Playing Pretend

“I was unaware that the Einsbern estate brewed its own wine.”

Illya shrugs, pouring Saber a glass. “The Germans are a bit peculiar about their alcohol. Sake doesn’t quite cut it for us, so my family brought the brewery with us.”

Fair enough, she supposes. Back during her lifetime, booze was something to be indulged in less for its taste than for its effects. So Saber doesn’t have much opinion on alcohols one way or another, though she will say it is nice to drink something that is both good and intoxicating.

“Besides,” Illya adds, bringing the glass to her lips, “I can’t buy alcohol outside. No one in town believes that I actually am an adult.”

Ah. Yes. Saber winces. That… she’s familiar with. Saber is aware that she has a youthful face- has benefited from it (to hide her birth sex) and suffered from it (many raised concerns on being led by a king so young) her entire life. The way she carries herself means that most people are aware that she is older than she looks, but there are still some moments where she can just feel the store clerk wondering if he should ask for her ID.

“Did mother drink?”

 “…She indulged, sometimes.”

Illya snorts. It sounds brief and bitter. “Figure. She was made an adult, so she could drink. I’m older than she ever got to be, but I was made a child, and so I cannot. How is that fair?”

It’s not, is what it is. Nothing about homunculi is fair. Nothing about mage culture is fair. Nothing about this world is fair. Then again- it’s precisely because it’s unfair that Saber thought she could protect her people. Her life, for a thousand. There was no scam more obvious. Looking at history as it was recorded, she’s still not sure if she managed to pull it off.

“Did you love her?”

Saber blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Mother. Did you love her?” Illya eyes at her, setting down her glass. “She spoke of you sometimes. I still have that shitty fake ID she made you. I think she loved you. Did you love her?”

What can Saber say to that? Of course she did. Of course she didn’t. Back then she was- she was king Arthur. Britain’s King. She could not let her personal affections sway her in any way. She couldn’t even love her own wife properly. Of course she did not love Irisviel. The time they spent together are memories she will forever cherish. The thought of her still makes Saber smile. Of course she loved Irisivel.

Did you love her? Saber doesn’t know. But what she knows is this: she could have. If only they had had more time. More time to spend together. More time for her to learn to be human. If only they had had more time.

Suddenly, Illya props herself on Saber’s lap. “I could pretend to be her, if you’d like.”

Saber’s eyes go wide. “Illyasviel?!”

“We both have the same face, don’t we? A decade younger or so, but I know we look alike. If you close your eyes, you can pretend. I’ll let you. All I ask is for you to kiss me.”

“Illyasviel, what are you talking about?!” She sets both hands on Illya’s hips, intending to push her away- but the girl reaches out to touch Saber’s cheek with such tenderness, Saber momentarily forgets to move.

“I said I want you to kiss me.” Illya reiterates, cupping Saber’s face. “I’m eighteen. I won’t make it to nineteen. I want to know what’s it feels like. I want to know what’s it like to be loved, to be normal, just once. Is it really so much to ask?”

“I-” Saber takes hold of Illya’s wrists, pulling them away from her. “I can’t do that. You can’t ask that of me.”

“You’re the only one I can ask!” The sudden scream startles Saber. “All the others- they think me as a child, as a naïve bumbling idiot who doesn’t know what she wants. You’re the only one who understands that I am an adult. Some of the others know, but you’re the only one who gets it. You’re the only one who knows what’s it like to be a decade too old for your own bones.”

Illya’s hands clutch around Saber’s collar. They’re trembling. “Please. I can pretend. You can have mother back for a moment. Just let me have this.” Her voice breaks with something so genuine, so vulnerable- Saber can’t bring herself to look away. “Please. You, of all people, should know what’s it like to live on borrowed time.”

Comments