Categories > Anime/Manga > Berserk
What Goes Around
0 reviewsPrincesses can't always get everything they want; on what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life, Charlotte learns that it isn't wise to underestimate the enemy. (Sonia/Charlotte)
0Unrated
Notes: This was written for the 10lilies community on Livejournal, where I claimed Sonia/Charlotte. It contains spoilers for recent volumes, so if you're not at least decently up to date with the manga, you might not want to read. Sorry, anime fans. D: Sonia is a spoiler in herself.
Sonia/Charlotte, Griffith/Charlotte, and one-sided Griffith/Sonia is all mentioned. Warnings for shoujo-ai and general brattiness. :B
*
In situations like this Charlotte was used to getting her way. As a child, when things had gone wrong she had simply cried or screamed until they got better: she was the Princess, the most precious girl in all of Midland, and anything she wanted was in the palm of her hand the instant she wanted it.
But this was different. How could she kick and scream and demand the presence of a man like Sir Griffith? Even now... this was the most important moment of her life and she couldn't even muster the courage to cry, for fear that he would be disappointed by her impatience.
"Sir Griffith sends his apologies and asks that you wait another hour." The messenger, a strange, slumping man in a large metal helmet, saluted her lazily and loped out of the tent on all fours before she had the chance to question him.
Another /hour/? Charlotte fought down the urge to stamp her foot in frustration; her cheeks were already flushed and her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears, but she wouldn't cry. She /wouldn't/. Today was supposed to be perfect, and only tears of happiness would be acceptable to her.
"Sir Griffith..." Her voice was small, defeated, and Charlotte let out a sigh as she slumped down onto the large, plush chair provided for her, her long white dress fanning out and crumpling around her.
This was her wedding day, the happiest day of her life, and the groom was late, delayed by battle. Not that she blamed him -- it had never crossed Charlotte's mind to blame Griffith for anything -- but she couldn't help how upset she felt. These were the terms of war, but she had always been a princess, locked in her lonely tower. Until Griffith had spread his wings and rescued her, she had barely even known war existed. The only battles she had known had been battles of will (she had always won), battles of politics (she had been far too important to pay attention), battles of little significance.
Charlotte's train of thought was interrupted as an unwelcome girl's face appeared before her. "Bad news?" Sonia asked, smiling and pushing back the flaps of the tent, coming in invited, her presence an annoyance as usual.
Charlotte's disappointed frown deepened. "Sir Griffith is late," she replied, turning her cheek in both the literal and non-literal senses of the phrase. This girl was teasing her, but there was no need to involve herself in the games of commoners. Charlotte had already won; by the end of the day she would be Griffith's bride, and Sonia would no doubt be crying into her pillow. A small smile tugged at Charlotte's lips at the thought.
The look on Sonia's face changed, as though she knew what Charlotte was thinking. She stepped forward, hands clasped behind her back, and looked down on the princess with a knowing smile. Annoyed, Charlotte got slowly to her feet, being as careful as she could not to damage her dress; she wrinkled her nose and stared back at Sonia. Why was she smiling? Charlotte was the bride and she was the flowergirl; Charlotte was royalty, and she was a nobody; Charlotte had won, and Sonia had lost. So why did she look so smug?
"Don't leave the tent," Sonia said suddenly, turning to glance outside. "You'll ruin your dress." Charlotte scowled, wondering exactly what game this girl was playing. She had to go outside, to watch for Griffith's return.
"You don't want to spoil it, do you? White is the colour of brides." Sonia's smile widened a little and she leaned forward, taking hold of Charlotte's chin with one hand; then, without warning, she planted a quick, messy kiss on her lips and let go. "Or do you want people to get the wrong idea about you, Princess Charlotte?"
Charlotte stared, unable to say anything, and Sonia's nose wrinkled with amusement, an imitation of Charlotte's earlier look of disgust. Then, turning to leave, Sonia waved over her shoulder and walked out of the tent, closing the flaps on the way out.
