[Fire Emblem 6] A Higher Calling
Nov. 7th, 2009 02:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreA Higher Calling
Author: Amber Michelle
Rating: K
Warnings: n/a
Word Count: 1164
Gauntlet Theme: 1 - Gone at dusk through narrow streets
Prompt: FE6: Guinevere/Miledy, choosing Guinevere over country and lover
................................................................
Guinevere thought Misul a desolate place when General Cecilia took residence there for her last stand against the forces of the usurpers, and it got no better after the battle, after Roy took the fortress. The soil was sandy and infertile, the grasses yellow and broken, the water tepid. Her room overlooked a garden populated with drought-hardy plants: jasmine vines about the lintels, aloe, pomegranate, lemon, and not a rose in sight. Sharp mountains rose so high she could see their points above the fortress walls when she opened her window and parted the veil of jasmine, and she wondered again if Zephiel had lingered after the battle, though it wasn't like him, to watch-- see what she did, how she betrayed him.
It wasn't like him to threaten her. Truly, Guinevere was hard-pressed to remember a time he'd been anything but kind. Roses of every color decorated her table at his command; her favorite red dye was made in quantity for her - only her, only the princess may wear that shade. He commissioned tiny glass foxes to adorn her rooms, one curled to sleep for the winter, another frozen mid-lope for the summer, another with its nose buried in flowers. They looked like dewdrops of glass in his big hands.
Every night she tried to figure out what changed, and every night she remembered their last meal together, a brief break for tea, during which he gave the cloak she wore to run away, the ruff lined with fur - to keep her warm while he was gone.
Nothing had changed. Not then. But now--
Miledy's knock was three staccato taps, and enough time to catch her breath before she entered, still armed and armored, to report on the situation. She caught Guinevere on the window seat, her legs pulled up on the pink cushion, with a curl of jasmine twined between her fingers. The tiny white blossoms were half-open to great the moonrise and perfume the dusty air. It wasn't visible yet, but it should be full; pale silver lit the battlements, where the disk hid behind the fortress.
"Bern has been routed," Miledy said after saluting, posed at military rest with one fist behind her back. Her eyes averted. "Every scout has returned with a negative report, but Roy ordered the guard to maintain double strength through the night."
Guinevere let the tendril go, watching it drift back to its companions. Then she let her feet slide to the floor and turned to face her guardian directly. "And-- Nabata?"
Torchlight from outside and the brightening of the moon lit her room, but nothing else, and in the dimness it was hard to be sure of Miledy's expression. Her lips thinned, it looked like, or maybe it was a grimace. "General Cecilia's troops will remain here. Roy's people are assembling gear for desert travel, and it seems only a small unit will follow him into the whirlwind." A pause. "He requested my presence, but wants you to stay here."
"That won't do."
"I said as much, your highness. I must stay--"
"No," Guinevere said, wishing she'd lit a lamp. "We should both go."
Silence met her declaration, broken by footsteps outside on the garden walks, faint murmurs of conversation, and the scree scree of crickets, so much louder than she remembered from home. Desert life was hardier by nature, she was told, as if sand were a harsher master than snow. The mountaintops must still be frozen at home; what lived there, pray tell, but the hardiest of plants and animals?
Her brother knew snow. He survived an avalanche once. Nothing was colder, he said, than a knife in the back.
"My lady, you know marching into the desert is unwise."
Guinevere could barely see her hands in her lap. She heard Miledy breathing, shallow but even, and the creak of leather beneath her armor. "If I disappear, he will not assume..."
Miledy's armor glinted and took shape as she approached, one step, two, three, then knelt on the plain stone floor to bow her head. "We have spies in this army, my lady. His Majesty will know of our defection as soon as they can fly to report, and the revelation of our location, here or in Nabata, will follow."
'We?' Guinevere curled her fingers together on her knees and looked down at the halo of moonlight on her knight's hair. "Then he will follow us to Nabata, and leave these people alone."
She couldn't see Miledy's expression - only how still she was, how softly her breath came suddenly. "Are you afraid of King Zephiel, your highness?" Cool, calm, expressionless.
A chill tingled at the base of Guinevere's spine. "Aren't you?"
Miledy lifted her gaze. Her mouth made a dark line in her pale, moonlit face, her brows arching sharply down. "No." She had to clear her throat, and her leather gloves creased when her fist clenched. "My spear and my life are yours. If you wish it, I will fight the king - or a dragon, or a demon, or god himself." Her voice trembled. "But if a fight with the gods is what you desire, we'll need better weapons. For the others, we'll manage."
It was so ridiculous Guinevere wanted to laugh-- or let herself cry to release the pressure behind her eyes, in her throat, where it seemed her heart leapt when Miledy made her declaration. "Your brother--"
"He'll understand." Miledy's expression softened, and she averted her gaze again. Their shadows stretched across the floor, cast by the moon. "To betray you would be a greater disgrace."
Guinevere let it pass, though she wondered if that was true - she didn't know what stories were told about her disappearance, but Miledy's defection wouldn't be concealed, and the penalties for betraying the crown often reached beyond the offender to punish the family as well. She always said her brother could take care of himself, and Guinevere hoped it was true. She hoped he would find a way to prove himself to his commanders.
Miledy carried the scent of the wind with her, grass, sunlight, scales, metal. Sometimes it seemed she never removed her armor, but Guinevere remembered one occasion, on the range where the wyverns made their homes, when she'd met Miledy's brother - when they shed their duty for one day to observe a ceremony for the birth of a new generation of wyverns. It took two of them to wrestle one wyrm. Guinevere remembered laughing at the spectacle until her sides hurt.
"So, it seems my next opponent is to be a sandstorm."
She tried to smile. It was the least she owed Miledy, for giving up memories like that-- and without even saying good-bye. "I'm sure you'll manage."
