[Fire Emblem 7] Morning Stars
Dec. 27th, 2009 09:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreTitle: Morning Stars
Author: Amber Michelle
Challenge: #001: Rumors/Gossip
Game: Blazing Sword
Word Count: 500
Pairings/Characters: Hellene, Zephiel
Warnings: ...hm. If you aren't aware of the problems in Bern's royal family, I guess this would be a spoiler for those chapters. Kind of. This has nothing to do with the game's storyline, so use your own judgment.
.........................................................................
When her husband turned his resentments onto their son, Hellene tried to comfort him. Certainly, she took the blame. Rumor said it was her fault little princess Guinevere broke her wrist - Hellene's hostility that caused the royal mistress to sicken; even that Zephiel was the familiar through which all of her machinations were made real, though Hellene was possessed of neither magical talent nor the ear of god, however she might have wanted them. Stories speculated on demonic pacts as the source of her power, and she laughed upon hearing them; if a demon danced to her whim, nothing less than Zephiel on the throne would satisfy her. Hellene would not waste her breath on Desmond, to bind or even to kill him. Better, in fact, if he remained alive and able to witness every way in which his son - her son - surpassed him when that time came.
Poor little Guinevere, she said, stroking her son's pale curls. The ends tickled her fingertips like cornsilk. How unhappy she must have been to hear of your banishment.
Zephiel's shoulders hunched. The light of her candle glinted on his circlet. I tried to catch her--
I know. Hellene's fingers curled into a fist, and she repeated herself, I know, I know. Desmond had shown his contempt for her in a hundred ways: her confinement in a villa outside the palace, cotton instead of silk for her dresses, brass instead of gold, servants that poisoned her well. The man dared to take his mistress to formal audience, had the audacity to invite the leaders of Lycia to a summit on trade with Sacae through Bernese territory and neglect to inform her until after the fact, though her participation in all such deals was stipulated in their marriage contract.
If Guinevere had died when she fell from that tree instead of cracking a few bones, Hellene thought Zephiel's head would have rolled for the crime of strolling through that same garden, at the same time - of running to catch her as a dutiful brother should. He wouldn't be sitting at her table, drinking mint tea, feeling sick to his stomach. He would be cold and dead, his body drained of blood and thrown to feed the crows, all for a little girl's momentary stupidity--
Mother--
Someday she would slide a knife between Desmond's ribs. Someday - for encouraging those rumors, for staining her honor with his thrice-damned concubine.
Mother, that hurts--
Her muscles strained together like great iron chains. Hellene made her fingers loosen, release his hair, and smooth it over his head with an apology. It wasn't Zephiel's fault. He loved his sister, so of course he sought her out at every opportunity, despite daily warnings against doing so. Guinevere was his bright light, his star in the darkness.
Hellene wondered at the resemblance between father and son, their loves, and why she had been erased from both equations.
.
Cross-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fe_contest.
Author: Amber Michelle
Challenge: #001: Rumors/Gossip
Game: Blazing Sword
Word Count: 500
Pairings/Characters: Hellene, Zephiel
Warnings: ...hm. If you aren't aware of the problems in Bern's royal family, I guess this would be a spoiler for those chapters. Kind of. This has nothing to do with the game's storyline, so use your own judgment.
.........................................................................
When her husband turned his resentments onto their son, Hellene tried to comfort him. Certainly, she took the blame. Rumor said it was her fault little princess Guinevere broke her wrist - Hellene's hostility that caused the royal mistress to sicken; even that Zephiel was the familiar through which all of her machinations were made real, though Hellene was possessed of neither magical talent nor the ear of god, however she might have wanted them. Stories speculated on demonic pacts as the source of her power, and she laughed upon hearing them; if a demon danced to her whim, nothing less than Zephiel on the throne would satisfy her. Hellene would not waste her breath on Desmond, to bind or even to kill him. Better, in fact, if he remained alive and able to witness every way in which his son - her son - surpassed him when that time came.
Poor little Guinevere, she said, stroking her son's pale curls. The ends tickled her fingertips like cornsilk. How unhappy she must have been to hear of your banishment.
Zephiel's shoulders hunched. The light of her candle glinted on his circlet. I tried to catch her--
I know. Hellene's fingers curled into a fist, and she repeated herself, I know, I know. Desmond had shown his contempt for her in a hundred ways: her confinement in a villa outside the palace, cotton instead of silk for her dresses, brass instead of gold, servants that poisoned her well. The man dared to take his mistress to formal audience, had the audacity to invite the leaders of Lycia to a summit on trade with Sacae through Bernese territory and neglect to inform her until after the fact, though her participation in all such deals was stipulated in their marriage contract.
If Guinevere had died when she fell from that tree instead of cracking a few bones, Hellene thought Zephiel's head would have rolled for the crime of strolling through that same garden, at the same time - of running to catch her as a dutiful brother should. He wouldn't be sitting at her table, drinking mint tea, feeling sick to his stomach. He would be cold and dead, his body drained of blood and thrown to feed the crows, all for a little girl's momentary stupidity--
Mother--
Someday she would slide a knife between Desmond's ribs. Someday - for encouraging those rumors, for staining her honor with his thrice-damned concubine.
Mother, that hurts--
Her muscles strained together like great iron chains. Hellene made her fingers loosen, release his hair, and smooth it over his head with an apology. It wasn't Zephiel's fault. He loved his sister, so of course he sought her out at every opportunity, despite daily warnings against doing so. Guinevere was his bright light, his star in the darkness.
Hellene wondered at the resemblance between father and son, their loves, and why she had been erased from both equations.
.
Cross-posted to
fe_contest.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-04 12:48 am (UTC)poor zephilel I wasnt even his fault that he turned bad
Chelle