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Entry tags:
eyes weighing heavy;
Summary: A rewritten start for the Riviera AU fic.
She first noticed his face, then his wings.
The fairy had been lounging on the tree, sipping the dew drops in the morning light. No wind stirred the grounds. Bother, bother, bother! And that stupid fat cat had decided to snuggle in her favorite resting spot! She had an important job, you know! She greeted anybody who entered Elendia! Not just any fairy could do that! Nobody appreciated her.
Pouting, she poked at the cat with a twig. But the cat only yowled, large white fangs gleaming. Her mouth opened up to unknown depths. Eeeee! The fairy hastily scrambled back to her branch, gripping its sturdiness with her thin arms. When she sneaked a peek at the cat again, she had returned to sleep.
Bother, bother, bother!
Somebody approached from the steps, so she smoothed her wings quickly and fluttered upwards. She was too busy smoothing down her translucent blue dress to see the cat’s ears snap up, and her large green eyes to open.
“Welcome to El—!” the fairy began, sweeping down from the air. But she stopped when she caught sight of his face, and staggered back slightly, wings scratching against the twig. She gave a small cry as she spiraled downward, off-balanced. Quick hands cushioned her from her tragic fate, and she gripped onto the rough fingers, calloused but kind.
“E-Ein!” she cried, sitting on her knees and staring into his face. It was the same face she had recognized time and time again, scratched up and bruised, bleeding slightly, with exhaustion in the lines of his face and droop of his eyes. Brown hair, warm smile--! She rubbed her eyes until they hurt, but still, he was there, standing before her, cupping her like precious water.
“Be careful,” he said gently, and set her on the tree. She uneasily sat on the branch, hair whipping in the sudden, violent wind. The gust sent his scraggly cloak rustling, and black feathers spun around like a fervent whirlwind, dipping and floating until they came to a skid on the dirt. They were black, like the hidden inkwell in the back room, long forgotten, yet still wet with expectancy.
“Ah,” he said to the cat, “So that’s my name.” He reached out, and the cat hesitated, her sharp shoulderblades trembling. But finally, she seemed to relinquish her dignity, and curled under his hand willingly, desperately, in a way the fairy had never seen the prideful cat. With a warm meow, she nuzzled him, sniffing him, inhaling him, reaffirming his existence with every catch of her bright green eyes.
“Rose, is it?” He smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Rose.”
Her sudden yowl sent the fairy reeling back in surprise, dropping off the branch, but still managing to clutch on. Hanging down, she stared at the spectacle, the cat intensely glaring at their hero, Ein, with an unknown emotion. That was mean! Ein just returned home! And he had been so nice to her!
“No,” he said, “I’m afraid I’ve lost my memories.”
“What!” Now it was the fairy’s shout that startled the both of them. Ein turned questioningly. “You can’t have—you can’t have lost your memories! You’re the hero of Elendia!”
The cat hissed.
“I’m sorry,” Ein said, “Rose says that we better leave. I hope we meet again.”
And like that, he disappeared.
The fairy blinked. No, he was just walking off. Bother, bother, bother. She flitted about the tree for another moment, before making up her mind. She would go and tell Elder that Ein was back. One year ago, they had thought that Ein had died—in the battle against Seth-Rah, when the girls had only found themselves on the ground. Nobody knew what had happened, but Elendia still had a tomorrow—and he was last seen in the rapidly crumbling Maze of Shadows. It had been presumed—
Bother! Bother! Bother!
Did Ein always have wings?
.chapter one
Fia sat at the head of the table. Though it really wasn’t much of a “table”— she had tried to bring them together, but it always failed. Cierra rarely came down to dinner, studying her spells, and there was Serene, who almost lived at the Grave of Repose—oh, they had a room for her, yes, but it was covered in dust—and Lina! She always ran off without telling them! So for dinner, it was just her again, looking at the empty plates and empty chairs.
The Elder was away at a meeting, like always—but when he could, he would join them, though she, with a trembling heart, was never sure it was for the family connections, or just to console them.
Though Ein had only been with them for a brief part of their lives, his absence spoke for eternity.
Her stomach growled. Oh, how she wished to have dinner. The turkey was growing cold, and the herbs wouldn’t keep for long. The eating utensils were sparkling clean, and arranged on the napkin so very nicely, and it was already growing dark outside! She refused to eat until they came back, which wouldn’t be until very late. Her fists shook in her dress, and she tried not to think very much.
