Seasons' Dance

[royaltyjunk]

Summary:

[AU] They meet in the spring, when the flowers blossom and grow in the gardens.

Author’s Ideas: ¾ of my birthday gifts to you guys.

FREAKING.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’M GOING TO DIE WHY BERKUT/RINEA CAN STEP ON ME BECAUSE I’M DEAD

Yeah I wrote this after I finished Act 5 and then went to Act 6 and read the Memory Prisms and whoops this entire story went down the drain-

I’m kidding, but it’s a minor AU now, and Berkut is more… before powerlust hit, I guess.

Anyways have a thing and suffer with me. I would assume you’ve finished FE15 by now, but if not, go back unless you don’t mind being spoiled.

Also the “Old Valentia” you’ll see mentioned multiple times in this fic is just my way of saying Valentia before it was split into Zofia and Rigel. 

Disclaimer: I don’t own Fire Emblem.

~ / . / . / ~

Seasons' Dance

~ / . / . / ~

They meet in the spring, when the flowers blossom and grow in the gardens.

Berkut sighs, holding out his hand to his warhorse. The black mare reaches forward, grabbing the carrot in Berkut’s hand and chomping on it furiously.

“That should keep you busy, you little troublemaker,” he says, straightening and looking around the garden.

It’s a large garden, situated beside Rigel Castle, meant for the nobles to come and view the flowers. Many large events occur in the garden, and Berkut had managed to find himself here after his horse, Alpine, had dashed through the open wooden doors of the garden.

His gut twists, and he ignores the feeling of incorrectness that floods him, instead examining the beautiful flowers that blossom. Maybe he’ll bring some home to plant in his room, or give it to the library. The Rigel Castle always had been a little too lacking in color.

He starts up suddenly, realizing what was wrong. There is an absence of crunching, no scuffles along the ground from Alpine’s hooves. He looks around before rushing through an arch of roses, scanning the garden for any sign of the missing animal.

“Alpine!” He calls for his horse, hearing his voice echo across the garden. Where there is no response, he growls, “That stupid horse is going to get me killed one day.”

“Excuse me, Prince Berkut… are you looking for this horse?”

The newcomer’s voice, coming from the other side of the arch, is softly high-pitched, with the slightest hint of an accent. Berkut whirls around to meet them.

It’s a young woman, with deep blue hair that barely brushes her shoulders. A white headband adorned with jeweled flowers rests on the top of her head, and she brushes back her hair nervously. Her other hand is hidden in the folds of her dress, which falls down to her ankles. Blue formal shoes finish her appearance.

However, she’s not alone. In her hands, she holds familiar black reins, which are attached to the black bridle of a pitch black warhorse that he knows.

“Alpine!” Berkut scolds, dashing up to the mare. “You know better than to run off like that! You scared me half to death!”

Alpine just snorts in response, nudging Berkut on the cheek. He ignores the horse’s searching for attention, and turns to the young woman.

“Who might you be? What are you doing out here? This is the garden of the nobles. If you do not belong here, I would ask you to leave.”

She curtsies to him, almost falling to the ground. “It is a pleasure, Prince Berkut. My name is Rinea.”

“Rinea?” He echoes. “I have never heard that name before.”

“It is Old Valentian, Prince Berkut,” she responds, a gentle smile on her lips as she stands.

Berkut frowns. “Old Valentian? I though only the nobles could learn such a language.”

“Indeed, Prince Berkut. I am of minor noble blood, though you must not know my family well.”

“I suppose not. Which household do you hail from?”

“The Miracle household, Prince Berkut.”

“I see… I have heard of them, but do not know much of it. Ah, we’re off topic here… I had meant to ask you, what exactly does the word Rinea mean?”

“Lime flower, Prince Berkut.”

“Do you speak Old Valentian fluently?” Berkut asks, tying Alpine’s reins to the armrests of a nearby wooden bench and returning to his spot under the arch of roses.

“I suppose. My father taught me when I was very young… my grandmother only spoke Old Valentian, after all.”

“I cannot admit I am very familiar with Old Valentian… I only know enough to have a conversation.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Rinea encourages lightly, letting her gaze drift from him to the nearby roses, hanging gently off of the arch. She cradles a pale pink rose in her hands when he speaks up.

“Will you dance with me, Lady Rinea?”

She looks at him strangely. “For what reason?”

