[Fire Emblem 6] Seaside Idyll
Aug. 26th, 2009 01:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreSeaside Idyll
By: Amber Michelle
Gauntlet theme: 9 - What is more arrogant than honesty?
Fandom: Fire Emblem 6: Sword of Seals
Characters: Percival, Mildain
Words: 1523
Warnings: it's kind of plotless, and slightly gay, but not really.
Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
measuringlife! Also for this challenge.
Lulz title. Actually, I... no, no complaining.
..........................................................
The imperial villa south of Aquleia must have been inspired by pastoral poetry, Percival thought when he'd first seen it, still a child following his master and pretending to guard the prince, though in reality it was Mildain extending his protection, his patronage, his favor - all with slim, pale hands that hid their strength well in a small, soft shape. Age only refined his beauty, and the whispered stories the queen's ghost haunting the image of her son grew more numerous. Even Percival heard them, when he strove to ignore everything whispered or tittered at court behind manicured hands and lacy folding fans.
Yes, the prince was beautiful. He didn't think it the work of a ghost or a curse. He didn't think Mildain's thick eyelashes or the soft shape of his lips would bring about misfortune, unless it might be visited upon the women who sought his attention.
The smell of baking seaweed curled over the villa like musky incense; one could see the pale line on the horizon where water met the sky from the garden wall. Fifteen rooms, a library, an expansive garden twice as wide as the house, and a private path cut into the bluffs leading to the beach, which Percival assigned guards to watch as soon as they arrived: two archers and a swordsman, and he stood at the gate while they took position, wished they had a wyvern or a pegasus to make rounds.
"Lord Douglas does the same thing," Mildain said from behind him. "Considering the difficulty of the climb, guarding the gate would be perfectly adequate."
Sometimes the prince did remind Percival of a ghost-- his ability to suddenly appear at one's side without a sound, for instance, and make a man's stomach jump into his throat. He turned, his arm draped atop the iron gate, and hoped he'd not paled. "A group of four or five, single file, could gain purchase on these rocks here and ambush the guards."
The prince met him at the gate, eyebrows raised, then leaned sideways to peer around the short brick columns for a glimpse of the outcropped rocks and a bank of sand to the wall. "Those are new," he said. His hands curled around the iron bars. Wind made his hair dance away from his back in a dozen curled strands, carrying sharp salt and the faint lily perfume of Mildain's soap. "When I was here last, it was sand, and the wall was clear. There must have been a storm."
Gulls made their ululating calls down below and swooped above their heads, shadows flitting over grass and flowers. Percival shrugged, angled his sword so it wouldn't bang on the gate when he turned to look down the flagstoned path at the wide windows and stone walls of the house. The tiled roof was a steep slope that stretched over the glass and provided shade, the beams clumped with climbing vines where they showed themselves underneath, danging ivy, sweetpea, and wisteria. "You should rest," he said, hands curling, twitching to take hold of the prince's golden hair and calm it so it wouldn't tangle. "The chamberlain said dinner won't be served until sundown. There's time."
Mildain let his hand slide from the bar. "You'll rest with me, won't you?" He straightened his blue doublet with two yanks to the hem, then gathered his hair with both hands and looked at Percival through the triangle space over his shoulder. "To remain at my beck and call, of course."
Of course. Percival followed him down the path and under the eaves, opened the door for him, felt a cool wash of air to his cheeks when they walked inside to be greeted by freshly cut roses arranged on the long dining room table. Windows lit the hallway on the west side to allow a view of the ocean and the flock of noisy birds alighting on the wall. He listened to the faint scuff of Mildain's softskin boots on the terracotta tiles until they were muffled again by a rug in the room he chose for himself - third door down, second from the end, where the hall turned. Percival had taken the corner, and would have gone there to remove his boots and change, but the prince grasped his arm and pulled him into his own chamber.
