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runicloreThe Metalworker's Wife
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: November 12 - in back alleys (with allies)
Series: Fire Emblem 10
Character/Pairing: Micaiah, Pelleas
Rating: K
Words: 1512
Notes: all of the sudden I realized I don't remember any of Pelleas's dialogue. WHAT TIMING.
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measuringlife. You're probably going to get this in bits and pieces, but YAY FOR MAKING THE SENSES CHALLENGE and stuff~
This title makes me literary.
.............................................
After two hours of searching, Micaiah found Pelleas in the lower district, standing under a faded awning that had once been red and white, speaking with the woman who owned the stand. The tasseled ends twitched in the breeze, and the edge of his cloak flicked up, plain gray, and no hint of the deep blue he wore at the palace. She knew it was him because of the flash of blue hair she spotted beneath the hood and the slight hunch to his shoulders. The men and women walking past her in the market place held their heads high.
She ignored calls for her attention from the potter, the sharpener, the clothier, and approached him slowly. Knitting needles and spoons made up the display, some carved from wood and others worked in brass, and there were a few finely-wrought hair pins and combs worked in swirls and filigree designs, and sticks with glass bead dangles. The woman motioned for his silence when Micaiah drew near, reaching for her purse. "How much for this one?" she asked, pointing to a three-prong comb with a butterfly at the top.
Pelleas straightened, his hand going to the clasp of his cloak. "Micaiah--?"
She put a finger to her lips. His mouth closed.
The vendor reached for the comb and held it on her palm, holding it out for inspection. The wings were decorated with stained, cracked glass. "One hundred gold," she said. "It's work you won't find 'round here anymore."
"A steep price," Micaiah said, taking the comb. In her peripheral vision she saw him shift closer to her, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Who made it? It's beautiful." She didn't recognize the name the woman gave her, but Pelleas did, and that was enough. "I think I'll take it."
"No, wait." Pelleas leaned on the display table. "Don't sell it. I can help you now--"
"No." The vendor took the comb from her and wrapped it in brown paper, digging in a wooden box until she found some string. Lines creased her forehead, and her pale hair was pinned up with a plain wooden stick. "You have enough to spend those coffers of gold on. As long as there are goods to sell I'll be fine."
Micaiah took the package and handed over the money in a little brown pouch. She suspected the asking price wasn't that high, but that suited her fine - exchanging that much gold was as good as asking for trouble in this area of the city. The less it appeared the better. The patrols were jumpy and the citizens, though they walked proudly, were not above preying on each other now their common enemy was gone.
It was only a matter of time before they had another opponent. Daein was ripe for conflict. Maybe the money would help this woman migrate to a safer area.
She wove her way between the stands and hawkers and picked an inn down the street that looked clean and crowded, lingering outside until she was sure Pelleas saw her. The interior was dim, a haze of pipe smoke and tobacco smearing the hanging lamps, and the talk was loud. She shouted her order to the innkeep and chose a table in the front corner where she could see the front window and watch the street through letters painted messily on the glass, advertising mead, dark ale, and wine from Begnion.
Sothe had made some money from the supply of spirits in the keep, donated it to the new orphanage. She wanted to do the same, to donate some of the money given to them for company upkeep, but Izuka and Almedha, and even Tauroneo vetoed the idea as soon as it left her mouth. Think of your image, consider your safety, those funds are for weapons--
Pelleas was quiet. His eyes lit up at the idea, but they dimmed during the discussion afterward.
A serving girl brought her order: an earthenware pot and two cups. The tea they served at places like this was really the dregs, under-roasted or over-cooked, steeped in water too hot, but she'd been drinking it so long the finer varieties at the castle were too sweet. The flavored ones were especially bad, and the blend with chocolate made her want to gag. They sipped it politely at the coronation banquet, but she saw Sothe lean back and pour his into the potted plant, and Eddie didn't bother to touch his. Only Jill seemed to like it; there were strong memories in that cup, so strong Micaiah could almost see them without trying.
Pelleas came in after what seemed like forever. The tea was still steaming when he found her table, and she poured a cup for him without asking.
