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runicloreSolitary Song
Author: Amber Michelle
Pairing: Lehran/Sanaki
Fandom: Fire Emblem 9-10
Theme: 9 - dash
Gauntlet theme: 25 - nothing is ever finished.
Words: 1738
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo. I'm not getting any money out of this, just satisfaction~
Notes: comments on interpretation of the theme at the end. This was a difficult one for me. But this finishes my 30 Kisses claim as far as I know, so yay for that. Spoilers, etc., this takes place about a year and a half post-RD, maybe two, and kinda sorta picks up after The Worst of Villains, but not really. The initial plan was to link them, but now I think I've changed my mind.
......................................................
When his empress was a child, Lehran counted her development in stages; an inch of height, or two, visits from the seamstress for new clothes, the loss of her baby teeth and the growth of new ones. She came of age with her first blood and started to grow her hair long, as her mother and grandmother must have done, and all the women of Altina's lineage-- perhaps even his own daughter, whom he never met. He used to wonder if Sanaki was anything like her. Certainly she resembled her ancestress in ways he never expected, for while Altina's features faded after only a few generations, her ghost was present when Sanaki laughed - when she glared, when she shouted, when she put her hands on her hips and looked down at him with a lofted eyebrow, asking what foolishness he was bothering her with now. Of course she wasn't going to kill him. Did he think so little of her affection?
No. He thought the world of her affection. When she called him a liar after his betrayal, when she accused him of counterfeiting love, her voice left a hollow behind that ate away at his chest like acid. He could hardly speak to defend himself.
But you know, Sanaki said while he was still on his knees in front of her chair the same day, sunlight glaring in through the windows behind her, I cannot leave you unpunished. Regret for your trespass is not enough. Not for the millions you tried to murder.
Who cared for the lives of faceless millions? It was enough that she smiled at him now without that bitter pause, that moment she caught herself, checked her surroundings, wondered if she would be seen bestowing such a simple gift to him.
Sanaki allowed a celebration for her sixteenth birthday, the first since the reconstruction began, and the peers of the realm showered her with gifts and party invitations as if the last two years were spent waiting for this moment with bated breath. Her sitting room was crowded with boxes wrapped in painted paper and tied with silk ribbons of every color. A deep bowl, the one she used to float flowers or candles, was full of envelopes and their clashing scents. Flowers crowded her vase in chaos, red roses, pale gardenias, chrysanthemum, carnation, azalea. Their perfume curled around him, drew him inside, and he wished he'd thought to bring one of his own - a lily, anything to make up for his otherwise empty hands. She met him with her arms bent back to finish lacing her ballgown, and rather than look at him directly, she stood in front of the glass doors that opened to her balcony and looked at his reflection in the dark glass.
"You aren't ready to go." Her gaze lingered on his robe - a simple one, gray and drab, unadorned.
"They won't want me there," he said, clasping his hands.
Idiot, she muttered, tying her laces, then knotting them again and yanking hard on the loops. "Your name is on my invitation - as always."
Lehran looked where she pointed, saw the gold-embossed card at her place on the table. He used to dine with her at that very same table; he poured her tea, sliced fruit, everything she commanded. His sharp sight traced the truth of what she said, his name beside hers, scrawled in gold ink. "How extravagant," he said. An offense, if only for the money wasted on the ink. He could have done better with plain black.
"I thought you would try to get out of it," Sanaki said, examining her nails. Someone had lacquered them dark pink, and they shined. "There are clothes waiting for you in my room, so get dressed."
This was new; he'd never been invited to a party with her, and they both knew it. His wings made dancing inconvenient, and his brand - traitor - had built a wall of silence around him more effective than the walls of a prison. Even if Begnion's peers had wanted to reacquaint themselves with him, they wouldn't have dared. Oliver had spoken of the same thing - an emptiness, one only Lehran was allowed to fill. Tea here and there, an unveiling of some new work of art for an audience of two.
He did as he was told, went to her chambers before she had to repeat herself and grew irritated with him. Lehran listened to her pace and rifle through envelopes while he dressed himself in long, voluminous trousers, a tight coat precisely tailored to fit around his wings. Gold trim glimmered in the light of her tiny bedside lamp whenever he moved. Even his shoes were adorned with gold, and he went out to tell her it was too much, a waste of the luxury. Sanaki circled around him in a whisper of silk skirts, brushing his wings with her fingertips, tugging at his coat, stopping in front of him to straighten a clasp.
