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merryfortune · 3 years

Text

Lunacy

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt: 06 Lust

Ship: Eirika/Valter

Fandom: Fire Emblem Sacred Stones

Word Count: 2,941

Rating: M

Warnings: Chose not to use warnings

AN: Big thank you to @seasaltmemories for being my beta :D

Tags: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Forced Relationships, Obsession, Abuse, Murder, Themes of Rape/Non-con

Every night, without fail, the Goddess of the Moon used to light up the night skies, turning every end of the day into a feat of joy and merriment with just her appearance as she danced through the skies, no chariot of her own, just her and her two glass slippers. The nocturnal hours that she lit were precious and safe, completely and utterly free of the fear of the dark.

It’s not like that anymore. Sometimes she is able to grace the world with the whole of her dance, other times she is shrouded in darkness. Worst of all are the nights when she’s not there at all.

Ever since the Goddess of the Moon was forced to wed the God of the Dark, she had been unable to dance like she had in the more innocent days of yore. The gentle, restful night had been transformed due to their union as with his occurrence within the world had caused a new, dreadful fear to become known to the world. Thus cementing the God of the Dark as having a reputation for being the stealer of one of the two most precious lights that resided within the heavens.

The moon had been taken from her twin, the sun, her elder brother.

Ephraim, the older twin, the literal golden boy, was the emissary of the sun. Commanding a golden chariot pulled by golden horses, he lit up the day with his fierce warmth and light, bringing energy to all lit by it. From the people to the animals to the plants. Each and every day, over the course of several hours, Ephraim and his horses would cause the sun to arc over the world. He would leave a blaze in his wake regardless of which season it was but that is what made him and his chariot, the sun, so admirable.

Meanwhile, at night, Eirika would take to the skies in her brother’s place. She had no chariot, only her two glass slippers but her dance was elegant and illuminating. Her dance would lull children to sleep and her rapier would allow for light to gleam off it, revealing safe paths for weary travellers to follow. Where her brother blazed, she was a dew or a frost. Soft and forgiving, soothing, healing.

Both the sun and the moon had their fair share of followers and devotees.

But Eirika had a devout follower like none other. A man by the name of Valter who had been praying to her since he was a child. It was a childhood interaction between him and the Goddess of the Moon that had caused him to become utterly obsessed with her.

He recalled that fateful night with brilliant clarity, when the Goddess of the Moon had come down from the heavens and presented himself to her in the flesh and nectar.

Beaten. Starved. Abused. Just a sampling of what Valter endured as the bastard child of a noblewoman and a rapist. And like many others, the night was the only reprieve from the scrutiny and assault that he faced from the people around him meant to be his family or carers.

He escaped outside, into the cool and into the fireflies that lingered near the pond at the rear of the orchard. Far, far away from the house with the little, battered cot that he had to call a bed. He looked up into the sky, through the treetops and the stars, and saw her. The most beautiful woman a child could ever conceive of: he saw the moon and his eyes filled upon that visage and with tears, too.

He prayed. He begged. He worshipped in the blinding, holy light of the moon with no temple or ritual. Just his brutal feelings and brutalised body. He laid down his body and soul for this and for that, the Goddess of the Moon stepped down from the heavens and appeared before him.

She caressed this child’s bruised face and cradled him, she ran her fingers through his hair and untangled the knots. Valter wept in her arms and so, Eirika gave him a blessing that he would take to his grave: she kissed his forehead and thus, a seal was placed upon him. The mark of the full moon. So long as he was faithful to her, no harm would befall him all the same as any other beneath Eirika’s moon.

Then, once Eirika felt that she had consoled this child, she disappeared into his arms. A cavalcade of moonlit glitter, silvery and blue, and returned to her eternal dance in the night sky. Every twirl of her body, every kick of her long legs, every flick of her hand, another movement of the moon made as it had its own arc over the Earth.

With the blessing of the Moon Goddess protecting him, his parents never raised a hand against him and he realised something. He was not weak anymore. He was not their prey. And so, empowered by the seal upon his forehead, Valter found his hierophilic purpose in life. Looking up at the indigo skies, he watched, entranced by the moonlight, by the goddess herself. Every night, he watched. He prayed.

Admiration and prayer gave way to obsession in the mind of young Valter as Eirika never visited him again, no matter how he pleaded and begged for her to reappear before him. And so, hopes and wishes, no matter how suffocated with his twisted affection, gave way to actions. He would do whatever it took for Eirika to notice him once more amongst all her mortal followers. Whatever it takes.

Eventually, Eirika did notice Valter once more. He became all consuming to her attention, sickening her to her very core.

