Rosage (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosage) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
femslashficlets2015-12-30 10:41 pm
rosage) wrote in femslashficlets2015-12-30 10:41 pm
Entry tags:
Forget-me-not (Sappho #14)
Title: Forget-me-not
Fandom: Fire Emblem (Archanea)
Pairing: Palla/Minerva
Rating: G
Prompt: Sappho #14 -- but me you have forgotten
Word Count: 967
Summary: She's scarcely heard from Minerva of late.
Being a decorated knight has its drawbacks. The pouches strapped to Palla’s saddle hold only basic supplies and messages, which one of her rank would be expected to order a subordinate to deliver. However, she’s scarcely heard from Minerva of late. Her own duties tie her to the capital, and though Minerva once commanded the skies, she chooses not to venture far from the convent unless necessary. Though she knows it’s not a decision Minerva would make lightly, Palla can’t help but worry, especially as Minerva’s letters have become infrequent. Perhaps Minerva is fine without her—that should soothe her, even if it doesn’t—but she needs to see it with her own eyes to be sure.
When Palla touches down, Maria is weeding the garden and Minerva is nowhere to be seen. Though Minerva is another matter, Palla can’t get used to seeing Maria on her knees, wrist-deep in dirt. Her hair has grown past her shoulders, her old band replaced with a short ponytail, and a smock keeps the front of her dress clean. Her lips, dry and puffy from being chewed, turn up at Palla’s approach.
Palla joins her on her knees, letting Maria throw her arms around her shoulders. It’s not a typical greeting from a princess to a knight, but Maria deserves every bit of warmth and normality she can get. More indulgently, Palla misses having little sisters to welcome her at the door or stables after a day’s work. She doesn’t dare think of Maria as hers, but as a substitute, she’s ever a delight.
No doubt eager to put the work aside for the moment, she shows Palla each vegetable, telling her which ones are to be given away and which will be pickled for the convent’s winter store. Beyond the healing herbs lies a single patch of flowers, tiny blue clusters among the green. Carefully Palla pinches a stem just under its blossom, and Maria picks a few to weave into Palla’s hair.
“Blue suits you,” she says when she’s done, clasping her hands. “We actually grow these flowers to place upon graves, but I think limiting such pretty blossoms to that is horribly depressing, don’t you?”
If Maria were Est, Palla might have advocated the beauty of keeping such a thing to honor the dead. Habit wins, even if the only crown Maria wears is one of flowers, and Palla murmurs assent.
It’s as long as she can contain herself before asking after Minerva. As soon as she does, Maria’s lower lip disappears between her teeth. Though Maria describes only what her sister has been busy with, Palla doesn’t forget the reaction, gently plucking away the stems that Maria’s begun twisting in her hands.
Minerva returns with a cart of firewood, her axe swung carelessly over her shoulder. Her shirt and trousers are tan cotton, scratched up from her trip into the woods, and she’s cut the inch of hair that Maria has grown. Nothing about her carries the appearance of a princess, yet she could never be accused of being an average civilian, her straight back and the scars across her nose and jaw at least implying a war veteran.
They rise to meet her, and Minerva asks Maria to go inside and prepare a beverage for Palla. She watches her sister scurry inside as she rests the axe in the dirt and leans on its handle. Palla studies the cut of her profile, wanting to smooth a thumb over the sharp and crooked edges but instead raising her fingers to her own neck. The movement catches Minerva’s eye, which circles Palla’s hair. “I see Maria has made you into her newest handiwork.”
Having forgotten about the flowers, Palla fingers them. “She’s a bright-spirited girl.”
“That she is.” Minerva’s smile is fond, but thin. “I cannot say the same for her elder sister.”
Palla studies her, measuring the wear of her compared to the last time they met. Minerva’s been torn up by Macedon’s enemies, Macedon herself, and her own family alike; it takes effort to see past her trained posture and scars to read her heart on any given day.
“No, I cannot either,” Palla says carefully. “Her elder sister is not a girl, but a woman, one with an endlessly determined spirit.”
“Your praise humbles me. Well, shall we go inside and rest a spell? Maria has learned to brew a wonderful cup of tea.”
The redirection does not faze Palla, who knows that many topics will be off-limits once Maria is in earshot. She begins to amble toward her waiting pegasus. “I will once I retrieve my bags. How has it been here, without your vassals?”
“It’s been…peaceful. I cannot expect the same support as my position once required now that I’ve given it up, but those at the convent have offered more than I can ask.”
It’s the same practical graciousness that Palla has always admired in her, but it makes her frown now, to see the crease in Minerva’s brow with her usual headband absent. “You’ve been taking everything upon yourself, haven’t you?”
“Mustn’t we all? I’m sure you’ve been bearing everything within your power, as well.” Minerva’s voice has tensed, and it’s tempting to match it, but Palla softens her tone instead.
“Have you forgotten whose burdens I’m devoted to bearing? I may no longer fly at your side, but whatever your position, I am sworn to support you. You can trust in me.”
Having been walking alongside her, Minerva halts. The crease does not smooth, but Minerva’s shoulders lower just slightly as she murmurs her thanks. It’s enough. Palla can press no further, only trust that Minerva will call for her when she is ready—though she’s already considering plans for her next delivery to the convent, just in case.
