[May 21][Fire Emblem 8] A Favor for Renais
A Favor for Renais
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: May 21 - Home Is. Run. No. More.
Series: Fire Emblem 8
Character/Pairing: Eirika/Ephraim
Rating: T
Words: 1517
Warnings: the title. the pairing? Only it's not as evident as I thought it'd be.
Notes: originally for this week's drabble challenge, but it got away from me. I'm honestly not sure I even like writing Eirika. The twins are hard to relate to.
.............................................
Eirika found her brother in a room common between their suites one eve, standing at a window between two tall bookcases with a codex open to his mark, a crimson ribbon forked like a dragon's tongue in the crease between the pages, and his gaze fixed to a point beyond the glass. Shelves marched along the walls, books wedged together so tightly their bindings cracked, all red and brown shadows cast by the lowering sun. Fine-spun red wool dipped from Ephraim's shoulders, the folds like a hood, spreading from his shoulders to gather at his feet, and Eirika twisted her fingers into the fold over his arm, peered over his left shoulder, rested her chin on the soft crimson.
The Seven Principles of War. Page three hundred eight, war in times of peace.
She reached around to close the book. Ephraim let her take it and looked down at his open hand.
It seemed before the war he was always away from the castle; Eirika could count on one hand the times he chose to remain home more than a week, more than time essential for the resting of his mount and the organization of new supplies. She entertained the nobility, tempted them he said, as he was tempted upon each return to stay another day, and another.
He had not left the keep since they returned at the end of the war. She watched him sit at their father's place in the war room, at the head of the long oak table with its blue runner and silver candlesticks, watched his fingers tap the carved edge, tap his knees, tap the arms of his chair. The chamberlain spoke of famine in the south where Grado's attack was most devastating, and he nodded, looked out the window, said nothing. He stalked the battlements when he couldn't sleep, red cloak darkened to purple in the silver moonlight, as if tempting a remnant of the war, anyone, to part from the shadows below and attempt to bring him down.
"Brother."
His fingers curled. "Is it time to speak with the mayor?"
"The meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow morning." Eirika took his hand, pushed it down to his side, and clutched his fingers. "I would like to ask a favor."
"Anything." He pressed his fingers into her palm.
She smiled. "Come sit with me a while." Ephraim glanced back, opened his mouth to reply, then paused. Eirika drew him away from the window by the hand, one shuffling step, then two, before he came to her door of his own accord and swept his fingers through her hair as he reached to open it for her. She kept a small table tucked in the corner to the right, where light from the window would shine on her silver tableware, the thin porcelain plates and cups and saucers, red now with the sunset. Two wine glasses waited on a tray, and a tall, slim porcelain decanter painted with small pink flowers to match her table linens. Do you remember last summer's harvest? he'd asked her the other day as they walked down the hallways to a formal dinner, her hand on his arm. The branches dripping with fruit, bending low enough even for you to reach if I picked you up like this--
Eirika poured cherry punch over the ice slush in his glass while he sat in her chair, and she heard him sigh, and almost laugh. His hand on her wrist stopped her before she poured her own glass. "Not on an empty stomach."
She straightened, let him press her hand and the decanter back to the table, but propped her other hand on her hip. "It's diluted. Saints only know what you would do with too much wine, brother. Take a horse out of the stable, maybe, and race for the countryside."
He lowered his eyes to the table, folding his hands on his knee, and his mouth curved in a smile self-deprecating and tight, a wince. "I know my duty." But Ephraim took his glass and sipped, and his lips pursed at the tartness. "Seth has the borders well in hand."
Eirika reached for the clasp of his cloak and snapped it loose. He didn't try to stop her. She watched the red wool slide over his back when he leaned forward to rest the glass on its tray again. "Yesterday he led a troop south to deal with the bandit problem on Grado's north line." Ephraim blinked at her, and his eyebrows lifted slightly. She tried to relax, shifting her eyes to the half-empty glass, and wondered if he was listening. "You should join him next time. I can handle matters here for a few weeks. Innes will help me if I ask."
Ephraim pulled the red wool from the chair, let it pool on the floor as he sat back. "You don't need him."
She propped her hip on the edge of the table. The glass wobbled, the red sloshing on the side. "But you are restless. If I can help--"
His eyes slanted in her direction, glinting in the deepening shadow. The porcelain gleamed, the silver platter shining like an oblong moon, a dim mirror in which she saw her hair reflected, and Ephraim's hand when he reached for the glass again. He said, it isn't blood-letting I desire, and she said I know, reaching for a match to light the table lamp and fiddling with it, turning it end over end between her fingers because there was nothing on which to strike it. The sky was still red outside, still shedding enough light the shape of her window was cast over her blue and white rug, tinged orange in some places, and pink.