He had grown into a man, a man like a wyvern. Tall, bulky, and sneering all the same as that heinous, fanged reptile. His prayers had turned to rallying cries of orchestrated tragedy. Each struck reverberating through the goddess whom he showed his devotion to in frigid cold blood. Until she had to cry out to no one at all as the gods had no higher power they could truly turn to.

He was slaughtering innocents, those whom he deemed as unworthy followers of her and anyone else who had the misfortune of crossing his path like a black cat. Every kill, a prayer and as they were prayers, Eirika felt each and everyone of them, even so far flung as into the skies and heavens. Every plunge of his spear against his so-called offerings was felt by Eirika as deep as the pain could possibly go and further still.

She felt the eviscerations that he put his victims through, the way he disembowled and revelled in the resulting viscera, how he desecrated what little was left. Every wound, every puncture. Though Eirika did not spill with a single drop of blood, she felt it as though it were a waterfall. The phantom penetrations left her on her knees as she could only grit her white teeth through it at all, screaming, sobbing, body and soul violated with his weapon of choice. His lunatic devotion.

To the envy of the gods of war and the like, Valter was single handedly causing a disbalance in nature and the aether. All in adoration of Eirika and for it, Eirika would be the one punished by her fellow gods and goddesses. Not even her brother the sun could protect her as Lyon, the emissary of death, made his way to the moon, a tranquil fury at Eirika’s perceived negligence.

He visited Eirika in the wayside of twilight, before her nightly dance would begin and he found her on her sublime abode, of marble and pure white rock, retching, holding herself as she felt more - dozens - killed in her name. Lyon knelt beside her.

“Hark, my friend,” he told her, stroking her shoulder, an embodiment of light such as Eirika was not meant for such darkness, “but you must have courage and take to even your own follower to cease his atrocities. My domain is overflowing with souls who were not meant to be cut down by death just yet, it is disruptive, please understand, dear.”

“I understand, Lyon, I will find a way to cease this madness.” Eirika said, sucking in a breath to sound braver than she was.

“Excellent.” Lyon agreed and in a smog of shadow and dust, Eirika was left alone.

She gazed out across the sky and she felt so, so small before the might of humankind and even all the universe. She had never felt that way before. She was a goddess, after all. So, she found herself seeking the counsel of someone whom she could always trust: her twin brother.

Time was of the essence but Ephraim appeared on her cross path eventually. She hailed out to him and he halted his horses. They whinnied and whined but with Ephraim’s expert command, they stopped and he dismounted from behind the guard of his chariot.

“Unexpected to see you this soon, sister.” Ephraim greeted her.

“I need a little of your help.” Eirika confessed, fidgeting. “I have never had a follower kill in my name, let alone slaughter. I have been told to end him but I do not believe myself to be up to the task alone.”

Ephraim stroked his chin thoughtfully, “I am informed of the situation and believe it is yours and yours alone, little sister.”

“I have never taken up arms against anyone,” Eirika said, “I am not like you brother. I am not a warrior. I am a lover, not a fighter.”

“Then perhaps you ought to use that to your advantage. Fight with words, rather than weapons.” Ephraim said then sighed. “With that, I must dismiss you. As you cannot prolong the night, neither can I prolong the day.”

“I understand, rest well later, Ephraim.” Eirika told him.

She watched as he and his horses left her. She watched the sparks and embers in his trail, they were beautiful but in the right temperature, could ignite the very crops that he was meant to rear. Eirika wondered if the indulgent blessing she had given away so recklessly a few years ago was the same. Her heart wrenched and sure enough, the killing prayers had begun again and her offerings were in the form of heads cleaved from necks rather than trimmed hollyhocks or similar.

It brought her to her knees with indecision and powerlessness. Eirika, a goddess, was left snivelling and sobbing in the wake of the murder in her name. She hadn’t a faintest clue how gods of war and death endured or if it felt different to them.

Desiring nothing more than to at least end her own suffering, let alone the grief of the loved ones of those who had been killed in her name, Eirika found her courage. She would find her own way to fight against this follower of hers. Eirika took a deep, heaving breath and her gloved fists strengthened. She tried to lift herself up but she was struck once more by the sensation of a piercing lance but she endured the pain as innocents were killed in her name. She vanished from the edge of the world where she had met her brother.

Reappearing in a scourged field, Eirika stood, uncertain and she gazed out past the fallen, slaughtered bodies. This may have been a village once and it was as though war had razed it but she only saw the silhouette of one man and his lance in his hand. The one man who had caused this tragedy and his weapon of choice.

