In Flight (Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance, Tibarn/Reyson)
Title: In Flight
Series: Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance
Character/Pairing: Tibarn/Reyson
Rating: PG
Word count: 316
Author’s note:- Fire Emblem, Tibarn/Reyson: wingkink, trust games - in flight.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Like all Herons, Reyson’s transformation was elegant, and full of grace. Tibarn’s, by comparison, was more monstrous and fearsome, harsh, sharp and aquiline. The game itself was one that all bird youth knew, a precursor to the actual mating rituals. The dances varied from tribe to tribe, but the meaning remained the same. It was to show off the strength and endurance, of grace, and was itself, a love letter written like a resume. They would swoop in a circle, one that if not in tandem, would result in some clumsy, even painful consequences. It spoke of trust and understanding to be able to maintain this act for so long, to swirl in the air as if attacking and not even touch a feather.
Beneath the sun, where clouds were far thinner than they appeared, they could rise until it felt like this dance was itself a claiming of the sky and every heavenly body of it, as if it was theirs for the taking. They were princes of the clouds, rulers of all bird kind, and for that short time, in a younger and more innocent time. Before the burning of the Serenes, the genocide of his people, back to a time when it was just an impulsive Hawk warrior and a haughty Heron prince, with no hint of the future that was to come.
The dance came to a crescendo, until they finally spun together in free fall, diving to the ground as if suiciding themselves, only to pull up and transform at the landing. Beak and claws turned to flesh again, and the old time still lingered in painful memories of a happiness that once was, and was being rebuilt bit by bit.
Series: Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance
Character/Pairing: Tibarn/Reyson
Rating: PG
Word count: 316
Author’s note:- Fire Emblem, Tibarn/Reyson: wingkink, trust games - in flight.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Like all Herons, Reyson’s transformation was elegant, and full of grace. Tibarn’s, by comparison, was more monstrous and fearsome, harsh, sharp and aquiline. The game itself was one that all bird youth knew, a precursor to the actual mating rituals. The dances varied from tribe to tribe, but the meaning remained the same. It was to show off the strength and endurance, of grace, and was itself, a love letter written like a resume. They would swoop in a circle, one that if not in tandem, would result in some clumsy, even painful consequences. It spoke of trust and understanding to be able to maintain this act for so long, to swirl in the air as if attacking and not even touch a feather.
Beneath the sun, where clouds were far thinner than they appeared, they could rise until it felt like this dance was itself a claiming of the sky and every heavenly body of it, as if it was theirs for the taking. They were princes of the clouds, rulers of all bird kind, and for that short time, in a younger and more innocent time. Before the burning of the Serenes, the genocide of his people, back to a time when it was just an impulsive Hawk warrior and a haughty Heron prince, with no hint of the future that was to come.
The dance came to a crescendo, until they finally spun together in free fall, diving to the ground as if suiciding themselves, only to pull up and transform at the landing. Beak and claws turned to flesh again, and the old time still lingered in painful memories of a happiness that once was, and was being rebuilt bit by bit.