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fic: Oedipus Rex
Title: Oedipus Rex
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Almedha/Pelleas, a strong bit of onesided PelleasMicaiah
Rating: About PG-13. Any higher with this pairing and I’d have been huddling in a corner and rocking myself back and forth.
Word count: 1,223. Cool.
A/N: Kink meme. Original request being: (spoilers) Almedha/Pelleas (in that order), they've just found out she's not his birth mother, so... Anon leaves the rest to the mighty Anon's discretion. Well, it looks like I have my most disturbing fic of the year already picked out and ready for the year-end lists!
..I really should make that 'I'm being mean to pelleas' tag already. (Also, I'll be owing Pelleas another apologyfic at this rate.)
When Pelleas read through mythologies one always remained with him, stuck in his mind like a thorn. This tale left a nagging question surfaced in his mind. A boy who was left to die, but raised by poor riverpeople, a boy who grew to slay the king and marry the queen...his own mother. It seemed the broaching of something sacred, and he wondered how the king hadn’t instinctively known of his mother’s touch.
He cringed at the realization of a boy lost in the frame of his mother’s arms, yet wondered if deep down he hadn’t known. Did he know that it was his blood, yet was fascinated by a woman he never knew? Could he have truly unknowingly married his own flesh and blood?
*
And the king had fallen. He’d barely avoided death and for one short moment held something like a hope, she had almost given her life for his. A gesture like that brought hope, and bonding. But her bond with him had been purely based on the people. She admired his heart, but had no desire to possess it. If Micaiah knew about his affection – and knowing her, she likely did– she tolerated it with a slight bemusement, but nothing more. With her coronation coming up he knew there would soon be a wedding to match in its glory. He hadn’t seen the sly glances or intimacy between them initially, he had dismissed it, dug deeper in his denial just as he had clung to her as a figurehead, source of hope and cherished love all in one. But now they were undeniable.
He was happy for her happiness, yet a little worm of selfishness dug deep within him. It kept him company along with the sorrow, and the worm and the black bird cycled with differing messages.
You didn’t deserve her–
–As king you should have ordered her to your side at all times. You should have....
but then you would have been too weak to ever make such an order, wouldn’t you?–
But it wasn’t enough to simply lose a kingdom and a love, no, he had lost even the last ties to family and identity. He’d learned the truth about his blood and had to tell his mother – the woman who he had thought was his mother – and break her heart. It was difficult to see her sobbing, to take away what little joy in her life he had brung. It brought a new layer of guilt to a body that was already covered in regrets. He was buried in the weight of all this rue, it was a heavy dark cloak thrown over him, so thick almost as to obscure the sun.
But he wasn’t a person to simply sit by and let a woman cry – especially when he had been the cause of those tears. Even if he just sat beside her helplessly, he could not leave. When she bent into him for comfort, held him tight, Pelleas couldn’t bear to refuse her. Even if he wasn’t her son, he was a man – or so his body was supposed to be, though he felt more a boy at times.
It was an odd arrangement, as she was quite a bit taller than him. Pelleas had remembered the first time he had seen her, such a strong, and stately woman. Someone so elegant and cold, he felt almost surprised as she had been nothing like the dreams he had conjured up for his sacred familiar images.
He could do little but give her awkward pats on the shoulder, for apologizing would do little to help her overpowering grief. She cried until she could not cry anymore, and then she nuzzled against him. She rose, and her eyes, red and puffy as they were, were different.
She brushed over his cheek, and her skin felt cold, like touching stone.
“This skin...so soft. It could never be from the blood of Ashnard.”
“Mo– No...Lady Almedha, what are you saying?”
“A part of me always knew you weren’t my son... but I had hoped, somewhere deep down. You’re such a smart, gentle boy. And so very soft.... I couldn’t help but want a son like that in my loneliness. I wanted to believe that you were mine, of my own blood...:”
She brushed across his lower lips and Pelleas froze in shock as the words hit him. If she had never thought him her son, then her love was surely tainted with what? The kind of love for a lover, the kind of feelings he had for Micaiah? No, they could be nothing like the pure things he had held for Micaiah deep within himself.
She kissed him. It was not the gentle daydreams he barely allowed himself to feel with Micaaih, her gentle, pure lips touching his so light as a wisp of dandelion seed, a breeze. This was a passionate, whore’s kiss. He was lost in her thrall as he noticed the feel of her large breasts pressed against him. She undid her veil and let her green hair free, and something within him gave, the last moral, snapped away. He had nothing now, and all he wanted to be was held. He desired a mother’s touch, and even then his affection for Micaiah had intersected with his desire to be held, comforted and guided. He had always wanted a motherly figure in whoever he loved, Micaiah or the woman he had thought was his mother.
And how could he tell her no, her, another battered refugee left with nothing. She knew loneliness so well, it would be a crime to turn her back to it. Well their lonelinesses could mesh and entwine, get to know and understand each other. A faint dying ember of morals wondered what would
Micaiah think of such a thing?
She wouldn’t think anything of it, for she had a lover of her own she was too lovestruck with to notice. Pelleas let the last bit of his honor and morals fall aside, dead leaves to the wind. He submitted and let her lead him towards the bed, her same bed that she had stayed during her first visit that had damned her to a half-life. Perhaps she had been taken by Ashnard in these very sheets. Pelleas tried not to think of such things, it was too tangled in a past that was better left to settle its fears and decay into the ground. He tried not to think that at one time she had been serpentine, with cold scales and teeth and claws, that she was a subhuman like any other.
Pelleas closed his eyes and let his loneliness drown with hers.
“My sweet, dear Pelleas, now we never will be parted....”
