He ate simple fare. Miso soup with either dried fish or pickled vegetables. The only other thing he could ask for would be a bowl of rice or some rice balls. To Miyamoto Iori, these were the sorts of things that constituted a meal. Although nothing would seem amiss at first glance, these ingredients were actually the embodiment of insipidity. A good meal should provide sufficient nourishment for a set period of activity. Food was a resource necessary to power him through a battle, so there was no use being sentimental about it. Delicious food tasted good, and awful food tasted bad, but there was no need to assess meals by their flavor. Simple food was meant purely for consumption, and that compromised Miyamoto Iori's usual diet. Iori had never said as much, but this was the conclusion Saber had drawn after observing him over a number of days. Even if the notion wasn't entirely accurate, it was somewhere in the region of veracity. This morning was no different. Dispassionately, Iori placed the food in his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed. He neither savored the taste nor showed any reaction. If someone else praised the food, he would agree with a terse response, but that was all. As if in a reverie, he sometimes mumbled about how people must not be killed even if they were the enemy. Drastic measures might be needed to combat desperate soldiers or skilled assassins, but killing was otherwise to be avoided. However many of those perfectly seasoned rice balls he bit into, Iori failed to show even the faintest hint of a smile. In Yamato Takeru's view, a carved wooden statue was more animated than him.
"What's wrong, Saber?" "Hm..." "What?" he pressed. "You know, I think you're living a dull life." The words were spoken without guile or malice, but the statement had apparently not been received with the intended nuance. "...What brought this on? Do you not like your breakfast? It's the same food you had yesterday." "I do. It's as good as always," Saber said. "Then where's this criticism coming from all of a sudden?" "Well..." Alas, the concept had not been conveyed correctly. Although Iori's circumstances afforded him such delicious foods every morning, his blessings were squandered because he neglected to value them. He probably didn't even realize what he was missing. That must be why his life seemed so dull... Such was Saber's reasoning, but it came across more bluntly than intended, for the speaker had never been an eloquent individual. And this had happened many times before—Saber often stated conclusions without preamble. Perhaps a difference in upbringing was responsible. There had never been a need to explain thought processes leading to certain conclusions. The orders issued by the emperor and prince of that time—Saber's father and brother respectively—required only acknowledgement and action. There were no other boys or girls to play with, and the sword was soon Saber's only friend. Plainspoken tools of slaughter must be handled with care, so Saber was usually left alone. It mattered not whether they were at war or at peace. Meals like this, eaten slowly over pleasant conversation, were almost nonexistent. That routine only changed once the love of Saber's life appeared. How a sword was swung, how each breath was taken, how the sky was surveyed, how the ground was trod... Everything. It all changed. Even the taste of food, which Saber had eaten only to sustain the vitality needed to fight, changed dramatically.
"...One moment you fall dead silent, and the next you've got a stupid grin on your face. I don't understand you, Saber." "Hehe. I was just remembering something quite wonderful." "While eating?" Saber smiled softly. "It's because I'm eating, Iori."
For Saber, meals were something to be felt. The creamy luster of freshly cooked rice, the subtle sweetness in each bite...there were so many sensations to experience. It was more than just the flavor of food that touched Saber's heart. There was the warmth of the radiant midday sun, the virtue of people living in accord with the earth... Thinking on these things that should be revered and protected, Saber would always cherish the gentle smile of the one who explained what goodness truly was. However distant time might separate them, those feelings would never change. That was why Saber, a Servant with no physical need to eat or drink, yearned always for rice. By no means was any nutrition acquired from the food, but with every meal, the love Saber felt that day would flood in, refreshing mind and body. It was in every single grain of rice... ...every delectable bite... It was for this love that Saber fought.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
of miyamoto iori & saber.
Miso soup with either dried fish or pickled vegetables. The only other thing he could ask for would be a bowl of rice or some rice balls.
To Miyamoto Iori, these were the sorts of things that constituted a meal. Although nothing would seem amiss at first glance, these ingredients were actually the embodiment of insipidity.
A good meal should provide sufficient nourishment for a set period of activity. Food was a resource necessary to power him through a battle, so there was no use being sentimental about it. Delicious food tasted good, and awful food tasted bad, but there was no need to assess meals by their flavor. Simple food was meant purely for consumption, and that compromised Miyamoto Iori's usual diet.
Iori had never said as much, but this was the conclusion Saber had drawn after observing him over a number of days. Even if the notion wasn't entirely accurate, it was somewhere in the region of veracity.
This morning was no different.
Dispassionately, Iori placed the food in his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed. He neither savored the taste nor showed any reaction. If someone else praised the food, he would agree with a terse response, but that was all.
As if in a reverie, he sometimes mumbled about how people must not be killed even if they were the enemy. Drastic measures might be needed to combat desperate soldiers or skilled assassins, but killing was otherwise to be avoided.
However many of those perfectly seasoned rice balls he bit into, Iori failed to show even the faintest hint of a smile. In Yamato Takeru's view, a carved wooden statue was more animated than him.
"What's wrong, Saber?"
"Hm..."
"What?" he pressed.
"You know, I think you're living a dull life."
The words were spoken without guile or malice, but the statement had apparently not been received with the intended nuance.
"...What brought this on? Do you not like your breakfast? It's the same food you had yesterday."
"I do. It's as good as always," Saber said.
"Then where's this criticism coming from all of a sudden?"
"Well..."
Alas, the concept had not been conveyed correctly.
Although Iori's circumstances afforded him such delicious foods every morning, his blessings were squandered because he neglected to value them. He probably didn't even realize what he was missing. That must be why his life seemed so dull...
Such was Saber's reasoning, but it came across more bluntly than intended, for the speaker had never been an eloquent individual. And this had happened many times before—Saber often stated conclusions without preamble.
Perhaps a difference in upbringing was responsible. There had never been a need to explain thought processes leading to certain conclusions. The orders issued by the emperor and prince of that time—Saber's father and brother respectively—required only acknowledgement and action.
There were no other boys or girls to play with, and the sword was soon Saber's only friend. Plainspoken tools of slaughter must be handled with care, so Saber was usually left alone. It mattered not whether they were at war or at peace. Meals like this, eaten slowly over pleasant conversation, were almost nonexistent.
That routine only changed once the love of Saber's life appeared.
How a sword was swung, how each breath was taken, how the sky was surveyed, how the ground was trod... Everything. It all changed. Even the taste of food, which Saber had eaten only to sustain the vitality needed to fight, changed dramatically.
"...One moment you fall dead silent, and the next you've got a stupid grin on your face. I don't understand you, Saber."
"Hehe. I was just remembering something quite wonderful."
"While eating?"
Saber smiled softly. "It's because I'm eating, Iori."
For Saber, meals were something to be felt.
The creamy luster of freshly cooked rice, the subtle sweetness in each bite...there were so many sensations to experience. It was more than just the flavor of food that touched Saber's heart. There was the warmth of the radiant midday sun, the virtue of people living in accord with the earth...
Thinking on these things that should be revered and protected, Saber would always cherish the gentle smile of the one who explained what goodness truly was. However distant time might separate them, those feelings would never change.
That was why Saber, a Servant with no physical need to eat or drink, yearned always for rice. By no means was any nutrition acquired from the food, but with every meal, the love Saber felt that day would flood in, refreshing mind and body.
It was in every single grain of rice...
...every delectable bite...
It was for this love that Saber fought.