[Fire Emblem] Never to Taste
Nov. 23rd, 2008 04:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreNever to Taste
Author: Amber Michelle
Series: Fire Emblem 10
Character/Pairing: Pelleas/Micaiah
Rating: K
Words: 695
Notes: Also, inspired by #39: even while you're sick, at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_breathtakes when I was looking for something to inspire S/Z fic. Nothing much happens.
No Pelleas icon! Though I don't write about him enough to need one.
.............................................
Outside the moon was nearly touching the horizon, waxing full, and the clear dark of early morning reached in through the frosted panes of the window to touch Pelleas and wrap his bones in ice. Nothing warmed him anymore. He wore his heaviest cloak and a coat to sit at Micaiah's bedside in a wooden chair without cushioning. The edge bit into the bottom of his thighs and kept him awake. He'd stirred the fire, but there wasn't any fuel left to throw in, and he was afraid to open the door and ask for more.
He wasn't supposed to be in here. You're the king, Pelleas, you can do what you want-- yet her condition was his fault, and Sothe had an uncanny animal instinct when Micaiah was in trouble, or feeling unwell, and his eyes always found the source of her trouble. They were like emerald shards thrown to imbed themselves into Pelleas's arm. He scratched at the brand of the pact every night, dug his nails into the curled red lines, hoping to dig those shards out, pull the skin off, anything to rid himself of the evidence.
The blood pact was a clever thing. He could scratch himself bloody, and his arm was whole the next day, the skin soft, supple, and healthy.
Sweat glistened on Micaiah's brow, lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She was curled on her side with her knees drawn up, her hands curled in toward her chest. Was she dreaming? Feverish? She wasn't moving and it wasn't warm. It was too cold for her, in fact, but he couldn't call for another quilt.
Tauroneo's deep voice sounded outside in response to something Pelleas couldn't hear. The base of his spear scraped the stone floor, there was the tinkle of metal and the scuff of boots, and then silence. One of the Dawn Brigade. That was the most likely explanation. They took turns guarding Micaiah's door when Sothe gave in and went to sleep. It didn't happen often enough. Even sick, Micaiah was never available to him.
Pelleas stood up and leaned down to smooth her hair. She sighed and turned her cheek into his hand, twisting onto her back. The blankets twisted. He tried to right them. "I'm sorry," he whispered, resting his fingertips on her clammy forehead. "You spent all of your energy on me, and now I'm going to ask for more."
She didn't say anything. Of course she didn't. She was asleep. If they were lovers in a storybook she would have opened her eyes at the right moment, and he would have been caught in his confession. In a story it would have been one of love.
There was that, too, but he knew better than to say it aloud.
Pelleas unclasped his white cloak and swept it over his shoulders. Micaiah was so small; it covered her toe to shoulder and spread a hand breadth beyond when he draped it over the covers. She slowly uncurled as he watched, legs straightening out first, then her arms relaxing, and tension he hadn't noticed in her face melted away.
So he could do something for her, however minor. And now he would walk out, face whomever took Sothe's place at the door - better that than to face the thief himself - and he might go to his quarters and manage an hour or two of sleep for once, secure in the knowledge she was warm, at least. Warm, and shrouded in his cloak, though he wished it was his arm that warmed her, comforted her.
Even sick, Micaiah was beautiful. Her hair shined in the candlelight like spun silver and gold. The color had returned to her lips. If he kissed them, just once, no one would know--
No. Not that way.
Perhaps not ever.
Pelleas made himself turn his back on her and march to the door. Better never to taste her than to steal her in the night, like a thief.
Author: Amber Michelle
Series: Fire Emblem 10
Character/Pairing: Pelleas/Micaiah
Rating: K
Words: 695
Notes: Also, inspired by #39: even while you're sick, at
30_breathtakes when I was looking for something to inspire S/Z fic. Nothing much happens.No Pelleas icon! Though I don't write about him enough to need one.
.............................................
Outside the moon was nearly touching the horizon, waxing full, and the clear dark of early morning reached in through the frosted panes of the window to touch Pelleas and wrap his bones in ice. Nothing warmed him anymore. He wore his heaviest cloak and a coat to sit at Micaiah's bedside in a wooden chair without cushioning. The edge bit into the bottom of his thighs and kept him awake. He'd stirred the fire, but there wasn't any fuel left to throw in, and he was afraid to open the door and ask for more.