"Consider it a birthday present," she said, finally meeting his eyes.
Lehran pried her fingers from the coat clasp, but only to kiss them and smooth his hand over her pale skin. She could almost meet his gaze eye to eye, height to height. The gown left her shoulders bare, showing off their shape; they'd lost their roundness. "That's terrible form," he said, his mouth dry and his eyes burning, "giving yourself a present."
Sanaki laughed, and he couldn't find the ghost behind her features this time, though he tried. "When there are so many I haven't opened, too." She looked over at a particularly large box on the sofa with a garish red ribbon and a card cut in the likeness of lace. "But I don't think they need to be unwrapped, do you? There is nothing I want that a nobleman could give me."
"Nothing?" He turned her hand over to examine the lines on her palm. Her fingers tried to curl in when he rubbed his thumb over her skin and felt dampness. Nerves? But why? "There is nothing you want? Nothing at all?"
Sanaki's hair was dark and straight, and did not lend itself to fanciful styles, but someone had pinned it up in a knot like a flower and curled the long, wispy ribbons of hair that escaped. He watched the shine of lamplight on her hair while she looked elsewhere, as she so often did when he was in the room. "Come, we'll be late." She pulled her hand free and turned.
Lehran caught her by the arm. "The invitation said seven. Your clock tells me it isn't even six."
Her head turned slightly; she might have looked at the mantle clock from the corner of her eye. "I suppose I misread."
Likely story. "I also have a gift for you," Lehran said, and wished he hadn't before the words had fully left his mouth.
"Something hidden up your sleeve, perhaps?"
"It isn't something one may purchase with money." Her red sleeve crinkled in his grip; he released her, and her shoulders relaxed. His own felt stiff and hunched, and ready to just out of his coat. "And perhaps it isn't worth very much," he said, wanting to pull at his collar and twisting his hands together to keep them still. "But I do not have much of worth, as it turns out. I cannot even offer myself with confidence."
He couldn't tell if Sanaki sighed, or if it was just the sound of her layers of skirts shifting when she faced him. The lamp gleamed in her golden eyes. "You shouldn't say things like that, Lehran." Her gaze wavered, and he thought she would look away again - but she didn't. "Didn't I tell you to stop lying? Self-depreciation will not be tolerated either."
He almost laughed, but his expression refused to be moved. Her discipline had stripped him of rank and riches, peerage, dignity, at least in the eyes of Begnion; the only thing she had not taken from him was the gift he had never given her-- or anyone else. Not since Altina. No law could take his voice away, though nature had done quite enough in that regard. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to sing even if he tried; his voice might scratch and break, he might forget the words, his knees might give out and lower him even further in her regard. A thousand poems crowded in his head, galdrar and folk songs, opera, histories. A real heron could have made flowers bloom and the fire shimmer with unearthly light, woven a world of dreams for her delight. Once Lehran could have done that too; captured her dreams, her heart.
"I will sing for you," he said, and it was hard to keep his voice from wavering. Ah, how he would sing - and falter, and break, like every other time since his own heart had left him. "Any song your heart desires. Ten." However long he must take to recreate that magic.
Her bold eyebrows drew together and for a moment she bit her lip. "You don't have to--"
"Only for you," Lehran said quickly. If she finished, he might let her refuse. "Sanaki."
Her fingers clasped together for a moment in a gesture reminiscent of her more timid peers. She replied as softly. "You said you would never sing again."
Lehran reached for her hands and clasped them together when he realized they were cold, held them to his chest. His child empress had disappeared when he wasn't looking; she was still young, so young, and delicate beneath the armor of her perfect make-up and elaborate hair, her long crimson sleeves and the dress that hugged her every curve. But her eyes still shined and wavered, gave her away as unsure, and her returning grip was tight.
He had given his voice freely to only one woman in all his life. It was time, he decided, to offer it again. "I changed my mind."
............................................................................................
You'd think "dash" would be easy. :/ Well, I had two interpretations in mind: one, the sense of being "dashed to pieces," in this case referring to broken trust. Secondly, as I was writing - I did this all on the fly, as usual - it seemed Lehran's decision to change his mind was something he jumped at to make up for being an idiot, but since he just rushed in with his offer, he didn't have time to think about what it meant to either of them. Whether I was successful in expressing this interpretation or not, I did try.
DONE WITH THE CHALLENGE. YAY. And stuff.
