DISCLAIMER: Once again, Fate/Stay Night and all related characters and concepts are neither owned by me, nor my creation. I freely admit to not licensing them from Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, or even Geneon/Funimation (whoever’s got it now), as I doubt they’d care, since I do not intend to make any money from this. I’m strictly a not-for-profit, entertainment-purposes-only setup.
CONTINUITY NOTES: For the sake of argument, let’s say the anime.
Shirou worked carefully at the bows of the Archery Club, oiling and polishing each item with the care and concentration of a master craftsman. He wasn’t, although he was quite skilled, but the thoroughness with which he performed the task far outweighed that of most high school students, and earned him more than a little respect for his diligence.
Then again, it also earned him more than a little ribbing, too. Even some of the teachers - thoughts of a certain one he referred to as “elder sister” sprang to mind, and were then ruthlessly suppressed - failed to understand him in this. The single-minded, nay, ferocious devotion with which he undertook every task he was given was a complete surprise to most people, and baffling to the majority of them.
His philosophy was simple: any effort which he put forth, whether assigned by duty or chosen by will, deserved nothing less than the fullest of his potential. If he wasn’t going to do it with everything he had, then he might as well not do it at all.
She had taught him that.
Shirou’s mind resolutely remained focussed on maintenance, and not on a girl with a lion’s colouring - on piercing green eyes and a golden mane. He couldn’t focus on her, on that iron will and regal grace, or he would been unable to think of anything else. Any thought of her would quickly become all he could think of, and he had accepted - reluctantly - that he couldn’t live like that.
Forgetting her was impossible, Shirou knew, but dwelling on her - and on the fact that she had effectively been dead for centuries - would destroy him. And that, she would never forgive.
And so he worked, devoting his whole heart to every chore, every task, every responsibility - as she would have, and had - because nothing less would keep him whole. And because nothing less would honour Saber, or demonstrate the love she’d awakened in him.
“Sempai?” came a quiet interruption. He was focussed, but not deaf, and Shirou mentally sighed, halting in his work to concentrate his attention on the speaker, Sakura Matou . . . No, he reminded himself, it was Tohsaka, now.
The aftermath of the Grail War - including Shinji’s death - had led her adoptive grandfather to disown her as a punishment. Normally, this would be a death knell for her in Japanese society, as despite being centuries past the era of samurai and ronin, such things were still frowned upon by the traditionalists, but Rin had re-adopted her younger sister in response. It maintained Japanese tradition, but broke the traditions of the magi in the process . . . Apparently Rin had felt it worthwhile enough to do, though, for all her criticism of Kiritsugu’s choosing family over the duties of a magus. Shirou liked to think that he’d been right after all, that the young magus’ self-assurance (or arrogance, depending on one’s definition) concealed a human being.
As he shifted out of his woolgathering to bring his full attention on the girl, he answered politely, “Yes, Sakura?”
“I was wondering if. . .” she said, as her pale cheeks took on a hue to match her name, “ . . . if you’d like to come with me to the festival?”
Shirou stared at her for a beat too long, dumbfounded, and she quickly added, “But I guess you have other plans . . . I’ll see you later, Sempai.”
The girl had already fled before his mind caught up with events. Yes, they were friends, but he’d never thought she might . . .
He shook his head. It didn’t matter, anyway. His heart belonged to another woman, and pretending anything else would be a lie whose exposure would only hurt Sakura more when she finally realised it.
Besides, in all honesty, he had no desire whatsoever to attend this festival. It struck too close to home.
“I’m home!” Shirou called, and was pleased to see Ilya appear almost immediately. Had she been in the workshop, she might not have heard him - and surprising her there, he learned was a bad idea.
“Onii-chan,” she greeted him, and by now he knew that the term was true enough. Legally speaking, they weren’t at all related - holding only a common guardian in Taiga Fujimura. Blood-wise, they definitely weren’t related. But the man he’d called Dad had been Ilya’s biological father, so calling him her brother was reasonably accurate - though given that she was older than he was despite her physical age, “elder brother” was disputable.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“A little boring,” Ilya admitted. ”I had to turn down another university. They just don’t want to take no for an answer.”
Ilya was not as great a magical prodigy as Rin - more powerful, yes, but lacking that gift that made the Tohsaka heir the Einzbern’s magus’ match. She was, however, intelligent enough to pass her high-school-equivalency exams with astonishing marks. This freed her from the need to go to school, and spend her time working on her magic.
Though to Shirou’s embarrassment, she had developed a habit of wearing school uniforms around the house . . .
“Well,” he offered, “they just really want the prestige of having somebody as smart as you in their school.”
The girl yawned dismissively. “I have better things to do with my time.” Her expression brightened. “And how was your day?”
“Not bad, until the end,” he admitted. “Sakura asked me out to the festival tonight.”
Ilya blinked. “Which one is this again?”
“Tanabata,” he answered. “. . . You’re not even going to ask why it was bad?”
“Because you said no since you’re still in love with Saber, and hurt her feelings, of course.” She rolled her eyes. “I am smart, remember? Or maybe you’re just stupid. Now, what’s Tanabata, again?”
“The legend goes that the Weaver Girl and the Herder Boy were so much in love that they neglected their duties, and they were separated by the gods. But they built a bridge to cross to one another again - the Milky Way - and while the gods could have destroyed it, in recognition of their devotion, they granted the couple one night a year to be together: Tanabata. It’s a holiday for wishes to come true . . . and lovers.” Shirou’s voice didn’t quite break, but it came close.
Ilya looked at him solemnly. “And at the moment, it’s not exactly your favourite holiday, is it?”
“No.” The answer was soft, but heartfelt.
Ilya nodded, her gaze seeming unfocussed, before she suddenly sprang to attention and gave him an impish grin.
“I’ll lay out your formal kimono.”
Shirou stared. “What?”
Ilya returned his stare. “You’re going to the festival. Not with Sakura, no - but you’re going.”
“Ilya . . . If you want to go . . .” On the one hand, he didn’t want to refuse her. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to go.
She shook her head. “Not me. Just you.”
“But I - “
Ilya smiled. At least, most people would have called it a smile. It was the same expression she’d worn when she’d told Berserker to kill him, and the tone of her voice was just as pure, just as sweet, and as chilling as she responded.
“Trust your big little sister, Onii-chan - you’re going.”
Alone in the workshop, after Shirou was long departed, Ilya steadied herself. As a would-be Grail core, she had more power than almost any magus alive - but even she did not have power enough to bind an Epic Servant to human life. Only the true Grail could do that, and it might be decades before it reappeared. But for one night, for this night, she might have the strength . . . and surely, hardly anyone else could have a better right to try.
“On a night for wishes and lovers . . .” she whispered, as much to Gaia as herself. “Let me give him this, for all the wrong I did him . . . and because it’s my wish that he be happy.”
After all . . . she loved him, too.
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Originally Posted by Kieran
