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Entry tags:
[more untitled request fic, now with awkward science parenting]
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Characters: Laurent, Miriel
Word count: ~750
Warnings: None (first FE13 fic, probably OOC, &c &c &c)
Notes: Morri requested Laurent and Miriel bonding over science, and a thing happened.
It’s true he doesn’t have any conclusive evidence that he is her son. He has the ring, which cannot be assumed to mean anything at all, and he has his own increasingly distant memories of her face, which are not admissible as proof. He wishes sometimes that she were easier to persuade. But if she was in the habit of believing things that couldn’t be proven, she wouldn’t be Miriel. She’s the one who taught him to be objective, to avoid unnecessary assumptions - she’s the one who taught him everything - so he knows her skepticism will not be surmounted with wishing.
Just as he knows that until he can prove his parentage to her satisfaction, their every interaction is going to have a hidden sting.
She wouldn’t do it on purpose. If she knew what it meant to him to see her again, she wouldn’t. She is acting on the best information she has. He understands this on an intellectual level; all that remains is to make himself accept it.
Or else find better proof.
In the meantime, he’s made some refinements to the colored explosives she thought so impractical. As a demonstration of physical principles, this batch will (if it works, which it should, considering how many times he checked his figures) be spectacular. The components should ignite at different altitudes, creating distinct overlaid strata in a number of unusual hues. A little more tinkering with the formula, and he’ll be prepared to show it to the army. Some night this week, perhaps.
He doesn’t know she’s watching him until she says, “I think I can surmise what you intend to do.”
He freezes, and a rare oxide trickles from between his fingers. “Indeed, Mother?”
“Your dedication to this project is commendable.”
“Thank you.”
She looks around his makeshift work room, adjusts her glasses, and says, “May I offer my assistance?”
“I would be delighted,” he says. “I’ve made a list of the necessary compounds and the appropriate ratios -”
She has already picked it up, without his telling her where it is, and is scanning the columns with a critical eye. “This is exactly as I would have laid it out,” she says eventually.
“Yes. I learned my methods from you.”
“Where do you intend to acquire this much earth metal?”
“I already have, Mother. I was able to reach an agreement with a local alchemist.”
“Remarkable.”
He shifts slightly. “I’m pleased you think so.”
She helps him weigh out the powders and assess their purity (usually with flame), and she suggests a number of adjustments to the mixture. Some he accepts, and others, after a brief discussion, they agree are not to be implemented. Of course she doesn’t need warning about the possibility that the entire building could combust; of course she already knows all the necessary precautions, and of course they already know somehow precisely how to keep out of each other’s way. This collaboration feels - though her presence always makes him uncomfortably aware that he is feeling, and not approaching the matter with calm and rational thought - natural. It feels - unscientific as it is to rely on some subjective conviction - like the way things are supposed to be.
She finishes tying up a small test parcel and says, “Laurent, perhaps I haven’t been sufficiently explicit.”
“About what?”
“I believe you.”
He doesn’t know what to say. He says nothing.
“And even if it were otherwise - regardless of whether your claims of being my child from an alternate future can be substantiated - I am unutterably honored to have your acquaintance and proud to regard you as a colleague.”
He still doesn’t know what to say. “Mother,” he begins, and trails off.
“Son.”
They stare at each other, and for a moment he thinks she’s going to embrace him, and then for a moment he thinks he ought to embrace her, and he truly has no idea what protocols apply to this situation, and from the look on her face he supposes she’s running the same series of frantic calculations.
Several seconds elapse.
Abruptly she hands him the parcel. “It’s nearly dark,” she says. “I believe the promontory south of camp will make an ideal testing site.”
“I had the same thought.”
“Splendid,” she says. “Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say ‘excelsior.’”
She makes an odd fussy gesture with her hat and leaves before he can say anything else. Perhaps, for all the impressive breadth of their combined vocabulary, it’s better not to try.
Characters: Laurent, Miriel
Word count: ~750
Warnings: None (first FE13 fic, probably OOC, &c &c &c)
Notes: Morri requested Laurent and Miriel bonding over science, and a thing happened.
It’s true he doesn’t have any conclusive evidence that he is her son. He has the ring, which cannot be assumed to mean anything at all, and he has his own increasingly distant memories of her face, which are not admissible as proof. He wishes sometimes that she were easier to persuade. But if she was in the habit of believing things that couldn’t be proven, she wouldn’t be Miriel. She’s the one who taught him to be objective, to avoid unnecessary assumptions - she’s the one who taught him everything - so he knows her skepticism will not be surmounted with wishing.
Just as he knows that until he can prove his parentage to her satisfaction, their every interaction is going to have a hidden sting.
She wouldn’t do it on purpose. If she knew what it meant to him to see her again, she wouldn’t. She is acting on the best information she has. He understands this on an intellectual level; all that remains is to make himself accept it.
Or else find better proof.
In the meantime, he’s made some refinements to the colored explosives she thought so impractical. As a demonstration of physical principles, this batch will (if it works, which it should, considering how many times he checked his figures) be spectacular. The components should ignite at different altitudes, creating distinct overlaid strata in a number of unusual hues. A little more tinkering with the formula, and he’ll be prepared to show it to the army. Some night this week, perhaps.
He doesn’t know she’s watching him until she says, “I think I can surmise what you intend to do.”
He freezes, and a rare oxide trickles from between his fingers. “Indeed, Mother?”
“Your dedication to this project is commendable.”
“Thank you.”
She looks around his makeshift work room, adjusts her glasses, and says, “May I offer my assistance?”
“I would be delighted,” he says. “I’ve made a list of the necessary compounds and the appropriate ratios -”
She has already picked it up, without his telling her where it is, and is scanning the columns with a critical eye. “This is exactly as I would have laid it out,” she says eventually.
“Yes. I learned my methods from you.”
“Where do you intend to acquire this much earth metal?”
“I already have, Mother. I was able to reach an agreement with a local alchemist.”
“Remarkable.”
He shifts slightly. “I’m pleased you think so.”
She helps him weigh out the powders and assess their purity (usually with flame), and she suggests a number of adjustments to the mixture. Some he accepts, and others, after a brief discussion, they agree are not to be implemented. Of course she doesn’t need warning about the possibility that the entire building could combust; of course she already knows all the necessary precautions, and of course they already know somehow precisely how to keep out of each other’s way. This collaboration feels - though her presence always makes him uncomfortably aware that he is feeling, and not approaching the matter with calm and rational thought - natural. It feels - unscientific as it is to rely on some subjective conviction - like the way things are supposed to be.
She finishes tying up a small test parcel and says, “Laurent, perhaps I haven’t been sufficiently explicit.”
“About what?”
“I believe you.”
He doesn’t know what to say. He says nothing.
“And even if it were otherwise - regardless of whether your claims of being my child from an alternate future can be substantiated - I am unutterably honored to have your acquaintance and proud to regard you as a colleague.”
He still doesn’t know what to say. “Mother,” he begins, and trails off.
“Son.”
They stare at each other, and for a moment he thinks she’s going to embrace him, and then for a moment he thinks he ought to embrace her, and he truly has no idea what protocols apply to this situation, and from the look on her face he supposes she’s running the same series of frantic calculations.
Several seconds elapse.
Abruptly she hands him the parcel. “It’s nearly dark,” she says. “I believe the promontory south of camp will make an ideal testing site.”
“I had the same thought.”
“Splendid,” she says. “Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say ‘excelsior.’”
She makes an odd fussy gesture with her hat and leaves before he can say anything else. Perhaps, for all the impressive breadth of their combined vocabulary, it’s better not to try.