Oh! What about—yes, she should think about household chores! Yes, it would be too troublesome to think about the final battle, and how her sword had slashed at the powerful being, and how the entire building had shook and crumbled and everything had fallen down, fallen down, fallen down and Ein was questioning the fates and gods with such a desperate look in his eye, and guilt, yes, guilt, and—
The sudden rap at the door broke her thoughts.
“I-I’ll get it!” she cried to the empty house. She raced to the door, and hopefully (Lina! Cierra! Serene! Oh, even Gateau!). When she flung open the door, her words stopped in her throat. Gateau meowed loudly, strutting into the house importantly.
Ein smiled at her blankly.
“E-Ein--?” Her voice came out in barely a croak. She cleared her throat. “Ei-Ein! Ein, is it—“ Suddenly, her hand shot out, and she cradled his face. It was soft, and warm. And pulsing—with life! Life! Reality struck her suddenly, and she recoiled back, her face white.
“I’m told you are Fia,” he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.” He smiled sheepishly, fiddling with the tips of his shredded cloak. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Gateau hissed.
“Blockhead?” Ein asked her.
“Co-come in!” Fia said suddenly, ushering him in. She smoothed down her apron and darted back to the dining table. “We—I was just about to start dinner, and—oh, you must be hungry—and—and—“ She stared into the reflective plate, her own wavery frown staring back at her. “And you can—You can explain it to us later!”
“Thank you,” Ein said.
When he still didn’t move, Fia hesitatingly moved towards him. “Is something wrong?”
“My wings,” he said, “won’t fit through the door.” Though it was night, she could see them. They were outlined darkly, large, thick, powerful wings that, even when curled against his back, refused to fit in through the door. He didn’t have them before, but their presence seemed natural against him.
“May I—“ She reached out towards them.
“Ah, yes,” he said, and turned slightly. She only began to gently tug, to get one wing through the door first, but the feathers felt so electrifying against her skin that she accidentally dropped them first. She trembled again, but then took them firmly into her hands. The feathers were smooth, gentle, but filled her with a sense of—of something! Carefully, she eased him in, one wing at a time. When he finally entered, she closed the door, and fluttered to the kitchen. Yes, they had kept his favorite drink there—lime, was it?—and she brought it out, pouring it into the glass with precision. He had hesitatingly sat at Cierra’s seat, and smiled at her.
“Eat, you must be hungry!” she said, giving him the glance. The liquid fizzed.
“I am,” he said apologetically. “Thank you.”
“No,” she said, “No need to—“ Her voice broke. “—to thank me.”
He ate the food voraciously, and she watched him. There was something strange about the entire situation, but something real, all at once. He tore at the food viciously, ate it gruffly, even using his fingers at places to push the food into his mouth. With a swift movement, he swallowed the liquid in thirst, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Fia did not say a word.
“I don’t remember,” he finally said, when he finished his second plate (Fia eagerly served him, anything, just as long as he was there), “Anything. I just remember . . . walking.”
“Walking?” She exchanged her seat with Serene’s, and sat across from him. Gateau sat on the table, and she did not have the attention to scold her.
“On a road,” he said, looking distant. “There was nobody around me. I was very hungry.”
Gateau meowed.
“Was it?” he asked distractedly. “I walked for . . . a long while. My legs are tired now. The wings were heavy. But I’m used to walking.”
“Used to—“
“Ah! I could have flown!” Ein laughed slightly. “. . . I reached here, though, by walking. There was a fairy, and then Rose told me that I had been here before. I am a . . . Grim Angel?”
“Yes,” Fia said worriedly. “You truly do not remember anything? About defeating Seth-Rah, or, Elendia, at all?”
“No,” he said. “I do not.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s—“
It was hard, and her headache suddenly caught up with her. She pressed her hand against her forehead, and she felt the tears come out, slowly.
“Fia?”
“Ein . . . “ Her voice came out too small. The view was different—here was someone sitting in front of her, and he was real. She dreamt about this--! Oh, she had dreamed! But beyond her wildest dreams--! He was here! He was here, he was here, the one she had dared to love, the Hero of Elendia, the one who had sacrificed his title, his life, for Elendia--!
“Sleep now,” he said, and she found herself being led to the bed. It had been Ein’s bed, so she had never slept in it, merely smelled it and cried upon it. She didn’t want to sleep! She had so much to say! This was the day she had longed for!
His hand in her hair.
His smell, of must and exoticness, wafted around her. With another violent tremble, she gripped his cloak. His wings were warm as well, wrapping securely around her.
