FIC: Ein bißchen Frieden [Izetta: the Last Witch, Finé x Izetta]
Title: Ein bißchen Frieden
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Izetta: the Last Witch
Warnings: None.
Characters & Relationships: Finé x Izetta
Summary: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. // 1839 words
Author’s Note: Written for rubylily in the 2018 Trick or Treat Exchange on AO3. Enjoy!
Ein bißchen Frieden
They write letters, after.
Part of Izetta had been ready to leave, always the lonely nomad. Like so many times before, the village had exhausted its patience with her and turned hostile. The writing was on the wall. Time to go, and gather up the good memories to keep, and move on.
That’s not what happens, though. They write letters. As often as someone from the Royal Guard can be spared to deliver them, they write to one another. Finé contemplated installing a special phone line connecting just the two of them, but there are risks they cannot take, and being overheard is one of the most obvious ones. The telephone in the cabin is hidden in the wall, for emergencies only.
Maybe one day, Finé writes, more often than she probably realizes. Perhaps we could try it when you are not so fresh in the memory of every soul and spy in the castle, domestic and foreign...
It doesn’t matter to Izetta. The letters are already more than she ever dared hope for. Knowing the time that goes into them never fails to make her cheeks heat and her heart rise. And besides, every now and then, she can hear Finé’s voice on the radio.
Izetta worries all the time that her letters are boring and repetitive. Not much out of the ordinary ever happens in her little house by the lake. The day is beautiful, or dreary, or terrible, or simply okay. The trees are green or blooming or red-and-gold or bare. The animals of the forest live their little lives all around her, and while the dog has a thousand-and-one tricks, sometimes they all seem to boil down to the same thing when she puts them to paper. Lotte is kind and patient unless she is impatient or mischievous. Izetta’s daily pursuits in the house by the lake are simple and a little frivolous. But Finé never complains.
I like hearing about your life, she writes. I like hearing about your peace and safety and contentment. Please never think I would disparage such gifts!
Finé thinks her own letters are monotonous right back, though, which is just incomprehensible to Izetta.
You say every step forward into a better future and every step sideways to preserve a bit of the goodness of today must sound the same, but when I know how much work and passion you put into every decision you make, how could I think so? Izetta writes. I am so proud of you and so grateful. When I hear your thoughts about matters of state, I feel closer to you than ever.
Izetta cuts the personal bits from those letters and burns the rest. She knows Finé wouldn’t ask that of her, but it feels better that way. Finé herself refuses to take any risks with Izetta’s safety and burns everything she writes her. Statesmanship is as much an art of secrecy as witchcraft had been. The Archduchess’s most unguarded and personal thoughts about her duties are Izetta’s and Izetta’s alone.
You can tell me what’s troubling you too, always, Finé writes. In fact, please do! How could I rant and rave to you so much about our struggle to rebuild and resume fair trading with Germania if you won’t tell me when you’re bored and lonely, or a fish got away, or you’re being eaten alive by mosquitoes?
Would you tell me about her? Finé asks, too, after Izetta relayed a bit of advice from her grandmother that she hoped would aid Finé in an international dilemma. Izetta does, surprising herself with the sheer volume of what pours out. All the conflicting feelings, all the gifts and curses and mundane lessons he grandmother had left her. All the faded impressions she’s hesitant to even call memories of her parents. All the pain of leaving so much behind, so often. The way she still grieves the loss of magic in the world, no matter the anguish it had caused her all her life, no matter her conviction that it was the right thing to do. There was so much wonder and beauty in it, too. Some days she feels like only half a woman without it, in a way the loss of her legs never quite does.
Page after page after page. Izetta has Lotte and the ladies of the Royal Guard to talk to, but she’s never talked so much about herself. She closes with, Please respond in kind and save me from my embarrassment!, and surprises herself with the tears that hit the paper. But Finé grants her request, and she doesn’t cry for long.
Sometimes Finé will press a lipstick kiss to the paper, or a dab of her perfume. Once Lotte has gone to bed, Izetta wraps her blankets tightly around her shoulders and presses her nose to those letters, grinning stupidly. It’s almost as good as the real thing.
They write all the time, but Finé visits whenever she can, too. That’ll always be Izetta’s favorite. To be able to hold her hand and feel her warmth, to cook together and show her the tricks she’s taught the dog in person, to see her eyes shine when she looks at her.
“You’re more beautiful every time I see you,” Finé murmurs in greeting one time, and confesses “I think of the nights we spent together in Britannia so often,” another.
