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femslashficlets2017-10-31 03:14 am
rosage) wrote in femslashficlets2017-10-31 03:14 am
Shakespeare 7
Title: I in Your Sweet Thoughts
Fandom: Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Pairing: Faye/Silque
Rating: G
Word Count: 943
Prompt: 7 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot - Sonnet 71
Summary: Helping a child makes Faye worry about what she is to Silque.
Note: Part seven of a ficlet series starting here.
Fandom: Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Pairing: Faye/Silque
Rating: G
Word Count: 943
Prompt: 7 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot - Sonnet 71
Summary: Helping a child makes Faye worry about what she is to Silque.
Note: Part seven of a ficlet series starting here.
At the forest’s edge, the trees are sparse enough the girls no longer squeeze together to fit through. Faye’s disappointment is interrupted by a call for help that makes Silque take off, Faye close at her heels. A child’s crying quickens Faye’s pace, her shorter legs surpassing Silque. When she finds a woman kneeling next to an intact child, she halts, bow in hand.
“He ran ahead and broke his ankle, and I couldn’t get him to move...” The woman’s embarrassed look becomes fearful as it locks onto Faye’s quiver of arrows.
Thankfully, Silque arrives. Her soothing tone does little to quiet the child, but she coaxes words from him, and begins setting the ankle. Faye fidgets with her forgotten set of hands.
After remembering the herbs in her bag, she prepares something to put the boy to sleep. Mending bones by magic will allow him to walk again soon, but the pain has made hardened soldiers cry. That would give him something to fuss over.
Once he’s asleep and mended, the mother thanks Silque profusely, and receives a light lecture about taking care in the woods. Silque’s gentle smile as she looks at the boy twists Faye’s heart. It’s a fond feeling, she assumes, but in the ache in her chest does not disappear as they depart.
“He ran ahead and broke his ankle, and I couldn’t get him to move...” The woman’s embarrassed look becomes fearful as it locks onto Faye’s quiver of arrows.
Thankfully, Silque arrives. Her soothing tone does little to quiet the child, but she coaxes words from him, and begins setting the ankle. Faye fidgets with her forgotten set of hands.
After remembering the herbs in her bag, she prepares something to put the boy to sleep. Mending bones by magic will allow him to walk again soon, but the pain has made hardened soldiers cry. That would give him something to fuss over.
Once he’s asleep and mended, the mother thanks Silque profusely, and receives a light lecture about taking care in the woods. Silque’s gentle smile as she looks at the boy twists Faye’s heart. It’s a fond feeling, she assumes, but in the ache in her chest does not disappear as they depart.
xxxxxxx
When dawn hits, Silque smiles and apologizes for her previous mood. She gathers the arrows Faye forgot, praising their precision, and begins gathering berries to fill out their breakfast. Faye leaps to help, but Silque suggests another task in a tone that implies not to follow. Faye shuffles off, the ache returning to gnaw at her.
Silque’s face as she cradled the child’s head has not left Faye, either. It sticks like sap on her skin, forcing her to turn it over until she pinpoints the source of her agitation: the moment Silque’s sympathy became satisfaction.
Though they could find the open road, they remain in the forest for its food and shelter. Its shadows heighten Faye’s nerves, every rustle making her hold her breath in case the clank of metal follows. She doesn’t realize she’s stopped until a hand touches her shoulder. She whirls on Silque, who snaps it back, but keeps it hovering. Pity is written all over her face. However ghastly Faye must look, it doesn’t help.
“I’m fine,” Faye says, her voice jittery. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I’m just a patient to you, right? A child to save so you can feel good? But a staff can’t fix a broken heart.”
It was mending, she thought, but it’s formed new cracks that deepen when she sees Silque’s stunned face. Silque bows her head, hair hiding her pink cheeks like curtains drawn over a sunset.
“I don’t save people to--I--Oh, Faye.” She sighs, not in resignation, but with a rush of feeling that makes Faye inhale.
“I admit, I took pity on you,” Silque continues, and Faye bristles. “I thought you were a lonely soul, like I was. You withdrew when I first sought a woman’s company, after all. But that was then. Now, after the war, after Mila--I have to admit I can’t save everyone.”
Silque’s melancholy of the night before returns to Faye, lowering her defenses. How could she have forgotten Silque’s feelings? Before she can respond, Silque continues, her voice low and strange.
“After my past experiences traveling, is it too selfish to want a beautiful, talented woman to join me?”
No amount of hair can hide Silque’s red face now, and Faye can’t process it along with the words, the fact that they’re about her.
The chance slips away, as Silque turns and straightens, letting out a slow breath. “My apologies. We must make up for lost time if we are to remain on track.”
Only her fear of being left behind propels Faye to follow Silque, her eyes trained between her shoulders and a stronger ache than ever in her heart.