Glass doors in the eastern wall led to a courtyard between their rooms and the chambers on the other side, occupied by rose bushes and a wide, circular fountain dedicated to Saint Elimine, her figure tall and slender on a pedestal at the center, her hands outstretched to summon water while she smiled down at her reflection. One of their knights was stationed in the far corner, sitting on a squat wall with his sword and a whetstone out. The scrape echoed in the small space.
"I heard there's a revolt on the Western Isles," Mildain said, dropping onto the foot of his bed with little of his usual grace; he had to pull his hair from beneath his legs before he could lean down to remove his boots. "A small one, on Caledonia."
"Lord Douglas mentioned it." Percival crossed the room, drew the curtains almost closed. They tinted the light a dusty rose and tinged the prince's hair pink. "It has nothing to do with us at the moment."
"It might-- if it spreads."
"If the governor can't handle a minor insurgence, he doesn't deserve his post." Percival watched the prince squirm backward and sprawl on the coverlet, flinging his hair back so it streaked over the dark blue quilt. His armor chafed at every joint, heavy, stifling. It wasn't very warm, and yet he felt sweat bead the back of his neck, his scalp, while he stood by the curtain and listened to the slither of the whetstone outside. "What else can one expect from a prison colony? The people are ignorant, criminal..."
Mildain sighed heavily, muttered a probably as he twisted onto his back. "It would be the perfect time to test you, however, and I'm sure my father will do it, and leave me with Douglas."
Percival left the window, knelt at the bedside. His purple cape gathered in folds around his feet. "He is a fine guard."
"He's like a second father." Mildain reached, unsnapped the clasp, and the cape slipped from Percival's shoulders. He seemed to spend all of his energy on it, though it may have been the dimness that made the prince look tired. "It isn't a father I want right now. And if you acquit yourself well during this journey to the west, I think mine might take you to stand at his side like your mentor does."
Percival wasn't quite that good, but the prince would only tell him to be quiet if he protested. If his performance on this mythic trip to the Isles revealed anything notable, it would be weakness; he didn't know the land, he wasn't suited to fighting in mountainous areas, and he'd yet to lead more than twenty men at once. He was a knight-- and that, only just. "Our training would say otherwise, my prince." Mildain narrowed his eyes, and Percival stood up so he might sit on the edge of the bed and remove his boots. "We've taken our lessons together since my twelfth year. If your father wanted me to join his personal guard, I would have attended him instead."
Mildain didn't say anything while Percival unbuckled his boots, pulled them off, let them thump to the floor. His fingers tapped the sword belt, a rhythm reminiscent of a piece he'd played during their journey on a small harp. When Percival removed the sword and leaned to lay it across his cloak and roll them into a messy bundle, the rhythm stopped.
Douglas would scold such careless measures, but there was a guard outside-- and his prince would have a frown ready to torment him if he tried to leave, even to store his weapon.
"I've decided," Mildain said. He sat up, folded his arm over Percival's shoulder when he straightened, breath hot on the nape of his neck.
"On what?" He started to turn his head, stopped when he felt the jut of the prince's chin.
"My father grants me a boon every year on my birthday," Mildain said. His fingers stroked the hair over Percival's ears, the line of his jaw, the tendons of his throat. "I've had a difficult time composing a request."
Percival caught his other hand when it slipped around his waist and laced their fingers together. "You shouldn't waste such fortune on me," he said.
Mildain leaned on him, kissed the sensitive skin below his ear. "Don't be silly, Percival," he said, the tickle of his breath tingling all the way down Percival's spine to ignite his blood. "This is for me."
.
By: Amber Michelle
Gauntlet theme: 9 - What is more arrogant than honesty?
Fandom: Fire Emblem 6: Sword of Seals
Characters: Percival, Mildain
Words: 1523
Warnings: it's kind of plotless, and slightly gay, but not really.
Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY
measuringlife! Also for this challenge.Lulz title. Actually, I... no, no complaining.
..........................................................
