Fandom: Fire Emblem Sacred Stones Pairing: L'Arachel x Eirika WC: 549
“L'Arachel, please try to hold still for me,” Eirika murmurs behind her, gentle but firm. Her fingers weave through L'Arachel's wavy hair to separate it into even lengths, then twist and fold the strands under and over each other, deftly working them into forming braids. “I have no desire to pull your hair by accident.”
“Why, I strive to be the very portrait of refinement, elegance, and patience at all times,” L'Arachel announces too loudly, gesticulating in the air for emphasis. Her knee jiggles as she squirms in her seat, positively brimming with restless energy. “You need not remind me of virtues I already extol!”
“Well, it's just...” Eirika sighs, pausing to select her words with care. “You're still moving quite a bit, even after I asked you the first time.”
Spots of flustered color redden L'Arachel's cheeks. Her lips press into a tight line as she demurely chooses to hold back her reply. She can't exactly help but fidget when her dearest Eirika is leaning against her back like that, touching her hair, radiating such glorious warmth and femininity, one beauty tending to another...
What a peerless picture of perfect princesses they must portray, paired like two peas in a pod!
As she wiggles with barely restrained excitement, L'Arachel reflects on one of her earliest childhood memories, of a red-faced Dozla's clumsy, callused hands tugging a comb through her hair. How gruff the man's repeated apologies were, how gallantly he offered to find her a female attendant to replace him – and how vehemently L'Arachel refused to allow anyone but Dozla the honor of affixing her daily pigtails!
She can't recall her late mother ever having assisted with the styling of her hair before that, but surely she must have, as surely L'Arachel's stubbornness was some juvenile product of her grief and seeking comfort in the familiar. Therefore, it must be inspirational to acknowledge how mature and wise and heroic the L'Arachel of present-day has become by comparison – and how soothing the intimate act of allowing one's hair to be handled is for her personally.
After all, L'Arachel could hardly entrust something as important as her appearance to just anyone!
“I haven't had much practice at this, since I wear my own hair loose,” Eirika admits modestly. She ties a red ribbon into a bow to secure the pleat, then allows her hands to drop to her lap. “Is it acceptable, L'Arachel? I can brush it out again if you dislike it.”
L'Arachel raises her looking glass to inspect Eirika's neat handiwork. It's not her usual style, but oh, how her heart soars at the sight of wearing braids personally woven by Eirika's delicate hand! She solemnly vows in that moment to commission one of the Rausten court painters to preserve this monumental occasion on canvas later. It shall make for a glorious centerpiece at her future wedding to this woman.
“I do not dislike it,” L'Arachel proclaims. She touches her mouth with a pensive finger as she turns the glass to admire herself from every angle, quite taken with the result. “In fact, I would even graciously permit you to continue practicing on me... if that would please you, Eirika.”
“Perhaps I shall, then!” Eirika brightens, visibly relieved by L'Arachel's reaction. “It would be my pleasure.”
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FILL: TEAM FIRE EMBLEM
Date: 2024-06-22 07:57 am (UTC)Pairing: L'Arachel x Eirika
WC: 549
“L'Arachel, please try to hold still for me,” Eirika murmurs behind her, gentle but firm. Her fingers weave through L'Arachel's wavy hair to separate it into even lengths, then twist and fold the strands under and over each other, deftly working them into forming braids. “I have no desire to pull your hair by accident.”
“Why, I strive to be the very portrait of refinement, elegance, and patience at all times,” L'Arachel announces too loudly, gesticulating in the air for emphasis. Her knee jiggles as she squirms in her seat, positively brimming with restless energy. “You need not remind me of virtues I already extol!”
“Well, it's just...” Eirika sighs, pausing to select her words with care. “You're still moving quite a bit, even after I asked you the first time.”
Spots of flustered color redden L'Arachel's cheeks. Her lips press into a tight line as she demurely chooses to hold back her reply. She can't exactly help but fidget when her dearest Eirika is leaning against her back like that, touching her hair, radiating such glorious warmth and femininity, one beauty tending to another...
What a peerless picture of perfect princesses they must portray, paired like two peas in a pod!
As she wiggles with barely restrained excitement, L'Arachel reflects on one of her earliest childhood memories, of a red-faced Dozla's clumsy, callused hands tugging a comb through her hair. How gruff the man's repeated apologies were, how gallantly he offered to find her a female attendant to replace him – and how vehemently L'Arachel refused to allow anyone but Dozla the honor of affixing her daily pigtails!
She can't recall her late mother ever having assisted with the styling of her hair before that, but surely she must have, as surely L'Arachel's stubbornness was some juvenile product of her grief and seeking comfort in the familiar. Therefore, it must be inspirational to acknowledge how mature and wise and heroic the L'Arachel of present-day has become by comparison – and how soothing the intimate act of allowing one's hair to be handled is for her personally.
After all, L'Arachel could hardly entrust something as important as her appearance to just anyone!
“I haven't had much practice at this, since I wear my own hair loose,” Eirika admits modestly. She ties a red ribbon into a bow to secure the pleat, then allows her hands to drop to her lap. “Is it acceptable, L'Arachel? I can brush it out again if you dislike it.”
L'Arachel raises her looking glass to inspect Eirika's neat handiwork. It's not her usual style, but oh, how her heart soars at the sight of wearing braids personally woven by Eirika's delicate hand! She solemnly vows in that moment to commission one of the Rausten court painters to preserve this monumental occasion on canvas later. It shall make for a glorious centerpiece at her future wedding to this woman.
“I do not dislike it,” L'Arachel proclaims. She touches her mouth with a pensive finger as she turns the glass to admire herself from every angle, quite taken with the result. “In fact, I would even graciously permit you to continue practicing on me... if that would please you, Eirika.”
“Perhaps I shall, then!” Eirika brightens, visibly relieved by L'Arachel's reaction. “It would be my pleasure.”