Even now, Faye doesn’t know where her feet carry her every day. She relies on Silque’s goals and navigational skills, for her part supplying her bow to hunt and fight. Familiar fears drives her to train after they’re safe and fed, drawing her bowstring until her fingers ache.
Silque watches sometimes, even when Faye doesn’t ask. She is so used to begging for eyes on her that it almost trips her up, but she focuses harder than ever on her targets, grinning when she hits them all.
“Did you see?” she asks.
Normally, Silque confirms that she had. The evening after they help the boy, she is quiet. She’s settled against a trunk, her tome open on her lap, her gaze not quite on the arrows where they’ve hit their mark. If she were aiming herself, she’d miss. A fatal error, Mycen’s voice rings in Faye’s head.
“Silque?”
Silque blinks. “Ah, yes.”
Faye abandons her practice to ask after Silque, but Silque only shakes her head. “Did the healing drain you?” Faye asks, leaning down to examine Silque. It was a small spell for a saint of her caliber, but Mila no longer supplies fresh magic, or--or however it works.
“I’ll be fine, though I imagine it makes little difference.”
“What are you saying? I don’t know where I’d be without you--your knowledge.”
“Safe back home in your village, for one thing.” The bitterness in her tone startles Faye. Glancing up at her, Silque sighs. “I’m sorry. It was crass of me to tease.”
Still Silque seems distracted, and she’s withdrawn for the rest of the evening, leaving Faye to fret until dawn.
Silque watches sometimes, even when Faye doesn’t ask. She is so used to begging for eyes on her that it almost trips her up, but she focuses harder than ever on her targets, grinning when she hits them all.
“Did you see?” she asks.
Normally, Silque confirms that she had. The evening after they help the boy, she is quiet. She’s settled against a trunk, her tome open on her lap, her gaze not quite on the arrows where they’ve hit their mark. If she were aiming herself, she’d miss. A fatal error, Mycen’s voice rings in Faye’s head.
“Silque?”
Silque blinks. “Ah, yes.”
Faye abandons her practice to ask after Silque, but Silque only shakes her head. “Did the healing drain you?” Faye asks, leaning down to examine Silque. It was a small spell for a saint of her caliber, but Mila no longer supplies fresh magic, or--or however it works.
“I’ll be fine, though I imagine it makes little difference.”
“What are you saying? I don’t know where I’d be without you--your knowledge.”
“Safe back home in your village, for one thing.” The bitterness in her tone startles Faye. Glancing up at her, Silque sighs. “I’m sorry. It was crass of me to tease.”
Still Silque seems distracted, and she’s withdrawn for the rest of the evening, leaving Faye to fret until dawn.
xxxxxxx
When dawn hits, Silque smiles and apologizes for her previous mood. She gathers the arrows Faye forgot, praising their precision, and begins gathering berries to fill out their breakfast. Faye leaps to help, but Silque suggests another task in a tone that implies not to follow. Faye shuffles off, the ache returning to gnaw at her.
Silque’s face as she cradled the child’s head has not left Faye, either. It sticks like sap on her skin, forcing her to turn it over until she pinpoints the source of her agitation: the moment Silque’s sympathy became satisfaction.
Though they could find the open road, they remain in the forest for its food and shelter. Its shadows heighten Faye’s nerves, every rustle making her hold her breath in case the clank of metal follows. She doesn’t realize she’s stopped until a hand touches her shoulder. She whirls on Silque, who snaps it back, but keeps it hovering. Pity is written all over her face. However ghastly Faye must look, it doesn’t help.
“I’m fine,” Faye says, her voice jittery. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I’m just a patient to you, right? A child to save so you can feel good? But a staff can’t fix a broken heart.”
It was mending, she thought, but it’s formed new cracks that deepen when she sees Silque’s stunned face. Silque bows her head, hair hiding her pink cheeks like curtains drawn over a sunset.
“I don’t save people to--I--Oh, Faye.” She sighs, not in resignation, but with a rush of feeling that makes Faye inhale.
“I admit, I took pity on you,” Silque continues, and Faye bristles. “I thought you were a lonely soul, like I was. You withdrew when I first sought a woman’s company, after all. But that was then. Now, after the war, after Mila--I have to admit I can’t save everyone.”
Silque’s melancholy of the night before returns to Faye, lowering her defenses. How could she have forgotten Silque’s feelings? Before she can respond, Silque continues, her voice low and strange.
“After my past experiences traveling, is it too selfish to want a beautiful, talented woman to join me?”
No amount of hair can hide Silque’s red face now, and Faye can’t process it along with the words, the fact that they’re about her.
The chance slips away, as Silque turns and straightens, letting out a slow breath. “My apologies. We must make up for lost time if we are to remain on track.”
Only her fear of being left behind propels Faye to follow Silque, her eyes trained between her shoulders and a stronger ache than ever in her heart.