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femslashficlets2016-10-04 09:19 am
alphastarr) wrote in femslashficlets2016-10-04 09:19 am
Entry tags:
"her heart beats, thunderous" - challenge #79 'wet'
Title: her heart beats, thunderous
Fandom: Fire Emblem (FE14)
Pairing: Rinkah/Azura
Prompt: Challenge #79 wet
Rating: PG13 // T
Word Count: 777
Summary: As a child, she was taught that the rain was evil.
She has seen it, in the Flame Tribe's snowy north, she has seen her tribesmen brought to their knees by the rain. It is not the snow, which has always melted to nothingness, sitting harmlessly atop their well-woven clothes, for the cold of frigid rain soaks oneself to the bone, neither cloth nor skin capable of protecting their inner fire from that cold.
Rinkah has seen them, has watched her men grow too weak to refuse help. She has seen them progress from a cough to a fever; a fever to a chill; and then, from a chill, into nothingness.
Her mother dies like this, one lethal spring. Fire is in their blood, her father tells her, and the rain is their enemy. He does not see fit to explain it any further. Rinkah does not need any other explanation. She waterproofs the outside of her tent more thoroughly, and wears the skin of seals over her shoulders. She carries those lessons with her into Hoshidan territory, and into war against Nohr, and even beyond the known planes themselves.
But here, though she sits warm and safe beside the watchfire, going strong though it is only midday-- o how the rains tempt her to challenge them, as any worthy foe would. She watches their general from that pavillioned gatehouse, dancing in the downpour and manipulating the water with little more than a flick of her slim, elegant hands, not near as battle-hardened as Rinkah's own.
This songstress does not need so much battle experience to be a lethal force. Rinkah, already, feels as if she might die of thirst-- Azura's weapons are her silky arms, dancing in the rain as if it is the utmost joy. The curve of her waist, her breasts, beneath the cling of fabric, white, that seemed to have been made for this purpose. Her arching legs, territory that Rinkah herself is all too familiar with, and how they glisten, wet, beneath the torrential sky.
Azura smiles through hair that plasters to her face, to her shoulders, soft, soft. It must be a momentous joy, indeed, if the rain touches even Azura's stoic heart this way.
"Won't you dance with me, Rinkah?" Azura entreats, and at her command, the rain twirls around that lithe figure in spindles.
Beautiful, Rinkah thinks, before she remembers it is also lethal.
"I'll pass this time," she answers, trying to school her expression neutral. She cannot hide that she is disappointed, having to reject the offer.
"It isn't cold," Azura offers, but of course, that is to her. The rain itself bends to her will, like subjects to a beloved queen, and Rinkah has no doubt that the rain becomes warm before it dares to touch Azura's skin. Even Rinkah herself grows warmer at the thought of touching Azura, and they are not so different from each other, these princesses of fire and water.
Instead of expressing this, though, Rinkah opts for the simplest explanation: "I don't like getting wet."
"You do not mind the baths, or the castle hot-springs."
Or Azura's thighs, Rinkah adds mentally, the water sluicing over her leggings. Distracting. Her lover is doing this on purpose, she decides, and they are masterful, these tactics she employs against Rinkah's defense.
But Rinkah refuses to go down without a last-ditch argument: "I will be useless in battle if I catch a cold."
"Don't be afraid... I wouldn't ask you to dance if I thought it might harm you," Azura comes in closer, and extends her soaking hand in Rinkah's direction. "Please... let me share my joy with you. Just this once, let us forget about the war."
It is said, in Rinkah's tribe, that memories sprout forth from human heads as hair-- and Azura, whose thoughts seem to weigh her down like lead, for once looks a lightened soul. How her heart leaps into her throat at that sight! Rinkah's resolve, however minutely, weakens. The Flame Tribe breeds women who are stoic-- stoic, but not cruel.
"Just a little while," answers Rinkah, at last giving way.
She glances around to check that nobody else can see her admit this defeat-- her pride is less durable than her flesh. But when she takes the princess' hand, rain dances over her skin like a lover's caress, and she lets herself be twirled across the cobblestone path. Warmly, more softly than she ever would in public-- she lets Azura kiss her beneath the rain, and sways under the downpour.
