Catarina (catdevigri) wrote in no_true_pair, @ 2010-08-17 15:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 2010 eight characters challenge, artist: catdevigri, author: catdevigri, crossover: fma/tol, pairing: fenimore/kimblee |
Guardian (FMA/ToL, Fenimore/Kimblee)
Title: Guardian
Author/Artist: catdevigri
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Tales of Legendia
Pairing/characters: Fenimore Xelhes/Solf J. Kimblee
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Blood and violence
Word count: 1581
Prompt/challenge you're answering: Fenimore wasn't ready for the invasion, but Kimblee was.
Author's comment: Fic + art in this one! Kimblee is worked into the ToL universe in this story. It's my favorite thing I've completed for this round of no_true_pair so far.
Ferines!Kimblee- as he appears in "Guardian". Blond Kimblee is pretty strange-looking, huh?
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There had been news of movements by Prince Vaclav and his army further north along the coast, but no one in the seaside village took the threat to their lives and town very seriously at this point. Except for Kimblee. All around town, from the fishing boats to the well, rumors circulated about the reasons behind Vaclav's increased antagonism toward their already victimized people, and questions swirled over the fates of friends and relatives spread across the continent.
"Kimblee, what are you doing now?" Fenimore had been sent to the beach by her mother to call her father in for dinner, but coming across her eccentric neighbor doing push-ups in the surf she couldn't walk away without saying something. Kimblee was tremendously strong compared to most of the villagers. He was always called upon to assist in the raising of frames for new houses or to drag the boats up higher onto the beach to protect them from the ravages of a coming storm. He was also known as somewhat strange, but he was polite and a good talker, so Fenimore engaged with him from time to time. His true nature was as enigmatic as the meaning of his true name: "Red Lotus." "Red Lotus." ...what did it mean?
"Hello, Fenimore," he greeted her, raising one hand in a friendly salute even as sea foam sloshed around his legs and he continued on one-armed with his exercises. "I'm just doing my best to stay in top shape in case of an emergency. I may practice Crystal Eres, but my body and technique still benefit from the exercise."
"That's..." she struggled to find the right word to describe her off-kilter thoughts concerning his activities, "...Interesting. I'm, uh, sure you know what's best for you though. You do work hard at it, Mr. Kimblee." Using the task already appointed to her as cover, she briskly concluded the conversation and moved on to hurry her father's return to the table. With Thyra away visiting their cousins in the next village over, Fenimore found it stifling to be alone at home with her mother for too long. She was more her father's daughter. She found it innately easier to get along with him.
Kimblee waved to her again as they passed on their way back. Angland teased his older daughter with a roguish smile on his face. "Why, it sort of looks like Kimblee's taken a liking to you. Might there be a certain rite in our standoffish one's future?" Thyra had a beau of sorts within their people, but Fenimore had always been more inclined toward spending her days alone or with other girls than with the opposite sex. It bothered her mother ("What kind of future do you expect to have?"), but Angland had never felt it was much cause for concern.
"Ha ha, very funny, Dad. I was just asking him what he was doing before I came to get you. We barely know each other."
"Well, every relationship starts somewhere," Angland observed mildly.
Fenimore let it go at that.
*****
The next day was overcast.
"I wonder if a storm is blowing in?" Fenimore set down the large urn her mother had sent her to fill on the edge of the well. It was heavy enough empty and an absolute pain to move when full. She tossed the bucket down the well and it hit the water with a splash. Four bucketfuls filled the urn. She stretched her arms and paused a moment, sizing up the unwieldy urn before reaching out to life it up. She wasn't weak! She wasn't about to let a jar of water get her down! But the urn wasn't heavy at all...because someone else was already holding it. "Mr. Kimblee!"
"I'm sorry. You wanted to take care of this yourself, Fenimore?" He had no problem with turning the item over to her if she so desired.
"N-no," she shook her pigtailed head. "I'm glad for the help. I hate carrying this thing home."
For Kimblee, it didn't seem like much of a problem. He didn't struggle and splash water over himself as he walked like she usually did. "Fenimore, what sort of plan does your family have in case of an attack? If the village is destroyed, do you have somewhere you'll try to meet up?"
