Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is NOT and never will be mine.
Point to Note: This chapter is the same "Duty Vs Desire" chapter from my "A Love of War" story. So if you happen to be reading that story and want it in order, hold off on this one. It was getting tedious having to rearrange the chapters each time I updated. So I simply moved it to keep it available for readers—since it's been getting a healthy amount of traffic since I originally posted it as a one-shot. And since this would occur during RD, it would be in the sequel to "A Love of War"
The Apostle was back. A mixed blessing. Since her arrival, there had been a break in loyalties within the Begnion Army. The two factions were of those who supported Sanaki, and of those that were gullible enough to believe the lies of the Senate. Naturally, the nobles insisted on intertwining their little squabbles with war. And of course the blessing portion would be: thanks to her intervention, Zelgius lived.
Zelgius. He was the reason why she now tread through camp, weaving between quiet tents, jabbering men, and the dying rays of the setting sun. Her mossy-green eyes stared straight ahead, as a horse with blinders on. This route from her tent to the General's was more than just familiar. She frequented it far too often. Battle tactics, enemy movements, rumors, unrest among the troops. Whatever it was, she brought it to him. Always to him. Why? Well, he was their General of course… and exceedingly handsome, charming, honorable, absolutely brilliant, and strong. Oh, his strength. For him, there was an abundance of it in both mind and body—he exuded it. She basked in it. Envied it. Craved it.
Yet she hid it well. Well enough, at least. He was someone she admired beyond the bounds of soldier to commander. He kept her close, even on the battlefield. Protected her. Counterbalanced her faults. She deftly maneuvered around a stack of crates blocking her path. Letting out a frustrated scoff, she stopped to free the pant leg of her thick brown leggings from where it had snagged on a discarded wooden plank. Now, she bent to retrieve the trusty dagger that fell from her belt. His voice—strong and commanding, was soothing when he spoke to her alone. Those nights when he found her away from camp, kept her company… it had to mean something. Maybe it wasn't to him what it was to her. Maybe it never would be.
But what if? Damn it, what ifhe loved her the way she… damn it! She loved him. It was old news, but she loved him. And he—no. He wouldn't. He couldn't. But… what if he did? What then?
Nothing. He bore the title of 'Commander of Begnion's Central Army'. She dodged around a tent stake, shouldering through a band of bumbling soldiers. While she had a handful of names. Traitor, Witch, She-Devil, Harlot… and at the end of the day, she was a lowly soldier. She straightened her thin white-linen shirt and combed a hand through her wavy cocoa-colored hair. A few steps further would land her in her General's tent.
"Sir Zelgius, you must speak to the men. A division within our forces at this time would be—" she started, pushing past the canvas flaps to its entrance and ducking inside.
Raivierra's lips were instantly silenced by sort of spell not of the magical kind. It was uncannily warmer in here. Or perhaps it was just her. Oh yes, it was definitely just her. Her face grew hot as the rest of her body tingled briefly.
Raivierra had been so immersed in those senseless thoughts, her arrival had gone unannounced. And it wasn't her fault that she walked so lightly that Zelgius hadn't detected her.
He now stood frozen, with his bare back to her, no more than two yards away. He held a bundle of dark cloth in his hands; what she suspected to be his shirt.
"I-I apologize, General. I didn't-, I hadn't thought—I didn't know you would be… I'll look away while you… yes." She stuttered gawkily like the fool she just proved herself to be. She turned to the side and stared intently at the pile of blank parchment by her foot.
Nothing. Nothing had ever galvanized her as he did for those few brief seconds. She was confused and flustered for reasons other than anger. She glanced discreetly over her shoulder for no more than a millisecond before forcibly fixating on those scrolls of vellum once more. She would not stare shamelessly like a dog preying on table scraps. But she would admire.
She made little effort to hide behind her linen-clad shoulder. Her face now burned from the intensity of her blush. Her eyes hungrily drank in the heavy muscular definition of his toned back. Not that his physical prowess ever gave her reason to doubt it, but he was… well-built. To say the least. There was that tingle again. From his tense neck and broad shoulders to where a cord secured the top of his brown trousers in place, every inch of his body screamed power. And every inch of hers pined for it.
N-n-no. She mustn't think that way. By the gods, what had come over her? This was certainly not the first time she'd seen a man's naked torso. This was nothing special. And yet… somehow it was.
He had yet to move. Yet to respond at all. His entire body had been rigid from the moment she entered. And that's when she noticed it. Well, when she really noticed it. Those strange dark markings tattooed into his skin, just below his left shoulder blade. She crept closer, entranced by the exotic stamp. Initially, she had skimmed over it, disregarding it… as she had been somewhat 'distracted'. Now that she had a closer look at it, the intricate design seemingly formed a pair of wings. The feverish warmth faded along with the scarlet tinge on her cheeks. A welcome relief.
Raivierra tilted her head, finding herself being drawn closer still to that perplexing emblem. She raised a hand and slowly reached for it, hesitating only when her fingers hovered inches away from the man's back. Only when she finally came to her senses. What was she doing?
The moment passed and her curiosity got the better of her… as always.
"Zelgius…. This mark on your back…" she questioned, making it evident that the concept of subtlety was one she never fully understood.
"I…" when he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. "I am the one that should apologize, My Lady." He didn't bother to look at her—he was far too concerned with how he should deliver whatever it was he was about to say. "I… someone on my father's side was with… was with a laguz."