Azura's lips curve into a smile, rare. They whisper between tender kisses: "Just a little while."
And in the years following this secret dance, Rinkah ceases to fear the rain.
Fandom: Fire Emblem (FE14)
Pairing: Rinkah/Azura
Prompt: Challenge #79 wet
Rating: PG13 // T
Word Count: 777
Summary: As a child, she was taught that the rain was evil.
She has seen it, in the Flame Tribe's snowy north, she has seen her tribesmen brought to their knees by the rain. It is not the snow, which has always melted to nothingness, sitting harmlessly atop their well-woven clothes, for the cold of frigid rain soaks oneself to the bone, neither cloth nor skin capable of protecting their inner fire from that cold.
Rinkah has seen them, has watched her men grow too weak to refuse help. She has seen them progress from a cough to a fever; a fever to a chill; and then, from a chill, into nothingness.
Her mother dies like this, one lethal spring. Fire is in their blood, her father tells her, and the rain is their enemy. He does not see fit to explain it any further. Rinkah does not need any other explanation. She waterproofs the outside of her tent more thoroughly, and wears the skin of seals over her shoulders. She carries those lessons with her into Hoshidan territory, and into war against Nohr, and even beyond the known planes themselves.
But here, though she sits warm and safe beside the watchfire, going strong though it is only midday-- o how the rains tempt her to challenge them, as any worthy foe would. She watches their general from that pavillioned gatehouse, dancing in the downpour and manipulating the water with little more than a flick of her slim, elegant hands, not near as battle-hardened as Rinkah's own.
This songstress does not need so much battle experience to be a lethal force. Rinkah, already, feels as if she might die of thirst-- Azura's weapons are her silky arms, dancing in the rain as if it is the utmost joy. The curve of her waist, her breasts, beneath the cling of fabric, white, that seemed to have been made for this purpose. Her arching legs, territory that Rinkah herself is all too familiar with, and how they glisten, wet, beneath the torrential sky.
Azura smiles through hair that plasters to her face, to her shoulders, soft, soft. It must be a momentous joy, indeed, if the rain touches even Azura's stoic heart this way.
"Won't you dance with me, Rinkah?" Azura entreats, and at her command, the rain twirls around that lithe figure in spindles.
Beautiful, Rinkah thinks, before she remembers it is also lethal.
"I'll pass this time," she answers, trying to school her expression neutral. She cannot hide that she is disappointed, having to reject the offer.
"It isn't cold," Azura offers, but of course, that is to her. The rain itself bends to her will, like subjects to a beloved queen, and Rinkah has no doubt that the rain becomes warm before it dares to touch Azura's skin. Even Rinkah herself grows warmer at the thought of touching Azura, and they are not so different from each other, these princesses of fire and water.
Instead of expressing this, though, Rinkah opts for the simplest explanation: "I don't like getting wet."
"You do not mind the baths, or the castle hot-springs."
Or Azura's thighs, Rinkah adds mentally, the water sluicing over her leggings. Distracting. Her lover is doing this on purpose, she decides, and they are masterful, these tactics she employs against Rinkah's defense.
But Rinkah refuses to go down without a last-ditch argument: "I will be useless in battle if I catch a cold."
"Don't be afraid... I wouldn't ask you to dance if I thought it might harm you," Azura comes in closer, and extends her soaking hand in Rinkah's direction. "Please... let me share my joy with you. Just this once, let us forget about the war."
It is said, in Rinkah's tribe, that memories sprout forth from human heads as hair-- and Azura, whose thoughts seem to weigh her down like lead, for once looks a lightened soul. How her heart leaps into her throat at that sight! Rinkah's resolve, however minutely, weakens. The Flame Tribe breeds women who are stoic-- stoic, but not cruel.
"Just a little while," answers Rinkah, at last giving way.
She glances around to check that nobody else can see her admit this defeat-- her pride is less durable than her flesh. But when she takes the princess' hand, rain dances over her skin like a lover's caress, and she lets herself be twirled across the cobblestone path. Warmly, more softly than she ever would in public-- she lets Azura kiss her beneath the rain, and sways under the downpour.
Azura's lips curve into a smile, rare. They whisper between tender kisses: "Just a little while."
And in the years following this secret dance, Rinkah ceases to fear the rain.
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