[Fire Emblem 7] The Rose of Winter
Feb. 14th, 2010 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreTitle: The Rose of Winter
Artist: Amber Michelle //![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
myaru
Recipient:sacae
Present: Fanfic
Game: 7 - Blazing Sword
Words: 1386
...........................................................................
Caelin, Lyn learned at the close of the year, almost never got snow. There were years Araphen had almost been buried in white; Ostia was drenched in rain and landslides; Caelin lay at the center of a plain, surrounded by hills high enough to see a dusting of snow at midwinter, but the land around her capitol remained dry, defying her expectations every morning when she opened her curtains to see the sun rise. The junipers remained green, bore fruit, the camellias bloomed red, yellow, and white, while ice crackled in the grass and made a thin, mirror sheet over the water in the well she heard break every morning when the servants threw the first bucket down. You should see Pherae, someone told her - she couldn't remember who. Lord Elbert found a way to make the roses bloom all winter, just for his lady.
That would have been impossible on the plains. They were lucky to find fish when they cut through the ice over the river, and hunting game killed clansmen more often than not; there was always someone in the hunting party who didn't come back - men lost themselves in blizzards, died of frostbite, all for the prize of one rabbit, or maybe two. Who would think about flowers when her father, or brother, or uncle, left on a hunt he might never return from? Lyn told Florina the story that morning, while they sat on a cold rock at the top of her hill outside of Caelin-- it's hard to believe. Lycians have strange traditions. If someone did that for me, I... Of course, that was just as difficult to imagine. She couldn't remember what Florina said about it - only that the conversation turned to Sain, who had shown up at her bedroom door at dawn with a bright red flower to express his love. Just talking about it made her face color, and Lyn tried not to laugh.
I can't believe him. Florina's lip puffed, almost a pout. He says that to everything in a skirt. I heard he even gave one to Lucius.
Lyn snorted at the memory. The wind numbed her cheeks and the tip of her nose, her fingers. It snuck under the cuffs of her sleeves to raise goosebumps on her arms, swirled around her shoulders to lift her ponytail and make it dance and slap against her back. They'd come up to the hill together on Huey, but Florina left an hour before to start her rounds, and Lyn had stayed to listen to the sigh of the wind and the snap of dry, brown grass, where the air was clean and the only thing that burned was the pale yellow sun in a colorless sky. There were days sitting there reminded her of home - but home would be white and gray, the trees would be bare, and she would be hungry and cold, crouching close to a fire that was never quite enough to warm the entire ger, even when her parents were alive.
She sighed and slid off of the rock. The sun was almost three lengths above the white hills, which meant it was almost time to attend her grandfather and learn something Lycians would find useful - winter economics, maybe, or how many persimmons the cook should buy for Saints' Day.
How exciting.
The walk back was long, quiet, and cold, though the exercise warmed everything but her feet after a while; the air still stung her cheeks, and the woodsmoke smell of the city, the castle, made her nose twitch after the open air of the fields outside the walls. The guards at the gate greeted her; the stable yard echoed with shouts and the whinny of horses; heat rushed against her face at the kitchen entrance, rich with the scents of meat and fresh bread, and she lingered in the hallway to let her hands and feet tingle back to life. Her stomach felt hollow and empty, and her cloak was suddenly too heavy, too wet. She took in a deep breath, blew on her fingers.
This wasn't so different from home. When she closed her eyes and filtered out the shouting, the orders snapped in the housekeeper's hard voice, Lyn could imagine she was leaning against the table at the doorway of her ger, listening to her mother hum while she made meat stew - her knife chopping, the metal spoon clanging on the lip of her iron pot. She remembered her father laughing about how lucky she was to be born the year after her mother decided to live on the plains with him, because back then she couldn't have boiled water without burning something down, and never mind concocting a savory stew.
"Lady Lyndis?"
The dark wood ceiling met her eyes when she opened them - and red hair at the corner of her eye. She lowered her hands and looked at him. "Kent. I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"N-no." He averted his eyes, twirling a pale yellow flower between his fingers by its long stem. It reminded her of the sun against his brown cloak, made faint and distant by the season. "Lord Hausen asked me to look for you--"
"Ah, I'm late, aren't I?" Lyn swept her bangs back, scratched her head. "Sorry."
"He wanted to cancel your lesson today," Kent said, moving aside to let a maid squeeze past them with a tray piled high with dirty dishes that rattled and clinked. He watched her sidestep into the kitchen, but his brown eyes slid sideways to meet Lyn's - and darted away again when she tilted her head. "Instead, he'd like you to meet him for lunch later, in the second-floor drawing room."
