who is your favorite fire emblem heros book hero freebie
Fjorm
Eir
Peony
Reginn
Ash
Seiđr
Ratatoskr
Virion
Rune
Voting ended onMay 30, 2025
*Virion was book 1's original freebie. I know you guys get Takumi now, but when Feh first came out, Takumi was who you were trying to summon for your team.
** Next book should go opposite direction of Rune and give you a buff older man as the freebie. Let Jumin Simp
Fjorm isn’t sure that she’s ready to free you from her embrace yet. She knows that it’s been an almost embarrassingly long time since she wrapped her arms around you. But it’s been a long journey from Nifl to Askr, and your warmth is such a comforting sensation that she isn’t eager to let go.
“Wait, don’t pull away… Not yet.” She pleas, as you attempt to break away, burying her face into the heat of your neck, tightening her grip for emphasis. “Just a little longer, please.” She tries once more, and when your arms tighten around her in return a small sigh of relief escapes her.
She’s so used to the cold that the warmth she receives from your body heat is a rare commodity, of which she doesn’t want to give up.
hi here’s the second femslash february “drabble”! this one is also ridiculously long, but i loved the idea so much that i might write a second part to it before i post on ao3. @ff-crystal-chronicles requested laegjarn/fjorm with the prompt:
“im reaching into my "laegjorm thoughts ive had" jar and im obsessed with the concept of fjorm dying of her Frost Power Illness thingy and then getting resummoned as a hero and in the time shes been gone theve summoned laegjarn and the two of them get to reunite and actually be together like laegjarn said she wanted before she died in canon”
this is about 2400 words, enjoy!!
---
No one lasts forever. It’s almost a comfort warm enough to ease the frost in her chest. Almost soft enough to banish the ice piercing her heart. This was an eventuality; after all, she had invited the ice in. She had begged for the power to quench the unquenchable and kill the undying, and in return, the impossible power had made her promise her own fate. Her end comes sooner than it might have reached her in another world, but no one lasts forever.
She cannot bring herself to regret it, even when breathing becomes so hard that Sharena cannot stand to be near her without bursting into tears. Even when breathing stops entirely. She dies with ice in her heart, thinking of Nifl and of her family. Of devotion.
She opens her eyes to see Kiran, holding a— ball of light. Fjorm blinks, certain that she is hallucinating. Sure enough the orb dissipates, and in the regular daylight she sees the Askran royals standing behind their Summoner, wearing matching smiles as bright as the sun. Startled, Fjorm remembers her death in vivid detail. But right now her chest is just warm, imbued with that same happy light.
“You saved me,” she begins to say, but her voice is quiet from disuse. She croaks out half of the first word before breaking into a fit of coughs— not frosty, chronic coughs. Just the noises of a very sore throat.
“Fjorm?!” Sharena darts forward, even though that goes against the protocol for summoning, and takes Fjorm’s hands in hers. “You look— are you ours? I mean, are you from our world?”
Fjorm stares at their hands. Sharena never holds onto her for this long, because the cold would make her uncomfortable. She takes in the princess’ appearance properly, noticing how her hair is longer than before. The scales on her armour are chipped and rusted, direly in need of repair. Behind her, Alfonse looks much older— there are new creases in his skin. He even looks taller.
“Wait,” Fjorm begins, low. “Wait. You. I. I died.”
Sharena’s eyes bug out of her head. She whips around to stare at Kiran, who looks just as lost as everyone else. “This is our Fjorm,” she yells. Alfonse’s jaw drops.
They dig up her grave, with Heroes standing by for assistance in case any funny business happens. One of them, a beautiful woman with silver hair too long to seem real, seems especially disturbed by Fjorm’s presence. Alfonse and one of the Shepherds from another world dig and dig until they’ve made a trench three times their height. Nothing turns up.
Finally, the silvery woman shakes her head and calls it. “You brought her back,” she tells Kiran, awed and terrified.
“…” Kiran drags their hands over their face.
The only one smiling is Sharena, who keeps clutching her hands. It’s downright alarming, but the warmth is still a precious novelty so Fjorm makes no effort to pull away.
In the coming days, Fjorm is properly introduced to Eir, and the Askrans catch her up on all the Hel business. Their best healers examine her every day but aside from the fact that a funeral was held and that many people saw her lowered into the ground, there is no evidence that Fjorm ever succumbed to her disease at all. Her skin is unmottled and unrotten, and she bleeds and breathes. She even has a pulse— it feels more distinct now than it ever had while she was alive.
She has some painful reunions; not painful for her, but for all her friends and family who watched her die, the news of her survival is unexpected agony. Hríd comes to visit from Nifl, the country he now rules. He doesn’t approach her when they first meet, keeping a safe distance. Niflese royalty has never been known for their physical affection, so this comes as no surprise. Still, Fjorm finds herself mourning a closeness with her family that she has never known.
