Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ The Shades In Sorrow ❯ Apnée ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The sun is slowly descending on Sienne.

His family has come to Begnion after an official invitation.

No laguz feel as exalted as the Apostle about it, but the Heron King had bitterly took it upon himself to attend. That it is important in a way.

In front of the palace, the flow of servants, guest, sounds, colors and movements are all a blur, one that Rafiel feels pushing and pulling at him in their inexhaustible dance.

Only time can tell whether it will matter or not, but as a Begnon Empress, it has been years that Sanaki has done everything in her power to lessen the resentment between Beorc and Laguz. Most laguz clans can acknowledge as much. Yet, the silence of the Empire on the slave trade, added to the pact of the Raven Clan still oozes a fog of grief and mistrust between them all. Then, there is the torrent of pain running from the scorched, putrid, /gaping/ horror of the fire of... The fire.

At the banquet, his father is greeted as a king, and apparently, Rafiel is a royal heir again in their heads. They soon meet with Leanne, Reyson...even Lord Lehran and Naesala—who have probably been invited after the express order of the Empress... He is not even surprised to find Tibarn here as well.

Everytime he spots his sister's heron daughter, the fledgling is always on the trail of one of Hawk King's lieutenants. His father stands formal, much stronger than a few years ago, and spending all of his free time scheming on a way to get Reyson to give him more greatchildren.

Rafiel smiles and nods, join his hands and bow whenever etiquette requests it. The dance of faces and sounds goes on and on around him.

Suddenly, the first ceremony ends, and there is a hole in the 'dance' flow. He finds himself slipping out of the pattern. Things slip by, letting him slide out. Silently.

He does not mind. He does not think.

He sees the sunlight through the huge glass windows. And he passes the doors to get a feel of the wind that is rising in the surrounding trees and flowerbeds. The winds, the preserved beauty of the skyline, and the faraway trees both call to him, one after another.

He walks through the streets. There are /too many beorcs/ for his comfort. He brings the hems of his white cape closer together on his shoulders; the longer travel cloak that the hatarian tailors had crafted for him a lifetime ago, before his mate had crossed the sands with him.

Around him, the beorc in armor does not dare to question him as he walks past the gates one after another. His feet pause there and there to catch a noise, a song from the half tamed wilds. Insects, birds, even kind, helpless elementals must obey to the dance of these beorcs.

For himself, he has no duty left.

Little by little Rafiel slips out of the grasp of the city. He has no real goal as his feet just walk onward, keeping his mind distracted, safe. He longs for the scents under the trees and continues on. He is not sure of why ; trees have always feels more welcoming than palaces for him, as far as his memories go.

It does not really matter now.

Everything has changed. Both sides of Tellius have. Only, this one has also cast deep shadows over his father and Lehran's eyes. He can understand why this world has come to value strength and chaos instead of intrigue and order. In any case, there has always been little room left for balance. His Clan has been pressed to undergo change. He doesn't know if it would be worth defending millennial values in this new world, like his father does. Somewhere in his soul, the idea of letting go of his Clan's history hurts, too. He could have insisted believing in lasting peace and serving the balance of energies. But these things are for the living. (His father has always done well by himself.)

He does not see what could be left for him to do that another ...his father, or brother... would not do better.

He is not concerned anymore, because no matter how hard he has tried to honor /her/ will, now he is sure that there is no longer a point in forcing himself to breathe.

Taking a deep breath, he enters under the vivid green canopy. He is not sure of how much time passes, he only vaguely registers the light decreasing through the trees. He is not afraid of the dark.

When he hears the howls of wolves, he feels like emerging from a deep dreamless state. The sun is almost completely set. The animals look hungry and the heron's mind clears. It's a shame that he won't be able to transform first, but maybe they will give him the time to sit before attacking...just a second and he will be ready. It feels like an interesting closure. A quaint one, even. He thanks fate for gifting him with a useful end.

*.

All throughout the ceremony, Tanith has been parading with many squads. There has been a few faces that she had not seen since the end of the Second Goddess War at the Palace, but even now her grade couldn't spare her the endless ceremonies that had come to be familiar to the point of boring her out of her mind. Not that she would let it affect her vigilance, but it would have been a little more interesting to be the one to conduct the guests on a battalion of Pegasus rather than having to gesticulate in an heavy and needlessly shiny armor.