The imperial villa south of Aquleia must have been inspired by pastoral poetry, Percival thought when he'd first seen it, still a child following his master and pretending to guard the prince, though in reality it was Mildain extending his protection, his patronage, his favor - all with slim, pale hands that hid their strength well in a small, soft shape. Age only refined his beauty, and the whispered stories the queen's ghost haunting the image of her son grew more numerous. Even Percival heard them, when he strove to ignore everything whispered or tittered at court behind manicured hands and lacy folding fans.
Yes, the prince was beautiful. He didn't think it the work of a ghost or a curse. He didn't think Mildain's thick eyelashes or the soft shape of his lips would bring about misfortune, unless it might be visited upon the women who sought his attention.
The smell of baking seaweed curled over the villa like musky incense; one could see the pale line on the horizon where water met the sky from the garden wall. Fifteen rooms, a library, an expansive garden twice as wide as the house, and a private path cut into the bluffs leading to the beach, which Percival assigned guards to watch as soon as they arrived: two archers and a swordsman, and he stood at the gate while they took position, wished they had a wyvern or a pegasus to make rounds.
"Lord Douglas does the same thing," Mildain said from behind him. "Considering the difficulty of the climb, guarding the gate would be perfectly adequate."
Sometimes the prince did remind Percival of a ghost-- his ability to suddenly appear at one's side without a sound, for instance, and make a man's stomach jump into his throat. He turned, his arm draped atop the iron gate, and hoped he'd not paled. "A group of four or five, single file, could gain purchase on these rocks here and ambush the guards."
The prince met him at the gate, eyebrows raised, then leaned sideways to peer around the short brick columns for a glimpse of the outcropped rocks and a bank of sand to the wall. "Those are new," he said. His hands curled around the iron bars. Wind made his hair dance away from his back in a dozen curled strands, carrying sharp salt and the faint lily perfume of Mildain's soap. "When I was here last, it was sand, and the wall was clear. There must have been a storm."
Gulls made their ululating calls down below and swooped above their heads, shadows flitting over grass and flowers. Percival shrugged, angled his sword so it wouldn't bang on the gate when he turned to look down the flagstoned path at the wide windows and stone walls of the house. The tiled roof was a steep slope that stretched over the glass and provided shade, the beams clumped with climbing vines where they showed themselves underneath, danging ivy, sweetpea, and wisteria. "You should rest," he said, hands curling, twitching to take hold of the prince's golden hair and calm it so it wouldn't tangle. "The chamberlain said dinner won't be served until sundown. There's time."
Mildain let his hand slide from the bar. "You'll rest with me, won't you?" He straightened his blue doublet with two yanks to the hem, then gathered his hair with both hands and looked at Percival through the triangle space over his shoulder. "To remain at my beck and call, of course."
Of course. Percival followed him down the path and under the eaves, opened the door for him, felt a cool wash of air to his cheeks when they walked inside to be greeted by freshly cut roses arranged on the long dining room table. Windows lit the hallway on the west side to allow a view of the ocean and the flock of noisy birds alighting on the wall. He listened to the faint scuff of Mildain's softskin boots on the terracotta tiles until they were muffled again by a rug in the room he chose for himself - third door down, second from the end, where the hall turned. Percival had taken the corner, and would have gone there to remove his boots and change, but the prince grasped his arm and pulled him into his own chamber.
Glass doors in the eastern wall led to a courtyard between their rooms and the chambers on the other side, occupied by rose bushes and a wide, circular fountain dedicated to Saint Elimine, her figure tall and slender on a pedestal at the center, her hands outstretched to summon water while she smiled down at her reflection. One of their knights was stationed in the far corner, sitting on a squat wall with his sword and a whetstone out. The scrape echoed in the small space.
"I heard there's a revolt on the Western Isles," Mildain said, dropping onto the foot of his bed with little of his usual grace; he had to pull his hair from beneath his legs before he could lean down to remove his boots. "A small one, on Caledonia."
"Lord Douglas mentioned it." Percival crossed the room, drew the curtains almost closed. They tinted the light a dusty rose and tinged the prince's hair pink. "It has nothing to do with us at the moment."