It was barely a few seconds before the skies seemed to suddenly open and rain poured down, rattling her tent. Charlotte stood where Sonia had left her, blushing furiously, on the verge of tears again, and feeling oddly like she'd just lost.
Sonia/Charlotte, Griffith/Charlotte, and one-sided Griffith/Sonia is all mentioned. Warnings for shoujo-ai and general brattiness. :B
*
In situations like this Charlotte was used to getting her way. As a child, when things had gone wrong she had simply cried or screamed until they got better: she was the Princess, the most precious girl in all of Midland, and anything she wanted was in the palm of her hand the instant she wanted it.
But this was different. How could she kick and scream and demand the presence of a man like Sir Griffith? Even now... this was the most important moment of her life and she couldn't even muster the courage to cry, for fear that he would be disappointed by her impatience.
"Sir Griffith sends his apologies and asks that you wait another hour." The messenger, a strange, slumping man in a large metal helmet, saluted her lazily and loped out of the tent on all fours before she had the chance to question him.
Another /hour/? Charlotte fought down the urge to stamp her foot in frustration; her cheeks were already flushed and her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears, but she wouldn't cry. She /wouldn't/. Today was supposed to be perfect, and only tears of happiness would be acceptable to her.
"Sir Griffith..." Her voice was small, defeated, and Charlotte let out a sigh as she slumped down onto the large, plush chair provided for her, her long white dress fanning out and crumpling around her.
This was her wedding day, the happiest day of her life, and the groom was late, delayed by battle. Not that she blamed him -- it had never crossed Charlotte's mind to blame Griffith for anything -- but she couldn't help how upset she felt. These were the terms of war, but she had always been a princess, locked in her lonely tower. Until Griffith had spread his wings and rescued her, she had barely even known war existed. The only battles she had known had been battles of will (she had always won), battles of politics (she had been far too important to pay attention), battles of little significance.
Charlotte's train of thought was interrupted as an unwelcome girl's face appeared before her. "Bad news?" Sonia asked, smiling and pushing back the flaps of the tent, coming in invited, her presence an annoyance as usual.
Charlotte's disappointed frown deepened. "Sir Griffith is late," she replied, turning her cheek in both the literal and non-literal senses of the phrase. This girl was teasing her, but there was no need to involve herself in the games of commoners. Charlotte had already won; by the end of the day she would be Griffith's bride, and Sonia would no doubt be crying into her pillow. A small smile tugged at Charlotte's lips at the thought.
The look on Sonia's face changed, as though she knew what Charlotte was thinking. She stepped forward, hands clasped behind her back, and looked down on the princess with a knowing smile. Annoyed, Charlotte got slowly to her feet, being as careful as she could not to damage her dress; she wrinkled her nose and stared back at Sonia. Why was she smiling? Charlotte was the bride and she was the flowergirl; Charlotte was royalty, and she was a nobody; Charlotte had won, and Sonia had lost. So why did she look so smug?
"Don't leave the tent," Sonia said suddenly, turning to glance outside. "You'll ruin your dress." Charlotte scowled, wondering exactly what game this girl was playing. She had to go outside, to watch for Griffith's return.
"You don't want to spoil it, do you? White is the colour of brides." Sonia's smile widened a little and she leaned forward, taking hold of Charlotte's chin with one hand; then, without warning, she planted a quick, messy kiss on her lips and let go. "Or do you want people to get the wrong idea about you, Princess Charlotte?"
Charlotte stared, unable to say anything, and Sonia's nose wrinkled with amusement, an imitation of Charlotte's earlier look of disgust. Then, turning to leave, Sonia waved over her shoulder and walked out of the tent, closing the flaps on the way out.
It was barely a few seconds before the skies seemed to suddenly open and rain poured down, rattling her tent. Charlotte stood where Sonia had left her, blushing furiously, on the verge of tears again, and feeling oddly like she'd just lost.
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