[fic] FE8 - Risen
Title: Risen
Game: FE8
Character/Pairing: Seth/Eirika
Rating: G/K
Word count: 811
Author's Note: Comments and concrit greatly appreciated. Inspired by the Latin lyrics in Origa’s Inner Universe and this quote from Chapter 10 of Aurette’s fanfiction, The Occluded Soul, "…it was supposed to be done with love, my boy."
ETA May 29, 2011: the edited version can now be found at ff.n
Prompt: Seth/Eirika - a steady hand and a gentle heart
Seth stands apart, taking a moment to just watch, a rare moment as the battle continues to roar in his ears. The sheer intimacy of the moment shared between his charges and the fallen prince of Grado leaves him feeling an outsider. He stays close enough to go if needed though. This is war, and while his respect for them and their odd friendship is pleasant, he will not lose because of it.
It’s a pocket of quiet wrapped about by the abounding chaos of the Demon King’s rising monsters. Seth can see some of their new companions looking at the scene too as they finish each battle with a new monster.
Prince Lyon’s magic, in the end, is no match for the twin’s united front. The prince is almost done, and one good thrust or swing will take him down. It is Epharim’s lance that brings him to his knees, and it is Eirika who moves in for the kill. There is a surge of pride at seeing someone he’s taught excel at last. But his pride ebbs away and leaves behind something else.
Seth has seen battle before, seen many men’s lives come to a close. He’s seen life taken in greed, in anger, for the sake of a loved one who’s life was in the balance or had already been lost. But he’s never seen a life taken in love.
And that’s what it is. It is with a steady hand and gentle heart that she swings down the blade that brings Lyon’s life to an end.
It is done with love, and he stands in awe.
This is a woman. She wields justice in sword, and the other holds her own slick heart. This is not the young girl he saw long ago, this is the spark he couldn’t see blown to full flame.
This is wonder, this is awe, this just might be love.
But the world rushes back to him. He is a knight, and not even generals marry princesses; he’s seen how this plays out and he must do something -
He is certain that one day he will not be able to hide these things, and that he will at last see if he is of the same mold as Carlyle and Lyon. But until then, he continues to set these feelings aside and places them within a circle of steel and iron.
(the flight from Castle Renais, her body tight in his arms and the world before them; her eyes on his skin, the scar; watching her body move just so as he taught her the nuances of the sword; and, of course, her milky eyes and the sight of her childhood dreams of love dying at his remonstration)
He had thought he’d wiped any and all affection from her, save for the traditional bonds of vassal and lord. Apparently he hasn’t, because once more she is asking him to help her with her sword work.
“Your Highness…”
“Whatever is the problem? It’s hardly practical for me to let all my hard-earned work go to waste, and it would be unbecoming of me to fence with the others.”
“Surely one of the other knights, although certainly not a squire…”
“Ridiculous. Even I have some pride, General; if I could fight through a war, am I not deserving of being able to match blades with you once?”
They’ve never sparred together. Always had she feigned at the air, at bushes and trees. It had been a new experience learning how to shape her body without touching it. He’d been glad for the distance though.
He’s not certain what possesses him to accept, perhaps it’s her insistence, he’s never been very good at denying her anything, or perhaps it’s her calling him General. He’s grown very weary of trying to hide things and put them away, and trying very hard, but failing, to forget.
And somehow he is so distracted, not only does her rapier point to his throat, his own blade is kicked across the field. He tastes defeat and shame, bitter.
He manages to make his niceties; congratulate the Princess, take the ribbing of the soldiers, and to make his way back to his room without it looking like a retreat.
He doesn’t make it through the door though. He cannot make it through the threshold, and instead sinks to the floor, only the brick and mortal behind his back holding him up. He is slumped over with no armor to shield him. This is how she comes across him, her footsteps not rousing him like they should; he is too far gone within himself. She stops in front of him, and when he looks up, her hand is extended to him.
He takes it, and it is with a steady hand and gentle hand that she lifts him to his feet.