He wasn't supposed to be in here. You're the king, Pelleas, you can do what you want-- yet her condition was his fault, and Sothe had an uncanny animal instinct when Micaiah was in trouble, or feeling unwell, and his eyes always found the source of her trouble. They were like emerald shards thrown to imbed themselves into Pelleas's arm. He scratched at the brand of the pact every night, dug his nails into the curled red lines, hoping to dig those shards out, pull the skin off, anything to rid himself of the evidence.
The blood pact was a clever thing. He could scratch himself bloody, and his arm was whole the next day, the skin soft, supple, and healthy.
Sweat glistened on Micaiah's brow, lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She was curled on her side with her knees drawn up, her hands curled in toward her chest. Was she dreaming? Feverish? She wasn't moving and it wasn't warm. It was too cold for her, in fact, but he couldn't call for another quilt.
Tauroneo's deep voice sounded outside in response to something Pelleas couldn't hear. The base of his spear scraped the stone floor, there was the tinkle of metal and the scuff of boots, and then silence. One of the Dawn Brigade. That was the most likely explanation. They took turns guarding Micaiah's door when Sothe gave in and went to sleep. It didn't happen often enough. Even sick, Micaiah was never available to him.
Pelleas stood up and leaned down to smooth her hair. She sighed and turned her cheek into his hand, twisting onto her back. The blankets twisted. He tried to right them. "I'm sorry," he whispered, resting his fingertips on her clammy forehead. "You spent all of your energy on me, and now I'm going to ask for more."
She didn't say anything. Of course she didn't. She was asleep. If they were lovers in a storybook she would have opened her eyes at the right moment, and he would have been caught in his confession. In a story it would have been one of love.
There was that, too, but he knew better than to say it aloud.
Pelleas unclasped his white cloak and swept it over his shoulders. Micaiah was so small; it covered her toe to shoulder and spread a hand breadth beyond when he draped it over the covers. She slowly uncurled as he watched, legs straightening out first, then her arms relaxing, and tension he hadn't noticed in her face melted away.
So he could do something for her, however minor. And now he would walk out, face whomever took Sothe's place at the door - better that than to face the thief himself - and he might go to his quarters and manage an hour or two of sleep for once, secure in the knowledge she was warm, at least. Warm, and shrouded in his cloak, though he wished it was his arm that warmed her, comforted her.
Even sick, Micaiah was beautiful. Her hair shined in the candlelight like spun silver and gold. The color had returned to her lips. If he kissed them, just once, no one would know--
No. Not that way.
Perhaps not ever.
Pelleas made himself turn his back on her and march to the door. Better never to taste her than to steal her in the night, like a thief.
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no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 04:11 pm (UTC)Uh, I'm afraid I'll have to get to the other fics later, for I have to go--
oh wait, character discussion. Generally the things I find are:
1) people are more inclined to write a character they can at least identify with. This doesn't mean that every character is an exact reflection of the author's mind or that it should be. All I'm saying is that if you relate to a character then you'll write them better. If you're saucy and snarky then you'd probably have a better grasp on say, Reyson or Sanaki's sort of defiance. If you're introspective and quiet you might be able to pull off a Pelleas or Soren better.
2) that script~traipsing and playing with canon is a really good way to fix this. Oftentimes you don't have enough time to go through 127403789 hours of canon but if you can find the exact scene, support or just dig through a script dump then it's easier than replaying the entire game.
Also, memory fails at times. There's times when I've remembered scenes in like, a completely different light and looking back they didn't seem nearly as subtextual or relevant as I once thought them to be.
3) some characters you'll never get. Sometimes there will be ones that you can never get inside their head but the best way to write them as much as possible is:
1) practice
2) practice
3) practice.
And uh, I could swear that I had something else to say. Gotta run, though. (flee)
no subject
Date: 2008-11-24 08:07 pm (UTC)1) you'd think I'd write more Pelleas or Soren, because I'm probably more like them than any other characters in FE. (I wish I had the steel balls Sanaki does.) It's pathetic. But maybe that's exactly why I can't do it, or feel that way - too close. It would be too much like angst.
2) are there any complete scripts hanging around? The other link is very useful, but there's a big hole where part four should be.
3) poor Pelleas. I'm not sure I like him enough for that much practice. :D But I'll try for you~
no subject
Date: 2008-12-04 04:58 pm (UTC)Better never to taste her than to steal her in the night, like a thief.
Pelleas is too honest to make a good thief. D: yay Micaiah/Sothe!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-21 09:30 pm (UTC)Sothe would be subtle about getting them to guard her, I want to say, except that he's not really in the game. XD You'd think he would be, being a thief and all. After writing all of this, though, I wonder if Sothe/Micaiah clicks better for me, or if Pelleas is just not getting any love.
Thank you for your comment. <3