

The chicken!

Now panicking, she sprints from the blender to move the chicken, dry and blackened, from the burner to a vacant space on the stove, and flips it with a spatula. Despite one side being burned dark, the other, for having not been flipped, is pink and raw. She sighs deeply, putting it back over the burner and returning her attention to the blender, which by now has reduced its contents to an indiscriminate mass.

After consulting the directions again, she pours that mass into the skillet she'd used to bring it to a simmer, and brings the burner to a low heat. With that out of the way, she again consults the book.

What she next sees has her stringing her hands through her hair, and heaving a deep sigh.

Season the sauce, then simmer the chicken in the sauce… Damn it, I wasn't supposed to cook the chicken separate from the sauce?!

Mournfully, she looks at the chicken in the pan and turns off the heat. From the pan, she moves the cooked chicken to a cutting board and begins hacking it into cubes.


On his return, Souichirou is confronted by a myriad of complex smells, some which threaten to sting his nose hairs. In their room, on the small table centered in it, Caster at this moment is finishing setting both their places, along with a pot of rice beside what appears to be—

"Curry."

He approaches the table, leaning down and sniffing at it. Whatever his thoughts are, they don't present on his face.

"Chicken curry, yes." Caster fidgets with discomfort as Souichirou seems to scrutinize the meal. "How was your day, Souichirou-sama?"

"There is little to speak of, Caster."

He strips his suit coat, hanging it in their closet, then finds his seat across from his Servant and fiance. Before he's fully adjusted to his seat, Caster has dished his plate, and is working on dishing her own. He looks down at the plate, still void of expression, and speaks his simple thoughts before his first bite.

"Thank you for preparing this for us, Caster."

The overwhelming anxiety dominating her concerns dissolves with those simple words, and she shows a bright and expectant smile, waiting for him to take the first bite to get his opinion of the meal. Sensing this, he reaches for his chopsticks, mixes the rice with the curry, and takes his first bite.

The taste is certainly difficult to describe. The sauce is well done, but the chicken is dry, and blackened, and the rice seems to have suffered similar treatment.

Still…

"You've improved."

There's no feeling in his words, so she can't tell if he's being sincere or showing pity. All she can do is take her own bite to confirm the case. Though her own palate is unrefined, given she's only just started learning the culinary arts, it can still detect something off with the meal.

But it still seems better than her previous attempts, so she accepts his words as sincere.

"I'm glad it is to your liking, Souichirou-sama."

Silently, he nods, then sets to work on the lovingly prepared meal. As they both work through, silence dominates, punctuated periodically by the sound of wood clicking against the glass plates holding their simple meal. Quiet calm bereft of conversation is nothing new, but something about the silence is deafening.

Despite his not showing it, there's something she can pick up from him. Perhaps, thanks to their formed empathic bond.

"Souichirou-sama, does…" Hesitantly, she broaches the subject. "Does something trouble you?"

He stares down at his plate, sticks still in his hand, working on his current bite, through one particularly hard bit of burned chicken. As he does, he searches through himself, trying to see if it's the case. The body of students he teaches holds little sway over his thoughts and concerns, but there is one thing which sticks out in his mind.

Maybe…

With a drink from his glass of cool water, he chases down the difficult-to-manage bite of food, then wipes his mouth with one of the provided cloth napkins.

"Possibly…" Calm as ever, he sets down his chopsticks and looks up from his plate. "One of my students. Ryuudou-kun. He spoke this morning of something concerning. That he lost a stretch of time somewhere. He cannot recall when he retired for the evening. By what he said, it seems he didn't even eat before that."

"The boy with the glasses?"

Souichirou only nods in reply.

As best she's able, Caster maintains a convincing poker-face. It's a struggle, given she knows full well of what he's speaking.

And that she's the reason.

To settle herself, and give time to think, she takes a sip from her own water before responding.

"I see…"

Despite her new concerns, she's able to maintain a convincing tone. Briefly, she looks down at her plate, then looks back up, meeting his stoney-eyed gaze.