"I see.." Lyn let her hair fluff back over her forehead. He was dressed to go out, in a heavy wool cloak, huge leather boots - probably to look for her. "Well, um, thank you for letting me know." She stared at his hand, and the yellow camellia blooming from his fingertips and wondered: what did yellow mean? He said the red camellia meant 'love' in the language of flowers, Florina had said of the blossom Sain gave her. It's called the rose of winter in Etruria. The petals glowed in the light cast by the lamp on the wall above her head, tinged orange on the edges where firelight from the kitchen filtered into the hallway. How unlike Kent. Sain she could imagine toting flowers around to hand out, but Kent? Before Lyn could think better of asking, she said, "Did someone give that to you? I heard it's a tradition here on Saints' Day." He blinked at her, both eyebrows rising, and she pointed. "The flower."
Kent's face flushed red in the space of a breath. "No, no, it was-- it's..." He looked around, like he was expecting to find someone else to explain, and then, head dipped, his eyes hidden behind his bangs, he extended the flower.
Lyn's heart jolted against her ribs. The noise in the kitchen faded; all she could hear was her own heartbeat jumping in her throat. "U-um." Their fingers brushed when she took it. Heat rose from her throat to her face. "Thank you..."
Kent lifted his gaze, met her eyes, and it seemed her heart beat louder. "I should be going - it's almost time for drills." His cheeks were still rosy when he bowed and said, "Happy Saints' Day, Lady Lyndis," and stepped past her.
She held the flower to her chest and listened to the quick thump of his footsteps and the rattle of the door latch, her body vibrating in time with them. The flower trembled in her fingers. Red camellias climbed the wall outside, by the door, but she hadn't spotted any of the yellow variety within the castle walls. Its creamy petals were soft as silk when she ran her finger along their edges.
Thank you, Lyn whispered to the blossom. If only Kent had stayed to hear it.
.........................................
I'm sorry to say it doesn't fit any of the prompts exactly, but I hope it works anyway. It's been a really hard week for writing. Honestly, I wish I could have written something better. Sorry.
Artist: Amber Michelle //
myaruRecipient:
sacaePresent: Fanfic
Game: 7 - Blazing Sword
Words: 1386
...........................................................................
Caelin, Lyn learned at the close of the year, almost never got snow. There were years Araphen had almost been buried in white; Ostia was drenched in rain and landslides; Caelin lay at the center of a plain, surrounded by hills high enough to see a dusting of snow at midwinter, but the land around her capitol remained dry, defying her expectations every morning when she opened her curtains to see the sun rise. The junipers remained green, bore fruit, the camellias bloomed red, yellow, and white, while ice crackled in the grass and made a thin, mirror sheet over the water in the well she heard break every morning when the servants threw the first bucket down. You should see Pherae, someone told her - she couldn't remember who. Lord Elbert found a way to make the roses bloom all winter, just for his lady.
That would have been impossible on the plains. They were lucky to find fish when they cut through the ice over the river, and hunting game killed clansmen more often than not; there was always someone in the hunting party who didn't come back - men lost themselves in blizzards, died of frostbite, all for the prize of one rabbit, or maybe two. Who would think about flowers when her father, or brother, or uncle, left on a hunt he might never return from? Lyn told Florina the story that morning, while they sat on a cold rock at the top of her hill outside of Caelin-- it's hard to believe. Lycians have strange traditions. If someone did that for me, I... Of course, that was just as difficult to imagine. She couldn't remember what Florina said about it - only that the conversation turned to Sain, who had shown up at her bedroom door at dawn with a bright red flower to express his love. Just talking about it made her face color, and Lyn tried not to laugh.
I can't believe him. Florina's lip puffed, almost a pout. He says that to everything in a skirt. I heard he even gave one to Lucius.
Lyn snorted at the memory. The wind numbed her cheeks and the tip of her nose, her fingers. It snuck under the cuffs of her sleeves to raise goosebumps on her arms, swirled around her shoulders to lift her ponytail and make it dance and slap against her back. They'd come up to the hill together on Huey, but Florina left an hour before to start her rounds, and Lyn had stayed to listen to the sigh of the wind and the snap of dry, brown grass, where the air was clean and the only thing that burned was the pale yellow sun in a colorless sky. There were days sitting there reminded her of home - but home would be white and gray, the trees would be bare, and she would be hungry and cold, crouching close to a fire that was never quite enough to warm the entire ger, even when her parents were alive.
She sighed and slid off of the rock. The sun was almost three lengths above the white hills, which meant it was almost time to attend her grandfather and learn something Lycians would find useful - winter economics, maybe, or how many persimmons the cook should buy for Saints' Day.
How exciting.