Game: FE8
Character/Pairing: Seth/Eirika
Rating: G/K
Word count: 811
Author's Note: Comments and concrit greatly appreciated. Inspired by the Latin lyrics in Origa’s Inner Universe and this quote from Chapter 10 of Aurette’s fanfiction, The Occluded Soul, "…it was supposed to be done with love, my boy."
ETA May 29, 2011: the edited version can now be found at ff.n
Prompt: Seth/Eirika - a steady hand and a gentle heart
Seth stands apart, taking a moment to just watch, a rare moment as the battle continues to roar in his ears. The sheer intimacy of the moment shared between his charges and the fallen prince of Grado leaves him feeling an outsider. He stays close enough to go if needed though. This is war, and while his respect for them and their odd friendship is pleasant, he will not lose because of it.
It’s a pocket of quiet wrapped about by the abounding chaos of the Demon King’s rising monsters. Seth can see some of their new companions looking at the scene too as they finish each battle with a new monster.
Prince Lyon’s magic, in the end, is no match for the twin’s united front. The prince is almost done, and one good thrust or swing will take him down. It is Epharim’s lance that brings him to his knees, and it is Eirika who moves in for the kill. There is a surge of pride at seeing someone he’s taught excel at last. But his pride ebbs away and leaves behind something else.
Seth has seen battle before, seen many men’s lives come to a close. He’s seen life taken in greed, in anger, for the sake of a loved one who’s life was in the balance or had already been lost. But he’s never seen a life taken in love.
And that’s what it is. It is with a steady hand and gentle heart that she swings down the blade that brings Lyon’s life to an end.
It is done with love, and he stands in awe.
This is a woman. She wields justice in sword, and the other holds her own slick heart. This is not the young girl he saw long ago, this is the spark he couldn’t see blown to full flame.
This is wonder, this is awe, this just might be love.
But the world rushes back to him. He is a knight, and not even generals marry princesses; he’s seen how this plays out and he must do something -
He is certain that one day he will not be able to hide these things, and that he will at last see if he is of the same mold as Carlyle and Lyon. But until then, he continues to set these feelings aside and places them within a circle of steel and iron.
(the flight from Castle Renais, her body tight in his arms and the world before them; her eyes on his skin, the scar; watching her body move just so as he taught her the nuances of the sword; and, of course, her milky eyes and the sight of her childhood dreams of love dying at his remonstration)
He had thought he’d wiped any and all affection from her, save for the traditional bonds of vassal and lord. Apparently he hasn’t, because once more she is asking him to help her with her sword work.
“Your Highness…”
“Whatever is the problem? It’s hardly practical for me to let all my hard-earned work go to waste, and it would be unbecoming of me to fence with the others.”
“Surely one of the other knights, although certainly not a squire…”
“Ridiculous. Even I have some pride, General; if I could fight through a war, am I not deserving of being able to match blades with you once?”
They’ve never sparred together. Always had she feigned at the air, at bushes and trees. It had been a new experience learning how to shape her body without touching it. He’d been glad for the distance though.
He’s not certain what possesses him to accept, perhaps it’s her insistence, he’s never been very good at denying her anything, or perhaps it’s her calling him General. He’s grown very weary of trying to hide things and put them away, and trying very hard, but failing, to forget.
And somehow he is so distracted, not only does her rapier point to his throat, his own blade is kicked across the field. He tastes defeat and shame, bitter.
He manages to make his niceties; congratulate the Princess, take the ribbing of the soldiers, and to make his way back to his room without it looking like a retreat.
He doesn’t make it through the door though. He cannot make it through the threshold, and instead sinks to the floor, only the brick and mortal behind his back holding him up. He is slumped over with no armor to shield him. This is how she comes across him, her footsteps not rousing him like they should; he is too far gone within himself. She stops in front of him, and when he looks up, her hand is extended to him.
He takes it, and it is with a steady hand and gentle hand that she lifts him to his feet.