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shinonFandom: Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Characters: Naesala, Reyson, Leanne
Word count: 800
Warnings: None
Notes: GYWO Yahtzee, "crunch."
Much though I enjoy the bastard, I find Naesala intimidating to write, and so generally don't do it. This is an experiment. It is an experiment in deliberately thinking provocative thoughts just to piss off the empath looking over your shoulder.
Underneath all the greenery there remained that layer of ash and debris. The Galdr of Rebirth hadn't erased it - that wasn't how seid magic worked, and more to the point, it wasn't how plants worked. Rebirth followed death. A forest had to sink its roots in something.
There were crunchy spots in the ground - blackened leaves, blackened bones. The central building of what had been the city of Serenes - a sort of shrine overlooking the altar - had had three glass windows. Most laguz settlements couldn't boast as much. Anyway, it was impressive how far some of those fragments had been thrown in the blast. Twenty-odd years had washed much of the soot off them, but had only begun to grind down the sharp edges. Naesala picked up a handful of the glittering shards and let them trickle down through his fingers. He bled, a little. On its way to the ground a piece bounced off the burnt skull of a young bird, through which ivy was growing.
It went without saying that Reyson and Leanne were both watching him. Here at the seat of their power, Reyson's mental probing felt like claws around the back of your neck. Leanne's he couldn't feel; she was more of an ambush predator. But she'd be there, he knew. She had this absurd idea that her brother was bullying him. From somewhere in the trees they were watching him and, one supposed, trying to decide if he was penitent enough. Judging whether he was (he allowed himself a sneer) feeling the correct emotions to be suffered to live here in peace and harmony with all the rest.
Trouble was, with Leanne advocating for him, it wasn't a test he could fail. Trouble was, he might prefer to.
She read into things. The simplest act of resistance - merely telling her My mind is not your playground, thank you - only convinced her you were protecting some secret wound, something she could fix if you'd only let her wet her beak in it. Romantic notion. Even if that were the case, there was such a thing - herons often had trouble with this - as privacy.
Herons, back when there'd been more than four of them. He looked skyward. There were gaps in the canopy where the water flowed. The holes opened by the fire were still filling in, although a little faster now. The first decade or so there had been no change at all, while Leanne slept in the undergrowth and Rafiel wandered the desert. And now look: still the site of a mass murder, but so green. This counted for something, to somebody.
He looked down again. Phoenicis was full of bones like this, too. He thought: Well, Tibarn, you have to concede I never burned the place down. Strictly speaking, it's still habitable. The blood will wash out eventually.
He almost had to laugh. Let his observers in the trees make of that what they would.
They assumed he wanted to stay here. But what was his incentive? Other than shedding the troublesome business of kingship - and he had the whole of the world to go not be king in, if it suited him. Turn pirate full-time, why not. Start adulterating currency. Tweak Empress Sanaki's tailfeathers. If his erstwhile subjects wanted to move here under Tibarn's protection, let them. It would be funny, wouldn't it? As the only bird tribe who hadn't been massacred recently (you're welcome), crows would outnumber the others handily. Were the good king and his consort prepared for that? Was that really the constituency they had envisioned for their little forest paradise?
Naesala felt Reyson's mind bearing down harder on his. Better throw him something before he broke through; let it be this grim satisfaction. That ought to upset him.
He went deeper into the forest. Two white shadows followed him. At least they did so openly now. The pretense that they'd gone unnoticed was simply insulting to all parties.
Awfully humid here, wasn't it. As he walked on, his feet crunching through layers of new life and old death, he entertained himself with thoughts of a dead breezeless summer, some novel strain of feather mite found only here, and other horrors. Imagine the itching. Would it really be such an upgrade?
And it was flammable. Demonstrably flammable.
He felt it then - Leanne. Of course eavesdropping only went one way - that she'd let him know she was listening was the whole message. She'd spent a lot of time with Nealuchi lately, so probably it meant "not hurt, just disappointed."
He turned back to them - Reyson mantling ridiculously over nothing, Leanne sharp-eyed and still.
He said, "What do you want from me?"
Reyson shifted shape to speak. "The truth."
Naesala leaned in, smiling thinly. "Show me where I lied."
