For Lisa -- Belzac/Shirley
Title: Battle's Eve
Fandom: Legend of Dragoon
Characters/Pairings: Belzac/Shirley
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Author Note: Written for Lisa!
Summary: On the eve of battle, our thoughts collide.
It's the eve before the final battle and they are all restless. The moment that they have waited for has come, the day they will finally be liberated, will finally be able to breathe the air of free men and, for once, not feel fear that they will be crushed under the might of the Winglies and their magic.
He feels many things, standing beneath the night sky. He is restless. How can he not be, when their most formidable opponent awaits them? He is certain the others feel the same, that they, too, are unable to sleep this night. Kanzas must be excited, though his type of excitement differs from the others. He is eager to spill blood... Belzac has never been able to appreciate battle the way his comrade of the Violet Dragon has.
Zieg and Rose are surely spending their night together, perhaps talking, perhaps more. He has never been one to be into another's business. He can appreciate, however, the way young Rose looks up to Zieg, the passion in her eyes, the hope for a future she has and Zieg's confidence that makes it seem as if he can truly provide her the peaceful future of freedom that they are fighting for.
Syuveil must be preparing strategies, or perhaps something for light reading. He knows that he is not one to miss a spare moment to pick up a book. He must be anxious too--the candle in his tower still flickers, even now, when most of the others have gone out.
He worries, for a moment, about Damia. The youngest, still a child. He does not wish to see her fight. He does not wish to see her cry, to see her armor stained with blood, to know that even though she can hold herself well in battle, she could break at any moment. He wonders if he bothered her, worrying over her. She has always disliked being treated different.
Most of all, though, it is the silver-white light that draws his attention, the ethereal angel that has descended. It is for her that he worries the most. She is strong willed, and a most valuable asset in battle. She is powerful in her own rights and can handle more than her share. He does not need to worry about her purity or her age. She will not break so easily.
And yet, Belzac stands at the entrance to his own tower, not captured by the world above him, or what is behind him, but what lies before him. She stands, just at the top of those stairs into her tower, following the night sky closely. Do the stars say anything, he wonders? Can she hear their story? Does she possess the same thoughts that he does?
Her worries, their worries, are all the same in the end. Will they all survive? How many will feel pain? How long can they fight without the aid of the White-Silver Dragoon? What will happen if something should be beyond her power?
"You should rest," he says, approaching the stairs to her tower, gaze fixated on her. It is gentle, kind, and yet it is firm, too. They will need all the rest that they are able to get.
"Do not worry," she replies, looking away from that sky and towards him. He wishes he could smile right then. "I will be fine."
He nods. "I am sure you will be, but you, most of all, will need it. If you are having troubles, perhaps Syuveil can be of some aid to you."
"You worry far too much, Belzac."
He cannot see it, but he can almost sense it, the hint of a smile. It is not the type of smile he would usually get. While it is warm, there is more behind it, something hidden carefully away. She is the motherly type, after all. She will hide her concerns from him because she does not want to worry them.
... but he will worry regardless.
As he stands there, at the foot of the stairs, peering up at her, it almost feels as if he is looking up at a princess, locked away in her tower and she stands on her balcony, waiting for her prince to come save her.
He wants to be that prince.
"That may be so," he answers, just as amused, "but it is not needless. Take care of yourself this night, Shirley."
"And you."
He returns to his tower, clenching the Golden Dragoon Spirit in his large fist.
"Children. Grant us all peace on this night, for tomorrow, we fight our final battle for freedom."
He bows his head and he prays. He prays that they will all survive, that they will be victorious. He prays that Zieg and Rose will have a happy future, that Damia will find her place in the world. He prays that Kanzas finds happiness outside of the battlefield and he prays that Syuveil will be able to be the most renowned scholar Endiness has ever known. He prays that the children will be saved, that they will find peace in the afterlife.
More importantly, though, he prays that Shirley will be able to smile her beautiful smile when it is all over.