“I thought maybe this was Alfonse’s idea of a joke,” Hríd tells her, struggling to breathe. His fists curl and uncurl over and over at his side, fidgeting even as his feet are rooted to the ground. “But it’s real, isn’t it? You’re back?”
“Kiran summoned me,” Fjorm repeats for the seventieth time this week. Her brother seems to melt a little, stepping toward her. “It was just chance; it could have been anyone. I was not meant to come back.”
“I know.” Hríd’s lack of reassurance is unsurprising— again, they’ve never been that kind of family. Still, his eyes are bright. Fjorm realizes that he’s happy to see her, and in turn, she smiles. “I can hardly believe it. Will you come back to Nifl with me?”
Fjorm chews her lip, thinking about ice sharp enough to slice and hard enough to crush and cold enough to burn. Her chest hurts in a phantom ache.
“I guess that’s a no.” Hríd folds his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look upset or angry, just still secretly relieved. “That’s a shame. You could have experienced our country at peace for the first time in your life?”
“Peace…?” Fjorm suddenly straightens as the war rushes back to her. “Múspell hasn’t attacked us since I… in my absence?”
“No.” Hríd does smile now, relief openly shining through his features. “Laevatein is a brilliant and just leader. I don’t expect to be at war with Múspell for many years. In fact, they’re one of our most valuable trading partners and allies.”
“Allies,” Fjorm mutters. Even when they had felled Surtr, she had not truly expected the peace with Múspell to last.
Hríd steps forward again. “Much has changed in the year since you died,” he tells her, and then before Fjorm can properly prepare herself he’s hugging her tightly. For an awkward moment she has no idea what to do, and then she returns the embrace and hugs back just as tight. Her brother sighs and pats her shoulder, shaking his head. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too,” Fjorm hears herself say. She thinks she means it, though. They don’t pull away for a while, and when they do finally part both have the decency and manners not to bring up the tears on their sibling’s face.
After her death, the Askrans had settled on a floating island, which is nearly as unbelievable a story as her death and rebirth. But Anna takes her there to see it with her own two eyes, and Fjorm is blown away by the strange place. That is, until she realizes it’s simply a magical resort.
“I don’t want you back on the battlefield,” the commander tells her. Fjorm starts to protest instantly— her hands ache with how much she misses her lance— but Anna interrupts. “Since you came back to us, morale has been at an all-time high. I’m not losing my newest source of motivation in some stupid squabble.”
“I can handle myself,” Fjorm retorts.
“Stubborn as ever, even after dying!” Anna claps her on the back. “That’s fine, and I’ll train with you. But until we know that evil frost won’t creep back in, I’m benching you.”
“Benching me,” she repeats in disbelief. “It wasn’t— I took the Rite myself—”
“That’s right. No more Rites, either.”
“No rights,” Fjorm repeats, grumbling under her breath. If Anna has a problem with her insubordinate behaviour, she doesn’t voice it.
The Aether Keep isn’t so bad once she’s come to terms with her limited freedom. There’s a place she can try on different weapons, and an inn with cozy beds and good company. Fjorm spends most of her time out in the field though, tending to the gardens and crops so that she still feels like a useful asset. When she tries to turn some of her ingredients into meals, that isn’t received very well by the other Heroes, so she quickly learns to leave the cooking to others. (Eir is bizarrely very good at it.)
It’s strange to refer to herself as a Hero, even though that is now her genuine title. Princess Fjorm of the Order of Heroes, although the ‘princess’ title seems to fit less and less each day. None of the other Heroes address her as anything other than just Fjorm, if they address her personally at all. It’s unexpectedly relaxing. With every new day spent at the Aether Resort, Fjorm’s overwhelming sense of duty ebbs away more and more.
Until she runs into someone who does know her by her title, who Fjorm never expected to see again.
One of the luxuries at the resort is a hot spring that Fjorm doesn’t visit for her first several days. After being raised in a kingdom of ice that prided itself on its frigidity in many ways, the concept of visiting a public bath filled with near-boiling water does not garner enthusiasm. Death has not stopped her natural revulsion to heat.
But eventually, she tires of standing idly around the Askran castle and watching others head off to battle, so Fjorm returns to the Aether Resort and makes up her mind to visit the springs. She ties her uneven hair up into a choppy ponytail and borrows a swimsuit from one of the Heroes hailing from another world.
Her first step into the water is almost painful, and the high temperature brings back parallel memories of the last time something hurt her. But the peaceful water laps at her ankle and does no damage, and after a matter of seconds, Fjorm finds herself relaxing into its heat. Treasonous. The stone steps into the pool are smooth and dark, and she chances another step in. Then another, and another, until finally her body is submerged entirely.