Valter twitched. He could sense a cool change in the dusk. His movements were unnatural as he lumbered around, enthralled, that he appeared to be in the presence of someone more than loyalty. Eirika steeled herself. His gaunt face split into a manic grin. A lust for life, a lust for blood, and worst of all: a lust for her, Eirika sensed from it.

“Eirika, my goddess, you recall me?” he asked as he began to amble forward, tired by his slaughter, using his lance as a cane to hobble with, and yet enthused by Eirika’s reappearance before her.

In front of her, he laid down his weapon, overjoyed that his prayers had finally been heard, it seemed. He took her hand and smothered her knuckles with kisses. Eirika remained akin to marble, just a statue, glaring yet neutral. Valter’s passion disgusted her but what really made Eirika tremble was the realisation that he still bore her blessing upon his forehead. It shone like a beacon, completely unmarred from the passage of time, unmarred by the splatter of blood, completely unlike the rest of his face.

“Yes, I remember you, the child that I assisted.” Eirika replied gravely.

Valter lifted his head and Eirika saw a jaundice to his eyes, they were wide, “I was worried my prayers were eluding you, I am nothing but devoted to you, my goddess, your attention is all that I desire.”

“They have been heard, Valter,” Eirika said, firm, “and they must stop.”

Her proclamation shocked Valter to stone. He blinked. He behaved as though he could not fathom her words.

“This killing in my name must stop.” Eirika continued, her voice getting louder now.

Both of them were distraught but somehow, Valter was more so. He gawked, on the brink of anger. His one-sided love betrayed.

“I will do anything to bring a stop to your murder.” Eirika told him.

“Anything?” Valter echoed and disbelief gave way upon his rugged face to something conniving. It made Eirika’s skin crawl.

“Yes, anything, so long as it is within the boundaries of my domain.” Eirika replied, sheepish, already regretting her words but she hoped that so long as his request was per her own magic, then she would be true to her own word yet she dreaded Valter’s reply.

He took a moment to peruse his words and gather what his anything would be but his teeth glinted, “I have my request.”

“Let’s hear it.” Eirika replied, bravely, keeping her chin up even though she dreaded what was about to come from Valter’s mouth.

“I want power.” Valter said. “Power of the gods.”

“I must deny that, I can give you no such thing.” Eirika replied and she tried to step away from Valter but he grabbed her hand.

Eirika’s heart could have jumped from her chest but instead, it sank. Valter came down to his knee, still holding her hand and Eirika realised what he was asking for her.

“I could share in your power, as your husband.” Valter said. “Have me as your mortal lover…”

“But make you a god.” Eirika finished his sentence for him.

He was perversely delighted, clearly thinking it a good omen of her marriage for her to do that. Eirika swallowed a lump in her chest and her expression remained firm. Brave. She took a breath.

“For a dowry, you will receive power over the dark, the home of the night sky and moon, but for the engagement, you will relinquish your killing. Those are our vows.” Eirika scowled.

“As you wish,” Valter replied, his voice a sick caress, “my love.”

Valter kissed Eirika’s hand once more. Just once. And there was a swell of power. The transfer of part of Eirika’s domain into another. She kept herself strong through it as she felt part of her power diminish and was eaten up by Valter.

“You are now Valter, God of the Dark.” Eirika christened him and she could feel a shift in the balance of nature and aether but she didn’t think she was going to be scolded for it.

This shift recontextualised itself and Eirika could feel the new presence of the dark. Not as a time of rest and solace, but as something that could have horrible dangers lurking in. An old fear, from before her time and birth as a goddess, revived and revitalised because of the birth of the new god before her, at her feet.

“Come, Valter, we must make haste. The night must begin, it must go on.” Eirika told him, hurried him.

Valter slowly got up and smiled eerily, “With pleasure.” he replied.

Though she wanted to be let go, Eirika instead took Valter’s hand. To turn the moon, to blanket the world in darkness and sleep, soothed by the gentle light of the moon… unfortunately he now had a place in this as a newlywed dance, no matter how unnerving.

Valter was sharply keen to assist. His hand was large against Eirika’s and despite being defined by her dualism with her brother, she had never danced with a partner before. His hands were stony and so were his movements, he was a warrior, not a dancer, Eirika quickly realised.

He trod on her toes, cracking the glass slippers her feet were adorned with but he was an eager partner, if anything else. Eager but inadequate, he took charge. They danced but it was not the dance that Eirika, or the world, had once known so effortlessly, so innately. As such, the moon was partially enshrouded in a shadow that had never been there before.

Thus, for the first time in all the history so far of creation, earthly and heavenly, the moon began to wane. A shade of darkness, her possessive husband, hid the moon’s face as she tried to dance as usual, beginning a new lunar cycle the world had not seen before but would come to know ever after.

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