A/N: Originally written for the kink anon meme at LJ. Prompt: "Minerva/Michalis, before the war began and Michalis killed their parents and took over the country. I just want to see a romance between them, probably based on martial skill and possibly a bit of hero worship on Minerva's part as a consequence. Sex optional. " I did my best! Please enjoy and review.

Words: 857
Characters: Minerva, Michalis
Time: Before FE1/11
Genre: Family/Romance

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

To her, he gleamed more powerfully than the sun; her young eyes were blinded by his strength and skill, and his image was still burned into her gaze when she blinked. Unconsciously she shifted with him. As he stepped away from her in his training pattern, she stepped forward, keeping their separation even. She was a perfect imitation, a mirror, of her brother's magic. As he began to increase his speed, so did she, faster and faster until Michalis became a blur and Minerva stumbled, tripped, and fell. Her face slammed into the grassy ground, she dropped her lance, but then she scrambled up at one so she could continue to watch him. Michalis was in rapture now. His spear whistled in the air, his breaths were short gasps, and his feet were pounding war drums against the ground. It was a deadly dance, the pattern of step, turn, thrust, step, block, twist. At only eighteen, he flew with talent beyond his years.

Minerva's young heart skipped a beat, then another. Her breath caught in her throat until he stopped abruptly, and they were each gasping as desperately as the other for precious air. Her eyelids fluttered when he tossed his practice spear onto the pile, tore his damp shirt over his head, and crossed over to where she was standing.

"How long have you been watching?"

"You never noticed me?"

"I have now."

"I was trying to copy you," she said. "But you went too fast."

"You'll get there."

Minerva couldn't meet his eyes. She could feel the heat of his exertion, radiating through the scant air between them. She smelled his sweat, and it intoxicated her; of its own accord, her body drifted closer to him, her face level with his heaving chest. A hand caressed her cheek.

"Why do you want to fight, Minerva?" said Micahlis. His eyes flicked over her face, both kind and sad.

"Because you do," she said at once.

"Is that all?"

"No. I, myself, also wish to fight. I want to be strong enough to defend Macedon, as a prince does, as a princess should. Am I wrong?"

Michalis laughed, deep in his throat; she was so close to him she could feel his chest rumbling with the sound. He ruffled her hair affectionately. "No, dear sister. You are just a very unique princess. Not only are you beautiful, but you will also be dangerous. It is a powerful combination that you can use to your – our – advantage, and I love you for it. Minerva, don't blush. It is the truth."

In her head, perhaps, if she had taken the time to pause, she would have questioned his words, his motives. But in her heart, she was too pleased, too distracted to register anything more than his praise, heartfelt or no. With renewed determination, she looked up at him, and found their faces mere inches apart.

"Teach me more," she breathed. "Please. I want to fight for you."

"For me or for you?" teased Michalis. He pressed a kiss to her lips, a chaste kiss, a brotherly kiss, but Minerva's knees still shook, and she was sure Michalis noticed. Surely, to linger that long, to open his mouth just the slightest bit like he did, that was not a brotherly thing to do…

"I want you to fight for me," he breathed into her mouth, his tongue still touching hers. "Together, we will make Macedon unstoppable."

And then his hand was where it shouldn't be. But Minerva's young heart raced at the impunity with which he slid his fingers beneath her tunic, across her wet skin, between her trembling legs. His burning eyes never left hers as he slipped one finger, then two, inside her, caressing her. Despite the heat of her exertion, chills shivered across Minerva's body, immobilizing her. Michalis began to move his hands in a rhythm, one inside her and one squeezing her small breast, and slowly she too regained the use of her body; he was setting it afire, and she began to move with him, complementing him. Each jerk of her hips brought his fingers in deeper, breaking her, thrilling her.

"Say you'll be mine!" he demanded, and though he whispered, his voice echoed in Minerva's ears. He kissed her skin, pressed his hips and his own sex against hers. "I need your loyalty. Always!"

Minerva gasped. Her entire body shuddered.

"Yes."

At once he withdrew from her. Without his support, Minerva collapsed. Her clothes were stretched and damp. As she fell, her knee hit her fallen spear.

Michalis stood ready for her attack, his eyes narrowed and sparkling. The fingers wrapped around his spear were wet with the proof of her pleasure.

"Come to me, Minerva!" he challenged. "Come! Give me your best!"

Her weapon was too large for her, but she tightened her grip on the shaft regardless, clenching her small fingers. His touch, like his voice, seemed to echo through her skin. She met Michalis's gaze, then charged.