"Your mother went out of her mind when she couldn't find you," Micaiah said, lifting her cup. "I told her I'd look for you. Sothe should be by when he's finished searching the other district."
He kept his hood up, leaning his elbows on the table. "There was something I had to do."
The rest of her order came - half a dry salame and a chunk of herbed bread - and she picked up the knife. For once he didn't apologize. He always did when she scolded him. Not like Sothe, who would hunch and roll his eyes to the side when he was younger, maybe dig at the floor with the tip of his boot or do something annoying with his hands. Sometimes she expected Pelleas to resort to childish gestures like that; he did when Almedha was there, hovering at his shoulder.
"I wouldn't worry," Micaiah said. She nicked a nail and snatched her hand back. "She'll be fine. It was you I worried about."
Pelleas pushed a hand into his hair, tucked it back. It fell forward again immediately. "I'm a better thief than I am a king."
--can't let her leave, no one will be left.
Micaiah frowned at her uneven slices. "I forgot you grew up here."
It was too loud to hear more. The tables were full, there were people waiting by the door - she heard what they didn't say, their thoughts and feelings, but it was all jumbled up like their voices. Pelleas was barely audible. He was like a whisper under the best circumstances. Where did he learn to close himself off so cleanly? Was it the spirit mark?
She gave him half of what she cut, pushing it to his side of the wooden serving board, and remembered how awkward he was at the banquet table, hesitating to pick a utensil until his mother leaned slightly and told him which was the correct choice. He stumbled over his words when he spoke to the nobles. They smiled, and lied, and he looked uncomfortable - she assumed Pelleas wasn't sure what to do with their attention, but now she wondered if he saw their duplicity like she did.
Idiots didn't survive on the streets. The got their throats cut and their pockets rifled, no questions asked. She'd found children that way before. Many times she feared she'd find Sothe face-down in a puddle somewhere when he didn't come back at night.
"Pelleas--"
"Can I--"
"Go on."
Pelleas twisted his fingers together. "The comb. Can I have it back?" His bones whitened under the skin and he looked up. "I'll pay you for it--"
"No." Micaiah cut a piece of bread from the loaf, sliced it lengthwise and stuffed her salami in. "Why don't we have Sothe slip it into her room later tonight?"
He froze in the middle of a protest, mouth half-open. "Uh--" His teeth snapped shut. "But your money. It's... it's a lot to throw away."
She shrugged. Money was a renewable resource. There were always people who wanted to know their future - even if they were only looking as far as the next week, or whether a coveted dress would still be in the shop at so-and-so date. Of all the ridiculous questions-- "Who is she?"
Pelleas finally went to his tea, tipping it back and gulping half the cup. She'd given it to him to stare at, and he did that too. "Tarya, the metalworker's wife." He took the bread she offered him and folded it open. "They took care of some of us when the orphanage closed, but he died in the war. She taught me how to read."
"The comb was special, wasn't it." He nodded - of course it was, it was too beautiful to sell on the street - and Micaiah smiled. "Then it's not a waste. Now eat, or I'll have spent the silver for nothing."
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: November 12 - in back alleys (with allies)
Series: Fire Emblem 10
Character/Pairing: Micaiah, Pelleas
Rating: K
Words: 1512
Notes: all of the sudden I realized I don't remember any of Pelleas's dialogue. WHAT TIMING.
For
measuringlife. You're probably going to get this in bits and pieces, but YAY FOR MAKING THE SENSES CHALLENGE and stuff~This title makes me literary.
.............................................
After two hours of searching, Micaiah found Pelleas in the lower district, standing under a faded awning that had once been red and white, speaking with the woman who owned the stand. The tasseled ends twitched in the breeze, and the edge of his cloak flicked up, plain gray, and no hint of the deep blue he wore at the palace. She knew it was him because of the flash of blue hair she spotted beneath the hood and the slight hunch to his shoulders. The men and women walking past her in the market place held their heads high.
She ignored calls for her attention from the potter, the sharpener, the clothier, and approached him slowly. Knitting needles and spoons made up the display, some carved from wood and others worked in brass, and there were a few finely-wrought hair pins and combs worked in swirls and filigree designs, and sticks with glass bead dangles. The woman motioned for his silence when Micaiah drew near, reaching for her purse. "How much for this one?" she asked, pointing to a three-prong comb with a butterfly at the top.
