Girls Don't

Disclaimer: Don't own Fire Emblem.

Author: BlackGold Ficcies Inc.

Rating: K+

Summary: Girls Don't lead people. Girls Don't fight for the man they love. And Girls Never cry out for a dead friend.

Warnings: OC (Tactician, but it's vague), blood, death

Pairings: None

Again, muses demanding story, and me picking the shortest thing.

It's a series of short centrics on the girls in FE7. They all break taboos, but are all feminine in their own ways. Enjoy.


Girls Don't touch weapons.

That's what they told me. I would have never dreamed of it, not until I found myself needing to find someone.

I didn't touch the sword, didn't teach myself to use it for revenge. People are murdered everyday. I am not so naïve to ignore that. I had to fight for survival, survive to see him again, see him and tell him that I would be waiting.

Waiting in our home.


Girls Don't lead their people.

My parents and theirs, plus their children and their siblings, were all dead and gone. I told them that I had the blood of their leader in me, that we would have no chance if we were broken apart, that we were Lorca, not any other tribe.

They would not follow me. I even told them that their esteemed ancestor was female, too, but they would not follow.

They went away to safety.

And I stayed. ...And fought, alone.

All...alone.


Girls Don't fight for the man they love.

After all, it's the other way around. All our lives, everyone tells us: Sit at home, and your man can fight so that you can keep living your sheltered little life.

Even though their perfect little faces didn't twitch I knew what they were thinking. That no man marries a woman who can shoot down an enemy with one arrow.

It was okay, I didn't need a husband. I had my bow and my arrow and an escape, however temporary.

My cousin sent me to meet the Count of Something-or-the-Other. His smile is frozen in place, even as he rejects girl after girl.

I might as well get it over with. I will protect you to life's end. It's all I have to offer, and it all comes out at once.

Foolish girl. You'll never marry.

And then he smiles, a real, kind, smile.

And it's all okay.


Girls Don't Roar.

Not when he's bloody and ready to fall to the ground and you're just the shy little sister who's afraid of men.

Not when your least favored enemy is taking aim.

Anger gives you speed, and he's on the back on your mount, being rushed to the healer who feels the same for him.

Petty things don't matter now. Arrow are dodged, and your lance hits a few targets with lethal accuracy.

By his bedside the next day, your friends swear that you were possessed, not your normal self, but amazingly powerful.

You smile at a green cloak across the room.

You both know your strength.


Girls Don't cry.

When you wake up in an unfamiliar ger, your head and your stomach hurt.

Your friend is dead, and there is a lone girl smiling at you. He died during an attack by brigands--The same attack killed him and merely rendered you unconscious. Defiled, but alive.

You were rookie tacticians and mercenaries, him your better, going where the work was. He accepted you and your unconventional ways. He wasn't bothered in the least by a girl who made war her profession.

His life had just begun, and yours may as well be over.

The girl who nursed you back to health is Lyn.

Who are you?

Mark.

You have a second chance.


Like, hate, whatever. Just Review.

Girls were: Karla, Lyn, Louise, Florina, and 'Mark,' in order in case you couldn't tell.