"And you worry for his welfare?"

Again, his response comes only as a slight nod. Caster smiles in reply, yet some twinge digs into her heart for knowing what she does. Less what she did, and more having done it of her own accord, and without first consulting him, her Master.

But there is something which transpired earlier that she may use to divert her focus.

"Well, I do not know if it is relevant to the boy and what happened to him—" A lie, since she knows full well it's completely irrelevant. "—but I did discover that someone was poking around the temple grounds."

"Really."

Souichirou's tone is as even as ever, failing to effectively convey his interest in this revelation, yet it comes through to Caster just the same, and she nods while smiling.

"I tracked him down." Now feeling relaxed for the subject being changed, she speaks with less difficulty. "I wasn't able to get much from him, other than he seemed quite mad. Out of sorts, that is. I made certain he won't be bothering us again."

"Mad?"

She nods again.

"Perhaps he was a magus, or something else. Whatever he was, I've dealt with him harshly."

"I see."

They return to their meal, and quiet again dominates the atmosphere for a time before Souichirou breaks it.

"About this… conflict."

He's not even certain what the proper term to use is, so he hesitates before settling on that one. Caster looks up from her plate, arching her brow.

"Yes?"

"When do you believe it will begin?"

"When?" She taps her plate for a second, thinking on it. "Soon, I would imagine. I cannot believe the other Masters will delay long before making their moves."

"And your health?"

He speaks of her reserves of magical energy. Each time he's asked, it's been in this way. Some minor effort on his part to humanize her, rather than reduce her to a tool or a weapon that others seem to view their Servants as.

"Is it well?"

Still smiling, she nods. "I'm not lacking."

It's true. Despite the powers she'd wielded against the interloper earlier that day, she's taken time to recover, harvesting from the residents of both towns what she needed to restore what she'd exhausted. Not a lot, and far less than she'd feared, given her actions against the man were highly energetic and reactionary.

"That's good." Finished now with his last few bites, he looks up from his plate. "It means that tonight we can simply enjoy ourselves."

At this, Caster half-chokes on her own last few bites. She takes a quick drink to clear her airway as her countenance quickly burns crimson.

"S-Souichirou-sama, we've not even finished eating!" Still, her telling smile seems at odds with her words and tone as she turns her face away, her eyes gently closed. "Perhaps a bath first?"

"I did not mean it in that way, Caster." Souichirou sighs, then wipes his mouth again, clearing away the few remaining dregs. "A man is a man, and I am as much one as any other. But sometimes, it's fine just to sit like this."

As he speaks, he stands and moves over to her side of the table, seating himself next to her, staring into her eyes with his own, which continue expressionless. In that brief time, something within him shifts. Words to accurately describe the sensation do not exist to him, and never once before meeting this woman has he felt it.

In the forest, surrounding this temple, when he'd seen her near collapse, splashes of red marring her elaborate violet attire, some strange weapon grasped firmly, desperately in her hand. Until that moment, when they met eyes there in that icy rain, nothing had impacted him so.

Not his time learning the art of murder, nor his time employing those skills as an assassin.

Even his time spent as an instructor, teaching the lessons of history to the next generation, in some desperate bid for normalcy and meaning in life, had failed to do what that moment in time had done.

Reaching out, Souichirou places one hand under Caster's, then covers it with the other.

"I am content with this as well."

"Souichirou… sama…?"

At his words, she blinks heavily.

"Do not misunderstand."

As always, his words are as void as his face.

"Even if such things were unnecessary for your…" He struggles some, trying to find the right words. "… wellbeing, they are still something I would desire. But I find this is fine as well."

Proving it, that he's content just being near her, along with everything else that her presence has brought into his life, he leans forward, wrapping her in a warm embrace. The second he's finished with it, and pulls back, she breathes out a deeply contented sigh, then rests her head against his shoulder, and they sit like that for a calm few moments.