Pelleas straightened, his hand going to the clasp of his cloak. "Micaiah--?"
She put a finger to her lips. His mouth closed.
The vendor reached for the comb and held it on her palm, holding it out for inspection. The wings were decorated with stained, cracked glass. "One hundred gold," she said. "It's work you won't find 'round here anymore."
"A steep price," Micaiah said, taking the comb. In her peripheral vision she saw him shift closer to her, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Who made it? It's beautiful." She didn't recognize the name the woman gave her, but Pelleas did, and that was enough. "I think I'll take it."
"No, wait." Pelleas leaned on the display table. "Don't sell it. I can help you now--"
"No." The vendor took the comb from her and wrapped it in brown paper, digging in a wooden box until she found some string. Lines creased her forehead, and her pale hair was pinned up with a plain wooden stick. "You have enough to spend those coffers of gold on. As long as there are goods to sell I'll be fine."
Micaiah took the package and handed over the money in a little brown pouch. She suspected the asking price wasn't that high, but that suited her fine - exchanging that much gold was as good as asking for trouble in this area of the city. The less it appeared the better. The patrols were jumpy and the citizens, though they walked proudly, were not above preying on each other now their common enemy was gone.
It was only a matter of time before they had another opponent. Daein was ripe for conflict. Maybe the money would help this woman migrate to a safer area.
She wove her way between the stands and hawkers and picked an inn down the street that looked clean and crowded, lingering outside until she was sure Pelleas saw her. The interior was dim, a haze of pipe smoke and tobacco smearing the hanging lamps, and the talk was loud. She shouted her order to the innkeep and chose a table in the front corner where she could see the front window and watch the street through letters painted messily on the glass, advertising mead, dark ale, and wine from Begnion.
Sothe had made some money from the supply of spirits in the keep, donated it to the new orphanage. She wanted to do the same, to donate some of the money given to them for company upkeep, but Izuka and Almedha, and even Tauroneo vetoed the idea as soon as it left her mouth. Think of your image, consider your safety, those funds are for weapons--
Pelleas was quiet. His eyes lit up at the idea, but they dimmed during the discussion afterward.
A serving girl brought her order: an earthenware pot and two cups. The tea they served at places like this was really the dregs, under-roasted or over-cooked, steeped in water too hot, but she'd been drinking it so long the finer varieties at the castle were too sweet. The flavored ones were especially bad, and the blend with chocolate made her want to gag. They sipped it politely at the coronation banquet, but she saw Sothe lean back and pour his into the potted plant, and Eddie didn't bother to touch his. Only Jill seemed to like it; there were strong memories in that cup, so strong Micaiah could almost see them without trying.
Pelleas came in after what seemed like forever. The tea was still steaming when he found her table, and she poured a cup for him without asking.
"Your mother went out of her mind when she couldn't find you," Micaiah said, lifting her cup. "I told her I'd look for you. Sothe should be by when he's finished searching the other district."
He kept his hood up, leaning his elbows on the table. "There was something I had to do."
The rest of her order came - half a dry salame and a chunk of herbed bread - and she picked up the knife. For once he didn't apologize. He always did when she scolded him. Not like Sothe, who would hunch and roll his eyes to the side when he was younger, maybe dig at the floor with the tip of his boot or do something annoying with his hands. Sometimes she expected Pelleas to resort to childish gestures like that; he did when Almedha was there, hovering at his shoulder.
"I wouldn't worry," Micaiah said. She nicked a nail and snatched her hand back. "She'll be fine. It was you I worried about."
Pelleas pushed a hand into his hair, tucked it back. It fell forward again immediately. "I'm a better thief than I am a king."
--can't let her leave, no one will be left.
Micaiah frowned at her uneven slices. "I forgot you grew up here."
It was too loud to hear more. The tables were full, there were people waiting by the door - she heard what they didn't say, their thoughts and feelings, but it was all jumbled up like their voices. Pelleas was barely audible. He was like a whisper under the best circumstances. Where did he learn to close himself off so cleanly? Was it the spirit mark?
