![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Once
Series: FEH
Character/pairing: Reinhardt > Ishtar
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: He allows himself one last dance. Reinhardt and Ishtar at the Splendid Soiree.
Word count: 1,745
Author's note:
I'll admit, I haven't finished FE4 and haven't even gotten to FE5. So this is purely FEH based with like, one reference to that one cut scene. You know the one.
Don't @ me, Reinhardt is just too delicious for me to resist. Total basic bitch opinion here but, I love stoic thunder man. I can't wait for remake so I can enjoy him utterly destroying my team all over again. Yes sir, may I have another Dire Thunder?
Oh and there's background happy!Berkut/Rinea, because this fic didn't twist the knife in enough. And because it's set in the Splendid Soiree. It's technically in the same universe as Cinderella At A Quarter To Midnight, but most of it happened before Heather crashed the party so it isn't listed as a sequel.
Berkut and Rinea took to the dance floor. Their gaze never left each other. Every so often, Berkut would say something inaudible, and Rinea would laugh.
Reinhardt stood at the side lines. The decor of the castle was luxurious, quite refined, and the ambiance was cordial, even beyond time and countries. The night was all the more beautiful that his lady remained here.
She came up beside him, and he gave her a side glance. Ishtar wore a lovely dress of red, with a lighter bodice. Her long, pale ponytail fell over her shoulders gracefully. No other lady in any other world could've worn such a dress and looked half as noble as Ishtar did.
She could've worn a bag of horse feed and outshone every single lady within this castle. No, within the world.
"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Reinhardt?" Ishtar said.
He looked up from his drink. In the light of the candelabras, her hair was even more pale, like moonlight.
She was perfect in every way. It was only a reminder that she wasn't his, and never would be. He had no right to these thoughts. As a knight, these very thoughts were a betrayal to his loyalty to his lady.
And Reinhardt put little above his loyalty to Ishtar.
"It would not be right; you are betrothed to another," Reinhardt said.
"Yes, in most cases being seen dancing with another man would be scandalous. But you are merely my bodyguard. We have danced before in practice for many years. No one would begrudge me one dance for old time's sake with my most loyal guard, certainly not Julius."
More bitter words had never been spoken. She couldn't have stung him more if she slapped him. And the worst thing was she didn't even realize.
Of course, he was nothing to her but a guardian. As it should be.
"Very well, then. One dance before your fiance arrives. But only one. Anymore would be imprudent and improper."
But, that was wrong. Even to dare to do this was imprudent, yet he took her offered hand.
He was glad, not for the first time, of the gloves that prevented his hands from touching her hands and feeling her skin against his. If he could've touched her, and wrapped his fingers in hers, he never would've let go. Their fingers would've crackled with thunder magic, and the warmth of human touch.
(Now that was mere wishful thinking. He would've stepped aside and done his job, as any other. Just as he always did. A knight followed commands. A kight did anything to protect his lady. Even from himself.)
Her steps were peerless, in perfect symmetry with his. But as much as he wished to, Reinhardt did not allow himself to get caught up within the moment. Yes, she was beautiful tonight. Yes, she was Julius's bride to be.
Nothing would change. He would not awake to suddenly find a love letter upon his pillow professing her undying devotion. She would wed Julius soon, and he would be lucky if he could even remain her guard for much longer.
His hand rested at her lower back in the dance, as was the custom, and his hand was entwined in hers. He focused entirely on the movements with the precision of a mathematical formula. He thought on their steps, and not the tempting feeling that he could pull her just a little closer, that she felt so very good in his arms.
That in his arms was where she belonged.
A thought which had haunted him for some time. Try as he might, he could not find the means to exorcise himself of this, and banish those dreams, or call them unspoken wishes.
He could see it so clearly. His lady dressed in white, a bridal veil pushed back, a promise he would keep for all his life. One he already kept, to love with with all his being.
Foolishness, nothing more.
One step, one two. Each was a step away from her.
