[July 14] [Fire Emblem 6] Live to Serve
Jul. 12th, 2009 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreLive to Serve
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: 14 - forever was so many different things
Gauntlet Theme: 10 - within me my heart chars
Series: Fire Emblem 6: Sword of Seals
Character/Pairing: Percival/Mildain
Rating: K
Words: 1480
Warnings: lack of creativity?
Notes: post-game.
.............................................
When they were young, the prince perhaps fifteen, and Percival only a year older, he made a promise that ended with the word forever, one he was foolish to utter when his oaths as knight and general served to confirm his loyalty to the crown. A knight gives, his mentor told him, and never receives. He remembered Mildain's hand on his cheek, that it smelled like ink; he remembered lifting his face to see the halo of the prince's hair lit by many candles around the drawing room, a clutch of curls spilling over one shoulder, and the sound of the fire snapping behind the grate, of wood crumbling to red embers and gray ash, releasing its cedar scent.
Mildain leaned down to kiss his forehead. Percival remembered him as he was now, after the war with Bern, but in truth his expressions weren't as schooled or subdued. He knew the pale face clouded, and perhaps the prince's brows contracted - because he remembered wondering if he went too far in making his oath to the person, rather than the throne.
Life would be easier if he'd achieved the impossible and minded his manners, remained distant.
"I should appoint someone to read the mail for me," his prince said. They were in a different drawing room, the decor green instead of red, the walls a light cream hand-painted with an endless pattern of vines, and Mildain reclined in a chair at a small, round table to the left of the window. Perfumed envelopes and small rectangles of colored paper layered the surface like scales, scattered where they were thrown. "I'd forgotten how much these people like to talk."
Percival remained facing the window and his own reflection in the glass, though he watched the shape of the prince, what he could see of it before the brocade covering blocked him from view. The group from the isle had always seemed noisy - lively the prince corrected him more than once - but most of them likely couldn't read, much less write, and the Etrurian nobility had collectively mastered the art of yammering in one's ear with ink and paper, the style of calligraphy, and a code of colors he'd ignored until the first blushing magenta invitation reached his liege's hands, adorned with gold ink and requesting a more intimate meeting than the usual dinner parties and dances.
"You need only say the word," Percival said. He groped behind the green brocade for a cord, and used it to pull a thinner, shimmering white curtain over the window. "I have nothing better to do while you hear audience."
"Nothing will ever reach me if it must pass through your hands first."
He left the window, crossed his arms over the high back of the chair opposite his prince. "I live to serve."
Mildain's face turned slightly away, but his eyes remained forward, the flame of the table lamp dancing across his gaze. His hair was tied back, and disappeared behind him to peek from the cushion behind his crossed legs, where the tail of gold dangled over the edge. "A certain marquess requests our presence for an observance of the vernal equinox," he said, flipping the card between his fingers to show the handwriting. "His daughter is abroad in Lycia, so we may discuss matters pertaining to Etruria's immediate future without fanfare."
Percival looked at the scrawl of black ink, wondered if it should be called elegant. Reglay wasn't often the subject of such compliments, nor was his daughter. "You are considering it, then."
His prince withdrew, turning the card and laying it on the table. "Unless you would have me marry Cecilia."
"Clever." He thought of snatching the card and tossing it into the flames. "She would favor that course of action, no doubt."
Mildain slouched in his chair, fingers hanging over the edge of the table. Another basket of envelopes still waited. He did not spare it a glance, nor did he do Percival the honor. "The Houses eye me like vultures do meat. I appreciate the irony, but I can't sidestep everyone. Best to make a choice now. Reglay will not take advantage of me - and should he die, Klein won't either."
Percival swallowed the sour taste on his tongue. He always frowned, and the prince teased him incessantly - but he couldn't excuse the downturn of his mouth this time, nor the feeling the rest of his face was betraying him, contorting out of his control. "You did say he should be your brother."
The prince flexed his fingers, chewing his lip for a second, maybe two. "Were you with me at the time? I don't remember."
"He told me. Blushed like a maiden when he did, too."
