Before we get to the story I would like to explain the term 'blind fic' because I can't remember if this is a real term or if I made it up. A 'blind fic' is when you write a story about characters you know basically nothing about. Why is this a thing that is done, you may ask? Because it is entertaining to read, that is why. I wrote this for a friend who wanted some of his ship. This was the result. So enjoy the OoCness and the complete disregard of the Fire Emblem plot.
This one is cheesily-angsty, and is probably pretty predictable. I hope you enjoy it despite this.
The clearing was a lovely place in summer. The magnolia trees always provided just enough shade without obscuring the view of the flowers that flowed gently in the stifling summer breezes. The flowers today were red with the color of blood.
Bodies lay strewn across the field in various states of death and near-death. Near the middle of the clearing, under the largest magnolia tree, a figure in armor red enough to match the field cradled another figure in his arms. If there had been anyone physically capable of walking by, they would have turned away from the obvious intimacy of the moment. But there is no such thing as privacy in war, and there wasn't a man for miles around still possessing the ability to walk. As it was the 10 or so men still in good mental health (or as good of mental health one can be in when they're dying) could hear every word the pair spoke to each other. A private conversation made publicly in front of the dying.
"We could have made the alliance work. If my men weren't such bigots-" The black haired man bowed his head, overcome by shame at the actions of his men.
"There are bigots everywhere, don't blame your entire army for the opinions of the few, Ryoma.' The blond said, reaching up to place his hand against Ryoma's cheek. "Besides, it was not your men who were at fault. If my men had taken the time to realize that all men of the east were not savages they never would have started that fight." Blood gurgled from his lips but he didn't seem to notice it. He had only eyes for Ryoma, whose eyes were dully twinkling with the light of a shared joke that was long past being amusing.
"But I seem to remember someone, I can't quite think of who, who said that Westerners don't associate with the savage Easterners. His name might have been…. Xander, was it?" Ryoma tilted his head, almost daring his companion to contradict him.
"Indeed it was." The blond said, nodding sagely. "But he was an ignorant fool, who didn't see the value of what was before him until it was far beyond his reach." His face was growing to be a sickly pale color that twisted Ryoma's heart that he honestly hadn't thought possible. It hurt like hell.
"Nothing is beyond you're reach, Xander," He said, clutching clutching the blond closer to him.
"The gates of Heaven cannot be touched by these sinful hands." Was his immediate response.
"There is no sin that can't be forgiven. Not for you." But even as Ryoma said it he knew that it wasn't true. Even though it wasn't Xander's fault, not his fault in anyway….
There was a part of Ryoma that would never forgive Xander for dying here on this field, and leaving him behind.
Xander's eyes, eyes that Ryoma had never been able to trick, looked steadily back at him. Ever the haughty gaze, he thought. The Gods better prepare themselves for this one, or he'll take their place. "Ryoma, I have no right, but may I ask one more favor?"
Swallowing a lump in his throat Ryoma managed to say "You need never ask me."
Xander continued studying him for a moment. "I'm dying," he began simply. Even though Ryoma had known this, hearing it said cut through him more painfully than any sword or spear ever could. "Not even the Gods could change that now." Xander's chest shuddered painfully as it tried to suck in enough air to continue pumping blood through its veins. "But might I have the honor of dying at your hands?"
"You need never ask me" Ryoma replied, unsheathing his sword.
And he plunged it into the heart of the man he loved.