Author: Amber Michelle
Pairing: Lehran/Sanaki
Fandom: Fire Emblem 9-10
Theme: 9 - dash
Gauntlet theme: 25 - nothing is ever finished.
Words: 1738
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo. I'm not getting any money out of this, just satisfaction~
Notes: comments on interpretation of the theme at the end. This was a difficult one for me. But this finishes my 30 Kisses claim as far as I know, so yay for that. Spoilers, etc., this takes place about a year and a half post-RD, maybe two, and kinda sorta picks up after The Worst of Villains, but not really. The initial plan was to link them, but now I think I've changed my mind.
......................................................
When his empress was a child, Lehran counted her development in stages; an inch of height, or two, visits from the seamstress for new clothes, the loss of her baby teeth and the growth of new ones. She came of age with her first blood and started to grow her hair long, as her mother and grandmother must have done, and all the women of Altina's lineage-- perhaps even his own daughter, whom he never met. He used to wonder if Sanaki was anything like her. Certainly she resembled her ancestress in ways he never expected, for while Altina's features faded after only a few generations, her ghost was present when Sanaki laughed - when she glared, when she shouted, when she put her hands on her hips and looked down at him with a lofted eyebrow, asking what foolishness he was bothering her with now. Of course she wasn't going to kill him. Did he think so little of her affection?
No. He thought the world of her affection. When she called him a liar after his betrayal, when she accused him of counterfeiting love, her voice left a hollow behind that ate away at his chest like acid. He could hardly speak to defend himself.
But you know, Sanaki said while he was still on his knees in front of her chair the same day, sunlight glaring in through the windows behind her, I cannot leave you unpunished. Regret for your trespass is not enough. Not for the millions you tried to murder.
Who cared for the lives of faceless millions? It was enough that she smiled at him now without that bitter pause, that moment she caught herself, checked her surroundings, wondered if she would be seen bestowing such a simple gift to him.
Sanaki allowed a celebration for her sixteenth birthday, the first since the reconstruction began, and the peers of the realm showered her with gifts and party invitations as if the last two years were spent waiting for this moment with bated breath. Her sitting room was crowded with boxes wrapped in painted paper and tied with silk ribbons of every color. A deep bowl, the one she used to float flowers or candles, was full of envelopes and their clashing scents. Flowers crowded her vase in chaos, red roses, pale gardenias, chrysanthemum, carnation, azalea. Their perfume curled around him, drew him inside, and he wished he'd thought to bring one of his own - a lily, anything to make up for his otherwise empty hands. She met him with her arms bent back to finish lacing her ballgown, and rather than look at him directly, she stood in front of the glass doors that opened to her balcony and looked at his reflection in the dark glass.
"You aren't ready to go." Her gaze lingered on his robe - a simple one, gray and drab, unadorned.
"They won't want me there," he said, clasping his hands.
Idiot, she muttered, tying her laces, then knotting them again and yanking hard on the loops. "Your name is on my invitation - as always."
Lehran looked where she pointed, saw the gold-embossed card at her place on the table. He used to dine with her at that very same table; he poured her tea, sliced fruit, everything she commanded. His sharp sight traced the truth of what she said, his name beside hers, scrawled in gold ink. "How extravagant," he said. An offense, if only for the money wasted on the ink. He could have done better with plain black.
"I thought you would try to get out of it," Sanaki said, examining her nails. Someone had lacquered them dark pink, and they shined. "There are clothes waiting for you in my room, so get dressed."
This was new; he'd never been invited to a party with her, and they both knew it. His wings made dancing inconvenient, and his brand - traitor - had built a wall of silence around him more effective than the walls of a prison. Even if Begnion's peers had wanted to reacquaint themselves with him, they wouldn't have dared. Oliver had spoken of the same thing - an emptiness, one only Lehran was allowed to fill. Tea here and there, an unveiling of some new work of art for an audience of two.
He did as he was told, went to her chambers before she had to repeat herself and grew irritated with him. Lehran listened to her pace and rifle through envelopes while he dressed himself in long, voluminous trousers, a tight coat precisely tailored to fit around his wings. Gold trim glimmered in the light of her tiny bedside lamp whenever he moved. Even his shoes were adorned with gold, and he went out to tell her it was too much, a waste of the luxury. Sanaki circled around him in a whisper of silk skirts, brushing his wings with her fingertips, tugging at his coat, stopping in front of him to straighten a clasp.
