[Fire Emblem 11] Curiosity (I)

[runiclore]

Untitled
Author: Myaru
Fandom: Shadow Dragon (and related games)

Prompt: curiosity (I)
Objective: "To practice using interior monologue juxtaposed with dialogue to show feelings."

I'm doing a whole series of these using various emotions and exercises as prompts. Most of them won't be posted, but I happened to like this one, so.


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It was raining again. Michalis propped his hip on the stone sill and watched it come down onto the gabled roof spreading beneath his window, a goblet of cider in his hand that used to be warm and was now merely not cold. Dregs of mace and clove settled into a dark cloud at the bottom. Sometimes a gust of wind would throw water at the glass, and in the quiet dark of his room it sounded like a hundred arrows coming down from the sky - like that saying, what was it; the gods might rain arrows or spears, but we will still prevail. Father's lips were the last to shape those words in Michalis's hearing.

What a grandiose declaration for him to make. A silly boy sat there to listen in his recollection, imagining they were true. What he imagined now, picking out the torches still burning under shelter in the rock garden, finding the remnants of the welcoming party in sodden garlands still hanging from the eaves and spears of asphodel wilting in their tall clay vases - he imagined the meaning of those words had changed, that the semantics of the word 'we' had become something a little less inclusive. I will prevail, he might say now, and may as well tack onto the end, and you, children, Michalis, Minerva, you will be the means to my end.

Minerva was still in the process of taming her dragon; she should have been out there right then, in the pen with it while the sky poured down on her head, to prove she was willing to share in its misery. And where was she now? Perhaps the formal dining hall - still - or heavens forbid, the Velvet Room? And with that man. That-- yes, that.

'That' was a good enough term for the ambassador.

He expected the rap of Maria's knuckles on his door when it came, but hardly heard it over the rain. She knocked like a bird, ate like a bird, flitted across his rug like a bird to join him at the window after she'd latched the door shut and left her candle on his desk. Already in her nightgown, her robe, and a shawl, she looked like a ghost when he flicked his gaze to their reflection in the glass. A tiny ghost, her head coming up only a few fingers higher than his elbow.

Maria wrapped her hands around his arm, rested her head against him. "How was the party?"

"Awful."

She made a pouty frown at his reflection. "But they made those creamy puff things, it can't have been that bad. At least it must've impressed the guests, right?"

Michalis drained his cup, spices and all, and winced. "I suppose they would have a taste for their own regional sweets. I wonder how much of our inheritance Father spent to perfect the recipe."

Maria stuck her tongue out, then tugged and pulled until he agreed to be led away from the window, to the much warmer corner occupied by his desk, a brazier, and a cushioned chair stolen from the library so she could plop down in a puff of skirts while he sat at his desk to study - or, that particular night, to stare at the brick wall. What did he look like, she wanted to know - was the ambassador one of the high nobles, the ones that all looked the same, or was he some nobody-- and she didn't let him answer that question once it was out of her mouth, but rushed on to drill him about the food. It smelled so good. What was it? There was lamb roast - she'd smelled that from her room. And there was boar, wasn't there? Something that smelled rich, she said, like pork belly or those soft, fatty fish from the south.

Two legs of lamb actually, and shoulder cuts, then the fattier delicacies. Candied apricots and thick, yellow lemon custard for dessert. She kicked the chair legs with her heels and grumbled that she wasn't allowed to go. Michalis told her it wasn't very interesting - which earned him a glare - and said Minerva had looked miserable, like she'd bitten into a fresh lemon. It was her job to talk to the Archanean. That was why he deigned to visit them, to take a look at their-- how did he phrase it when he whispered to that aide, what was it? Their assets. How asinine.

"Is Minerva still up? I went to talk to her, but nobody answered."

Michalis wished he could smell something other than hot metal. His clothes still smelled like he'd come out of a party - like charred meat, like wine. He wished he'd downed a bit more of the latter. "Father kept her behind while he talked to whats-his-name. She may still be with them."

Maria's brows scrunched together. "But why? Isn't that your responsibility?"

"Not tonight," he said, dropping his chin to his chest and starting to unbutton his coat. He wanted to be rid of it, even if that meant being cold. "I can't entertain a duke that way unless he has tastes we don't know about."

A pause. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it across the room. Maria picked at her robe and said, "Ew."

Yes, Michalis agreed. That about summed it up.


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