Fic: Pride's Coin (Fire Emblem: SS)
Title: Pride's Coin
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1k
Warnings: none
Beta: vyctori
Disclaimer: Do not own.
Summary: 30_ways fic, theme #18: Vanity
He hates vanity.
Many might consider him to be a hypocrite because of this, but he would disagree. It is not mere vanity that pushes him to meet Ephraim and surpass him. No, it is something much, much more.
But let us leave that dream for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.
When the prince of Frelia thinks of vanity, the faces of noble women come to mind, irritating harpies clawing at each other, crows pecking for status. In his mind, there is ambition and then there is this. In ambition there is pride. And, if he is to acknowledge the small part of him that still believes in the fabled tales of knights and true chivalry, there is also glory. In this vanity, there is only idiocy and foolish wastefulness.
They have gone through a war and now the vultures descend, ripping apart the carcasses for meat on which to feed their great vanity. His father fights these birds off, chases them away as far as they will flee. This is not enough, the heir to the throne knows. Someday, someday unfortunately soon, it will be his turn to stand above the carnage, chase the scavengers away and attempt to repair what is left.
But let us leave that nightmare for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.
Few things can make this great tactician, this battle-hardened sniper flinch. The thought that he would someday be wed to a woman who would age into one of those ghastly, vain harpies was a thought which never failed to bring on a bout of shuddering.
Early on in life, he had acknowledged the simple fact of his station, the truth that he would wed, that he would make certain there was an heir before the day of his death. Also early on in life, he put thought to who he would wed when the time came. Not as arrogant as he may seem, he knows he needs a wife who would support him, who would find putting on airs as irritating and pointless as he does. He knows that more than a pretty face and a child-bearing body are needed.
This seems to be more than many of his lords know.
But let us leave that irritation for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.
He has realized that vanity is one side to the coin of pride and he has realized that he is searching for the other. There in the pride in oneself, in one's accomplishments, yet there is also the pride in one's duty, in one's homeland.
In one's love.
In this flip of the coin, the prince of Frelia feels luckier by far than the prince of Jehanna.
While this may or may not be true in actuality, he often finds himself thinking thoughts which surprise him in regards to this topic. Thoughts along uncertain lines. Thoughts edging into confusion. Thoughts running about in muddled circles.
He hates vanity.
So why does he find himself wishing a certain someone would show an interest, however slight, into her appearance, simply so that he could intelligently compliment her on it? He finds himself wondering what to say to a woman, a woman of surpassing beauty and unconscious grace, a woman who believes kindness is her duty and loyalty her reason for living.
When he finds himself wanting to tell her in exacting detail everything about her which he feels is admirable and true and lovely, he also finds himself wondering if he should. If she would want to hear it or simply allow his uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality to pass.
He has thought he feels this way about her because, in addition to being loyal and dedicated and beautiful, there is a sense of humility to her. A sense of humility which refuses to be flattered away or confused into being something it was most definitely not.
This is the paradox. This is what we are here to discuss.
But can we, simple observers taking quick and fleeting glimpses into the heart and mind of this prince, this complex man in complex love, can we possibly define what he discovers he cannot?
For this man who despises the vain to wish his knight a shred of vanity seems truly hypocritical. Truly indeed.
Yet is it too much to wish that he might find it no great challenge to convince her of his admiration for her? That she might wear her hair differently so that he might compliment her and see her smile? That she might show an interest in a piece of jewelry in a shop window, a trinket he might leave at her door?
He is not a man often led into the land of confusion. More seldom still is the circumstance in which he is unable to lead himself back out.
In the time to come, he may realize what his manner of thinking has done to his perception of the world. He may not. Perhaps in time, he will realize that in dividing pride into its halves, foolish vanity and brilliant glory, pride truly has become the coin he believes to have been tossed. He has made himself unable to see the one in the presence of the other. He has not yet realized that even in his own metaphor, the downward face of pride's coin has not disappeared.
In the time to come, he may realize this. There is still ample opportunity for him to do so.
Though he may not, all the same.
Yet whether or not he does fails to have relevance on the truth that we, the mere observers, can see through mere glimpses and glances. For while he searches for the downwards facing side of the coin, he has yet to discover that it has been pressed into his palm. Not as a bribe, no, nothing so vulgar and untrue. It is a gift, a tribute, homage.
In the time to come, he may come to realize that the reason why she seems to have so little pride in herself is because all of her pride is in him.