Fandom: Legend of Dragoon
Characters/Pairings: Belzac/Shirley
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Author Note: Written for Lisa!
Summary: On the eve of battle, our thoughts collide.
It's the eve before the final battle and they are all restless. The moment that they have waited for has come, the day they will finally be liberated, will finally be able to breathe the air of free men and, for once, not feel fear that they will be crushed under the might of the Winglies and their magic.
He feels many things, standing beneath the night sky. He is restless. How can he not be, when their most formidable opponent awaits them? He is certain the others feel the same, that they, too, are unable to sleep this night. Kanzas must be excited, though his type of excitement differs from the others. He is eager to spill blood... Belzac has never been able to appreciate battle the way his comrade of the Violet Dragon has.
Zieg and Rose are surely spending their night together, perhaps talking, perhaps more. He has never been one to be into another's business. He can appreciate, however, the way young Rose looks up to Zieg, the passion in her eyes, the hope for a future she has and Zieg's confidence that makes it seem as if he can truly provide her the peaceful future of freedom that they are fighting for.
Syuveil must be preparing strategies, or perhaps something for light reading. He knows that he is not one to miss a spare moment to pick up a book. He must be anxious too--the candle in his tower still flickers, even now, when most of the others have gone out.
He worries, for a moment, about Damia. The youngest, still a child. He does not wish to see her fight. He does not wish to see her cry, to see her armor stained with blood, to know that even though she can hold herself well in battle, she could break at any moment. He wonders if he bothered her, worrying over her. She has always disliked being treated different.
Most of all, though, it is the silver-white light that draws his attention, the ethereal angel that has descended. It is for her that he worries the most. She is strong willed, and a most valuable asset in battle. She is powerful in her own rights and can handle more than her share. He does not need to worry about her purity or her age. She will not break so easily.
And yet, Belzac stands at the entrance to his own tower, not captured by the world above him, or what is behind him, but what lies before him. She stands, just at the top of those stairs into her tower, following the night sky closely. Do the stars say anything, he wonders? Can she hear their story? Does she possess the same thoughts that he does?
Her worries, their worries, are all the same in the end. Will they all survive? How many will feel pain? How long can they fight without the aid of the White-Silver Dragoon? What will happen if something should be beyond her power?
"You should rest," he says, approaching the stairs to her tower, gaze fixated on her. It is gentle, kind, and yet it is firm, too. They will need all the rest that they are able to get.
"Do not worry," she replies, looking away from that sky and towards him. He wishes he could smile right then. "I will be fine."
He nods. "I am sure you will be, but you, most of all, will need it. If you are having troubles, perhaps Syuveil can be of some aid to you."
"You worry far too much, Belzac."
He cannot see it, but he can almost sense it, the hint of a smile. It is not the type of smile he would usually get. While it is warm, there is more behind it, something hidden carefully away. She is the motherly type, after all. She will hide her concerns from him because she does not want to worry them.
... but he will worry regardless.
As he stands there, at the foot of the stairs, peering up at her, it almost feels as if he is looking up at a princess, locked away in her tower and she stands on her balcony, waiting for her prince to come save her.
He wants to be that prince.
"That may be so," he answers, just as amused, "but it is not needless. Take care of yourself this night, Shirley."
"And you."
He returns to his tower, clenching the Golden Dragoon Spirit in his large fist.
"Children. Grant us all peace on this night, for tomorrow, we fight our final battle for freedom."
He bows his head and he prays. He prays that they will all survive, that they will be victorious. He prays that Zieg and Rose will have a happy future, that Damia will find her place in the world. He prays that Kanzas finds happiness outside of the battlefield and he prays that Syuveil will be able to be the most renowned scholar Endiness has ever known. He prays that the children will be saved, that they will find peace in the afterlife.
More importantly, though, he prays that Shirley will be able to smile her beautiful smile when it is all over.