The walk back was long, quiet, and cold, though the exercise warmed everything but her feet after a while; the air still stung her cheeks, and the woodsmoke smell of the city, the castle, made her nose twitch after the open air of the fields outside the walls. The guards at the gate greeted her; the stable yard echoed with shouts and the whinny of horses; heat rushed against her face at the kitchen entrance, rich with the scents of meat and fresh bread, and she lingered in the hallway to let her hands and feet tingle back to life. Her stomach felt hollow and empty, and her cloak was suddenly too heavy, too wet. She took in a deep breath, blew on her fingers.
This wasn't so different from home. When she closed her eyes and filtered out the shouting, the orders snapped in the housekeeper's hard voice, Lyn could imagine she was leaning against the table at the doorway of her ger, listening to her mother hum while she made meat stew - her knife chopping, the metal spoon clanging on the lip of her iron pot. She remembered her father laughing about how lucky she was to be born the year after her mother decided to live on the plains with him, because back then she couldn't have boiled water without burning something down, and never mind concocting a savory stew.
"Lady Lyndis?"
The dark wood ceiling met her eyes when she opened them - and red hair at the corner of her eye. She lowered her hands and looked at him. "Kent. I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"N-no." He averted his eyes, twirling a pale yellow flower between his fingers by its long stem. It reminded her of the sun against his brown cloak, made faint and distant by the season. "Lord Hausen asked me to look for you--"
"Ah, I'm late, aren't I?" Lyn swept her bangs back, scratched her head. "Sorry."
"He wanted to cancel your lesson today," Kent said, moving aside to let a maid squeeze past them with a tray piled high with dirty dishes that rattled and clinked. He watched her sidestep into the kitchen, but his brown eyes slid sideways to meet Lyn's - and darted away again when she tilted her head. "Instead, he'd like you to meet him for lunch later, in the second-floor drawing room."
"I see.." Lyn let her hair fluff back over her forehead. He was dressed to go out, in a heavy wool cloak, huge leather boots - probably to look for her. "Well, um, thank you for letting me know." She stared at his hand, and the yellow camellia blooming from his fingertips and wondered: what did yellow mean? He said the red camellia meant 'love' in the language of flowers, Florina had said of the blossom Sain gave her. It's called the rose of winter in Etruria. The petals glowed in the light cast by the lamp on the wall above her head, tinged orange on the edges where firelight from the kitchen filtered into the hallway. How unlike Kent. Sain she could imagine toting flowers around to hand out, but Kent? Before Lyn could think better of asking, she said, "Did someone give that to you? I heard it's a tradition here on Saints' Day." He blinked at her, both eyebrows rising, and she pointed. "The flower."
Kent's face flushed red in the space of a breath. "No, no, it was-- it's..." He looked around, like he was expecting to find someone else to explain, and then, head dipped, his eyes hidden behind his bangs, he extended the flower.
Lyn's heart jolted against her ribs. The noise in the kitchen faded; all she could hear was her own heartbeat jumping in her throat. "U-um." Their fingers brushed when she took it. Heat rose from her throat to her face. "Thank you..."
Kent lifted his gaze, met her eyes, and it seemed her heart beat louder. "I should be going - it's almost time for drills." His cheeks were still rosy when he bowed and said, "Happy Saints' Day, Lady Lyndis," and stepped past her.
She held the flower to her chest and listened to the quick thump of his footsteps and the rattle of the door latch, her body vibrating in time with them. The flower trembled in her fingers. Red camellias climbed the wall outside, by the door, but she hadn't spotted any of the yellow variety within the castle walls. Its creamy petals were soft as silk when she ran her finger along their edges.
Thank you, Lyn whispered to the blossom. If only Kent had stayed to hear it.
.........................................
I'm sorry to say it doesn't fit any of the prompts exactly, but I hope it works anyway. It's been a really hard week for writing. Honestly, I wish I could have written something better. Sorry.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-02-14 10:46 pm (UTC)["Lord Lundgren asked me to look for you--"]
Did you mean Hausen (Lyn's grandfather0? Since Lundgren should be, uh...dead. Or you might being Chancellor Reissmann, who also does things like that. :D
But God, this was insanely cute. I love how you put little details in things. Like the maid moving past them, and Kent being all Kent and and and. ;O;
I would marry you and offer to have your internet babies, but y'know, that kind of wouldn't work. SO INSTEAD, I THANK YOU FOR THIS MINI MASTERPIECE OF YOURS. GAH. I needed something like this today. ♥
no subject
Date: 2010-02-14 11:39 pm (UTC)WHOOPS. >_>;;;; Fixed. Although, if this were a Halloween exchange fic, Lundgren would totally work out. We should keep Zombiepocalypse in mind for later in the year.
Glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 09:39 pm (UTC)I love their actions and behaviors together, the noted expressions like Kent's rising eyebrows in relation to her question and when she brushes her bangs back and and and---you write so well. ;n;
no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 03:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 06:02 am (UTC)