He may not.
Still, let us hope.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1k
Warnings: none
Beta: vyctori
Disclaimer: Do not own.
Summary: 30_ways fic, theme #18: Vanity
He hates vanity.
Many might consider him to be a hypocrite because of this, but he would disagree. It is not mere vanity that pushes him to meet Ephraim and surpass him. No, it is something much, much more.
But let us leave that dream for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.
When the prince of Frelia thinks of vanity, the faces of noble women come to mind, irritating harpies clawing at each other, crows pecking for status. In his mind, there is ambition and then there is this. In ambition there is pride. And, if he is to acknowledge the small part of him that still believes in the fabled tales of knights and true chivalry, there is also glory. In this vanity, there is only idiocy and foolish wastefulness.
They have gone through a war and now the vultures descend, ripping apart the carcasses for meat on which to feed their great vanity. His father fights these birds off, chases them away as far as they will flee. This is not enough, the heir to the throne knows. Someday, someday unfortunately soon, it will be his turn to stand above the carnage, chase the scavengers away and attempt to repair what is left.
But let us leave that nightmare for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.
Few things can make this great tactician, this battle-hardened sniper flinch. The thought that he would someday be wed to a woman who would age into one of those ghastly, vain harpies was a thought which never failed to bring on a bout of shuddering.
Early on in life, he had acknowledged the simple fact of his station, the truth that he would wed, that he would make certain there was an heir before the day of his death. Also early on in life, he put thought to who he would wed when the time came. Not as arrogant as he may seem, he knows he needs a wife who would support him, who would find putting on airs as irritating and pointless as he does. He knows that more than a pretty face and a child-bearing body are needed.
This seems to be more than many of his lords know.
But let us leave that irritation for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.
He has realized that vanity is one side to the coin of pride and he has realized that he is searching for the other. There in the pride in oneself, in one's accomplishments, yet there is also the pride in one's duty, in one's homeland.
In one's love.
In this flip of the coin, the prince of Frelia feels luckier by far than the prince of Jehanna.
While this may or may not be true in actuality, he often finds himself thinking thoughts which surprise him in regards to this topic. Thoughts along uncertain lines. Thoughts edging into confusion. Thoughts running about in muddled circles.
He hates vanity.
So why does he find himself wishing a certain someone would show an interest, however slight, into her appearance, simply so that he could intelligently compliment her on it? He finds himself wondering what to say to a woman, a woman of surpassing beauty and unconscious grace, a woman who believes kindness is her duty and loyalty her reason for living.
When he finds himself wanting to tell her in exacting detail everything about her which he feels is admirable and true and lovely, he also finds himself wondering if he should. If she would want to hear it or simply allow his uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality to pass.
He has thought he feels this way about her because, in addition to being loyal and dedicated and beautiful, there is a sense of humility to her. A sense of humility which refuses to be flattered away or confused into being something it was most definitely not.
This is the paradox. This is what we are here to discuss.
But can we, simple observers taking quick and fleeting glimpses into the heart and mind of this prince, this complex man in complex love, can we possibly define what he discovers he cannot?
For this man who despises the vain to wish his knight a shred of vanity seems truly hypocritical. Truly indeed.
Yet is it too much to wish that he might find it no great challenge to convince her of his admiration for her? That she might wear her hair differently so that he might compliment her and see her smile? That she might show an interest in a piece of jewelry in a shop window, a trinket he might leave at her door?
He is not a man often led into the land of confusion. More seldom still is the circumstance in which he is unable to lead himself back out.
In the time to come, he may realize what his manner of thinking has done to his perception of the world. He may not. Perhaps in time, he will realize that in dividing pride into its halves, foolish vanity and brilliant glory, pride truly has become the coin he believes to have been tossed. He has made himself unable to see the one in the presence of the other. He has not yet realized that even in his own metaphor, the downward face of pride's coin has not disappeared.
In the time to come, he may realize this. There is still ample opportunity for him to do so.
Though he may not, all the same.
Yet whether or not he does fails to have relevance on the truth that we, the mere observers, can see through mere glimpses and glances. For while he searches for the downwards facing side of the coin, he has yet to discover that it has been pressed into his palm. Not as a bribe, no, nothing so vulgar and untrue. It is a gift, a tribute, homage.
In the time to come, he may come to realize that the reason why she seems to have so little pride in herself is because all of her pride is in him.
He may not.
Still, let us hope.