“Is it not customary in Old Valentia for a lady to share a dance with the prince when the seasons change?”

Surprise flashes in Rinea’s eyes. “You know of that tradition?”

“Of course. It started the Amantes Festival that we celebrate every autumn, did it not?”

Rinea stares at him before a gentle giggle bubbles over her lips. He feels blood rushing up to his cheeks, and Berkut demands, “What’s so funny?”

“No, it’s nothing,” she smiles. “Would it be too much to ask for a simple dance? A ballroom dance, or maybe a waltz?”

“Of course,” he agrees, holding out his hand. She takes it, and Berkut places his other hand on her hip gently, leading her through the arch of roses and around the bushes of the garden of nobles, dancing amidst the new flowers and fragrant smells. Slowly, she draws her free hand and places it on his shoulder.

He looks at her, and she meets his gaze with earnest and gentle sapphire blue eyes. He gives her a smile, and she reciprocates it as he raises his arm to turn her gently. She spins gracefully on the balls of her feet, and Berkut draws her closer to him.

“Rinea!” A man’s gruff voice rings over the garden, and Berkut releases her so quickly, it’s like he’s been burned. “Where are you, Rinea?”

“Coming, Father!” She turns to Berkut, an apologetic look in her eyes. “My most sincere apologies, Prince Berkut. I must leave, now.”

“I bid you farewell then, Lady Rinea,” he bows to her.

“May the gods bless you, Prince Berkut,” she curtsies gently before hurrying in the direction of her father’s voice.

When he turns to mount his horse, he finds a small lime flower tucked into the saddle of his horse.

~ / . / . / ~

They fall in love two years later during the summer, in a polished ballroom that glimmers of golden patterns, carved into the walls and along the roof.

“Prince Berkut!” Rinea calls from the balcony of the guest room in Rigel Castle. He glances up, a laugh on his lips.

“Good morning, Lady Rinea,” he responds, cupping a hand around his mouth and using the other hand to shield his face from the hot sunbeams. “Did you rest well?”

“Yes,” she nods earnestly. “Give my thanks to the king.”

“Of course. I must go now. I will come find you in the afternoon, if you would like to accompany me.”

“When would I not like to?” Rinea asks teasingly. A gentle breeze kicks up, making her bangs brush across her forehead. With a wave to Berkut, she turns and enters her chambers.

“Where were you, Berkut?” Rudolf demands from his place in front of his nephew’s chambers when Berkut approaches him from the halls.

“I went to take a walk and spoke with Lady Rinea,” he responds, bowing to his uncle. “I did not mean to keep you waiting, Uncle.”

“It is alright,” Rudolf waves off Berkut’s apology. “What did you and Lady Rinea talk about?”

“She expressed much content with her chambers,” Berkut says, hurrying to catch up to his uncle when the king begins to walk down the hallways. “She wants to thank you.”

“Hm… she’s a kind girl, isn’t she?” Rudolf states, giving his nephew a sidelong glance. Berkut doesn’t miss the look, and flushes lightly, hiding the red on his face by turning his head away from his uncle, muttering curses under his breath.

The king narrows his eyes, staring at Berkut. “What’s this all about, Berkut? You’re acting much like your father when he was your age.”

“Hm?” Berkut turns and looks at his uncle quizzically.

“Your father fell in love at this age,” Rudolf murmurs softly, a nostalgic look in his eyes. “Yet, he couldn’t get our father’s approval for his love, and was married to another noblewoman despite his feelings.”

“You know that I would never love without your approval, Uncle,” Berkut promises.

Rudolf breaks into a rare smile, clapping his nephew on the shoulder, making Berkut stumble forward and almost fall down. “Whoever you love is whoever I will approve, Berkut.”

A wave of relief floods Berkut. “Uncle… thank you.”

A boisterous laugh escapes the king, shoving his nephew down the hallways. “I’ll take care of your work today! You just go enjoy yourself!”

“But, Uncle-” Berkut tries to protest, turning back to Rudolf, but his uncle shakes his head, a large smile spread across his face.

“Go forth, my young nephew!” He calls, and Berkut darts off to spare himself embarrassment via his uncle.

He finds himself walking down the hallway that leads to the guest chambers, where Rinea is staying, and just sighs, continuing down the carpeted pathway.

Eventually, he stops in front of the large double doors, gently knocking.

One of the doors creaks open, and Rinea peeks through. Joy illuminates her face, and she pushes open the door, smiling widely.