Percival watched his prince laugh, the sudden crinkle around his eyes and shaking of his shoulders before it subdued and his face reflected the light, and his eyes the lamp, nothing more. Whatever wood burned was too waxy, sharp in his nose, and he wished Aquleia were farther south so they might enjoy warmth at the beginning of spring and bid farewell to the lingering frost.
When Mildain looked at him, finally, the skin around his eyes tightening, Percival clenched his fingers on the back of the chair. "I don't care who you marry," he said before the prince did more than part his lips with the intent to speak.
"I thought you were sworn against lying."
"She will accept I am closer than your shadow, or cry and lament her lot - it is the lady's choice."
"Merciless." Mildain's hands slipped, fell into his lap. His pale robe creased, cast bronze by the mix of firelight and illumination from the lamp. "And if it is Klein's sister you insult?"
Percival uncurled his fingers and circled the table, approached the opposite chair to look down at his prince. "I pose no threat to her supremacy."
In shadow, deprived of the caress of light on his hair, his prince was small in the wide-cushioned chair, a slim figure in glowing white whose hands braced against Percival's arms when he leaned over the chair. "I'll repeat that to you later when your anger has cooled, and we'll see if you feel the same," Mildain said.
Percival turned his gaze away. The chair's arms were cushioned and wide, the hard edges biting his fingers. He could rip them from the frame if he wished, as he could break his frail prince should he lose all reason, or any woman who tried to drive a wedge between them. The thought of accompanying Mildain to Clarine's chambers night after night had his fingers clenching harder, and the wood creaked, but--
He swore to shadow his prince forever, be his shield - no matter where he walked, be it heaven or hell, the swirling sands of Nabata or the heart of Bern and a dragon's den. Forever. A daunting word. He would give and give, and someday he would not be allowed to take in kind. He knew it when he chose this path-- and yet he'd known nothing.
He straightened, and Mildain's hand flew from his elbow to his high collar, grabbed the fabric and yanked. "I didn't give you permission to move."
Percival's eyebrows lifted, and he looked down.
"On your knees."
The rug was a finger thick, the weaving soft, cream and brown and the glitter of gold; he hardly felt the impact. "My mistake, your majesty."
"Insolent even in obedience." Mildain straightened, leaning forward to push his fingers through Percival's hair, hands meeting at the back of his head as if to draw him inward. "You swore to follow my every command, no matter how inane or morally objectionable. Is that right?"
Percival's scalp tingled where his nails grazed. "That is correct."
"In the future," Mildain said, stroking his fingers through the short hair near Percival's nape, fanning it back and forth, "I will call on you to keep that oath often."
He took a deep breath; his chest felt tight, every muscle constricting. "That's why I made the promise."
"Forever."
He lowered his gaze to the safer territory of the prince's plain silk robe, and the ends of his golden hair curling across the trim. "I will die before I break it."
"No dying." Mildain's hands relaxed on his shoulders, warm weights through his wool coat. Like mirrors, his eyes seemed to reflect light. His ponytail slithered across the cushion when he leaned downward. "Consider it forbidden."
Percival would reverse the laws of nature if the prince demanded it; he even had the means if he were mad enough to pursue them. Death meant nothing. "I live to serve."
.................................................
Haha, lame ending, but I ran out of steam near the end. No planning took place in the making of this fic, so I had no idea how to tie it up.
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: 14 - forever was so many different things
Gauntlet Theme: 10 - within me my heart chars
Series: Fire Emblem 6: Sword of Seals
Character/Pairing: Percival/Mildain
Rating: K
Words: 1480
Warnings: lack of creativity?
Notes: post-game.
.............................................
When they were young, the prince perhaps fifteen, and Percival only a year older, he made a promise that ended with the word forever, one he was foolish to utter when his oaths as knight and general served to confirm his loyalty to the crown. A knight gives, his mentor told him, and never receives. He remembered Mildain's hand on his cheek, that it smelled like ink; he remembered lifting his face to see the halo of the prince's hair lit by many candles around the drawing room, a clutch of curls spilling over one shoulder, and the sound of the fire snapping behind the grate, of wood crumbling to red embers and gray ash, releasing its cedar scent.