Reflecting on it, remembering it, he reaffirms it was that feeling which moved him to help her.

And to stay with her.

After all, it seems the only thing they have in this whole wide world that's worth a damn is each other.


During that time, a different, yet no less 'fearsome lass' is trying to hold her own in a heated discussion with her family's patriarch across great distances. Options for conversing are broad, given the world is full of mystical accouterments which magi prefer to the more modern alternatives.

Despite this, it's by phone she holds her contentious discussion.

"I'm disappointed, Illyasviel." The frigid tone coming from the receiver holds no affection for her, and the one owning it addresses her in full. "When I attempt to contact you, I expect a swift response."

"Then maybe you should've given me a magic talking rock, or a cell-phone, grandfather!" Illya barks into the receiver. "What did you even want, anyway?! I'm here, aren't I? Doing what you asked?!"

Nearby, Sella stands anxiously, twisting her skirt, listening in silently to their conversation.

"You will refrain from addressing me in such a tone."

The voice doesn't change in tone or cadence. Within those words is something unspoken. Some dire implication which dulls the edge in her voice.

"Fine. Sorry, grandfather. What did you want?"

"Merely to check on your progress, and to learn what you have discovered of the other Masters, and their Servants."

Her face wrinkles, and she has to force her jaw down to keep from grinding her teeth into the phone.

What the hell, I've only been here for a few days! What does he expect me to…

Shirou's face flits through her mind, relaxing her furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. And with it comes a conflicting question. Does she tell this man what she knows of him? He's not even a Master yet, after all.

Just someone selected by the Grail, whose Command Spell hasn't even fully formed yet.

No… There's no reason to tell him about Onii-chan.

Settling herself some, she replies with tact.

"Not a lot. I haven't been here for very long, but I'm not doing nothing, either."

She pauses thoughtfully. It won't do to give him nothing, and at least there's one other she can reveal she's discovered.

"Though there is one Master I found."

"Were you able to eliminate them?"

There's no hesitation found in the man's voice.

"No, I didn't."

Again, she has to think it through. The reason, that this girl with lavender hair seems special to Shirou, would be completely unacceptable to this man. But there is a more valid reason.

"It wouldn't have been prudent. Too many witnesses, and it was daytime."

"I see… Sound judgement. Did you at least discover the identity of their Servant?"

Illya shakes her head.

"No. She never materialized it, and Berserker isn't a conversationalist, so he couldn't tell me even if he wanted to."

From the receiver, there's silence for a moment, followed by another bitter response.

"Unfortunate. I expect a more favorable report to be made the next time we speak."

His own cutting remark and sharp tone, combined with what she'd learned the night before, that it was this man who had acted as a wall between her and Kiritsugu, causes her fuse to fail.

"Whatever! I'm here, like I told you! If you want it done better, you can just make me your obedient little puppet! I'm sure you'd prefer that, anyway! Otherwise, I'll follow your stupid orders and win your stupid war! Now leave me alone!"

Any response the man might make goes unheard as Illya slams the handset down, truncating their conversation.

"Lady Illyasviel…"

Aghast, Sella's words come in a whisper. Illya looks over at her attendant, still holding that hard, hateful expression.

"What, Sella?"

Despite Sella not being the target of her ire, Illya's tone still holds a keen edge as she growls out her question. Before answering, the maid fills her lungs with a deep, steadying breath, then lets it out slowly over several seconds.

"You must not try the master's patience in such a way."

Calmer now, Sella tries to show a comforting smile. Tries, as it comes out somewhat stiff and forced.

"I understand you are frustrated. Though I do not understand why—"

"—Because he lied to me, Sella!" Illya cries out, thrusting her fists at her sides. "Or at the very least, he omitted the whole truth! He never told me Kiritsugu came to see me! He just let me believe he abandoned me! And now he's just bossing me around, like always! I hate that!"

Frustrated tears cling to the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall. As she sits, wiping at her face, grinding her teeth and sniffling, the girl before Sella appears for all the world to be little more than a sad, lonely child.