The Empress grants her officers a special vacation, a courtesy for the occasion, and when she finally ends up off duty she feels strangely exhausted and set herself on her way home. She has almost walked a mile when she stumbles upon one of the heron lords, sitting down right under a thin cap of the trees' belt.

He is facing wolves that look every bit rabid. He doesn't look the least bit alarmed but there is a resignation on his face that tells her that he knows what to expect. —Wait it seems impossible; how could he already have walked so far away from the city? Didn't anyone notice?—She doesn't want to understand his intent; the idea of a child of Serenes courting death makes her insides coil.

*.

There is a beorc with a dark armor who passes him like a blur and they...they do something to the wolves.

"Have all herons lost their mind nowadays?"

They shout something with harsh anger…
He recalls the armor and the sharp tune. She has sung alongside them during the war ('captain' hovers somewhere on the fog of his mind). She circles his body before he feels a hand grabbing his head—hair, to make him look at her. There are two glinting dots in a scowl and her hands feel solid.

*.

The bird is frozen, everything is still blurred in his eyes. He doesn't even lift his head once toward Tanith before he dives onto her waist, bury his face in her clothes, howling strings of words in a foreign tongue. She can't tell whether it's because she killed the wolves or because he is still alive; but she has never seen anyone shake like that, and somehow it feels that if she lets go he will scatter without a sound. /Can Herons fall ill?/

When she focuses, she hears the scarce sobs barely under her hearing range, and without realizing it, the knight releases her breath again. The eyes of the Prince look dead inside—face like a faded painting, a disheveled shivering mess and his trembling is almost violent enough to shake her with him.

"I understand," she says. "I cannot entrust you to anyone here," she says. "And I cannot trust you on your own. So, you are coming with me for now."
She pushes him a little and firmly grabs his hand, beginning to pull. "I'm going back home."

She has never been casual in her speech patterns around nobility before this war. But the times she has been forced to spend protecting the younger heron Prince Reyson had, alone, burned all her shreds of formalities in front of bird laguz. Fortunately, the war had ended before she had lost patience and let herself resort to knocking the petulant Prince behind his thick blond head to keep him out of trouble...
But the bird in front of her right now, the oldest Prince is looking horrified, as if she is the one who has lost her marbles.

Before pity wells up, Tanith narrows her eyes. "Do you understand, Your Highness?" She nods to herself and squares her shoulders, because on or off duty, she is still an imperial guard of Begnion. "We will leave now." Then, seeing that he is not about to protest she let her voice soften. "I will come back to the Sienne to get your things tomorrow."

*.

Rafiel feels cornered.

He tries many times to find a reason to refuse. But life has no meaning. /So why struggle.../

Either way is fine with him.

The beorc untangles him from herself but holds his hand firmly as she pulls along. Just like that. He follows without second-thinking.

Already, the world has begun to spin.

Soon, they are flying.

It's strange. Yet as long as he doesn't think about it, he can enjoy it immensely. Slowly, the sun is setting. As the wind rises to meet him—them—on her pegasus. He looks at the stallion with a distant wonder.
He barely sees the hours pass until there is a cottage, and the pegasus rider is holding a door for him.

...
It is not Begnion.

Not really.

/Thanks to Ashunera/, she doesn't live anywhere near beorc cities. She's close to the dunes, on the middle of green steppes, between the sands and the forest.

Outside and inside, he looks at every sight, drowning his senses in them, drinking the novelty, unable to care to keep anything to memory as she ushers him inside.

The sun sets much too soon. He's glad to find that he is still too surprised by what is happening to think of anything else. By the time is finds himself tucked in a bed, he is tired from the walk and feels his senses slowly fall into pitch black darkness.

Dreamless.

Morning comes.

The knight helps him settle down.

She never says it, but her eyes are daggers during the whole process, two cold stones with sharp glints of blame.

She looks a little murderous and if he cared it would be downright frightening.