She lifted up her arm and she spun in the waltz. Just as she was in all things, she performed the dance gracefully and with complete perfection.
"You are an wonderful dancer, Lady Ishtar," Reinhardt said.
She smiled. "I had an excellent partner," she said.
There was an untamed foolishness within him, one which he had not figured out how to kill. Training and logic did nothing to dispel the thought that if he had her gaze, what he wouldn't do.
Laughable, truly. To think he could become that man, who brought her flowers and read her love poetry. It was about as believable as him growing wings and turning into a dragon.
He was no man of passion; he was a knight who did his duty and protected his lady. Nothing more, nothing less.
The music ended. Berkut and Rinea laughed at the edge of the dance floor. Her feet must hurt, for she lifted one slipper.
"If you are very tired, then I must carry you," Berkut said.
"Oh, Berkut, that would be too improper. Just allow me the kindness of your hand in mine as I rest a spell. And let me lean on you."
"One day soon, I'll carry you over the threshold. I'll make it a noble practice to carry one's wife when she gets tired."
He took her hand in his and kissed it.
Reinhardt glanced away.
He took a sip of wine. Not enough, he never indulged to the point of drunkenness. Even though for once, he was tempted to.
He gave his lady, no Lady Ishtar a bow. He must no longer think of her in such familiar terms, even slightly.
"Thank you for the honor of being your dance partner. I shall cherish this night for the rest of my life."
He lifted the glass of wine to his lips and took a sip.
"That being said, I will now take my leave."
"You are leaving the soiree so soon? The night will go on for much longer. In fact, there are new arrivals, even."
If he could, he would wish to see something in her eyes that she would miss him. But, he knew better.
The bridegroom was soon to arrive, and he'd be none to happy to find his fiancee in someone else's arms. And her excuses of he's just my guard, it is nothing would be meaningless before him.
Ishtar didn't see, but Julius did.
"I feel some training is necessary to clear my head."
Ishtar smiled. "You are dedicated as always. There isn't a more disciplined mage knight within the entire land."
"Thank you for your praise, Lady Ishtar. I live to serve you."
At least, for one more day. He could see even the fractures there. One day, he would watch her leave for the last time.
As he left, he heard her say Julius! with such warmth and love, in a way she would never say his name.
The bridegroom came to claim what was his.
Reinhardt glanced back. He shouldn't have.
Her face was filled with the sort of adoration that would be never his, never for him. And it only made her more beautiful, and more perfect.
*
Thunder crackled through the room. He watched dispassionately as the training dummy split into pieces. The stone beneath him was blackened from magic. It would look like coal, like an abyss. Straw and sticks across the ground. Before he was done, the entire training room would be ashes.
No matter the precision of his dance steps or thunder magic, nothing would change. It was a countdown until the end.
The room echoed with the sound of his power. Smoke, and the scent of burnt straw filled the air. Were this a true battlefield, the bodies would be left blackened by the electric power. He stood amid this carnage, not for the first time that he was left with a field of corpses.
If only the thunder could course though his veins and burn out the impurities in him. These feelings he couldn't manage to burn out, whatever he had tried. Logic and reality did nothing to dispel them. Whatever he did to battle them, they still remained.
Tomorrow he would push these aside. Just as he had the day before, and every one before that. If he could not be rid of these feelings, he would control them before they destroyed him.
If only he'd been able to do so before Julius realized, and the countdown began.
Tonight, he would train until his fingers bled and trembled from the static charge of magic.
Reinhardt paused to catch his breath, the arc of thunder in his palm. If only each bit of magic didn't remind him of her.
Forgetting her was so very difficult, when everything led back to her. He had spent his life as the guardian of the Goddess of Thunder. The same element he commanded.
He knew as a knight, the happiest ending he ever could find was to die in his lady's charge. It was the fate branded upon every knight, that one day they would give up their life in battle. Better to lose his life than lose his charge at her side.
Even through his gloves, his fingers tingled from the static energy. To feel the the same thunder magic course through his body was the closest he'd ever get to touching her again.