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Almedha/Pelleas, a strong bit of onesided PelleasMicaiah
Rating: About PG-13. Any higher with this pairing and I’d have been huddling in a corner and rocking myself back and forth.
Word count: 1,223. Cool.
A/N: Kink meme. Original request being: (spoilers) Almedha/Pelleas (in that order), they've just found out she's not his birth mother, so... Anon leaves the rest to the mighty Anon's discretion. Well, it looks like I have my most disturbing fic of the year already picked out and ready for the year-end lists!
..I really should make that 'I'm being mean to pelleas' tag already. (Also, I'll be owing Pelleas another apologyfic at this rate.)
When Pelleas read through mythologies one always remained with him, stuck in his mind like a thorn. This tale left a nagging question surfaced in his mind. A boy who was left to die, but raised by poor riverpeople, a boy who grew to slay the king and marry the queen...his own mother. It seemed the broaching of something sacred, and he wondered how the king hadn’t instinctively known of his mother’s touch.
He cringed at the realization of a boy lost in the frame of his mother’s arms, yet wondered if deep down he hadn’t known. Did he know that it was his blood, yet was fascinated by a woman he never knew? Could he have truly unknowingly married his own flesh and blood?
*
And the king had fallen. He’d barely avoided death and for one short moment held something like a hope, she had almost given her life for his. A gesture like that brought hope, and bonding. But her bond with him had been purely based on the people. She admired his heart, but had no desire to possess it. If Micaiah knew about his affection – and knowing her, she likely did– she tolerated it with a slight bemusement, but nothing more. With her coronation coming up he knew there would soon be a wedding to match in its glory. He hadn’t seen the sly glances or intimacy between them initially, he had dismissed it, dug deeper in his denial just as he had clung to her as a figurehead, source of hope and cherished love all in one. But now they were undeniable.
He was happy for her happiness, yet a little worm of selfishness dug deep within him. It kept him company along with the sorrow, and the worm and the black bird cycled with differing messages.
You didn’t deserve her–
–As king you should have ordered her to your side at all times. You should have....
but then you would have been too weak to ever make such an order, wouldn’t you?–
But it wasn’t enough to simply lose a kingdom and a love, no, he had lost even the last ties to family and identity. He’d learned the truth about his blood and had to tell his mother – the woman who he had thought was his mother – and break her heart. It was difficult to see her sobbing, to take away what little joy in her life he had brung. It brought a new layer of guilt to a body that was already covered in regrets. He was buried in the weight of all this rue, it was a heavy dark cloak thrown over him, so thick almost as to obscure the sun.
But he wasn’t a person to simply sit by and let a woman cry – especially when he had been the cause of those tears. Even if he just sat beside her helplessly, he could not leave. When she bent into him for comfort, held him tight, Pelleas couldn’t bear to refuse her. Even if he wasn’t her son, he was a man – or so his body was supposed to be, though he felt more a boy at times.
It was an odd arrangement, as she was quite a bit taller than him. Pelleas had remembered the first time he had seen her, such a strong, and stately woman. Someone so elegant and cold, he felt almost surprised as she had been nothing like the dreams he had conjured up for his sacred familiar images.
He could do little but give her awkward pats on the shoulder, for apologizing would do little to help her overpowering grief. She cried until she could not cry anymore, and then she nuzzled against him. She rose, and her eyes, red and puffy as they were, were different.
She brushed over his cheek, and her skin felt cold, like touching stone.
“This skin...so soft. It could never be from the blood of Ashnard.”
“Mo– No...Lady Almedha, what are you saying?”
“A part of me always knew you weren’t my son... but I had hoped, somewhere deep down. You’re such a smart, gentle boy. And so very soft.... I couldn’t help but want a son like that in my loneliness. I wanted to believe that you were mine, of my own blood...:”
She brushed across his lower lips and Pelleas froze in shock as the words hit him. If she had never thought him her son, then her love was surely tainted with what? The kind of love for a lover, the kind of feelings he had for Micaiah? No, they could be nothing like the pure things he had held for Micaiah deep within himself.
She kissed him. It was not the gentle daydreams he barely allowed himself to feel with Micaaih, her gentle, pure lips touching his so light as a wisp of dandelion seed, a breeze. This was a passionate, whore’s kiss. He was lost in her thrall as he noticed the feel of her large breasts pressed against him. She undid her veil and let her green hair free, and something within him gave, the last moral, snapped away. He had nothing now, and all he wanted to be was held. He desired a mother’s touch, and even then his affection for Micaiah had intersected with his desire to be held, comforted and guided. He had always wanted a motherly figure in whoever he loved, Micaiah or the woman he had thought was his mother.
And how could he tell her no, her, another battered refugee left with nothing. She knew loneliness so well, it would be a crime to turn her back to it. Well their lonelinesses could mesh and entwine, get to know and understand each other. A faint dying ember of morals wondered what would
Micaiah think of such a thing?
She wouldn’t think anything of it, for she had a lover of her own she was too lovestruck with to notice. Pelleas let the last bit of his honor and morals fall aside, dead leaves to the wind. He submitted and let her lead him towards the bed, her same bed that she had stayed during her first visit that had damned her to a half-life. Perhaps she had been taken by Ashnard in these very sheets. Pelleas tried not to think of such things, it was too tangled in a past that was better left to settle its fears and decay into the ground. He tried not to think that at one time she had been serpentine, with cold scales and teeth and claws, that she was a subhuman like any other.
Pelleas closed his eyes and let his loneliness drown with hers.
“My sweet, dear Pelleas, now we never will be parted....”
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..something tells me this tag is going to get a lot of use!