Moving closer, she kneels down, brushing a finger under the girl's eye.

"So, what will you do?"

Where before, her voice was full of concern, it's now adopted a more soothing tone.

"What I said I'd do…" Gently, she pushes Sella's hand away. She's still frowning sharply, but her teeth grinding has since ceased. "I'm already committed to this."

Sella stands upright, nodding thoughtfully.

"And from what you said of your brother, he was selected? To participate?"

Illya nods. Just thinking about him, her harsh frown softens, then lifts into an expectant smile.

"He hasn't summoned his Servant yet." Recalling that, she sighs. "I wanted to help him with that today, but…"

"You had to come back," Sella mutters sadly, and Illya nods, sighing.

"We'll do it tomorrow. It'll probably have to be in the evening. He'll be at that school, I think, and I don't know how long it will take, or how many attempts." She chuckles, recalling what she'd seen in the shed yesterday. "He's not much of a magus. Apparently, Kiritsugu didn't teach him well."

"But are you okay with that?" Some concern has worked itself back into Sella's tone. "I mean, if he is a Master, would that not mean—"

"I know what you're about to say, and you're wrong, Sella," Illya says flatly, shaking her head. "Once he's ready, there's no reason we can't work together. Berserker's not in any state to claim his share from the Grail, so I'm fine with his Servant using it. And I don't… think I want anything from it. Grandfather just said I have to win, so we can win it together, and I'll just give it to him."

Satisfied with this, Illya gives a sharp nod, followed by a stiff yawn.


For Illya, dinner had been finished some time before that frustrating business with her grandfather, so once that yawn confirmed her tired state, there was no reason to put off getting some rest. Before that, Sella had attended to her bath preparations, and after a nice, warm, steamy bath in the large porcelain tub fitted in the castle's master bathroom, Illya now slips beneath the comfortable covers in her room.

"If there is anything that you need, please let us know, Lady Illyasviel."

Warmly, Sella makes her availability known before stepping out. Leysritt, who until this time had been handling other, more menial chores, has also arrived to see Illya off to sleep.

"'Night… Illya."

In her normal, broken speech pattern, she wishes Illya a pleasant rest, then crouches over the bed, giving her an almost too-tight hug. Despite the force, there's plenty of comfort in it, and she smiles up at her less formal maid.

"Thanks, Liz. And I'll be sure to do that, Sella."

Yawning, she waves them out. As they leave, the room's master light is clicked off, and Illya clicks off the light closer to her bed, then rolls over. One pillow cradles her head, while she wraps herself around one of the many other ones nearby. Just doing that reminds her of that morning, when she'd been in Shirou's less comfortable futon, clamped around his pillow, basking in its scent.

A less comfortable bed, but far, far more desirable.

As she drifts off, thoughts of the past two days sprint through her mind. Every moment that she and Shirou had spent together. When they met the second time outside his front door. How his anger flared when he heard someone or something stopped Kiritsugu from seeing her. His rushing outside, practically yelling at her to stay over that night.

Opening his bed to her after her nightmare. Openly admitting he knew nothing about being a brother, and awkwardly patting her head at her urging.

And of course, how funny he was when she'd seen him getting ready to change, when he woke up, and when she'd poked fun at him, daring him to turn around when she'd briefly streaked from room to room that morning to get her clothes.

He's so… nice. Funny, kind… warm… I'm glad… I got to meet him…

Stoked by these recent memories, the embers of affection for her father, for Kiritsugu, shift subtly, flaring up again, and finding a new focus for their outlet. Then, recalling what she'd seen just before he'd gotten changed, his well-honed physique, she swiftly turns a hard shade of red, and those embers split, half retaining their familial warmth, and half transforming into something else.

Something even warmer than the affection a sister might naturally have for her brother.

Prodding the idea along, Illya's face breaks into a long, playful smile.

Well… Kiritsugu did only adopt him after all… It's not like there's blood between us.