fic: Reign
Aug. 25th, 2015 03:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Reign
Series: Fire Emblem
Character/pairing: Tibarn/Reyson
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1010
Summary: Dark AU. This was everything opposed to his heron nature. Each lesson was painful, shedding of feathers and breaking of bones until he was something new, not Heron, not Hawk. (Or, What if Reyson never met Ike and never stopped hating Beorc?)
Author's note: cottoncandy_bingo: scars. I was just joking here but the mental image stayed with me.
Happy late birthday, Lissa! I wanted to give you a present sooner, but I had a rough couple of months and have been exhausted.
(Violent canon content, spoilers for mid-POR.)
Thanks to Carrie for the beta.
The skulls reached to the ceiling, meshed together by magic or other means to form a throne. The cushions were red, and soft enough to almost dull the cries of the lingering aura of death. Blood stained them a color like sunset, like the last shades of fire. Fitting, considering the end of his people.
He wasn't a predator; the variation of all these bones sculpted into beauty was new territory. This was everything opposed to his Heron nature. Each lesson was painful, shedding of feathers and breaking of bones until he was something new, not Heron, not Hawk.
Some of them even had their jaws left ajar, their last screams of agony preserved. Empty eye sockets of the fallen stared back at him. Reyson lifted his chin, and did not let his inner balance keep him from taking joy in this victory. Even if he had to fight himself at every quarter, the taste of blood new on his tongue, he would not give in to them, or himself.
Well, so be it. It was the most comforting thing he'd seen in twenty years. Let Heron peacefulness die with him. History would remember their race as one of vengeance, not of mercy. That was, if any of the humans managed live through facing Tibarn in battle.
Other than a few tapestries of their victories, Hawks did not have the intricate designs of stone that had been woven among the Serenes. At first it had been stark, salt in the wounds of all he had lost, but now he found comfort in the brownstone castle and walls adorned with depictions of gore.
Behind him, there was the sound of boots at the door. Reyson turned, he never let his back be exposed, not even with guards always just a room away.
Dust and dark stains the color of rust covered his clothes. The dark green sleeves had been torn, perhaps a sword, or an ax. Through the gap was a long unhealed gash. Tibarn was always so lively after a battle, so much that he never even bothered to wash the bloodstains away from his hands. Years ago, Reyson would have thought him a brute, years ago he would've been horrified. The old him had burnt away in the Serenes. Out of the ashes had sprung something entirely knew, with gray-tinged wings, and the scent of fire always in his feathers. No matter how many times he'd gone to the sea, he could never wash away the lingering smoke in his veins.
Now he wore the dark-green garb of a Hawk, with his Serenes prince tunic burnt away with his life before Phoenocis.
"I take that the new throne is to your liking?" Tibarn said.
Reyson sat upon the throne, that symbol of the retribution the humans would face. The bones were cold against his palms.
"Tell me you made them suffer," Reyson said. It was needless words, though. He could feel the reverberations of battle from the bones. Almost as strong as his memories of the day of the fire. The ghosts of his people cried for retribution and blood, and this would not quench their thirst.
"You wound me. As if I could call myself a proper king and not bring you a crown back made of their spines," Tibarn said, with a hint of laughter in his voice. He had new battle scars to join the bloodlust of his thoughts. He wore them proudly, like an adornment. Reyson could hear the cries of pain, hear the laughter of the hawks as they raked their talons in the echoes of Tibarn's memories.
Tibarn leaned over him. His golden eyes were intense. He could easily snap the neck of Reyson, or anyone else, as easily as snapping a twig. He lifted Reyson's chin with his thumb. Gentle in his strength, he ran his calloused thumb up Reyson's chin, to brush over his lower lip.
"Have many will I have to kill to appease you? Hundreds? Thousands? I always did like a challenge," Tibarn said.
"It's a good start, I suppose," Reyson said.
"For a Heron, you sure have the soul of a warrior," Tibarn said.
"I have one stipulation," Reyson said. "Make it painful. Make them beg for mercy, and give them none."
"I promise on my title as king, I will destroy them. I will break their bodies and leave them for the carrion to pick apart while they still draw breath. Then I will bring back their skulls and make you a whole castle of bones."
"Good," Reyson said.
He lifted Reyson's hand and kissed the knuckles, a promise and courtly gesture as much as an affectionate one. The warmth of Tibarn's skin reminded him of what little life he had left. Be it brutality or revenge, he could only turn the bitter into bittersweet.
Tibarn's massive wings eclipsed the room as he leaned in, until all Reyson could see was him. Not even the fears, the ghost and the scent of smoke could haunt him in the shade of Tibarn's wings.
Tibarn's lips tasted like death.
–
The nice thing about knowing someone is into Hannibal is I don't have to say "You don't mind this violent dark AU where Tibarn and Reyson are Murder Boyfriends and make out on a crown of skulls, right?