"You sure worry a lot about worst-case scenarios, Kimblee. Do you really think something like that is going to happen here?" She was certainly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe as a warrior-type he was privy to some soft of information the village chieftains didn't share with the everyday folk.
"Do you think so? Yes, certainly. Without the power of a new Merines, I don't see how our people could be expected to stop the advance of our enemy. The only hope we have in turning the tide of Vaclav's forces is that some sovereign power comes to see his conquests as a threat and intercedes on behalf of their own interests."
"Hmm." He constructed a logical enough argument. "So, in case of an attack, what should I be doing to get ready?" They were on the doorstep of her house now. Fenimore held the door and Kimblee went inside, glancing around curiously, taking in every detail. He had never been inside this house before.
"Oh, hello," Fenimore's mother exclaimed, turning around with her hands filled by a bowl of freshly peeled apples. Fenimore followed closely on Kimblee's heel, her presence creating something of an explanation for him.
"Is here okay?" Kimblee addressed both women with a gallant smile as he stopped to place the urn on a stone countertop.
"That'll be fine," Sonyma answered. She was still somewhat bowled over at seeing this older, somewhat eccentric man with her daughter.
"Thanks Kimblee." Though she still was interested in hearing what he had to say, Fenimore was reluctant to carry on any conversation with him in front of her mother. On a whim she set her hand on his muscular arm and gently turned him back toward the door. Seen so close to his, Fenimore's plain workaday hand seemed small and even dainty. Everything took on new meaning when viewed in comparison.
She walked him back out onto the doorstep. He didn't object to her touch or her silent commands. "Thank you," she told him again. "I'd still like to continue our conversation sometime. You know, just...more privately."
"I understand," he said, turning his face back over his shoulder, toward Sonyma, who appeared to have more than a passing interest in their interaction.
Kimblee touched her hand, just once, lightly, before they parted, Fenimore to help her mother with the baking, and Kimblee to whatever way he spent the majority of his days.
*****
They didn't finish their conversation in time. The invasion came, like Kimblee said it would, but it came too fast.
The town was burning, the thatched roofs flaring up with licks of flame. So much death, so much destruction. Vaclav's men were strong. They could handle the ill-trained men of the seaside village without much effort. They ransacked the place in a wild and undisciplined manner, as though they had been instructed to create as much fear and panic among the people as possible (Fenimore hoped that was the case, not that they had been told to have as much fun as possible ravaging the town because they definitely seemed to be enjoying the slaughter).
She tried to keep her wits about her (why hadn't she talked to Kimblee sooner about how to be prepared?), but once she saw her father fall to a bloody blade with grimy saw-like teeth, she lost the ability to rationally react to the situation. She did the worst possible thing. She ran toward the sea instead of away into the woods. All she could see was blood and flames. Her heart pounded in her chest. "I'm going to die!" she thought. She didn't know yet that many of the younger folk of the village were being captured rather than killed, taken away to the Legacy and used in Vaclav's brutal experiments to create an artificial Merines.
She stumbled into the surf, salt stinging the scrapes she had already taken from falling onto her hands and knees as she escaped out of her burning house. Through her ragged breaths she could hear the advance of a heavy, armored soldier trudging after her through the sand. She looked back over her shoulder just in time to see a gloved hand reach out to grab her arm.
"Ah!" she screamed, tripping and falling into the waves. She struggled to stand again, spitting out a mouthful of salt water and weighed down by her drenched clothes.
Her fall had only given the Crusandic soldier time to close the gap. This was it-
Boom! The soldiers' blood spattered across Fenimore's wide-eyed face as he was blown apart in a dazzlingly frightful explosion of crystal eres. The hand that had nearly taken her now floated, dismembered, in the surf. She trembled, unable to move, washed in a mixture of water and blood.
Kimblee approached her through the waves, his nails still shining like the rainbow with his eres. There was blood flecked across his eerily smiling face. He had saved her life. Her knees weakened and she felt as if she might faint into the embrace of the sea.
Kimblee hold out his murderous hand. What could she do but take it?
(See the brighter, unadjusted version of this illustration?)