A/N: This was written for the FESS Fan-fiction Quarterly challenge due July 1, 2007 (yes I turned it in on time; I just didn't post it here). Honestly, I haven't had time to play at all. The game is still sitting in a pile of other video games, in its original packaging. There really shouldn't be anything REALLY related to the actual game/story. But just in case, read at your own discretion.
This is a collection of several scenes, not really anything significant... I hate when I write something, but when the official canon comes out, I find that I did everything wrong. I'm already writing about a girl I can't really identify with, since I haven't played... And I still wrote this last minute. Sort of. I began it a month before the due date on paper.
A setting orange sun painted the sky rainbow in hues of tangerine pearl, coral, lilac, amaranth, iced plum, and finally azure. The last rays of sunlight clung to the evening dew on the grass. Distant mountains appeared violet under the quickly diminishing light.
Waves of long hair, argent as the newly fallen snow, billowed about; its seemingly young owner was sitting on top of a small hill, frowning at the picturesque landscape. Something about it felt like a portent of rougher times to come; it made the usually carefree young light-wielding mage uneasy. To her, it felt reminiscent of something important that had happened long ago – something that should have been obvious.
She whispered to a common enough creature – a small flitting bird no larger than the girl's hand and the colour of refined cocoa confections, "What is it, Yune? Surely you feel it also." She blinked, and those enormous eyes – the same colour as the bird though with a touch of gold – were once again watching the serene landscape suspiciously, as if daring something to just happen.
No one had any right to call the girl an inexperienced rookie, but this unsettled mood was certainly unusual for her. Almost always, her group of mercenary fighters was prepared for anything. Nothing ever caught the "Dawn Mercenaries" off-guard or unawares. Though the bird could hear every single one of the girl's thoughts, it seemed the reverse did not hold true.
A small sigh escaped the mage's breath. There was nothing she could do. Whatever was going to happen would happen when the time came.
It was hard to imagine the battlefield was once a flower field. Few plants, if any, survived the endless warfare. The ground was muddy and soiled with blood, with not a sign of any foliage. The "Dawn Mercenaries" were supported by the Daein army, but the opposing "Greil Mercenaries" with yet another imperial army and led by talented young warriors Ike and Senerio put up an even fight. Neither side could get an advantage over the other, so every day, soldiers on either side kept dying.
Mikaya could see her soldiers' morale was low. The end of this ceaseless "Armageddon" was nowhere to be seen. An unrelenting, metallic stench hung in the air from the bloodshed and the dead (and living) soldiers' armour. This was definitely among one of the more difficult battles the "Dawn Mercenaries" have fought, as the enemy mercenaries were well-trained and the enemy commanders had to have been military geniuses. Tactical battle strategies used by the enemy constantly changed; no sooner than Mikaya's army switches direction, the enemy drew up a new strategy which kept the "Dawn Mercenaries" at bay. It was increasingly frustrating.
A fair-skinned boy with cerise eyes to match the blood in his surroundings sat on an old wooden stool sullenly, with his arms crossed. He glared at anyone who passed by, and his eyes bore holes into the wall in front of him. His mouth was set in a pout. Even though he had set several books on magic and military strategy on the oak table before him, the young wind-wielder was clearly not reading them; nor was he eating any of the rationed food set beside the books.
Not far away, a blue-haired brawny boy of similar age stood in the corner watching the black-clothed wind mage. His brow was knitted in concern, and his mouth was a thin line, but he was not scaring any allies away with a glare. At long last, he heaved a sigh and spoke.
"How long are you going to just sulk, Senerio?" He asked with a hint of exhaustion in his voice. The swordsman walked up to the boy and put one calloused hand on the mage's head. "We've been carrying out every single strategy. We've been doing our best, and so have you. The Dawn's commanders are just not a pushover. You're not doing anything wrong."
"I never said I did," came the short and cold reply.
Ike, the swordsman, was surprised by his friend's capriciousness. Usually, Senerio was a sophisticated, mellow, and logical person. Somehow, he was now an immature child on the verge of a tantrum. After long days under the hot sun, duking it out with countless foes, Ike was not in the mood for a fight with his best friend and leading tactician. He moved his hand from Senerio's head and slammed it into the table, shaking everything that had been on the table.
"Senerio, if you don't grow up and get over yourself this instant, I'm sending you home to Gallia!" Ike snapped with equivalent frostiness. "If you think this is just a game where you have to win, you don't belong here."
Senerio thought Ike would stomp out and cool his temper with a few more hours of fighting. Instead, he remained and stared directly into Senerio's eyes. The mage swallowed and after a fleeting moment, the feelings of sorry for himself vanished. In a small voice, he whispered, "I don't want to leave. Please don't send me away."
Ike's shoulders relaxed a little at the tactician's decision, but he said nothing.
A/N: Well, before you ask, I still haven't played the game, so this is me toying with vague ideas.