“Oh,” Fjorm gasps, rolling her head back. She had imagined bathwater— lukewarm, stale, meant to be washed off. But this heat is like nothing she’s ever experienced. It is not violent like fire, but relaxing. So unbelievably relaxing. “Oh. I’ve died, I have died again and gone to heaven.”
Someone snorts, and Fjorm opens her eyes and spins to look at them. When her gaze falls on a familiar face, her mouth falls open, jaw slack. This must be how it felt for the Askrans to see her summoned back from the dead.
Laegjarn is there, only a few feet from her. Her distinctive horns are still atop her head, but instead of armour, she’s wearing a swimsuit without straps. Or, at least, Fjorm assumes she is— her dark shoulders are bare. Most interestingly of all, she is alive. Breathing, heart beating, and staring at Fjorm.
Fjorm forgets herself, blurting out, “Laegjarn,” and then quickly says, “ah, General… General Laegjarn.”
The general raises an eyebrow. She’s leaning against the rock face behind her. At her elbow, a pink rubber duck bounces up and down in the water. “Princess Fjorm.”
Fjorm suddenly feels embarrassed for wearing her crown. Or perhaps her embarrassment comes from not having a title like general. While Laegjarn had commanded armies and ruled large areas of Múspell, the greatest thing Fjorm ever did for her country was dying. But then again, Laegjarn had died too… “Are you… you… you’re alive!”
Laegjarn watches her inhale, unfazed. “In your world, am I not?”
Now it’s even harder to breathe. Fjorm stares at the ducky, and then up at the endless sky. “… No. I’m sorry, I… when Kiran brought me here, it was… I’m the Fjorm from this world. They brought me back after I succumbed to the Rite of Frost.”
“Ah.” Laegjarn hums thoughtfully. “You never… well, in my world, if you took the Rite, I did not know.” She stretches out her bare shoulder, and Fjorm very pointedly stares at the duck again. “We were only halfway through our invasion of Nifl when Kiran summoned me to fight for the Order.”
Fjorm blinks. “But you still knew me?”
“Yes. I fought you. We were far from evenly matched, you’re an excellent fighter.” Laegjarn’s gaze drags across her neck and shoulders, and Fjorm shudders under the force of her eyes. This conversation is beyond surreal— she never expected to see Laegjarn again, let alone talk strategy. The compliment makes her flush more than the hot water does. “Did you defeat me in this world?”
“What? No,” Fjorm shakes her head furiously. “You… Actually, I don’t think you want to know what happened.”
Laegjarn raises her chin not out of impudence, but just high enough to meet Fjorm’s gaze dead-on.
“Fine.” Fjorm exhales, twisting her hands under the water. “It was close to the end… your sister was in danger, and you took the Rite of Flames to save her from your father. I thought it was…” She coughs. “Well, anyway, then… we found you, and you said you wish things had turned out differently.”
For some reason, Laegjarn smiles. “Between us.”
“Ah, be-between our countries,” Fjorm stutters. Laegjarn’s face falls. “And you asked us to ensure the safety of Laevatein.”
Now Laegjarn is the one avoiding eye contact, looking up at the sky and down at the water. Anywhere but at Fjorm. “I have yet to seek out the Laevatein of this world,” she confesses quietly. “I don’t know how she would react to my presence. But knowing that she’s alone without any family… I feel terrible about not reaching out yet.”
“She’s doing alright,” Fjorm says. “Hríd told me that she’s a good leader, anyway. Since I died Múspell and Nifl have remained allies, and apparently, they’re better than ever! I’m sure the Order kept their promise to your sister.”
Laegjarn stays still for a long moment. When she finally moves, she makes her way to the stairs out of the spring. Water drips from her swimsuit, arms, and legs— Fjorm averts her gaze, face burning. “Thank you,” the general finally replies, glancing at Fjorm over her shoulder before she leaves. “I’m glad you came back to life so that I might know this version of you. Don’t stay in heaven too long.”
Fjorm spends nearly another half an hour in the hot spring frozen to the spot, trying to decipher what Laegjarn meant by that. When she looks at her hands to see that they’ve pruned up she figures it out, and she smiles and ducks her head. If heaven really did exist, she would have gone there when she died. Fjorm resigns herself to the idea that this place of relaxation and reconciliation might be the best she’s ever going to get.
Eeee I know I haven’t posted in a while but like... my phone broke and I was using a really old and bad one temporarily, so I couldn’t really do a lot on it... but now, I actually have a phone that works!! So, I can actually post. Tho.... I don’t have a lot to post. So I’m just gonna drop some doodles I did on my first page of my new sketchbook cuz they turned out well.
I drew mostly magia record/Madoka magia stuff but I wanted to draw Fjorm so I just did... I think it looks good :0
I’ve got a couple other posts in queue for later so stay tuned!! And of course, I’m always willing to take requests
Anyyyways! Sorry for taking so long but,, I’m not dead don’t worry