Fandom: Fire Emblem (Archanea)
Pairing: Palla/Minerva
Rating: G
Prompt: Sappho #14 -- but me you have forgotten
Word Count: 967
Summary: She's scarcely heard from Minerva of late.
Being a decorated knight has its drawbacks. The pouches strapped to Palla’s saddle hold only basic supplies and messages, which one of her rank would be expected to order a subordinate to deliver. However, she’s scarcely heard from Minerva of late. Her own duties tie her to the capital, and though Minerva once commanded the skies, she chooses not to venture far from the convent unless necessary. Though she knows it’s not a decision Minerva would make lightly, Palla can’t help but worry, especially as Minerva’s letters have become infrequent. Perhaps Minerva is fine without her—that should soothe her, even if it doesn’t—but she needs to see it with her own eyes to be sure.
When Palla touches down, Maria is weeding the garden and Minerva is nowhere to be seen. Though Minerva is another matter, Palla can’t get used to seeing Maria on her knees, wrist-deep in dirt. Her hair has grown past her shoulders, her old band replaced with a short ponytail, and a smock keeps the front of her dress clean. Her lips, dry and puffy from being chewed, turn up at Palla’s approach.
Palla joins her on her knees, letting Maria throw her arms around her shoulders. It’s not a typical greeting from a princess to a knight, but Maria deserves every bit of warmth and normality she can get. More indulgently, Palla misses having little sisters to welcome her at the door or stables after a day’s work. She doesn’t dare think of Maria as hers, but as a substitute, she’s ever a delight.
No doubt eager to put the work aside for the moment, she shows Palla each vegetable, telling her which ones are to be given away and which will be pickled for the convent’s winter store. Beyond the healing herbs lies a single patch of flowers, tiny blue clusters among the green. Carefully Palla pinches a stem just under its blossom, and Maria picks a few to weave into Palla’s hair.
“Blue suits you,” she says when she’s done, clasping her hands. “We actually grow these flowers to place upon graves, but I think limiting such pretty blossoms to that is horribly depressing, don’t you?”
If Maria were Est, Palla might have advocated the beauty of keeping such a thing to honor the dead. Habit wins, even if the only crown Maria wears is one of flowers, and Palla murmurs assent.
It’s as long as she can contain herself before asking after Minerva. As soon as she does, Maria’s lower lip disappears between her teeth. Though Maria describes only what her sister has been busy with, Palla doesn’t forget the reaction, gently plucking away the stems that Maria’s begun twisting in her hands.
Minerva returns with a cart of firewood, her axe swung carelessly over her shoulder. Her shirt and trousers are tan cotton, scratched up from her trip into the woods, and she’s cut the inch of hair that Maria has grown. Nothing about her carries the appearance of a princess, yet she could never be accused of being an average civilian, her straight back and the scars across her nose and jaw at least implying a war veteran.
They rise to meet her, and Minerva asks Maria to go inside and prepare a beverage for Palla. She watches her sister scurry inside as she rests the axe in the dirt and leans on its handle. Palla studies the cut of her profile, wanting to smooth a thumb over the sharp and crooked edges but instead raising her fingers to her own neck. The movement catches Minerva’s eye, which circles Palla’s hair. “I see Maria has made you into her newest handiwork.”
Having forgotten about the flowers, Palla fingers them. “She’s a bright-spirited girl.”
“That she is.” Minerva’s smile is fond, but thin. “I cannot say the same for her elder sister.”
Palla studies her, measuring the wear of her compared to the last time they met. Minerva’s been torn up by Macedon’s enemies, Macedon herself, and her own family alike; it takes effort to see past her trained posture and scars to read her heart on any given day.
“No, I cannot either,” Palla says carefully. “Her elder sister is not a girl, but a woman, one with an endlessly determined spirit.”
“Your praise humbles me. Well, shall we go inside and rest a spell? Maria has learned to brew a wonderful cup of tea.”
The redirection does not faze Palla, who knows that many topics will be off-limits once Maria is in earshot. She begins to amble toward her waiting pegasus. “I will once I retrieve my bags. How has it been here, without your vassals?”
“It’s been…peaceful. I cannot expect the same support as my position once required now that I’ve given it up, but those at the convent have offered more than I can ask.”
It’s the same practical graciousness that Palla has always admired in her, but it makes her frown now, to see the crease in Minerva’s brow with her usual headband absent. “You’ve been taking everything upon yourself, haven’t you?”
“Mustn’t we all? I’m sure you’ve been bearing everything within your power, as well.” Minerva’s voice has tensed, and it’s tempting to match it, but Palla softens her tone instead.
“Have you forgotten whose burdens I’m devoted to bearing? I may no longer fly at your side, but whatever your position, I am sworn to support you. You can trust in me.”
Having been walking alongside her, Minerva halts. The crease does not smooth, but Minerva’s shoulders lower just slightly as she murmurs her thanks. It’s enough. Palla can press no further, only trust that Minerva will call for her when she is ready—though she’s already considering plans for her next delivery to the convent, just in case.