“Sleep,” he whispered, and she was already fading away, away from the empty chairs and empty tables, to that distant land, where they had lived so happily—
--
She first noticed his face, then his wings.
The fairy had been lounging on the tree, sipping the dew drops in the morning light. No wind stirred the grounds. Bother, bother, bother! And that stupid fat cat had decided to snuggle in her favorite resting spot! She had an important job, you know! She greeted anybody who entered Elendia! Not just any fairy could do that! Nobody appreciated her.
Pouting, she poked at the cat with a twig. But the cat only yowled, large white fangs gleaming. Her mouth opened up to unknown depths. Eeeee! The fairy hastily scrambled back to her branch, gripping its sturdiness with her thin arms. When she sneaked a peek at the cat again, she had returned to sleep.
Bother, bother, bother!
Somebody approached from the steps, so she smoothed her wings quickly and fluttered upwards. She was too busy smoothing down her translucent blue dress to see the cat’s ears snap up, and her large green eyes to open.
“Welcome to El—!” the fairy began, sweeping down from the air. But she stopped when she caught sight of his face, and staggered back slightly, wings scratching against the twig. She gave a small cry as she spiraled downward, off-balanced. Quick hands cushioned her from her tragic fate, and she gripped onto the rough fingers, calloused but kind.
“E-Ein!” she cried, sitting on her knees and staring into his face. It was the same face she had recognized time and time again, scratched up and bruised, bleeding slightly, with exhaustion in the lines of his face and droop of his eyes. Brown hair, warm smile--! She rubbed her eyes until they hurt, but still, he was there, standing before her, cupping her like precious water.
“Be careful,” he said gently, and set her on the tree. She uneasily sat on the branch, hair whipping in the sudden, violent wind. The gust sent his scraggly cloak rustling, and black feathers spun around like a fervent whirlwind, dipping and floating until they came to a skid on the dirt. They were black, like the hidden inkwell in the back room, long forgotten, yet still wet with expectancy.
“Ah,” he said to the cat, “So that’s my name.” He reached out, and the cat hesitated, her sharp shoulderblades trembling. But finally, she seemed to relinquish her dignity, and curled under his hand willingly, desperately, in a way the fairy had never seen the prideful cat. With a warm meow, she nuzzled him, sniffing him, inhaling him, reaffirming his existence with every catch of her bright green eyes.
“Rose, is it?” He smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Rose.”
Her sudden yowl sent the fairy reeling back in surprise, dropping off the branch, but still managing to clutch on. Hanging down, she stared at the spectacle, the cat intensely glaring at their hero, Ein, with an unknown emotion. That was mean! Ein just returned home! And he had been so nice to her!
“No,” he said, “I’m afraid I’ve lost my memories.”
“What!” Now it was the fairy’s shout that startled the both of them. Ein turned questioningly. “You can’t have—you can’t have lost your memories! You’re the hero of Elendia!”
The cat hissed.
“I’m sorry,” Ein said, “Rose says that we better leave. I hope we meet again.”
And like that, he disappeared.
The fairy blinked. No, he was just walking off. Bother, bother, bother. She flitted about the tree for another moment, before making up her mind. She would go and tell Elder that Ein was back. One year ago, they had thought that Ein had died—in the battle against Seth-Rah, when the girls had only found themselves on the ground. Nobody knew what had happened, but Elendia still had a tomorrow—and he was last seen in the rapidly crumbling Maze of Shadows. It had been presumed—
Bother! Bother! Bother!
Did Ein always have wings?
.chapter one
Fia sat at the head of the table. Though it really wasn’t much of a “table”— she had tried to bring them together, but it always failed. Cierra rarely came down to dinner, studying her spells, and there was Serene, who almost lived at the Grave of Repose—oh, they had a room for her, yes, but it was covered in dust—and Lina! She always ran off without telling them! So for dinner, it was just her again, looking at the empty plates and empty chairs.
The Elder was away at a meeting, like always—but when he could, he would join them, though she, with a trembling heart, was never sure it was for the family connections, or just to console them.
Though Ein had only been with them for a brief part of their lives, his absence spoke for eternity.
Her stomach growled. Oh, how she wished to have dinner. The turkey was growing cold, and the herbs wouldn’t keep for long. The eating utensils were sparkling clean, and arranged on the napkin so very nicely, and it was already growing dark outside! She refused to eat until they came back, which wouldn’t be until very late. Her fists shook in her dress, and she tried not to think very much.
