siraranisamused: ClassyAran (Default)
[personal profile] siraranisamused
Series: Fire Emblem, Elibe
Characters: Fiora, Geitz
Word Count: 1057
Rating: G
Summary: “What brings a vagabond noble like you to the frozen north of Ilia?”
Prompt: Fiora and Gietz: Rebuilding a mercenary band

Written for MorriganFearn as part of Nagamas 2014

“And here I thought you didn’t like the cold.”

Fiora smiled coyly as she rested her chin in her palm, and her elbow on the head of her pegasus, as she looked down towards Geitz, who had bundled himself up in furs and was still shaking like a leaf. As a testament to her adaptation, Fiora was dressed similarly and hardly felt the chill.

“Yeah, well, the mercenary life tends to take you all over the place; I probably won’t be staying in Ilia for more than a couple weeks at time,” Geitz assessed with a chilled grin.

Fiora nudged her steed, and it flew down to land inches from the vagabond noble. “So that’s why you’ve come all this way? To become a mercenary? I was hoping you were coming to visit.” The smile still being coy gave her away.

“You know, you’re a lot smarmier than I remember,” said Geitz. “When we spoke last, you always seemed so…tender hearted.”

“Would you rather work for someone tender hearted?”

Geitz thought about that for a moment. “…To each their own. But I’m sure you treat your mercenary company more firmly than you do your friends. And I can respect that.”

Fiora’s smile became a lot more genuine and warm at that. “Why did you decide to become a mercenary, then? And so far up into Ilia?”

“Well, after leaving the company of the Pharaen marquis, I found myself back in a life of aimless wandering.” Geitz chuckled grimly. “Of course, it’s not as though I really joined his party out of more than thrills and the suggestion of my old friend, Dart. But, there was this one man…Dorcas, I think it was. He had purpose in his fighting: money, and family. I do not have the first, and I reject the second…but the mercenary life felt like it gave me purpose, so I decided to pursue that. As for coming to Ilia…”

Geitz looked to the sky with a tiny smile, as a birdsong was heard faintly in the distance. “An old friend suggested it might be a good place to start.”

Fiora, however, didn’t seem that impressed. In fact, her smile had been replaced by a disappointed and somewhat angry frown. “Is that it, then?”

“P…pardon?”

“Money and a whim? That’s what led you to the mercenary life?” Fiora’s pegasus advanced, as she glared rather firmly down at Geitz. “I thought you were a decent man, Geitz, but I suppose I should’ve expected your answer to be as listless and hollow as you say your motives were before.”

“Hey, now, come on, I didn’t mean it like that…!”

“And what this about having no money? Those fancy furs, the expensive weaponry you used during Eliwood’s campaign, the obvious training you have, clearly you have quite a purse of the family coin in order to afford it all. What else could I expect from a nobleman, from a family all to alike the ones who sent my company, my friends, on needless suicide missions.”

“It’s not like that!” said Geitz. He looked aside, shamed by Fiora’s words, before he collected himself and began his defence. “First of all, these furs, these weapons, I didn’t buy them after leaving my home. I brought these with me, and what coin I did bring with me went to maintaining them to last me as long as I could. I admit, it’s high quality maintenance, but, none the less, I’ve been trying to keep thrifty. And as for my family’s history…”

“I know. You opened up to me about the horrible conditions they had on their merchant ships, and that’s why you ran away.”

“Right. But I don’t ignore the fact that I’ve benefited off their backs by the same measure as my father did, with the lessons that afforded me, and the purse I left home with. But I don’t want to live that life anymore. When I fought for that noble, Eliwood…I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.”

Fiora smiled reassuringly. “Purpose?”

Geitz nodded. “His quest seemed…righteous. I’m too far gone to live a straight life as a trader or a craftsman; fighting’s all I’ve got left, and the mercenary life is the only place that’d pay you well for it, ‘part from the arena.”

“Or a job as a nobleman’s guard,” Fiora pointed out.

Geitz waved his hand dismissively. “Gladiatorial combat seemed meaningless, and being a knight just wasn’t my bag. That’s why I came here, to find you; mercenary work would pay for me, but the constant shuffle of jobs and loyalties would rob me of that purpose I’ve been looking for. But you…you’re a woman of principle. I…I trust that you would never take a job you didn’t at least somewhat agree with. Even those suicide missions, I’ll bet you found some meaning behind them.” He chuckled. “Or, at least, were very desperate.”

Fiora smirked. “You know, you had me until the word desperate. That’s a bad habit you’ll have to get over, Geitz. When you opened yourself up to me about your father’s business dealings, or what you did, just now, pleading your case, that honesty is much more appreciated up here in Ilia. Trying to be as cool as the snow and smarmy and sarcastic, like Oh, an old friend me to come here even though he is a bird, just makes you look like an out-of-touch noble we only begrudgingly work for.”

Geitz chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess old habits die hard,” he said with a weary sigh.

Fiora’s pegasus inched a little closer, and sniffed at Geitz’s arm, before gently nipping him on the shoulder.

“Ow—hey!”

Fiora giggled. “Well, Duey seems to like you. I guess you have quite a way with animals.” She straightened up in her saddle, and nodded. “Right, I’ve decided; we’ll bring you on board for a few missions, see how you stack up. Perhaps you’ll be a fine addition to our mercenary crew.”

Geitz grinned at the sound of that.

“Someone!” Fiora called up over her shoulder, to the air where some of her compatriots held position as Fiora met with the strange noble. “Get this man a pegasus, see if he’s ready to start some aerial combat training!”

Geitz blinked in confusion and exasperation. “…What?”

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