More and more as Finé’s visits add up, they give Lotte time off while they’re together. They go for walks in the woods, spread a blanket anywhere that catches their fancy, and spend hours lying next to each other, talking and smiling - and kissing.
That last one happens more easily than Izetta had always imagined, muscles freezing and throat closing up even just fantasizing about it in the safety of her own head. There’s just something about not seeing each other face-to-face for months at a time that makes her hungry.
She feels a little bad about the way she lets that fact slip, though. Finé looks so distraught when Izetta whispers, “The way you care for me is like a big, lavish banquet,” into Finé’s collarbone, hiding her burning blush and tingling lips. “I know I’m not worthy of it, but -”
“Izetta!” Finé exclaims, holding her at arm’s length with wide eyes. “You were never unworthy, and you’ll certainly never will be now, after everything you’ve done for the world. And - Izetta - I love you.” Her voice cracks. “Even if you were the worst person on the planet, I would love you. So please -”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Izetta babbles, to which Finé babbles back, “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I just! I mean!” - until their eyes meet and, as one, they burst out into breathless giggles.
“I’m sorry, I could have gone about that more elegantly,” Finé says eventually.
Izetta shakes her head and looks down at their linked hands. “I think I understand. It’s... difficult. I never thought it was strange or wrong to - to think lowly of myself. Nomads are mistrusted by so many people, grandmother and I were always the first suspects when something went wrong, we always had to hide what we were to stay safe.”
“And now I’m hiding you here,” Finé says quietly.
“I don’t mind, though,” Izetta says, brightening. Finé meets her eyes, and Izetta can’t help but smile. “You’re taking care of me. I’m here because you love me. You and Lotte and the ladies of the Royal Guard and everyone. And you think I - I’m a pretty great person, don’t you? You think I deserve... to be valued.”
Izetta blushes fiercely, but Finé nods, smiling back as brightly as the sun. “I do. Of course I do.”
“I know, and I promise I’m trying to accept it. Because I love you too.”
Finé’s eyes well up, but they are happy tears. “You do?”
“Yes,” Izetta says, and leans in to kiss her again.
“Yes,” Izetta says the next time, tilting up her chin to let Finé trail kisses down her throat, clinging to Finé’s shoulders as her hands clutch at Izetta’s sides and squeeze her hips.
“Yes,” yet later, as Finé coaxes her onto her back on the blanket. Refusing to let shame and embarrassment stand between her and Finé’s adoring gaze, she unbuttons her blouse and stifles her cries with her hand as Finé gathers up the soft spill of her breasts to kiss and lick and suck, alternating between nibbling gently at her nipples and murmuring praises and endearments into the valley of her breastbone.
“Yes,” shyly guiding Finé’s hand down her belly and below, resting against Finé’s chest in the bath. She reaches back for Finé’s cheek with the other hand, cupping her face and pressing sloppy, feverish kisses to every bit of it she can reach as Finé’s breasts slide against her back and her fingers rub between her thighs until her spine arches and she could have sworn even her senseless toes curl with the pleasure.
“Yes,” at once reluctant and eager, when Finé asks if she can have a taste of a bit of her shoulder Izetta could have sworn she’d tasted the last three times too, and Finé, merciless in her teasing and fiendish in her brilliance, softly sucks yet another mouth-sized part of Izetta into a blaze of sensitivity.
“Oh, oh! Yes, yes, oh yes, yes, Finé!” gasping and high-pitched, because Finé’s long hair is fanned out across Izetta’s splayed legs and her cheeks shine with the slick of her womanhood, and just this once she’s not just at peace with her stilled legs but glad of them, because it means she can writhe with the pleasure as much as she wants without worrying about kicking Finé in the ribs or banging her knee into her face.
And, “Yes?” whenever it’s Izetta’s turn, and Finé’s perfect lips part just like her warm body yields to allow Izetta’s fingers entrance.
Television surpasses radio and computers become ever smaller. Phones change time after time, and eventually that private line for just the two of them becomes a reality.
“When I retire, we’ll never be apart so long again,” Finé daydreams, again and again. “I’ll abdicate early. My cousin’s children are bright and kind and eager to serve. Already they take to my tutoring like fish to water. I feel confident in naming them my successors. Once one of them is in charge, I can advise them and continue to contribute remotely. We’ll be together here, or at one of the Eylstadt family’s remote estates, or anywhere you want.”
Again and again, Izetta smiles and says nothing. She didn’t have the Stone for long, but she’s sure it was long enough. She’s sure her fire will burn out long before Finé’s roaring passion for her life’s work tempers enough to let her take such a step back.