"It might-- if it spreads."
"If the governor can't handle a minor insurgence, he doesn't deserve his post." Percival watched the prince squirm backward and sprawl on the coverlet, flinging his hair back so it streaked over the dark blue quilt. His armor chafed at every joint, heavy, stifling. It wasn't very warm, and yet he felt sweat bead the back of his neck, his scalp, while he stood by the curtain and listened to the slither of the whetstone outside. "What else can one expect from a prison colony? The people are ignorant, criminal..."
Mildain sighed heavily, muttered a probably as he twisted onto his back. "It would be the perfect time to test you, however, and I'm sure my father will do it, and leave me with Douglas."
Percival left the window, knelt at the bedside. His purple cape gathered in folds around his feet. "He is a fine guard."
"He's like a second father." Mildain reached, unsnapped the clasp, and the cape slipped from Percival's shoulders. He seemed to spend all of his energy on it, though it may have been the dimness that made the prince look tired. "It isn't a father I want right now. And if you acquit yourself well during this journey to the west, I think mine might take you to stand at his side like your mentor does."
Percival wasn't quite that good, but the prince would only tell him to be quiet if he protested. If his performance on this mythic trip to the Isles revealed anything notable, it would be weakness; he didn't know the land, he wasn't suited to fighting in mountainous areas, and he'd yet to lead more than twenty men at once. He was a knight-- and that, only just. "Our training would say otherwise, my prince." Mildain narrowed his eyes, and Percival stood up so he might sit on the edge of the bed and remove his boots. "We've taken our lessons together since my twelfth year. If your father wanted me to join his personal guard, I would have attended him instead."
Mildain didn't say anything while Percival unbuckled his boots, pulled them off, let them thump to the floor. His fingers tapped the sword belt, a rhythm reminiscent of a piece he'd played during their journey on a small harp. When Percival removed the sword and leaned to lay it across his cloak and roll them into a messy bundle, the rhythm stopped.
Douglas would scold such careless measures, but there was a guard outside-- and his prince would have a frown ready to torment him if he tried to leave, even to store his weapon.
"I've decided," Mildain said. He sat up, folded his arm over Percival's shoulder when he straightened, breath hot on the nape of his neck.
"On what?" He started to turn his head, stopped when he felt the jut of the prince's chin.
"My father grants me a boon every year on my birthday," Mildain said. His fingers stroked the hair over Percival's ears, the line of his jaw, the tendons of his throat. "I've had a difficult time composing a request."
Percival caught his other hand when it slipped around his waist and laced their fingers together. "You shouldn't waste such fortune on me," he said.
Mildain leaned on him, kissed the sensitive skin below his ear. "Don't be silly, Percival," he said, the tickle of his breath tingling all the way down Percival's spine to ignite his blood. "This is for me."
.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-27 09:36 am (UTC)I like the view of this more spoiled, uncaring!Mildain who's all "Ewww, dirty ignorant peasants." It's an interesting contrast to revolutionary!Elphin. I've always had this theory that he'd be kinda haughty, maybe a little manipulative with his Etrurian days. You can't be the beloved golden prince and not get a little spoiled with all that devotion. Especially from Percival!
I think my favorite line (other than the end) is Mildain's flippant "so you can attend to me~". Oh Mildain. You planned this the whole time.
I can just see it now.
"I am going out to swim in the sea. In nothing. Percival will attend to watching me."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-27 10:05 am (UTC)keep him warmguard him afterward.It sounded to me like getting stuck on the Western Isles was a huge revelation for him - and a complete turnaround from what he used to be. The prince that declared Klein should be his brother is a completely different person from the one who decided to sacrifice his own safety to save a village. He seems so full of regret during the game. But a golden child such as he was supposed to be would probably be spoiled silly by attention, gifts, favors from his father, and it sounds like he has Percival wrapped around his pinky.
We need more arrogant, manipulative Mildain. XD