Mildain leaned down to kiss his forehead. Percival remembered him as he was now, after the war with Bern, but in truth his expressions weren't as schooled or subdued. He knew the pale face clouded, and perhaps the prince's brows contracted - because he remembered wondering if he went too far in making his oath to the person, rather than the throne.
Life would be easier if he'd achieved the impossible and minded his manners, remained distant.
"I should appoint someone to read the mail for me," his prince said. They were in a different drawing room, the decor green instead of red, the walls a light cream hand-painted with an endless pattern of vines, and Mildain reclined in a chair at a small, round table to the left of the window. Perfumed envelopes and small rectangles of colored paper layered the surface like scales, scattered where they were thrown. "I'd forgotten how much these people like to talk."
Percival remained facing the window and his own reflection in the glass, though he watched the shape of the prince, what he could see of it before the brocade covering blocked him from view. The group from the isle had always seemed noisy - lively the prince corrected him more than once - but most of them likely couldn't read, much less write, and the Etrurian nobility had collectively mastered the art of yammering in one's ear with ink and paper, the style of calligraphy, and a code of colors he'd ignored until the first blushing magenta invitation reached his liege's hands, adorned with gold ink and requesting a more intimate meeting than the usual dinner parties and dances.
"You need only say the word," Percival said. He groped behind the green brocade for a cord, and used it to pull a thinner, shimmering white curtain over the window. "I have nothing better to do while you hear audience."
"Nothing will ever reach me if it must pass through your hands first."
He left the window, crossed his arms over the high back of the chair opposite his prince. "I live to serve."
Mildain's face turned slightly away, but his eyes remained forward, the flame of the table lamp dancing across his gaze. His hair was tied back, and disappeared behind him to peek from the cushion behind his crossed legs, where the tail of gold dangled over the edge. "A certain marquess requests our presence for an observance of the vernal equinox," he said, flipping the card between his fingers to show the handwriting. "His daughter is abroad in Lycia, so we may discuss matters pertaining to Etruria's immediate future without fanfare."
Percival looked at the scrawl of black ink, wondered if it should be called elegant. Reglay wasn't often the subject of such compliments, nor was his daughter. "You are considering it, then."
His prince withdrew, turning the card and laying it on the table. "Unless you would have me marry Cecilia."
"Clever." He thought of snatching the card and tossing it into the flames. "She would favor that course of action, no doubt."
Mildain slouched in his chair, fingers hanging over the edge of the table. Another basket of envelopes still waited. He did not spare it a glance, nor did he do Percival the honor. "The Houses eye me like vultures do meat. I appreciate the irony, but I can't sidestep everyone. Best to make a choice now. Reglay will not take advantage of me - and should he die, Klein won't either."
Percival swallowed the sour taste on his tongue. He always frowned, and the prince teased him incessantly - but he couldn't excuse the downturn of his mouth this time, nor the feeling the rest of his face was betraying him, contorting out of his control. "You did say he should be your brother."
The prince flexed his fingers, chewing his lip for a second, maybe two. "Were you with me at the time? I don't remember."
"He told me. Blushed like a maiden when he did, too."
Percival watched his prince laugh, the sudden crinkle around his eyes and shaking of his shoulders before it subdued and his face reflected the light, and his eyes the lamp, nothing more. Whatever wood burned was too waxy, sharp in his nose, and he wished Aquleia were farther south so they might enjoy warmth at the beginning of spring and bid farewell to the lingering frost.
When Mildain looked at him, finally, the skin around his eyes tightening, Percival clenched his fingers on the back of the chair. "I don't care who you marry," he said before the prince did more than part his lips with the intent to speak.
"I thought you were sworn against lying."
"She will accept I am closer than your shadow, or cry and lament her lot - it is the lady's choice."
"Merciless." Mildain's hands slipped, fell into his lap. His pale robe creased, cast bronze by the mix of firelight and illumination from the lamp. "And if it is Klein's sister you insult?"