She needn’t have worried. They are never truly apart. And in the end, they have all the time together they could have dreamed of.
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Izetta: the Last Witch
Warnings: None.
Characters & Relationships: Finé x Izetta
Summary: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. // 1839 words
Author’s Note: Written for rubylily in the 2018 Trick or Treat Exchange on AO3. Enjoy!
Ein bißchen Frieden
They write letters, after.
Part of Izetta had been ready to leave, always the lonely nomad. Like so many times before, the village had exhausted its patience with her and turned hostile. The writing was on the wall. Time to go, and gather up the good memories to keep, and move on.
That’s not what happens, though. They write letters. As often as someone from the Royal Guard can be spared to deliver them, they write to one another. Finé contemplated installing a special phone line connecting just the two of them, but there are risks they cannot take, and being overheard is one of the most obvious ones. The telephone in the cabin is hidden in the wall, for emergencies only.
Maybe one day, Finé writes, more often than she probably realizes. Perhaps we could try it when you are not so fresh in the memory of every soul and spy in the castle, domestic and foreign...
It doesn’t matter to Izetta. The letters are already more than she ever dared hope for. Knowing the time that goes into them never fails to make her cheeks heat and her heart rise. And besides, every now and then, she can hear Finé’s voice on the radio.
Izetta worries all the time that her letters are boring and repetitive. Not much out of the ordinary ever happens in her little house by the lake. The day is beautiful, or dreary, or terrible, or simply okay. The trees are green or blooming or red-and-gold or bare. The animals of the forest live their little lives all around her, and while the dog has a thousand-and-one tricks, sometimes they all seem to boil down to the same thing when she puts them to paper. Lotte is kind and patient unless she is impatient or mischievous. Izetta’s daily pursuits in the house by the lake are simple and a little frivolous. But Finé never complains.
I like hearing about your life, she writes. I like hearing about your peace and safety and contentment. Please never think I would disparage such gifts!
Finé thinks her own letters are monotonous right back, though, which is just incomprehensible to Izetta.
You say every step forward into a better future and every step sideways to preserve a bit of the goodness of today must sound the same, but when I know how much work and passion you put into every decision you make, how could I think so? Izetta writes. I am so proud of you and so grateful. When I hear your thoughts about matters of state, I feel closer to you than ever.
Izetta cuts the personal bits from those letters and burns the rest. She knows Finé wouldn’t ask that of her, but it feels better that way. Finé herself refuses to take any risks with Izetta’s safety and burns everything she writes her. Statesmanship is as much an art of secrecy as witchcraft had been. The Archduchess’s most unguarded and personal thoughts about her duties are Izetta’s and Izetta’s alone.
You can tell me what’s troubling you too, always, Finé writes. In fact, please do! How could I rant and rave to you so much about our struggle to rebuild and resume fair trading with Germania if you won’t tell me when you’re bored and lonely, or a fish got away, or you’re being eaten alive by mosquitoes?
Would you tell me about her? Finé asks, too, after Izetta relayed a bit of advice from her grandmother that she hoped would aid Finé in an international dilemma. Izetta does, surprising herself with the sheer volume of what pours out. All the conflicting feelings, all the gifts and curses and mundane lessons he grandmother had left her. All the faded impressions she’s hesitant to even call memories of her parents. All the pain of leaving so much behind, so often. The way she still grieves the loss of magic in the world, no matter the anguish it had caused her all her life, no matter her conviction that it was the right thing to do. There was so much wonder and beauty in it, too. Some days she feels like only half a woman without it, in a way the loss of her legs never quite does.
Page after page after page. Izetta has Lotte and the ladies of the Royal Guard to talk to, but she’s never talked so much about herself. She closes with, Please respond in kind and save me from my embarrassment!, and surprises herself with the tears that hit the paper. But Finé grants her request, and she doesn’t cry for long.
Sometimes Finé will press a lipstick kiss to the paper, or a dab of her perfume. Once Lotte has gone to bed, Izetta wraps her blankets tightly around her shoulders and presses her nose to those letters, grinning stupidly. It’s almost as good as the real thing.
They write all the time, but Finé visits whenever she can, too. That’ll always be Izetta’s favorite. To be able to hold her hand and feel her warmth, to cook together and show her the tricks she’s taught the dog in person, to see her eyes shine when she looks at her.
“You’re more beautiful every time I see you,” Finé murmurs in greeting one time, and confesses “I think of the nights we spent together in Britannia so often,” another.
More and more as Finé’s visits add up, they give Lotte time off while they’re together. They go for walks in the woods, spread a blanket anywhere that catches their fancy, and spend hours lying next to each other, talking and smiling - and kissing.