She gave him half of what she cut, pushing it to his side of the wooden serving board, and remembered how awkward he was at the banquet table, hesitating to pick a utensil until his mother leaned slightly and told him which was the correct choice. He stumbled over his words when he spoke to the nobles. They smiled, and lied, and he looked uncomfortable - she assumed Pelleas wasn't sure what to do with their attention, but now she wondered if he saw their duplicity like she did.
Idiots didn't survive on the streets. The got their throats cut and their pockets rifled, no questions asked. She'd found children that way before. Many times she feared she'd find Sothe face-down in a puddle somewhere when he didn't come back at night.
"Pelleas--"
"Can I--"
"Go on."
Pelleas twisted his fingers together. "The comb. Can I have it back?" His bones whitened under the skin and he looked up. "I'll pay you for it--"
"No." Micaiah cut a piece of bread from the loaf, sliced it lengthwise and stuffed her salami in. "Why don't we have Sothe slip it into her room later tonight?"
He froze in the middle of a protest, mouth half-open. "Uh--" His teeth snapped shut. "But your money. It's... it's a lot to throw away."
She shrugged. Money was a renewable resource. There were always people who wanted to know their future - even if they were only looking as far as the next week, or whether a coveted dress would still be in the shop at so-and-so date. Of all the ridiculous questions-- "Who is she?"
Pelleas finally went to his tea, tipping it back and gulping half the cup. She'd given it to him to stare at, and he did that too. "Tarya, the metalworker's wife." He took the bread she offered him and folded it open. "They took care of some of us when the orphanage closed, but he died in the war. She taught me how to read."
"The comb was special, wasn't it." He nodded - of course it was, it was too beautiful to sell on the street - and Micaiah smiled. "Then it's not a waste. Now eat, or I'll have spent the silver for nothing."
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no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 02:36 pm (UTC)Fwee, today has been a good day for this pairing~ I just finally finished Tachycardia for Jordan~~
The title reminds me of a Decemberists song
OK ONTO THE REVIEW.
Pelleas really is naive like that. I can just see him lugging priceless treasures with thieves and pickpockets all around. For that reason I doubt he ever lived on the streets -- he's just too innocent and naive to have ever had to steal. He lacks the kind of cautiousness that Sothe and Soren have (a street thief would've seen through Izuka in an instant!)
I really love the details in the bar, and Pelleas' awkward, apologetic personality really shines through here.
...WIP you say? Multipart?! :DDD Eeee! ♥
Also, I got around to starting yours. ~500 words. It was supposed to be finished on the ninth, but this year just about all the entries are coming in late. Oh well, that way it won't be rushed.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 08:44 pm (UTC)Some of this is Micaiah's optimism, and it will change as this goes on. I agree with your assessment that Pelleas was the geek with his nose always stuck in a book, and I wanted to write something other than 'thief' there, but I couldn't think of anything. (I was on NyQuil by that time. :D) So I hoped it would pass for cynicism. Only Pelleas isn't really cynical, so minus one for me.
Yes, multi-part. ♥ It's really only Micaiah-observes-Pelleas in the planning stages, so I need to wait until inspiration strikes and I have situations that make an actual story.
I don't know how many times I've walked into a bookstore and come across a new novel titled 'The so-and-so's Daughter/Wife/etc.' It's ridiculous.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-13 10:31 pm (UTC)I think I'm in love with this paragraph:
She shrugged. Money was a renewable resource. There were always people who wanted to know their future - even if they were only looking as far as the next week, or whether a coveted dress would still be in the shop at so-and-so date. Of all the ridiculous questions--
She would. :D
They're so understated in this scene. ♥
no subject
Date: 2008-11-14 10:32 pm (UTC)I need to work up to the Micaiah/Pelleas love. XD
no subject
Date: 2008-11-14 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-14 10:33 pm (UTC)It surprises me he doesn't show up in fic more often. I kind of didn't like him at first, but he's such an angst magnet that I find it hard to believe he didn't fascinate more people.
But, my vision of fandom is somewhat skewed. XD