Oh! What about—yes, she should think about household chores! Yes, it would be too troublesome to think about the final battle, and how her sword had slashed at the powerful being, and how the entire building had shook and crumbled and everything had fallen down, fallen down, fallen down and Ein was questioning the fates and gods with such a desperate look in his eye, and guilt, yes, guilt, and—
The sudden rap at the door broke her thoughts.
“I-I’ll get it!” she cried to the empty house. She raced to the door, and hopefully (Lina! Cierra! Serene! Oh, even Gateau!). When she flung open the door, her words stopped in her throat. Gateau meowed loudly, strutting into the house importantly.
Ein smiled at her blankly.
“E-Ein--?” Her voice came out in barely a croak. She cleared her throat. “Ei-Ein! Ein, is it—“ Suddenly, her hand shot out, and she cradled his face. It was soft, and warm. And pulsing—with life! Life! Reality struck her suddenly, and she recoiled back, her face white.
“I’m told you are Fia,” he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.” He smiled sheepishly, fiddling with the tips of his shredded cloak. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Gateau hissed.
“Blockhead?” Ein asked her.
“Co-come in!” Fia said suddenly, ushering him in. She smoothed down her apron and darted back to the dining table. “We—I was just about to start dinner, and—oh, you must be hungry—and—and—“ She stared into the reflective plate, her own wavery frown staring back at her. “And you can—You can explain it to us later!”
“Thank you,” Ein said.
When he still didn’t move, Fia hesitatingly moved towards him. “Is something wrong?”
“My wings,” he said, “won’t fit through the door.” Though it was night, she could see them. They were outlined darkly, large, thick, powerful wings that, even when curled against his back, refused to fit in through the door. He didn’t have them before, but their presence seemed natural against him.
“May I—“ She reached out towards them.
“Ah, yes,” he said, and turned slightly. She only began to gently tug, to get one wing through the door first, but the feathers felt so electrifying against her skin that she accidentally dropped them first. She trembled again, but then took them firmly into her hands. The feathers were smooth, gentle, but filled her with a sense of—of something! Carefully, she eased him in, one wing at a time. When he finally entered, she closed the door, and fluttered to the kitchen. Yes, they had kept his favorite drink there—lime, was it?—and she brought it out, pouring it into the glass with precision. He had hesitatingly sat at Cierra’s seat, and smiled at her.
“Eat, you must be hungry!” she said, giving him the glance. The liquid fizzed.
“I am,” he said apologetically. “Thank you.”
“No,” she said, “No need to—“ Her voice broke. “—to thank me.”
He ate the food voraciously, and she watched him. There was something strange about the entire situation, but something real, all at once. He tore at the food viciously, ate it gruffly, even using his fingers at places to push the food into his mouth. With a swift movement, he swallowed the liquid in thirst, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Fia did not say a word.
“I don’t remember,” he finally said, when he finished his second plate (Fia eagerly served him, anything, just as long as he was there), “Anything. I just remember . . . walking.”
“Walking?” She exchanged her seat with Serene’s, and sat across from him. Gateau sat on the table, and she did not have the attention to scold her.
“On a road,” he said, looking distant. “There was nobody around me. I was very hungry.”
Gateau meowed.
“Was it?” he asked distractedly. “I walked for . . . a long while. My legs are tired now. The wings were heavy. But I’m used to walking.”
“Used to—“
“Ah! I could have flown!” Ein laughed slightly. “. . . I reached here, though, by walking. There was a fairy, and then Rose told me that I had been here before. I am a . . . Grim Angel?”
“Yes,” Fia said worriedly. “You truly do not remember anything? About defeating Seth-Rah, or, Elendia, at all?”
“No,” he said. “I do not.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s—“
It was hard, and her headache suddenly caught up with her. She pressed her hand against her forehead, and she felt the tears come out, slowly.
“Fia?”
“Ein . . . “ Her voice came out too small. The view was different—here was someone sitting in front of her, and he was real. She dreamt about this--! Oh, she had dreamed! But beyond her wildest dreams--! He was here! He was here, he was here, the one she had dared to love, the Hero of Elendia, the one who had sacrificed his title, his life, for Elendia--!
“Sleep now,” he said, and she found herself being led to the bed. It had been Ein’s bed, so she had never slept in it, merely smelled it and cried upon it. She didn’t want to sleep! She had so much to say! This was the day she had longed for!
His hand in her hair.
His smell, of must and exoticness, wafted around her. With another violent tremble, she gripped his cloak. His wings were warm as well, wrapping securely around her.
“Sleep,” he whispered, and she was already fading away, away from the empty chairs and empty tables, to that distant land, where they had lived so happily—
--