That last one happens more easily than Izetta had always imagined, muscles freezing and throat closing up even just fantasizing about it in the safety of her own head. There’s just something about not seeing each other face-to-face for months at a time that makes her hungry.
She feels a little bad about the way she lets that fact slip, though. Finé looks so distraught when Izetta whispers, “The way you care for me is like a big, lavish banquet,” into Finé’s collarbone, hiding her burning blush and tingling lips. “I know I’m not worthy of it, but -”
“Izetta!” Finé exclaims, holding her at arm’s length with wide eyes. “You were never unworthy, and you’ll certainly never will be now, after everything you’ve done for the world. And - Izetta - I love you.” Her voice cracks. “Even if you were the worst person on the planet, I would love you. So please -”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Izetta babbles, to which Finé babbles back, “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I just! I mean!” - until their eyes meet and, as one, they burst out into breathless giggles.
“I’m sorry, I could have gone about that more elegantly,” Finé says eventually.
Izetta shakes her head and looks down at their linked hands. “I think I understand. It’s... difficult. I never thought it was strange or wrong to - to think lowly of myself. Nomads are mistrusted by so many people, grandmother and I were always the first suspects when something went wrong, we always had to hide what we were to stay safe.”
“And now I’m hiding you here,” Finé says quietly.
“I don’t mind, though,” Izetta says, brightening. Finé meets her eyes, and Izetta can’t help but smile. “You’re taking care of me. I’m here because you love me. You and Lotte and the ladies of the Royal Guard and everyone. And you think I - I’m a pretty great person, don’t you? You think I deserve... to be valued.”
Izetta blushes fiercely, but Finé nods, smiling back as brightly as the sun. “I do. Of course I do.”
“I know, and I promise I’m trying to accept it. Because I love you too.”
Finé’s eyes well up, but they are happy tears. “You do?”
“Yes,” Izetta says, and leans in to kiss her again.
“Yes,” Izetta says the next time, tilting up her chin to let Finé trail kisses down her throat, clinging to Finé’s shoulders as her hands clutch at Izetta’s sides and squeeze her hips.
“Yes,” yet later, as Finé coaxes her onto her back on the blanket. Refusing to let shame and embarrassment stand between her and Finé’s adoring gaze, she unbuttons her blouse and stifles her cries with her hand as Finé gathers up the soft spill of her breasts to kiss and lick and suck, alternating between nibbling gently at her nipples and murmuring praises and endearments into the valley of her breastbone.
“Yes,” shyly guiding Finé’s hand down her belly and below, resting against Finé’s chest in the bath. She reaches back for Finé’s cheek with the other hand, cupping her face and pressing sloppy, feverish kisses to every bit of it she can reach as Finé’s breasts slide against her back and her fingers rub between her thighs until her spine arches and she could have sworn even her senseless toes curl with the pleasure.
“Yes,” at once reluctant and eager, when Finé asks if she can have a taste of a bit of her shoulder Izetta could have sworn she’d tasted the last three times too, and Finé, merciless in her teasing and fiendish in her brilliance, softly sucks yet another mouth-sized part of Izetta into a blaze of sensitivity.
“Oh, oh! Yes, yes, oh yes, yes, Finé!” gasping and high-pitched, because Finé’s long hair is fanned out across Izetta’s splayed legs and her cheeks shine with the slick of her womanhood, and just this once she’s not just at peace with her stilled legs but glad of them, because it means she can writhe with the pleasure as much as she wants without worrying about kicking Finé in the ribs or banging her knee into her face.
And, “Yes?” whenever it’s Izetta’s turn, and Finé’s perfect lips part just like her warm body yields to allow Izetta’s fingers entrance.
Television surpasses radio and computers become ever smaller. Phones change time after time, and eventually that private line for just the two of them becomes a reality.
“When I retire, we’ll never be apart so long again,” Finé daydreams, again and again. “I’ll abdicate early. My cousin’s children are bright and kind and eager to serve. Already they take to my tutoring like fish to water. I feel confident in naming them my successors. Once one of them is in charge, I can advise them and continue to contribute remotely. We’ll be together here, or at one of the Eylstadt family’s remote estates, or anywhere you want.”
Again and again, Izetta smiles and says nothing. She didn’t have the Stone for long, but she’s sure it was long enough. She’s sure her fire will burn out long before Finé’s roaring passion for her life’s work tempers enough to let her take such a step back.
She needn’t have worried. They are never truly apart. And in the end, they have all the time together they could have dreamed of.