“Prince Berkut, I thought you had something to do?”

“Uncle excused me for the day,” Berkut says.

“Really?” Rinea asks.

“Yes, really. So, what would you like to do?” Berkut asks, opening the door to let Rinea step out.

“Would you mind giving me a tour? I am afraid I arrived so late last night that I could not properly acquaint myself with this castle,” Rinea explains. Berkut tries to stifle a smile, but the blue-haired woman darts in front of Berkut, catching a glimpse of his smile. “What are you smiling about now, Prince Berkut?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he waves off her question, closing the door behind her.

“If you insist,” she says. “So, where do we start?”

“Well, this is the hallway for guest chambers. Down there…” Berkut falters before continuing. “I think it’ll be better if you see it for yourself.”

Rinea follows the prince as he leads her through a large hallway. He stops in front of a large set of embroidered golden doors before pushing them open. A small gasp escapes her lips.

“This is-”

Berkut steps inside confidently, making his way to the large circle in the middle of the ballroom floor. Rinea simply watches him, a small figure in black against the golden walls of the large ballroom.

He turns to look at her, a kind smile on his face. “You said you always wanted to dance in a ballroom, didn’t you?”

“Did you always have this?” Rinea asks in shock.

“It used to be where tutoring lessons occurred, but after we built the new building, it was converted into a ballroom. For dancing lessons, mostly, but…” Berkut trails off then, scratching his cheek, almost seeming sheepish.

Rinea rushes forward without thinking, throwing her arms around the prince. He grunts, stumbling backwards but managing to stay standing.

“Rinea?” He asks quietly, gently putting a hand on her back. She burrows her face deeper into his shoulder, and his breath catches in his throat.

She pulls away suddenly, and he stares into her eyes, filled with joy. His mouth moves before he can stop and think about his words.

“I love you, Rinea.”

Rinea looks at him, a smile on her face so bright that he thinks she’s a drop of the sun turned human.

“I love you too… Berkut.”

His heart swells and warms at the way she says his name, and he pulls himself away from her.

“May I have this dance then, my flower?” He asks, holding out his hand.

She just smiles and takes his outstretched fingers. There they dance, in the golden ballroom, with speckles of sunlight brightening their feet and illuminating their love.

~ / . / . / ~

They’re engaged in autumn with the whole of the country watching them.

“Amantes’ Festival… is that Old Valentian as well?” Berkut muses, turning to ask Rinea.

She nods, hurrying to his side. He takes her hand, and she entwines her fingers with his. “Can you tell me what it means?”

Rinea winks at him. “I think you should be able to figure it out.”

Berkut scrunches up his face, and Rinea stands on the tips of her toes to press a kiss on his nose. She dissolves into peals of laughter when she sees the look on his face.

“Rinea!” He scolds, but there’s a bright look in his eyes as he lifts her hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss onto her palm.

She leads him down the cobblestone pathways of the city, admiring the street stands and performances, and Berkut follows, although admittedly paying less attention than her.

“Berkut!” Rudolf calls out to his nephew from across the streets, waving him over. The crowd parts as he hurries to his uncle, allowing him and Rinea a clear path to the king.

“Yes, Uncle?” He asks. Rinea curtsies respectfully to the king.

“Be excused, Lady Rinea. I must speak with Berkut in private.”

She nods, and Berkut brushes a kiss on her temple before following his uncle on the pathway to the castle.

“What is it, Uncle?” Berkut asks worriedly as soon as they walk of earshot of everyone. “Is something wrong?”

Rudolf gestures him closer. “Hold out your hand,” he commands.

With a blink, the prince does as his uncle demands, and the king presses a metal ring into his hand. “The court agrees with your decision.”

“Truly?” Berkut gasps, staring down at the ring in his hand.

Rudolf nods, closing Berkut’s fingers around the ring. “This was your mother’s ring, given to you by her will,” he murmurs. “Take good care of her.”

“Of course. Thank you, Uncle. For everything.” Berkut bows deeply.

“This is not a farewell, Berkut. Now, hurry. You have someone to attend to.”

He only nods before darting through the crowd, craning his head to look for Rinea. She was standing where he’d left her, and he calls out to her.

“Rinea!”

She glances up from her folded hands, and gives him a delicate smile. He smiles back, and she turns to lead them through the bustling cities. He puts a hand on her shoulder, spinning her to face him.