When their monthly correspondence with Frelia came at the turn of the lunar cycle, Eirika sat there with Ephraim and a pitcher of tea and ice, and he told her she would not leave Renais for any offer, any prince - or even for Tana. She read the letter Innes sent, penned in his neat calligraphy, not a blot to betray any deeper meaning. Were they exchangeable, she and Tana? Eirika knew her fate was not completely in her hands. Her work, her love, her blood, belonged to her king.
His hands were still, one poised on his knee, his knuckles a finger-length shy of brushing her arm, her coat. She dressed like a man, and he teased her relentlessly, asking her who she intended to chase, to fight, who would marry a tomboy princess. But brother, you said I am queen of Renais. It is others who should do the chasing.
She flattened her hand on the tablecloth. "You know my worth, brother."
Ephraim left his glass on the table and stood. "Which is why we will both remain here." He was a few fingers taller, his shoulders much broader, and his face half-shadowed. The day had passed cool all the way until sunset, and for once sweat did not bead on his brow or dampen their hair, but his body was warm when he stood close to her, enough like a fire she spread her hand on his doublet as if to catch the heat, until she realized her mistake and pulled it away again. "You are my support." He covered her hand on the table. "You are Renais."
Renais, he once said, is mine.
Eirika sighed. "Then Renais is telling you to take yourself down to the practice yard, brother. Your fidgeting makes people nervous."
Ephraim laughed. "Eirika--"
"The chamberlain jumps every time you shift--"
"I only yelled at him once." He rolled his neck back to crack it, glancing at the window. Dusk left little light to see by, only a tinge of pink and gray, but his colors stood out like lights of their own - the white doublet, the gold stitched trim, the blue of his hair. "It isn't right to use my knights in such a way, in any case."
She pulled a fold in his sleeve, made him look down. "Then use me instead."
His hand found the ends of her hair and tugged. "You."
Eirika slapped his hand away. "Are you implying I can't keep up?"
"Never." He grabbed her belt, fist at the small of her back, lashes lowered. "Only that employing a practice yard is unnecessary when we have a perfectly fine space right here."
She held herself still, let him link his arm around her waist, only her fingers clenching in his sleeve and her back arching, the distance between them gone. "We have a dinner at eight."
His lips marked her forehead, his other hand tangling in her hair. "More than enough time."
It was never enough time, not really. Not when the reconstruction demanded their every moment. "As you wish, brother."
................................
I like the pairing, but I don't know.
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: May 21 - Home Is. Run. No. More.
Series: Fire Emblem 8
Character/Pairing: Eirika/Ephraim
Rating: T
Words: 1517
Warnings: the title. the pairing? Only it's not as evident as I thought it'd be.
Notes: originally for this week's drabble challenge, but it got away from me. I'm honestly not sure I even like writing Eirika. The twins are hard to relate to.
.............................................
Eirika found her brother in a room common between their suites one eve, standing at a window between two tall bookcases with a codex open to his mark, a crimson ribbon forked like a dragon's tongue in the crease between the pages, and his gaze fixed to a point beyond the glass. Shelves marched along the walls, books wedged together so tightly their bindings cracked, all red and brown shadows cast by the lowering sun. Fine-spun red wool dipped from Ephraim's shoulders, the folds like a hood, spreading from his shoulders to gather at his feet, and Eirika twisted her fingers into the fold over his arm, peered over his left shoulder, rested her chin on the soft crimson.
The Seven Principles of War. Page three hundred eight, war in times of peace.
She reached around to close the book. Ephraim let her take it and looked down at his open hand.
It seemed before the war he was always away from the castle; Eirika could count on one hand the times he chose to remain home more than a week, more than time essential for the resting of his mount and the organization of new supplies. She entertained the nobility, tempted them he said, as he was tempted upon each return to stay another day, and another.
He had not left the keep since they returned at the end of the war. She watched him sit at their father's place in the war room, at the head of the long oak table with its blue runner and silver candlesticks, watched his fingers tap the carved edge, tap his knees, tap the arms of his chair. The chamberlain spoke of famine in the south where Grado's attack was most devastating, and he nodded, looked out the window, said nothing. He stalked the battlements when he couldn't sleep, red cloak darkened to purple in the silver moonlight, as if tempting a remnant of the war, anyone, to part from the shadows below and attempt to bring him down.
"Brother."
His fingers curled. "Is it time to speak with the mayor?"
"The meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow morning." Eirika took his hand, pushed it down to his side, and clutched his fingers. "I would like to ask a favor."
"Anything." He pressed his fingers into her palm.