Characters: Naesala, Reyson, Leanne
Word count: 800
Warnings: None
Notes: GYWO Yahtzee, "crunch."
Much though I enjoy the bastard, I find Naesala intimidating to write, and so generally don't do it. This is an experiment. It is an experiment in deliberately thinking provocative thoughts just to piss off the empath looking over your shoulder.
Underneath all the greenery there remained that layer of ash and debris. The Galdr of Rebirth hadn't erased it - that wasn't how seid magic worked, and more to the point, it wasn't how plants worked. Rebirth followed death. A forest had to sink its roots in something.
There were crunchy spots in the ground - blackened leaves, blackened bones. The central building of what had been the city of Serenes - a sort of shrine overlooking the altar - had had three glass windows. Most laguz settlements couldn't boast as much. Anyway, it was impressive how far some of those fragments had been thrown in the blast. Twenty-odd years had washed much of the soot off them, but had only begun to grind down the sharp edges. Naesala picked up a handful of the glittering shards and let them trickle down through his fingers. He bled, a little. On its way to the ground a piece bounced off the burnt skull of a young bird, through which ivy was growing.
It went without saying that Reyson and Leanne were both watching him. Here at the seat of their power, Reyson's mental probing felt like claws around the back of your neck. Leanne's he couldn't feel; she was more of an ambush predator. But she'd be there, he knew. She had this absurd idea that her brother was bullying him. From somewhere in the trees they were watching him and, one supposed, trying to decide if he was penitent enough. Judging whether he was (he allowed himself a sneer) feeling the correct emotions to be suffered to live here in peace and harmony with all the rest.
Trouble was, with Leanne advocating for him, it wasn't a test he could fail. Trouble was, he might prefer to.
She read into things. The simplest act of resistance - merely telling her My mind is not your playground, thank you - only convinced her you were protecting some secret wound, something she could fix if you'd only let her wet her beak in it. Romantic notion. Even if that were the case, there was such a thing - herons often had trouble with this - as privacy.
Herons, back when there'd been more than four of them. He looked skyward. There were gaps in the canopy where the water flowed. The holes opened by the fire were still filling in, although a little faster now. The first decade or so there had been no change at all, while Leanne slept in the undergrowth and Rafiel wandered the desert. And now look: still the site of a mass murder, but so green. This counted for something, to somebody.
He looked down again. Phoenicis was full of bones like this, too. He thought: Well, Tibarn, you have to concede I never burned the place down. Strictly speaking, it's still habitable. The blood will wash out eventually.
He almost had to laugh. Let his observers in the trees make of that what they would.
They assumed he wanted to stay here. But what was his incentive? Other than shedding the troublesome business of kingship - and he had the whole of the world to go not be king in, if it suited him. Turn pirate full-time, why not. Start adulterating currency. Tweak Empress Sanaki's tailfeathers. If his erstwhile subjects wanted to move here under Tibarn's protection, let them. It would be funny, wouldn't it? As the only bird tribe who hadn't been massacred recently (you're welcome), crows would outnumber the others handily. Were the good king and his consort prepared for that? Was that really the constituency they had envisioned for their little forest paradise?
Naesala felt Reyson's mind bearing down harder on his. Better throw him something before he broke through; let it be this grim satisfaction. That ought to upset him.
He went deeper into the forest. Two white shadows followed him. At least they did so openly now. The pretense that they'd gone unnoticed was simply insulting to all parties.
Awfully humid here, wasn't it. As he walked on, his feet crunching through layers of new life and old death, he entertained himself with thoughts of a dead breezeless summer, some novel strain of feather mite found only here, and other horrors. Imagine the itching. Would it really be such an upgrade?
And it was flammable. Demonstrably flammable.
He felt it then - Leanne. Of course eavesdropping only went one way - that she'd let him know she was listening was the whole message. She'd spent a lot of time with Nealuchi lately, so probably it meant "not hurt, just disappointed."
He turned back to them - Reyson mantling ridiculously over nothing, Leanne sharp-eyed and still.
He said, "What do you want from me?"
Reyson shifted shape to speak. "The truth."
Naesala leaned in, smiling thinly. "Show me where I lied."
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Date: 2021-06-21 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2022-07-05 01:59 am (UTC)