notworthy: (gst: asad | grows distant)
[personal profile] notworthy
So I said I was writing Percy Jackson for [ profile] picfor1000 but I lied? Instead here is fic about a video game no one cares about. Also, it's pretty obvious that I haven't written fic in a while.

get a little warm in my heart (when i think of winter)
suikoden tierkreis, asad (and the blades), pg, 1000 words, picture

The first winter in Pharamond is the worst.

Both Nakil and Hafin get sick within the first few weeks, confined to beds with nasty coughs and fevers. Asad is grateful that Astrasia is still the middle of rebuilding and not a war. He knows that magic would be useful right now, that it could help Astrasia and her people, but it would be embarrassing if they had to fight like this, the two of them out of commission.

It's not their fault and Chrodechild never says anything about it, but he spends most of that season restless and angry and missing home.

Chrodechild won't ask him about Janam. It's the one thing she keeps her silence on. He knows her well enough now to know that she wants to ask him, but something holds her tongue.

Whatever it was, Meruvis doesn't seem to be suffering from it.

He won't ask outright; it's just a comment here and there, and Asad usually doesn't respond to them. When Meruvis comments about him missing the warmth of Janam though, it's like something flips in Asad's brain.

"What would you know of it?" he snaps, "You haven't experienced the worst of the summer heat, the droughts, the beauty of spring-"

His throat tightens and he can feel the burn of tears. He remembers Nakil breaking down the night it happened and he had been unable to do anything, just watch as Hafin presed a hand onto Nakil's shoulder.

Meruvis looks at him, his gaze steady. There's no pity in his eyes, only empathy, and that's why he doesn't get a fireball to the face.

Asad breathes in. "My apologies, Meruvis."

Meruvis shakes his head. "No, Asad. You are allowed to grieve. Both Hafin and Chrodechild say you don't speak of Janam."

He smiles and it's a strange thing. It doesn't feel right. "No. My men are- they look to me in guidance. And I will not burden Chrodechild with this."

"Then you shall talk to me."

It sounds too much like an order, and there's too many things Asad can say to that. He blinks and looks at the cloudy sky.

"You Astrasians have the worse weather."

Meruvis laughs and they leave it at that.

"Dress warmly," was the only thing Chrodechild had said.
Well, she also left Meruvis in charge of things, and that was the last thing she had said before she dragged him out of the castle.

He huddles into his tunics- more than one, plus the cloak he had stolen from Roberto. 'Dress warmly' for Chrodechild is her usual armor and he can't help but envy her for it. She looks completely at ease, walking through the snow on the ground.

It doesn't take long for them to reach their destination.

"The woods, Chrodechild?"

The smile she gives him is small but heartfelt. Asad can't help but smile back at it, smile back at her. He hates the fact that he actually feels warmer because of it, like he's stuck in some romance novel.

Still, he lets her take his hand.

The woods here are nowhere as dense as the Noslaw Woods, but thick all the same. He wonders what they look like when the leaves are still on the trees and the flowers in bloom.

He doesn't wander long, not when Chrodechild stops. He nearly walks right into her, but then she says, "Here."

Asad looks over her shoulder and can't help but smile. There's a lake here, frozen over by the cold. "It's beautiful."

That's not even a lie- the sun makes the ice shine, like some sort of jewel.

She squeezes his hand once. "I know it's not your home, but-"

The reason for this trip suddenly becomes clear to him. This was Chrodechild, trying to offer him a place here, beyond the role of a commander. She was offering him a home. He looks over at her, only to find that she's looking at him as well.

"It's beautiful," he repeats softly.

Chrodechild smiles and turns her face back to the lake. After a few seconds -too long, he thinks, but maybe it doesn't matter- so does he.

It doesn't take long for him to get sick too.

His cough rattles his chest and he spends most of the day in bed, huddled under covers. He knows he's sweating through his sheets but he feels as if he'll never be warm again.

"My sister's mage commander is a big baby."

He opens his eyes to glare balefully at Fredegund. She sits in the chair, propping her feet up on his bed. He can't be too angry with her- there's a bowl in her hands, and it's steaming.

"For me?"

At her nod, he sits up so she can hand it to him.

He and Fredegund are still learning to navigate each other; at first he had only cared about her because Chrodechild's devotion was a sight to see, fierce and lovely. Then Asad learns that she's wickedly funny, with an edge to her humor that's not present in any of the other Blades.

He likes her, and he is always surprised by it.

She doesn't say anything else and having someone watch him eat is not something that bothers Asad. He consumes the soup eagerly, uncaring that it's too hot. It's better than what he's had in days.

"She worries, you know."

Asad doesn't have to ask her who- Fredegund would not talk about anyone else. "I know. Tell her it's fine."

She stands and smiles down at him. "She would rather hear it from you, I think."

The second winter is as bad as the first.

"I miss it," he admits to Chrodechild. They're standing on one of the balconies, watching the sky. She turns to face him, her hair blowing in the wind. She is beautiful, but he'll keep that to himself. There's only so many things he will burden her with.

"I know," she whispers.

"But." He pauses and breathes. "It's all right."
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