Percival uncurled his fingers and circled the table, approached the opposite chair to look down at his prince. "I pose no threat to her supremacy."
In shadow, deprived of the caress of light on his hair, his prince was small in the wide-cushioned chair, a slim figure in glowing white whose hands braced against Percival's arms when he leaned over the chair. "I'll repeat that to you later when your anger has cooled, and we'll see if you feel the same," Mildain said.
Percival turned his gaze away. The chair's arms were cushioned and wide, the hard edges biting his fingers. He could rip them from the frame if he wished, as he could break his frail prince should he lose all reason, or any woman who tried to drive a wedge between them. The thought of accompanying Mildain to Clarine's chambers night after night had his fingers clenching harder, and the wood creaked, but--
He swore to shadow his prince forever, be his shield - no matter where he walked, be it heaven or hell, the swirling sands of Nabata or the heart of Bern and a dragon's den. Forever. A daunting word. He would give and give, and someday he would not be allowed to take in kind. He knew it when he chose this path-- and yet he'd known nothing.
He straightened, and Mildain's hand flew from his elbow to his high collar, grabbed the fabric and yanked. "I didn't give you permission to move."
Percival's eyebrows lifted, and he looked down.
"On your knees."
The rug was a finger thick, the weaving soft, cream and brown and the glitter of gold; he hardly felt the impact. "My mistake, your majesty."
"Insolent even in obedience." Mildain straightened, leaning forward to push his fingers through Percival's hair, hands meeting at the back of his head as if to draw him inward. "You swore to follow my every command, no matter how inane or morally objectionable. Is that right?"
Percival's scalp tingled where his nails grazed. "That is correct."
"In the future," Mildain said, stroking his fingers through the short hair near Percival's nape, fanning it back and forth, "I will call on you to keep that oath often."
He took a deep breath; his chest felt tight, every muscle constricting. "That's why I made the promise."
"Forever."
He lowered his gaze to the safer territory of the prince's plain silk robe, and the ends of his golden hair curling across the trim. "I will die before I break it."
"No dying." Mildain's hands relaxed on his shoulders, warm weights through his wool coat. Like mirrors, his eyes seemed to reflect light. His ponytail slithered across the cushion when he leaned downward. "Consider it forbidden."
Percival would reverse the laws of nature if the prince demanded it; he even had the means if he were mad enough to pursue them. Death meant nothing. "I live to serve."
.................................................
Haha, lame ending, but I ran out of steam near the end. No planning took place in the making of this fic, so I had no idea how to tie it up.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-07-13 07:53 am (UTC)But the ending was sexy and cute~ <3 I wonder what'll happen next? No doubt after begetting a heir Mildain will leave his future wife alone. I feel sorry for her, too.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-13 08:20 am (UTC)Thank you. XD I feel bad for all of them, especially Clarine, who gets screwed most in this situation - and not in the good way! But such is life~
no subject
Date: 2009-07-17 04:44 am (UTC)There were several lines I wanted to quote, but now I can't find them. Whoops.
...When Mildain went "Get on your knees" my thoughts went far beyond 'royal oaths' (Unless that's what they're calling it these days!)
Overall, very bittersweet :D Poor Clarine. Her husband has a gay lover! I still maintain that Mildain/Guinevere is where it's at. They'd have gorgeous children and both would probably be fine with the lovers arrangement. I bet Miledy and Percivel would have a pretty frosty relations XD probably on the "Barely civil/polite scale"
no subject
Date: 2009-07-17 05:13 am (UTC)Get on your knees" my thoughts went far beyond 'royal oaths'
WHICH IS WHERE MY MIND WENT. Even when I wrote it. If I wrote smut, I mean-- there you go. XD Percival spends a lot of time on his knees, surely! Swearing oaths, of course, and doing other knightly things.
I agree with you about Guinevere, but Clarine was a decent stopgap for the snip. This could become another collection like the Sephiran/Zelgius stuff, I guess, though epics are evil...
What, they'd hate each other because they hate each other's monarchs? Awww.
But they have so much in common! XD