Raivierra pulled both her head and her hand back sharply. That's what it was. "So… the symbol on your back marks you as having mixed blood." she thought aloud, recalling her encounters with other 'branded' beings. She fixed her gaze on the back of the man's head, willing him to meet her. But she was only provided with an excellent view of the man's short raven-colored hair. That hint of blue now revealed itself in this lighting.
"As a hybrid? As having tainted blood?" he offered to correct her, his tone was now wary, as if expecting her to abhor him. She opened her mouth, but could find nothing to say. Zelgius took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I should have told you… I know. But try to understand that I've brooked this curse only through keeping it hidden." He glanced at her now, those enthralling eyes now swirling with misery and remorse. "You don't know what it's like to have everyone looking at you with hate in their eyes… and you. I couldn't withstand you loathing me."
"Zelgius…" Raivierra whispered softly. The suffering he must've endured in the past; she couldn't imagine. True, she had never been objectified by her race, but she knew quite well what it was to be spurned mercilessly. As he fell quiet, Raivierra reached for him once again. The fingertips of her left hand grazed the brand, causing him to flinch under her touch. "Must you think of it as an unwanted burden?" she asked as she gently traced the pattern with the tip of her index finger. This time, he visibly relaxed. "I for one see it as this: you have been blessed with beorc wit, laguz strength, and the beauty of both."
Now he turned to face her, his shirt lying forgotten on the ground. His face was blank and impossible to read. The way it was meant to be… a vast improvement from the dejected look he projected just moments before. He grasped her left forearm firmly, yet comfortably. Those forest-green eyes gazed down at her for the umpteenth time since they'd met. Yet this time, something different lingered behind the orthodox calm. Something that lay dormant until now.
She didn't think when she reached up to cup gingerly cup his cheek with her right hand. His own cradled that elbow. It was as if they were puppets—as if an unseen hand guided their movements. "And you must know… I could never not love you." What in Ashera's name! There was absolutely no way whatsoever she would say those words. She was used to lying to herself. But that didn't matter now.
Zelgius had closed the distance between them, capturing her lips with his. What was happening? She closed her eyes as his arm slithered from her elbow to wrap around her waist, drawing her closer still. They were tender at first—timid, almost. Then years of bottled desire on both ends deepened the kisses, making them aggressive. A hand caressed the back of her neck while the other still held her to him by her waist. As for her own hands, one rested leisurely on his chest while the other held tight to the tricep of one of his arms.
So this is what a kiss felt like. She was no virgin to kissing, but she didn't count the others. The ones that were 'professional'. When she wasn't allowed to love. And after, when she hadn't found someone worth loving. But this was Zelgius. This time, there were no hidden knives. No poisons. Now, at this moment, she didn't have to hold back. She didn't have to stand idly by while her heart yearned for something forbidden. It was wrong. And delicious.
His rough hand grazed her left cheek, brushing strands of hair away from her face. Hers roamed his back, savoring the feel of his brawn. He stumbled backwards, taking her with him. They parted briefly. When they came back together, he held tightly by her hips. Several steps back. His hands moved once again. As if he couldn't decide. As if he was well aware that this was probably the only moment there'd be without any restrictions.
Now a hand held the back of her head while his other arm encircled her waist again. Pressing her to him. Trapping her. Not that she would try to escape. Now they moved as one, with him leading the way and her eagerly following. She knew where they were headed. His bedroll lay behind him. The rumors that circulated through the camp—the ones they were so quick to dismiss, were about to be made true.
But no. He stopped abruptly. His heels dared not cross the plane of the thin mattress. They had already gone too far. She had crossed the line at 'love'. This is where it would end.
After several long moments, they parted for one last time, both breathing heavily. He rocked his head forward so his forehead rested against hers. Through soft pants, he spoke for both of them, "What… What have we just done?"
"I'm not… sure." Raivierra replied hesitantly, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. But there was nothing confusing about it. She took a few steps back, freeing herself from his grip and exhaled sharply. She gently brushed her lips with her fingertips. That shouldn't have happened. And yet she had coveted every minute of it. Looking up at Zelgius, she knew he was pondering the same things.
Only, he appeared worried. Guilty. Ashamed? He caught her gazing at him and offered the tiniest of smiles—as if reassuring her that she wasn't what concerned him. "Raivierra, I think—a" he started, but was interrupted by a call from just outside the tent, to which he instantly fell quiet.
"General! Do you know where Raivierra may be? I've searched the entire camp, stopped by her site, Loki's post, and yet she's nowhere to be found." The voice was Levail's. Oh, thank Ashera he showed up now.
"Yes, she's here with me. We were just discussing how to deal with the segmentation of the troops due to the situation with the Senate." He called back as he maneuvered around her to collect his shirt and quickly don the garment—but only after clearing his throat of course.
There was a prolonged silence on Levail's end. As if he was suspecting… as if he knew. No. No need to get paranoid now. "Yes… well, Apostle Sanaki sends for both of you. As soon as you can, report to Castle Crimea." There was another hesitation. "And might I suggest appropriate attire?"
Yet Another Note: R&R. It definitely helps me. Hope if you're reading this part, you enjoyed it. And you should check out "A Love of War". It wouldn't jump right into the "romance ;)", but it'd build to it. So again, R&R, Thank yall!