You know, I’ve been mulling this over for a while, but I’m gonna make it official:
Camilla from Fire Emblem: Fates will be added onto my familial F/O list as my older sister! I’ve always loved her tbh she’s a great character and hot damn do i wish the writers for fates did her more justice
I’ll probably be making a headcanon list for her sometime soon because oh boy do i have ideas
"Pardon me, sir, but," the boy grinned up at him, "is there any place a fellow might get a cigarette in this shithole?
-scene taken from @extraneousaccessories‘ Rose of War, ch 1
BRO, MY BRO, THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN DONE SO LONG AGO BUT -
here is Oberst Luke “Trenchfire Jesus” Skywalker, flying ace of the Luftstreitkrafte, and RAF Flt. Sgt. Poe “Of course I’m seventeen Mein Herr” Dameron, ca. 1916.
(Go read it, love it, have massive historical feels, fall in love with Ecks’ BB8, fall even deeper in love with smol+angry+poetry-loving Herr Skywalker, just do it, do not question it)
I guess this is like...episode two? More to follow:)
Luke wasn't really sure why he had spent his evenings of the last two months standing outside the bars of Sergeant Dameron's cell, he really wasn't. The boy was insolent, arrogant, and stubborn enough for fifty men. And yet, when he spoke about aircraft design, the superiority of British engineering, or the feel of the wind rushing past as he piloted his Vickers, something strange seemed to come over him. A kind of light suffused his features, and Luke found that, inevitably, his heart was lighter after their conversations, no matter how many letters he had had to sign telling German mothers that their sons had been blown to pieces by French machine guns.
"Happy Christmas, sir!" Dameron greeted him as he strode into the guardhouse.
"The same to you, Herr Dameron." He could feel a smile coming to his face as he saw Poe's evident pleasure at his visit.
"Brought me any poetry to suffer through, Herr Skywalker?" Dameron asked with a smirk, mocking Luke's formal greeting, as he always did.
"While I am certain that your education will suffer for it," Luke said with pretended formality, "I have decided that you should be allowed one day's respite."
"Thank God, I'm not sure I could have handled Goethe on Christmas." Dameron spoke lightly, but Luke could tell that there was something more serious behind that remark. He knew how hard it was for him to spend Christmas away from his own family, he couldn't imagine spending it in a foreign prison cell.
"I did, however, bring you some Yeats." Luke pulled the book of poetry from under his arm and passed it through the bars. Dameron grimaced slightly and opened the cover of the book. Luke saw his eyes widen.
"Sir, you really shouldn't have," he breathed, taking the bar of German chocolate out from where it had hidden under the dust cover.
"Well, I'll hardly come away the worse from it," Luke said with a smile, "I'm expecting you to share."
"Of course, sir!" Dameron unwrapped the chocolate and began breaking it into pieces. "Where did you manage to get a hold of something like this?" he asked, passing Luke half the bar. He took his own portion and halved it again, wrapping one piece carefully back in the foil.
"A Christmas gift from my sister in Belgium," Luke said, savoring his first bite of the chocolate. He looked up and saw Dameron staring at him, a look of incomprehension stamped on his young face. "What is it, Herr Dameron?" he asked, somewhat concerned.
"Sir, you're sharing your Christmas gift with me." he said softly.
Luke raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"
"Well…I mean…" Dameron trailed off. He looked down at the chocolate, and then back up into Luke's face. "Sir I'm a British POW. And you're…well, you." A flush suffused his cheeks. Luke sighed, determined to silence the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him the boy had a point. He wasn't really interested in following that line of thought to its logical conclusion.
"Sergeant, there is only enough there for two men, three at most," he said briskly. "Who else would I share it with in this…how did you put it last month? Shithole?"
To his relief, Dameron laughed. "I suppose you're right, sir. I mean, I suppose your lads would be elbowing over themselves for the opportunity to share with you. It could turn ugly," he added, his face serious.
It was Luke's turn to laugh. "You're probably right," he said, ignoring the helpless feeling that rose up when he realized just how right. "Now, eat up, Herr Dameron, and then choose your evening's dose of education."
Dameron grinned and took a bite of the chocolate. His eyes closed in pleasure, and Luke suddenly felt strange for watching him.
"I think you should choose, sir." Luke looked up and saw Dameron handing the book back through the bars. "I mean, you're obviously the expert."
"You mean you never studied Yeats?" Luke was surprised.
"I'm sure we did at some point, but I'll be damned if I can remember, sir. I always get him mixed up with Keats. Must be the spelling."
"Some days you horrify me, Sergeant," Luke admonished, thumbing through the book. He stopped on a selection at random. Perching himself on the guard's stool, he began to read.
"Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the world!
The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled
Above the tide of hours, trouble the air,
And God's bell buoyed to be the water's care
While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band
With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand.
Turn if you may from battles never done,
I call, as they go by me one by one,
Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,
For him who hears love sing and never cease,
Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:
But gather all for whom no love hath made
A woven silence, or but came to cast
A song into the air, and singing past
To smile on the pale dawn; and gather you
Who have sought more than is in rain or dew
Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth,
Or sighs amid the wandering, starry mirth,
Or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips;
And wage God's battles in the long gray ships.
The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,
To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell;
God's bell has claimed them by the little cry
Of their hearts, that may not live nor die.
Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
Beauty grown sad with its eternity
Made you of us, and of the dim gray sea.
Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,
For God has bid them share an equal fate;
And when at last defeated in His wars,
They have gone down under the same white stars,
We shall no longer hear the little cry
Of our sad hearts, that may not live nor die."
His voice died away and they sat in silence for several long moments.
"A bit depressing for Christmas Day, isn't it, sir?" Dameron said at last.
"I suppose it is, at that," Luke acknowledged. "Though I would wager that this is hardly the most cheerful Christmas day either of us has ever spent. "
Dameron shrugged, "It's not that bad." Luke stared at him over his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Not that bad?"
"I mean I've had better meals," Dameron continued, "but the company this year is actually pretty decent."
Luke laughed and shook his head. "Herr Dameron, you are insufferable."
"So I've been told, sir," he said with a grin. Slowly, the smile slid from his face, and he suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Look, sir," he said slowly, "I have something I need to tell you." Luke frowned.
"Go on." Dameron sighed, running a distracted hand through his curly hair. It had grown long over the last month, Luke noticed.
"You've been really good to me, sir," he said at last, "and, as a thank you, I wanted to offer you a chance to come with me."
Luke raised an eyebrow, taking in the bars. "Going somewhere, are you, Herr Dameron?"
The boy looked him squarely in the eyes. "Sir, I won't be here tomorrow. I feel honour bound to tell you that I intend to escape. And, as I said, I want to offer you the chance to come with me." Luke felt a tightness in his chest as he saw the earnestness in the boy's eyes.
"Oh dear," he sighed. "Sergeant," he began, "I have enjoyed your company this past month, and have treated you the way that a gentleman in my position should treat a well-respected peer." He looked up, fleetingly, into Dameron's brown eyes. "And I do respect you, Sergeant."
"Thank you, sir."
"But we are in very different positions, you understand." Luke continued, "I have a duty to my men. And you to yours." He saw Dameron's jaw tighten.
"Sir," he ground out, "Your men are freezing and starving." He looked up at Luke, his brown eyes blazing, "We both know that this war is pointless. You've told me yourself, sir, that there can be no victory for either side. The time for glory and duty is long past."
Luke shook his head. "That's not what duty means, Herr Dameron," he said gently. He rose from the stool, coming to stand nearer the bars of the cell. "I agree, this is not a glorious war, nor is it very likely to be. We are both sides struggling through the mud and blood like pigs." He chose to ignore the sudden hopeful look on Dameron's face. "But where glory ends is where duty begins. You are right. My men are freezing and they are starving. And that is exactly why I cannot abandon them, even if I wanted to."
"You…you don't want to?"
Luke looked down into the youthful, confused face. "No, Herr Dameron, I do not. And not because I don't enjoy your company," he added with a small smile. "As I said, we live very different lives, and must make different considerations." Hesitantly, he laid a hand on the young man's arm. "Thank you for your offer," he said, "It means a great deal to me that you would trust me with this confidence." He took the book of Yeats and placed it on the bar of the cell, folding Dameron's hands over it. "I wish you all the best. Perhaps one day, when this hell is over, we will meet again."
Dameron looked up at him then, and Luke felt a shiver crawl up his spine at the determination he saw in those eyes. "I doubt it very much, sir," he said quietly. "So I suppose I had better do this now."
Luke was halfway through asking what he meant when he felt Dameron's hand grasp his tie and pull him close, his lips crushing insistently against his own. Luke inhaled sharply, heat suffusing his face as he felt Poe's tongue exploring his mouth, tasted the sweetness of the chocolate again. It was another shock when he pulled away, those mischievous brown eyes sparkling once more.
"Thank you for everything, Herr Skywalker," Dameron smiled.
Luke found that his words were stuck somewhere in his throat. Before he could summon them back, Dameron had ducked out the door into the yard to wake his co-pilot.
"You are most welcome," he whispered into the silence.