Series: FEH
Character/pairing: Reinhardt > Ishtar
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: He allows himself one last dance. Reinhardt and Ishtar at the Splendid Soiree.
Word count: 1,745
Author's note:
I'll admit, I haven't finished FE4 and haven't even gotten to FE5. So this is purely FEH based with like, one reference to that one cut scene. You know the one.
Don't @ me, Reinhardt is just too delicious for me to resist. Total basic bitch opinion here but, I love stoic thunder man. I can't wait for remake so I can enjoy him utterly destroying my team all over again. Yes sir, may I have another Dire Thunder?
Oh and there's background happy!Berkut/Rinea, because this fic didn't twist the knife in enough. And because it's set in the Splendid Soiree. It's technically in the same universe as Cinderella At A Quarter To Midnight, but most of it happened before Heather crashed the party so it isn't listed as a sequel.
Berkut and Rinea took to the dance floor. Their gaze never left each other. Every so often, Berkut would say something inaudible, and Rinea would laugh.
Reinhardt stood at the side lines. The decor of the castle was luxurious, quite refined, and the ambiance was cordial, even beyond time and countries. The night was all the more beautiful that his lady remained here.
She came up beside him, and he gave her a side glance. Ishtar wore a lovely dress of red, with a lighter bodice. Her long, pale ponytail fell over her shoulders gracefully. No other lady in any other world could've worn such a dress and looked half as noble as Ishtar did.
She could've worn a bag of horse feed and outshone every single lady within this castle. No, within the world.
"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Reinhardt?" Ishtar said.
He looked up from his drink. In the light of the candelabras, her hair was even more pale, like moonlight.
She was perfect in every way. It was only a reminder that she wasn't his, and never would be. He had no right to these thoughts. As a knight, these very thoughts were a betrayal to his loyalty to his lady.
And Reinhardt put little above his loyalty to Ishtar.
"It would not be right; you are betrothed to another," Reinhardt said.
"Yes, in most cases being seen dancing with another man would be scandalous. But you are merely my bodyguard. We have danced before in practice for many years. No one would begrudge me one dance for old time's sake with my most loyal guard, certainly not Julius."
More bitter words had never been spoken. She couldn't have stung him more if she slapped him. And the worst thing was she didn't even realize.
Of course, he was nothing to her but a guardian. As it should be.
"Very well, then. One dance before your fiance arrives. But only one. Anymore would be imprudent and improper."
But, that was wrong. Even to dare to do this was imprudent, yet he took her offered hand.
He was glad, not for the first time, of the gloves that prevented his hands from touching her hands and feeling her skin against his. If he could've touched her, and wrapped his fingers in hers, he never would've let go. Their fingers would've crackled with thunder magic, and the warmth of human touch.
(Now that was mere wishful thinking. He would've stepped aside and done his job, as any other. Just as he always did. A knight followed commands. A kight did anything to protect his lady. Even from himself.)
Her steps were peerless, in perfect symmetry with his. But as much as he wished to, Reinhardt did not allow himself to get caught up within the moment. Yes, she was beautiful tonight. Yes, she was Julius's bride to be.
Nothing would change. He would not awake to suddenly find a love letter upon his pillow professing her undying devotion. She would wed Julius soon, and he would be lucky if he could even remain her guard for much longer.
His hand rested at her lower back in the dance, as was the custom, and his hand was entwined in hers. He focused entirely on the movements with the precision of a mathematical formula. He thought on their steps, and not the tempting feeling that he could pull her just a little closer, that she felt so very good in his arms.
That in his arms was where she belonged.
A thought which had haunted him for some time. Try as he might, he could not find the means to exorcise himself of this, and banish those dreams, or call them unspoken wishes.
He could see it so clearly. His lady dressed in white, a bridal veil pushed back, a promise he would keep for all his life. One he already kept, to love with with all his being.
Foolishness, nothing more.
One step, one two. Each was a step away from her.