"Consider it a birthday present," she said, finally meeting his eyes.
Lehran pried her fingers from the coat clasp, but only to kiss them and smooth his hand over her pale skin. She could almost meet his gaze eye to eye, height to height. The gown left her shoulders bare, showing off their shape; they'd lost their roundness. "That's terrible form," he said, his mouth dry and his eyes burning, "giving yourself a present."
Sanaki laughed, and he couldn't find the ghost behind her features this time, though he tried. "When there are so many I haven't opened, too." She looked over at a particularly large box on the sofa with a garish red ribbon and a card cut in the likeness of lace. "But I don't think they need to be unwrapped, do you? There is nothing I want that a nobleman could give me."
"Nothing?" He turned her hand over to examine the lines on her palm. Her fingers tried to curl in when he rubbed his thumb over her skin and felt dampness. Nerves? But why? "There is nothing you want? Nothing at all?"
Sanaki's hair was dark and straight, and did not lend itself to fanciful styles, but someone had pinned it up in a knot like a flower and curled the long, wispy ribbons of hair that escaped. He watched the shine of lamplight on her hair while she looked elsewhere, as she so often did when he was in the room. "Come, we'll be late." She pulled her hand free and turned.
Lehran caught her by the arm. "The invitation said seven. Your clock tells me it isn't even six."
Her head turned slightly; she might have looked at the mantle clock from the corner of her eye. "I suppose I misread."
Likely story. "I also have a gift for you," Lehran said, and wished he hadn't before the words had fully left his mouth.
"Something hidden up your sleeve, perhaps?"
"It isn't something one may purchase with money." Her red sleeve crinkled in his grip; he released her, and her shoulders relaxed. His own felt stiff and hunched, and ready to just out of his coat. "And perhaps it isn't worth very much," he said, wanting to pull at his collar and twisting his hands together to keep them still. "But I do not have much of worth, as it turns out. I cannot even offer myself with confidence."
He couldn't tell if Sanaki sighed, or if it was just the sound of her layers of skirts shifting when she faced him. The lamp gleamed in her golden eyes. "You shouldn't say things like that, Lehran." Her gaze wavered, and he thought she would look away again - but she didn't. "Didn't I tell you to stop lying? Self-depreciation will not be tolerated either."
He almost laughed, but his expression refused to be moved. Her discipline had stripped him of rank and riches, peerage, dignity, at least in the eyes of Begnion; the only thing she had not taken from him was the gift he had never given her-- or anyone else. Not since Altina. No law could take his voice away, though nature had done quite enough in that regard. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to sing even if he tried; his voice might scratch and break, he might forget the words, his knees might give out and lower him even further in her regard. A thousand poems crowded in his head, galdrar and folk songs, opera, histories. A real heron could have made flowers bloom and the fire shimmer with unearthly light, woven a world of dreams for her delight. Once Lehran could have done that too; captured her dreams, her heart.
"I will sing for you," he said, and it was hard to keep his voice from wavering. Ah, how he would sing - and falter, and break, like every other time since his own heart had left him. "Any song your heart desires. Ten." However long he must take to recreate that magic.
Her bold eyebrows drew together and for a moment she bit her lip. "You don't have to--"
"Only for you," Lehran said quickly. If she finished, he might let her refuse. "Sanaki."
Her fingers clasped together for a moment in a gesture reminiscent of her more timid peers. She replied as softly. "You said you would never sing again."
Lehran reached for her hands and clasped them together when he realized they were cold, held them to his chest. His child empress had disappeared when he wasn't looking; she was still young, so young, and delicate beneath the armor of her perfect make-up and elaborate hair, her long crimson sleeves and the dress that hugged her every curve. But her eyes still shined and wavered, gave her away as unsure, and her returning grip was tight.
He had given his voice freely to only one woman in all his life. It was time, he decided, to offer it again. "I changed my mind."
............................................................................................
You'd think "dash" would be easy. :/ Well, I had two interpretations in mind: one, the sense of being "dashed to pieces," in this case referring to broken trust. Secondly, as I was writing - I did this all on the fly, as usual - it seemed Lehran's decision to change his mind was something he jumped at to make up for being an idiot, but since he just rushed in with his offer, he didn't have time to think about what it meant to either of them. Whether I was successful in expressing this interpretation or not, I did try.
DONE WITH THE CHALLENGE. YAY. And stuff.