“Can we talk?” He asks gently. A flash of fear goes through her eyes, and he moves to lay a reassuring hand on hers. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

She nods slowly. “Alright, Berkut.”

He smiles and holds her hand tightly, hers on top of his. His other hand slips into his pocket, and Rinea glances at it.

“The court approves,” he murmurs, withdrawing the beautiful ring and revealing it to her.

Rinea gasps loudly, causing other civilians to glance over. A roar of approval rises from the onlooking crowd of townspeople, but Berkut continues to look at Rinea, awaiting her response. She raises her head, turning her gaze from the ring to the prince.

Just a look in her eyes is enough, blue eyes filled with love and acceptance. Without another word spoken between them, Berkut slips the ring onto her finger and kisses her.

“You are too daring for your own good,” Rinea murmurs.

“Dare I ask for a dance?” Berkut asks.

Her eyes light up. “Of course I will dance with you, my love.”

He chuckles, taking her by the hand and leading her down the streets in a simple ballroom waltz. Murmurs arise from the onlooking crowd. A single woman, standing behind a shop stand, begins to sing, and soon, everyone joins in, a great chorus following their prince and his newly betrothed.

Within the decorated town square, they dance, and it seems like the entire country has been packed into the stone-floored center of the marketplace.

Rinea presses up closer to Berkut, and he smiles, leaning in to kiss her, his lips brushing gently against the strands of blue hair that decorate her forehead.

“Trust me,” he whispers into her ear.

“What?” Rinea asks, but Berkut smiles, putting his arms around her. With very little effort, he lifts her off the ground.

She gasps but smiles back, letting Berkut spin her through the air. Her arms snake around his neck, and he tightens his grip on her.

Her feet meet the ground after what seems like an eternity, and Berkut reaches forward, brushing hairs from her face. His other arm is still wrapped around her, with her arms around his neck.

He’s breathing heavily, and she presses her lips against his gently. He takes in a breath sharply, surprised by the courageous move.

“Amantes’ Festival… is Old Valentian for lovers’ festival, isn’t it?” Berkut asks once she moves away, a smug smile on his face.

Rinea giggles, resting her head on his chest. “Yes, Berkut. It is.”

~ / . / . / ~

One year later, in winter, she lays dead in his arms.

It seems like yesterday she was in his arms, her heart beating and body warm. Yet, now, it’s just cold and still, even if she was alive mere moments ago.

He struggles to stand, leaving Rinea’s body on the ground as he opens his mouth. Only evil laughter spills from his lips, over her corpse and the sacrifices he made.

“Fernand will die at Rinea’s hands… that much is set in stone.”

There’s a gruff voice in his mind, and Berkut flinches.

“Do not flinch, young human. You are the one who sought my power, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, you’re right… Duma…” he grunts, straightening himself.

“Very good,” Duma comments. “I have not seen one as obedient as you are in ages.”

“I… I wanted your power, did I not? Then I should… pay the price… for it…” Berkut gasps, holding his head between his hands. “Augh, my head…”

“You will get used to it, young human.”

When Duma speaks the words, the dull stab of pain ringing in his ears dies down slowly, and he releases his head. Yet, as he does, black dots swim before his eyes, and he lurches forward, stumbling over Rinea’s corpse.

“Oh… Rinea…” he murmurs.

“Now… my power is yours. Go forth, young human. Crush, destroy, consume, kill…”

“Sorry, Rinea,” Berkut interrupts the god, pressing his hand against his forehead as he struggles to keep his consciousness. “I guess we can’t dance for this season… or forever.”

When he finishes speaking, Duma whispers alluring commands in his mind, and he forgets all thoughts except to kill, kill, kill, kill kill kill kill

Kill… 

~ / . / . / ~

“Come with me,” she whispers when they meet again, “It’s spring where I live.”

“I can’t… I have to… kill…” His words fade from his lips, and he gasps for air.

“Come with me,” Rinea repeats, her voice alluring and reassuring. “We’ll get married under that arch of roses where we met, dance in that ballroom where we loved. We can dance together, we’ll dance and dance while the seasons change… together.”

Berkut manages a smile, feeling blood well up from his cracked and chapped lips. “I’ll trust you… Rinea… we are… amantes, aren’t we…”

Rinea leans in to embrace Berkut, and they leave the world together, just as winter turns to spring, backed by the bright sun, rising above the clouds that have covered it for too long.