Yet he would like to stay here rather than having to return to the city. He doesn't move, but he feels her aura against him without having to reach out.

/Softer, colder...so much fainter—but/ it's close by and hums steadily.

He can't care for more.

*._______________________

The second night, Rafiel finds the things he had packed to go to Sienne by the foot of the bed, a few ...what? Months ago? It feels like more and yet his internal clock tells him that it has been but a handful of days.

Now the sun is long set, things are slightly less new than the first night. His mind gets slightly louder than before, threateningly overwhelming again. He looks for any diversion to avoid thinking.

Minutes grow, painfully slow, and the search turns into a yearning.

When then there's a knock on his bedroom door, he jumps out of his skin, heavy heartbeat now pounding in his throat.

Before he can answer, the beorc is inside. Something, somewhere in the back of his mind, is contemplating expressing annoyance for her intrusion on his privacy—but the rest is /glad/ because she is a breach in the overwhelming spiral of his emotions.
 
"Not very sleepy, are you," she remarks. The door knob is still in her hand as she leans back against the post. Rafiel's mind registers very little, but there is something thinner, lighter—still white—about her clothing by night. There is something regal about her too, even when she is relaxed or behaving casually—He gathers his clothes and his wings open a little in nervousness. He looks down to the bed sheets.

The beorc hums. "I thought as much." There is no more than business in her voice. She never waits for answers; she throws safe guesses and narrows it down from his reactions. He's thankful for it, because he couldn't care to form words—hasn't since the death of his mate.

It's good not to have to force hollow smiles any longer. In this place, anything can happen. It keeps him on the tip of his toes.

"Here, I've got cards. Let's play something."

She settles down on the bed, cross-legged. Something, somewhere in the back of his mind, wonders if the captain is really that flippant or if he's a special occasion. /Not that it's important./

"Any game in mind?"

He freezes until something clicks in her eyes. She quickly snickers at herself and throws her head aside before turning the movement into mere interest for the game. "Mh, perhaps Anima Dots will do."

He repeats the game's name on a tuneless whisper as if tasting it. He feels so far away.

"I'll teach you." She is shuffling the deck and he feels comfortable blinking, just watching things unfold in her hands.


*._______________________

The following days are an undistinguished blur when he tries to recall them. Until now, the beorc has always found a way to meet him before the first hour of the evening, right when the sun begins to set. He is usually up before her, but he goes back to bed as soon as he has done minimal cleaning.

Most mornings she is away with the pegasus. But mornings are easier. He can lose his senses in the scenery, entertain himself with the menial chores she has not yet done. (And cooking. Especially fish. He has no experience but it is for the best.) The sun enters far into the house and his room. He doesn't feel the need to leave. He doesn't leave it at all.

Until she comes back and half drags him into long flights under a sky both clear and aflame. Then they walk half of the way back. Their pace is slow but never enough to be truly quiet, and she makes /sure/ he follows.

Then he is tired, all of his body and mind content with the exhaustion. He discovers her house and the surroundings, plants, trees—even the distant rice fields... All is still new and he has no strength left to think about anything serious. It seems that she always has a hand on him, a part of her body touching his whenever she is near—now something in the back of his mind wonders if the murderous glint in her eyes were just for the faces who have left him stride away from the main city even though everyone knew that he was still grieving.
...

Without meaning to, he learns to recognize her from the way she holds him before he notices her face. For him, her features are just an eternal image of stubborn strength with two small pebbles of light seared in it. (He is not sure of the color...nor is there a reason to check.)

He avoids beorcs and laguz alike, and she doesn't force him into meeting anyone. But all the time that she doesn't spend at the court she is by his side, and rarely leaves him on his own. As if she is apprehensive of it.

Her every move is skilled yet plangent, always moving and making him spin as often as possible in the process—as if his life depended on movement.

She is trouble, but easy to follow. So he doesn't care either way. He is not going to resist.

