[Fire Emblem 10] Dragon's Blood
Sep. 2nd, 2009 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreDragon's Blood
Author: Amber Michelle //![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
myaru
Words: 1049
Gauntlet Theme: 23 - your darkness speaks and has eyes
Comment!fic prompt:
Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn, Ike/Soren, the blood of a dragon
..................................
Melior's sanctuary to Ashera was white marble like the rest of the city, polished to a glow with a substance that smelled like rancid beeswax, and it was empty when they arrived, though he doubted the queen used the chapel often - nothing but the smell of polish lingered, and the air sparkled with dust. Ike's footsteps and the snap of his cloak echoed, his shape dark against the pale walls and columns, made a shadow by sun spilling in through the windows behind a marble sculpture of the goddess two or three times larger than the both of them. Soren followed him to the altar set into her pedestal. A round, gold bowl sat on top, full of ash.
"How do we do this again?" Ike didn't bother to lower his voice.
Soren held his hand over the bowl. Charcoal hid beneath the white dome of ash, or so he was told; a metal plate flattened the top, and he felt its heat. "We use the incense the Apostle gave us and pray until it stops burning."
"And-- how long does that take?"
Soren pushed his hand into a pocket, felt for the size of the packet. "Half an hour. Maybe more." He thought Ike was staring at him, and wanted to say it wasn't his idea - they both knew he wouldn't waste the time when they could be marching. Soren doubted Ashera was listening, and even if she did, it was said she loathed war and its trappings. A prayer from a mercenary was laughable. "I could do without Begnion and its traditions too, but you agreed to work for her."
Ike emulated Soren's gesture, held his hand over the censer, and muttered something about not feeling a damned thing. "Let's not stay the half hour, and say we did."
Soren pulled the packet out and unfolded the oiled brown paper. "If that's what you want," he said. There was probably a tradition immortalized on paper somewhere in Begnion, buried beneath other traditions, that said an Apostle couldn't pray in an unconsecrated temple; Tanith had already told him the empress was forbidden from fighting without clear and present danger to her person - an inconvenient custom if the tome he saw her reading in Elincia's drawing room was what he thought it was. "We need to discuss deployment tactics with the knights anyway."
The incense had crumbled around the edges, and it would stain his fingers red with its powdery, sickly berry scent; it made him want to sneeze. He looked behind the altar, found a pair of golden tongs hidden on a shelf carved into the back. They chilled his fingertips, sunlight glinting on the flat blades at the end, which he used to lift a fragment of resin onto the metal plate. The rest, he closed his hand over. The paper crackled, triangle folds curling inward.
Someone he knew burned the same resin a long time ago. It took Soren several days to remember, when he was exposed to the scent for what he thought was the first time in Mainal Cathedral, why it brought images of heavy books to mind. Not just tomes, but codices with colored bindings, usually yellow, nearly tall enough to reach his thigh when stood on their ends by his feet. Only later, several days after he told Ike about the mark on his forehead, did Soren recall he himself was small in that memory, and the books were only slightly larger than average. The old man had no difficulty lifting them, moving them - throwing them.
He saw Ike's eyes narrow in his peripheral vision, a slight wrinkle on his nose giving away a desire to cover it, and Soren named the fruity scent, dragon's blood, and turned his gaze back to the altar. Spirits were drawn to incense, or so it was said, and this had burned on the sage's stove because he refused to spend the gold for more expensive varieties when food was costly and he begrudged Soren what little he ate.
As far as he knew, it never summoned a spirit. The old man had probably tried and failed many times. Perhaps he thought Soren had what he'd sought for himself, to no avail.
"Soren."
The powdery resin didn't burn, so it didn't smoulder, but it looked like a coal for a moment - like a flickering candle flame, or a glint of dawn through a sliver of a part between blackout curtains. It wasn't real blood, just a dried, dessicated globe of fruit prized for its dye and the strength of its olfactory appeal, and the fumes drove tiger laguz away, made their eyes burn and seared their noses. That knowledge had come to him by accident.
Ike twisted Soren's braids together and let them flop against his back. "It's been five minutes. Were you planning to stay the whole time?"
Soren closed his eyes, used the opportunity to turn his face away and break the spell. "It hasn't been three yet."
"How are you counting?" Ike looked at the altar, and of course he had no memory for the scent to conjure. "Anyway, if you want to smell like rotten apples, we can ride back home."
Rotten apples and wormy cores had better associations, at least. "As long as we establish a base pattern with Geoffrey, we can ride wherever you want," Soren said, turning around, braids hitting his back, both ends this time. If it were a real dragon's blood, perhaps it would summon more than a memory. "We could have been on our way to Daein right now."
"You know the Apostle needs to recover..."
Their shadows started long and diffuse across the floor and focused to columns of dark gray when he reached the other side and Ike pushed the heavy door open. The air wasn't as warm as the bright sunlight made it appear from inside, but it was fresh, and it didn't remind Soren of lightning and ozone. He was tired of hearing his own voice echoed back to him, and Ashera wasn't listening-- as far as he could tell.
That was nothing unusual.
........................................
I was pretty dissatisfied with this about halfway through, but since I started, I had to finish. It's not as "supernatural" as I intended.
.
Author: Amber Michelle //
myaruWords: 1049
Gauntlet Theme: 23 - your darkness speaks and has eyes
Comment!fic prompt:
Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn, Ike/Soren, the blood of a dragon
..................................