She lifted up her arm and she spun in the waltz. Just as she was in all things, she performed the dance gracefully and with complete perfection.
"You are an wonderful dancer, Lady Ishtar," Reinhardt said.
She smiled. "I had an excellent partner," she said.
There was an untamed foolishness within him, one which he had not figured out how to kill. Training and logic did nothing to dispel the thought that if he had her gaze, what he wouldn't do.
Laughable, truly. To think he could become that man, who brought her flowers and read her love poetry. It was about as believable as him growing wings and turning into a dragon.
He was no man of passion; he was a knight who did his duty and protected his lady. Nothing more, nothing less.
The music ended. Berkut and Rinea laughed at the edge of the dance floor. Her feet must hurt, for she lifted one slipper.
"If you are very tired, then I must carry you," Berkut said.
"Oh, Berkut, that would be too improper. Just allow me the kindness of your hand in mine as I rest a spell. And let me lean on you."
"One day soon, I'll carry you over the threshold. I'll make it a noble practice to carry one's wife when she gets tired."
He took her hand in his and kissed it.
Reinhardt glanced away.
He took a sip of wine. Not enough, he never indulged to the point of drunkenness. Even though for once, he was tempted to.
He gave his lady, no Lady Ishtar a bow. He must no longer think of her in such familiar terms, even slightly.
"Thank you for the honor of being your dance partner. I shall cherish this night for the rest of my life."
He lifted the glass of wine to his lips and took a sip.
"That being said, I will now take my leave."
"You are leaving the soiree so soon? The night will go on for much longer. In fact, there are new arrivals, even."
If he could, he would wish to see something in her eyes that she would miss him. But, he knew better.
The bridegroom was soon to arrive, and he'd be none to happy to find his fiancee in someone else's arms. And her excuses of he's just my guard, it is nothing would be meaningless before him.
Ishtar didn't see, but Julius did.
"I feel some training is necessary to clear my head."
Ishtar smiled. "You are dedicated as always. There isn't a more disciplined mage knight within the entire land."
"Thank you for your praise, Lady Ishtar. I live to serve you."
At least, for one more day. He could see even the fractures there. One day, he would watch her leave for the last time.
As he left, he heard her say Julius! with such warmth and love, in a way she would never say his name.
The bridegroom came to claim what was his.
Reinhardt glanced back. He shouldn't have.
Her face was filled with the sort of adoration that would be never his, never for him. And it only made her more beautiful, and more perfect.
*
Thunder crackled through the room. He watched dispassionately as the training dummy split into pieces. The stone beneath him was blackened from magic. It would look like coal, like an abyss. Straw and sticks across the ground. Before he was done, the entire training room would be ashes.
No matter the precision of his dance steps or thunder magic, nothing would change. It was a countdown until the end.
The room echoed with the sound of his power. Smoke, and the scent of burnt straw filled the air. Were this a true battlefield, the bodies would be left blackened by the electric power. He stood amid this carnage, not for the first time that he was left with a field of corpses.
If only the thunder could course though his veins and burn out the impurities in him. These feelings he couldn't manage to burn out, whatever he had tried. Logic and reality did nothing to dispel them. Whatever he did to battle them, they still remained.
Tomorrow he would push these aside. Just as he had the day before, and every one before that. If he could not be rid of these feelings, he would control them before they destroyed him.
If only he'd been able to do so before Julius realized, and the countdown began.
Tonight, he would train until his fingers bled and trembled from the static charge of magic.
Reinhardt paused to catch his breath, the arc of thunder in his palm. If only each bit of magic didn't remind him of her.
Forgetting her was so very difficult, when everything led back to her. He had spent his life as the guardian of the Goddess of Thunder. The same element he commanded.
He knew as a knight, the happiest ending he ever could find was to die in his lady's charge. It was the fate branded upon every knight, that one day they would give up their life in battle. Better to lose his life than lose his charge at her side.
Even through his gloves, his fingers tingled from the static energy. To feel the the same thunder magic course through his body was the closest he'd ever get to touching her again.