She smiled. "Come sit with me a while." Ephraim glanced back, opened his mouth to reply, then paused. Eirika drew him away from the window by the hand, one shuffling step, then two, before he came to her door of his own accord and swept his fingers through her hair as he reached to open it for her. She kept a small table tucked in the corner to the right, where light from the window would shine on her silver tableware, the thin porcelain plates and cups and saucers, red now with the sunset. Two wine glasses waited on a tray, and a tall, slim porcelain decanter painted with small pink flowers to match her table linens. Do you remember last summer's harvest? he'd asked her the other day as they walked down the hallways to a formal dinner, her hand on his arm. The branches dripping with fruit, bending low enough even for you to reach if I picked you up like this--
Eirika poured cherry punch over the ice slush in his glass while he sat in her chair, and she heard him sigh, and almost laugh. His hand on her wrist stopped her before she poured her own glass. "Not on an empty stomach."
She straightened, let him press her hand and the decanter back to the table, but propped her other hand on her hip. "It's diluted. Saints only know what you would do with too much wine, brother. Take a horse out of the stable, maybe, and race for the countryside."
He lowered his eyes to the table, folding his hands on his knee, and his mouth curved in a smile self-deprecating and tight, a wince. "I know my duty." But Ephraim took his glass and sipped, and his lips pursed at the tartness. "Seth has the borders well in hand."
Eirika reached for the clasp of his cloak and snapped it loose. He didn't try to stop her. She watched the red wool slide over his back when he leaned forward to rest the glass on its tray again. "Yesterday he led a troop south to deal with the bandit problem on Grado's north line." Ephraim blinked at her, and his eyebrows lifted slightly. She tried to relax, shifting her eyes to the half-empty glass, and wondered if he was listening. "You should join him next time. I can handle matters here for a few weeks. Innes will help me if I ask."
Ephraim pulled the red wool from the chair, let it pool on the floor as he sat back. "You don't need him."
She propped her hip on the edge of the table. The glass wobbled, the red sloshing on the side. "But you are restless. If I can help--"
His eyes slanted in her direction, glinting in the deepening shadow. The porcelain gleamed, the silver platter shining like an oblong moon, a dim mirror in which she saw her hair reflected, and Ephraim's hand when he reached for the glass again. He said, it isn't blood-letting I desire, and she said I know, reaching for a match to light the table lamp and fiddling with it, turning it end over end between her fingers because there was nothing on which to strike it. The sky was still red outside, still shedding enough light the shape of her window was cast over her blue and white rug, tinged orange in some places, and pink.
When their monthly correspondence with Frelia came at the turn of the lunar cycle, Eirika sat there with Ephraim and a pitcher of tea and ice, and he told her she would not leave Renais for any offer, any prince - or even for Tana. She read the letter Innes sent, penned in his neat calligraphy, not a blot to betray any deeper meaning. Were they exchangeable, she and Tana? Eirika knew her fate was not completely in her hands. Her work, her love, her blood, belonged to her king.
His hands were still, one poised on his knee, his knuckles a finger-length shy of brushing her arm, her coat. She dressed like a man, and he teased her relentlessly, asking her who she intended to chase, to fight, who would marry a tomboy princess. But brother, you said I am queen of Renais. It is others who should do the chasing.
She flattened her hand on the tablecloth. "You know my worth, brother."
Ephraim left his glass on the table and stood. "Which is why we will both remain here." He was a few fingers taller, his shoulders much broader, and his face half-shadowed. The day had passed cool all the way until sunset, and for once sweat did not bead on his brow or dampen their hair, but his body was warm when he stood close to her, enough like a fire she spread her hand on his doublet as if to catch the heat, until she realized her mistake and pulled it away again. "You are my support." He covered her hand on the table. "You are Renais."
Renais, he once said, is mine.
Eirika sighed. "Then Renais is telling you to take yourself down to the practice yard, brother. Your fidgeting makes people nervous."
Ephraim laughed. "Eirika--"
"The chamberlain jumps every time you shift--"
"I only yelled at him once." He rolled his neck back to crack it, glancing at the window. Dusk left little light to see by, only a tinge of pink and gray, but his colors stood out like lights of their own - the white doublet, the gold stitched trim, the blue of his hair. "It isn't right to use my knights in such a way, in any case."
She pulled a fold in his sleeve, made him look down. "Then use me instead."
His hand found the ends of her hair and tugged. "You."
Eirika slapped his hand away. "Are you implying I can't keep up?"
"Never." He grabbed her belt, fist at the small of her back, lashes lowered. "Only that employing a practice yard is unnecessary when we have a perfectly fine space right here."
She held herself still, let him link his arm around her waist, only her fingers clenching in his sleeve and her back arching, the distance between them gone. "We have a dinner at eight."
His lips marked her forehead, his other hand tangling in her hair. "More than enough time."
It was never enough time, not really. Not when the reconstruction demanded their every moment. "As you wish, brother."
................................
I like the pairing, but I don't know.