Melior's sanctuary to Ashera was white marble like the rest of the city, polished to a glow with a substance that smelled like rancid beeswax, and it was empty when they arrived, though he doubted the queen used the chapel often - nothing but the smell of polish lingered, and the air sparkled with dust. Ike's footsteps and the snap of his cloak echoed, his shape dark against the pale walls and columns, made a shadow by sun spilling in through the windows behind a marble sculpture of the goddess two or three times larger than the both of them. Soren followed him to the altar set into her pedestal. A round, gold bowl sat on top, full of ash.
"How do we do this again?" Ike didn't bother to lower his voice.
Soren held his hand over the bowl. Charcoal hid beneath the white dome of ash, or so he was told; a metal plate flattened the top, and he felt its heat. "We use the incense the Apostle gave us and pray until it stops burning."
"And-- how long does that take?"
Soren pushed his hand into a pocket, felt for the size of the packet. "Half an hour. Maybe more." He thought Ike was staring at him, and wanted to say it wasn't his idea - they both knew he wouldn't waste the time when they could be marching. Soren doubted Ashera was listening, and even if she did, it was said she loathed war and its trappings. A prayer from a mercenary was laughable. "I could do without Begnion and its traditions too, but you agreed to work for her."
Ike emulated Soren's gesture, held his hand over the censer, and muttered something about not feeling a damned thing. "Let's not stay the half hour, and say we did."
Soren pulled the packet out and unfolded the oiled brown paper. "If that's what you want," he said. There was probably a tradition immortalized on paper somewhere in Begnion, buried beneath other traditions, that said an Apostle couldn't pray in an unconsecrated temple; Tanith had already told him the empress was forbidden from fighting without clear and present danger to her person - an inconvenient custom if the tome he saw her reading in Elincia's drawing room was what he thought it was. "We need to discuss deployment tactics with the knights anyway."
The incense had crumbled around the edges, and it would stain his fingers red with its powdery, sickly berry scent; it made him want to sneeze. He looked behind the altar, found a pair of golden tongs hidden on a shelf carved into the back. They chilled his fingertips, sunlight glinting on the flat blades at the end, which he used to lift a fragment of resin onto the metal plate. The rest, he closed his hand over. The paper crackled, triangle folds curling inward.
Someone he knew burned the same resin a long time ago. It took Soren several days to remember, when he was exposed to the scent for what he thought was the first time in Mainal Cathedral, why it brought images of heavy books to mind. Not just tomes, but codices with colored bindings, usually yellow, nearly tall enough to reach his thigh when stood on their ends by his feet. Only later, several days after he told Ike about the mark on his forehead, did Soren recall he himself was small in that memory, and the books were only slightly larger than average. The old man had no difficulty lifting them, moving them - throwing them.
He saw Ike's eyes narrow in his peripheral vision, a slight wrinkle on his nose giving away a desire to cover it, and Soren named the fruity scent, dragon's blood, and turned his gaze back to the altar. Spirits were drawn to incense, or so it was said, and this had burned on the sage's stove because he refused to spend the gold for more expensive varieties when food was costly and he begrudged Soren what little he ate.
As far as he knew, it never summoned a spirit. The old man had probably tried and failed many times. Perhaps he thought Soren had what he'd sought for himself, to no avail.
"Soren."
The powdery resin didn't burn, so it didn't smoulder, but it looked like a coal for a moment - like a flickering candle flame, or a glint of dawn through a sliver of a part between blackout curtains. It wasn't real blood, just a dried, dessicated globe of fruit prized for its dye and the strength of its olfactory appeal, and the fumes drove tiger laguz away, made their eyes burn and seared their noses. That knowledge had come to him by accident.
Ike twisted Soren's braids together and let them flop against his back. "It's been five minutes. Were you planning to stay the whole time?"
Soren closed his eyes, used the opportunity to turn his face away and break the spell. "It hasn't been three yet."
"How are you counting?" Ike looked at the altar, and of course he had no memory for the scent to conjure. "Anyway, if you want to smell like rotten apples, we can ride back home."
Rotten apples and wormy cores had better associations, at least. "As long as we establish a base pattern with Geoffrey, we can ride wherever you want," Soren said, turning around, braids hitting his back, both ends this time. If it were a real dragon's blood, perhaps it would summon more than a memory. "We could have been on our way to Daein right now."
"You know the Apostle needs to recover..."
Their shadows started long and diffuse across the floor and focused to columns of dark gray when he reached the other side and Ike pushed the heavy door open. The air wasn't as warm as the bright sunlight made it appear from inside, but it was fresh, and it didn't remind Soren of lightning and ozone. He was tired of hearing his own voice echoed back to him, and Ashera wasn't listening-- as far as he could tell.
That was nothing unusual.
........................................
I was pretty dissatisfied with this about halfway through, but since I started, I had to finish. It's not as "supernatural" as I intended.
.
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no subject
Date: 2009-09-03 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-03 10:35 pm (UTC)Atheism doesn't seem to come up much in Tellius verse. I'm surprised it didn't with all the other issues the game brings up, but they have a kind of concrete evidence in the form of staves, and things like spirits, which people actually make pacts with - as I assume most of the game's dark mages do. So there'd be no point in doubting Ashera's existence, so much as the claim she's merciful and all-knowing, etc. Also, supposedly she hates Branded. He has plenty of reasons to hate the goddess instead of disbelieving.
Anyway. I'm glad it brightened your day a bit? I'm sorry things didn't turn out so great over there. <3