*._______________________

It is the end of the evening. The beorc is eating some kind of dried locusts with wheat grain today. (Has she ever eaten meat? ...He does not remember.)
She catches his gaze into her plate—his vegetables and bread are barely touched on the plate between his hands—just enough to avoid having her insisting on his nourishment.
"They have been popular in Daein for a while. It appears that locusts are higher in proteins than fish..." she says, sipping water with something like mirth in her eyes. "I doubt that you would agree, though. ...Nutcracker."

There is a silence and he blinks.

"We used to eat insects too, long ago..." he croaks out on a quiet tune that comes louder than intended. He feels like his voice is echoing on the walls long after he has shut his lips. There is no sign of surprise from her, though—some part of him is grateful for this. Still, he feels inadequate, out of his place and time.

She doesn't lift her head; her spoon never stops its momentum. But her body language tells him that she's rapt from hearing him.

"Really? I'll have to try to cook some for you then."

He doesn't add anything afterwards but something at the back of his mind feels guilty for making her worry. Not that it matters. She seems happy the rest of the day, which means that she is just a quicker whirlwind and he is spinning faster.
...He would feel bad for how hard she's trying. But he has never asked anything of her. (Or that's not quite true, but he hadn't been fully conscious of his actions when he had hugged her.) So he shouldn't feel concerned. Moreover, she's going to tire of it, get bored sooner or later. He just had to wait. He has unfathomable amounts of time. She has only the span of a beorc.

*._______________________

Another day passes, then another night. At some point in time, while his mind is focused enough to hear her, the knight says something that sounds very ironic. He doesn't realize that something resembling a smile is piercing through the gloom, barely curling his lips; before he sees a blinding glow of elation on her face. (It is getting hard not to care about guilt. Something in the back of his mind feels like sobbing, begging her to stop and get on with her life. But he doesn't think she would listen.)

Whether they are alone or not, she is somewhat unpredictable; enough to make him physically wary every time she's nearby; enough so that he doesn't have time to do anything but focus on her.

The only change as days come and go, is that he does so with bland entertainment instead of raw wariness now.

She is never gentle, except when she touches him and she is never patient with anything else in her life. Her words are much worse than her deeds, none even remotely kind. But he senses that they are even worse when she wants it; without probing he feels that she is mindful of him. He begins to suspect that she's careful to not let him settle down, or feel comfortable; that she knows that he is running away from his mind and she doing her best to cover his escape.

Sometimes he hears voices outside, late at night, after he's lying on the bed she gave him.

Not afar, yet low, worried, bargaining. The worry comes from different voices, some ring with distrust, others suspicion, and there's an iron stubbornness in each of the pegasus knight's answers.

This time, though, there is a voice that speaks with a louder aura than the others.

"What has possibly crossed your mind, Tanith?" It seems that the Empress herself has moved to assess the situation. If he felt the will to feel anything he would have been somewhat honored—may the Empress concern be for ethical or political reasons.

Even with an empty mind, he can tell that there has been too much ado about slavery in Begnion not to make a fuss about his isolation. Even if the Empress trusts the pegasus knight, the words of one person alone will not suffice after this long... There is a roar and the noise of much more beorc weapons being drawn than he would have expected. The brink of an upcoming battle is an aura that he knows too well—it jerks him out of his room and bring him out in sleep clothes before he can think.

There are many different figures facing the knight barely a yard away in the field of grass behind the cottage. All of them freeze when he appears but he pays it no mind. Gathering what he can of his wit, he bows and forces a smile trying to appear reassuring, not looking at anyone specifically.

"Please... Tell my father that I am fine. Tell him...that I am about to go on a trip," he says, barely able to voice the important parts, "that I will only see him on my return...so it is simply useless to worry," he finishes, voice straining not to fall to a whisper; he nods diligently before hurrying back inside.

Now the Empress is probably more worried than before because of his way of speech; feeble vocabulary and no trace of any kind of formality—but he doesn't feel like a prince; he hadn't for years and he has just lost the strength to uphold the standard masquerade.

He just hopes that it will be enough to quell things...of Anyone who may worry after his silent absence. He tries not to think about his father, sister, brother...but he deeply thanks whoever has prevented the Hawk King from storming through the door of the cottage.

There is one last visit, then no more for a long period of time.

He breathes and closes his eyes, wishing that he could simply never leave his bed again.