...
Author: Amber Michelle
Rating: K
Warnings: n/a
Word Count: 1164
Gauntlet Theme: 1 - Gone at dusk through narrow streets
Prompt: FE6: Guinevere/Miledy, choosing Guinevere over country and lover
................................................................
Guinevere thought Misul a desolate place when General Cecilia took residence there for her last stand against the forces of the usurpers, and it got no better after the battle, after Roy took the fortress. The soil was sandy and infertile, the grasses yellow and broken, the water tepid. Her room overlooked a garden populated with drought-hardy plants: jasmine vines about the lintels, aloe, pomegranate, lemon, and not a rose in sight. Sharp mountains rose so high she could see their points above the fortress walls when she opened her window and parted the veil of jasmine, and she wondered again if Zephiel had lingered after the battle, though it wasn't like him, to watch-- see what she did, how she betrayed him.
It wasn't like him to threaten her. Truly, Guinevere was hard-pressed to remember a time he'd been anything but kind. Roses of every color decorated her table at his command; her favorite red dye was made in quantity for her - only her, only the princess may wear that shade. He commissioned tiny glass foxes to adorn her rooms, one curled to sleep for the winter, another frozen mid-lope for the summer, another with its nose buried in flowers. They looked like dewdrops of glass in his big hands.
Every night she tried to figure out what changed, and every night she remembered their last meal together, a brief break for tea, during which he gave the cloak she wore to run away, the ruff lined with fur - to keep her warm while he was gone.
Nothing had changed. Not then. But now--
Miledy's knock was three staccato taps, and enough time to catch her breath before she entered, still armed and armored, to report on the situation. She caught Guinevere on the window seat, her legs pulled up on the pink cushion, with a curl of jasmine twined between her fingers. The tiny white blossoms were half-open to great the moonrise and perfume the dusty air. It wasn't visible yet, but it should be full; pale silver lit the battlements, where the disk hid behind the fortress.
"Bern has been routed," Miledy said after saluting, posed at military rest with one fist behind her back. Her eyes averted. "Every scout has returned with a negative report, but Roy ordered the guard to maintain double strength through the night."
Guinevere let the tendril go, watching it drift back to its companions. Then she let her feet slide to the floor and turned to face her guardian directly. "And-- Nabata?"
Torchlight from outside and the brightening of the moon lit her room, but nothing else, and in the dimness it was hard to be sure of Miledy's expression. Her lips thinned, it looked like, or maybe it was a grimace. "General Cecilia's troops will remain here. Roy's people are assembling gear for desert travel, and it seems only a small unit will follow him into the whirlwind." A pause. "He requested my presence, but wants you to stay here."
"That won't do."
"I said as much, your highness. I must stay--"
"No," Guinevere said, wishing she'd lit a lamp. "We should both go."
Silence met her declaration, broken by footsteps outside on the garden walks, faint murmurs of conversation, and the scree scree of crickets, so much louder than she remembered from home. Desert life was hardier by nature, she was told, as if sand were a harsher master than snow. The mountaintops must still be frozen at home; what lived there, pray tell, but the hardiest of plants and animals?
Her brother knew snow. He survived an avalanche once. Nothing was colder, he said, than a knife in the back.
"My lady, you know marching into the desert is unwise."
Guinevere could barely see her hands in her lap. She heard Miledy breathing, shallow but even, and the creak of leather beneath her armor. "If I disappear, he will not assume..."
Miledy's armor glinted and took shape as she approached, one step, two, three, then knelt on the plain stone floor to bow her head. "We have spies in this army, my lady. His Majesty will know of our defection as soon as they can fly to report, and the revelation of our location, here or in Nabata, will follow."
'We?' Guinevere curled her fingers together on her knees and looked down at the halo of moonlight on her knight's hair. "Then he will follow us to Nabata, and leave these people alone."
She couldn't see Miledy's expression - only how still she was, how softly her breath came suddenly. "Are you afraid of King Zephiel, your highness?" Cool, calm, expressionless.
A chill tingled at the base of Guinevere's spine. "Aren't you?"
Miledy lifted her gaze. Her mouth made a dark line in her pale, moonlit face, her brows arching sharply down. "No." She had to clear her throat, and her leather gloves creased when her fist clenched. "My spear and my life are yours. If you wish it, I will fight the king - or a dragon, or a demon, or god himself." Her voice trembled. "But if a fight with the gods is what you desire, we'll need better weapons. For the others, we'll manage."
It was so ridiculous Guinevere wanted to laugh-- or let herself cry to release the pressure behind her eyes, in her throat, where it seemed her heart leapt when Miledy made her declaration. "Your brother--"
"He'll understand." Miledy's expression softened, and she averted her gaze again. Their shadows stretched across the floor, cast by the moon. "To betray you would be a greater disgrace."
Guinevere let it pass, though she wondered if that was true - she didn't know what stories were told about her disappearance, but Miledy's defection wouldn't be concealed, and the penalties for betraying the crown often reached beyond the offender to punish the family as well. She always said her brother could take care of himself, and Guinevere hoped it was true. She hoped he would find a way to prove himself to his commanders.
Miledy carried the scent of the wind with her, grass, sunlight, scales, metal. Sometimes it seemed she never removed her armor, but Guinevere remembered one occasion, on the range where the wyverns made their homes, when she'd met Miledy's brother - when they shed their duty for one day to observe a ceremony for the birth of a new generation of wyverns. It took two of them to wrestle one wyrm. Guinevere remembered laughing at the spectacle until her sides hurt.
"So, it seems my next opponent is to be a sandstorm."
She tried to smile. It was the least she owed Miledy, for giving up memories like that-- and without even saying good-bye. "I'm sure you'll manage."
...