I'd like to think Reyson eventually rides into battle dressed like this
Series: Fire Emblem
Character/pairing: Tibarn/Reyson
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1010
Summary: Dark AU. This was everything opposed to his heron nature. Each lesson was painful, shedding of feathers and breaking of bones until he was something new, not Heron, not Hawk. (Or, What if Reyson never met Ike and never stopped hating Beorc?)
Author's note: cottoncandy_bingo: scars. I was just joking here but the mental image stayed with me.
Happy late birthday, Lissa! I wanted to give you a present sooner, but I had a rough couple of months and have been exhausted.
(Violent canon content, spoilers for mid-POR.)
Thanks to Carrie for the beta.
The skulls reached to the ceiling, meshed together by magic or other means to form a throne. The cushions were red, and soft enough to almost dull the cries of the lingering aura of death. Blood stained them a color like sunset, like the last shades of fire. Fitting, considering the end of his people.
He wasn't a predator; the variation of all these bones sculpted into beauty was new territory. This was everything opposed to his Heron nature. Each lesson was painful, shedding of feathers and breaking of bones until he was something new, not Heron, not Hawk.
Some of them even had their jaws left ajar, their last screams of agony preserved. Empty eye sockets of the fallen stared back at him. Reyson lifted his chin, and did not let his inner balance keep him from taking joy in this victory. Even if he had to fight himself at every quarter, the taste of blood new on his tongue, he would not give in to them, or himself.
Well, so be it. It was the most comforting thing he'd seen in twenty years. Let Heron peacefulness die with him. History would remember their race as one of vengeance, not of mercy. That was, if any of the humans managed live through facing Tibarn in battle.
Other than a few tapestries of their victories, Hawks did not have the intricate designs of stone that had been woven among the Serenes. At first it had been stark, salt in the wounds of all he had lost, but now he found comfort in the brownstone castle and walls adorned with depictions of gore.
Behind him, there was the sound of boots at the door. Reyson turned, he never let his back be exposed, not even with guards always just a room away.
Dust and dark stains the color of rust covered his clothes. The dark green sleeves had been torn, perhaps a sword, or an ax. Through the gap was a long unhealed gash. Tibarn was always so lively after a battle, so much that he never even bothered to wash the bloodstains away from his hands. Years ago, Reyson would have thought him a brute, years ago he would've been horrified. The old him had burnt away in the Serenes. Out of the ashes had sprung something entirely knew, with gray-tinged wings, and the scent of fire always in his feathers. No matter how many times he'd gone to the sea, he could never wash away the lingering smoke in his veins.
Now he wore the dark-green garb of a Hawk, with his Serenes prince tunic burnt away with his life before Phoenocis.
"I take that the new throne is to your liking?" Tibarn said.
Reyson sat upon the throne, that symbol of the retribution the humans would face. The bones were cold against his palms.
"Tell me you made them suffer," Reyson said. It was needless words, though. He could feel the reverberations of battle from the bones. Almost as strong as his memories of the day of the fire. The ghosts of his people cried for retribution and blood, and this would not quench their thirst.
"You wound me. As if I could call myself a proper king and not bring you a crown back made of their spines," Tibarn said, with a hint of laughter in his voice. He had new battle scars to join the bloodlust of his thoughts. He wore them proudly, like an adornment. Reyson could hear the cries of pain, hear the laughter of the hawks as they raked their talons in the echoes of Tibarn's memories.
Tibarn leaned over him. His golden eyes were intense. He could easily snap the neck of Reyson, or anyone else, as easily as snapping a twig. He lifted Reyson's chin with his thumb. Gentle in his strength, he ran his calloused thumb up Reyson's chin, to brush over his lower lip.
"Have many will I have to kill to appease you? Hundreds? Thousands? I always did like a challenge," Tibarn said.
"It's a good start, I suppose," Reyson said.
"For a Heron, you sure have the soul of a warrior," Tibarn said.
"I have one stipulation," Reyson said. "Make it painful. Make them beg for mercy, and give them none."
"I promise on my title as king, I will destroy them. I will break their bodies and leave them for the carrion to pick apart while they still draw breath. Then I will bring back their skulls and make you a whole castle of bones."
"Good," Reyson said.
He lifted Reyson's hand and kissed the knuckles, a promise and courtly gesture as much as an affectionate one. The warmth of Tibarn's skin reminded him of what little life he had left. Be it brutality or revenge, he could only turn the bitter into bittersweet.
Tibarn's massive wings eclipsed the room as he leaned in, until all Reyson could see was him. Not even the fears, the ghost and the scent of smoke could haunt him in the shade of Tibarn's wings.
Tibarn's lips tasted like death.
–
The nice thing about knowing someone is into Hannibal is I don't have to say "You don't mind this violent dark AU where Tibarn and Reyson are Murder Boyfriends and make out on a crown of skulls, right?
I'd like to think Reyson eventually rides into battle dressed like this
no subject
Date: 2015-08-25 04:58 pm (UTC)