Game of Love:

A Heath/Legault love story

Disclaimer: Not mine, I do not own the characters. If I did, Fire Emblem would be a whole lot gayer.

Notes: Sorry if anything is inaccurate; it's actually been some time since I last played this game…

Please, Sleep my darling…

The day couldn't get much worse, Heath reflected as he trudged back to camp with the others. His muscles ached and his eyelids were drooping, he could barely hold onto Hyperion's lead as he walked. But hold onto it, he did, and thank whatever gods there were that he was there, for he stumbled, and Hyperion was there to catch him—he always was… Heath's lips curved upwards into a sleepy smile as he looked up into the wyvern's face. He brought a hand up to the base of the wyvern's skull.

"Thanks, Hyperion," he mumbled. Yes, the day had started out as a day he would have predicted as a good day. He'd had the chance to sleep in an extra hour, and did. And when he did wake up, they had a very nice meal set out, made by Lowen. Then all of a sudden, it started raining, and the meal was obliterated; it wasn't half as good as it had smelled only moments earlier, what with being soggy and all. Even Lowen had been upset about it. Then, they'd ended up fighting bandits… And the bandits had decided to be assholes and go around using dirty tricks like boulder tossing and balistas.

Yeah… Heath and Hyperion both could use a nice nap about now. After they ate, of course—though Heath was not looking forward to dinner tonight—he'd heard Serra was on cooking duty tonight.

Halfway into the clearing, Heath could smell something very good roasting over a fire, which puzzled him; he'd never smelled anything that good come of Serra's fruitless attempts at cooking. He crowded around with pretty much everyone else to see that Lowen was giving it another try.

"Well, I know you all missed out on a tasty breakfast," Lowen was saying. "So, I decided to give you a tasty dinner."

Well, how about that? Heath thought with relief. Things were looking up. Heath tethered Hyperion to a tree near his tent, which he was glad to see had already been pitched, by Wil? Or had it been Guy? Either way, it was a nice gesture. Though… Tethering was useless for a wyvern of his size, Hyperion knew it simply meant "stay put." Heath got in line with the others and received a nice, hot stew that made his mouth water just to smell.

"It smells very good, doesn't it?" Lucius remarked, with a kind smile. Heath mustered a smile and nodded in return. Heath noticed a death glare from Raven, but ignored it for the most part—though Raven's death glares were nothing to trifle with.

"I'm going to sit with Hyperion, if you don't mind," Heath said, indicating the lonely wyvern tethered near a tent at the edge of the camp. Lucius said he didn't mind, so Heath meandered over to sit beside the wyvern. Big mistake. Even as he sat and began to feel comfortable, he suddenly realized he was not alone—and that the other presence was not Hyperion.

"Hey, there," said that irritatingly familiar voice. Heath bristled, but did not bother turning around to see the swarthy face of the lavender-haired thief.

"Legault," he said in a neutral tone of voice. He realized he'd stiffened and his fork was hovering over the food. He scowled and dipped the fork into the stew, taking a wonderful bite. It was as good as it smelled.

"You look pretty… haggard. Had a bad day?"

Heath swallowed his bite and directed his scowl coolly at Legault. "Does it look like it's been happy-happy fun times?"

Legault's lips curved into a smirk. "Define happy-happy fun times," he said, deeply amused by the childish words.

Heath's jaw tensed, but he decided he wouldn't even grace this with a response and went back to his meal. Legault came closer, coming from the shadows behind him where he'd made his typically silent entrance. He knelt behind Heath and draped himself over his tense shoulders. Heath nearly choked on his dinner. Coughing and sputtering, he jerked, trying to get away from Legault.

"What the hell are you doing?" Heath had always distrusted Legault's slinking ways, always been suspicious of his every move. He wasn't sure what he was so afraid of. A knife to the throat? Or something… else?

"Hugging you," Legault purred into his ear. Heath shivered. Then he blushed.

"Get off," Heath commanded, planting a hand in Legault's face and shoving at him. Legault seemed unperturbed and stood his ground. Smiling, he licked Heath's hand. Heath quickly snatched it away. "What the hell is your problem?!"

"Someone's cranky…" Legault said softly, but he did finally oblige Heath by releasing his grip from Heath's shoulders and backing off. Heath retrieved his fork, which he'd dropped into his bowl and resumed eating. He'd already learned that walking away from Legault was impossible (though it had never stopped him from trying to do so), but right now he was much too tired to go walking off. He wanted to eat his dinner and go to bed, and Legault was not going to ruin that for him.

Legault did not go away, much to Heath's chagrin. He simply came to sit beside Heath, chin propped on a hand, elbow resting on his knee. Out of the corner of his eye, Heath thought he looked rather handsome and enigmatic. His heart beat just that much faster, but he quickly turned his gaze back to his meal, determined not to delve too deeply into what those thoughts could mean.

"My mission went well enough," Legault said cheerfully. Legault's eyes were turned toward Heath, though it was only his profile that Heath could see. Legault's gaze remained on him for a moment before flicking away to the crowd around the cooking fire, laughter and talking filtering over to them in the night air. Somehow, this made Heath feel very lonely.

"Not a scratch on you," Heath said dryly, as he turned to look at Legault, eyes sweeping his figure. "Never is, though, is there?"

"I wouldn't say never…" Legault said, with a slight lifting of his chin, his eyelids lowering. Heath's gaze found itself on Legault's mysterious scar. He had a sudden insane urge to stroke it, but he resisted it.

Heath quickly dropped his gaze back into his now empty bowl. He poked the sides of the bowl with his fork. He wasn't sure what to say to that. If anything. The silence seemed to linger forever, until Heath finally looked back up to see Legault staring at him in a most unsettling way. Heath blinked and looked back down, jerkily moving to stand up at the same time.

"I should t-take this back to… Lowen," Heath said (Lowen's name having escaped his mind for a second), but as he stood, he clumsily tripped over a badly placed rock, and the bowl went twisting in his hands, flipping about as he awkwardly tried to—and somehow successfully—grab it before it hit the ground. He could see Legault try to hide a smile, but it was too obvious he was laughing at his antics. Heath glowered and stomped off with the bowl, not daring to look back at Legault in an indignant manner; for he had a feeling the bastard would be only too amused at that.

After having given the bowl and fork back to Lowen, Heath was looking forward to sleep like a madman lusts for blood. He was craving it. He needed it. He trudged back to the tent, patting Hyperion on his way into the tent, having already fed him an hour or so before arriving at the camp. Hyperion snorted affectionately at Heath, and Heath responded with a tired, "Goodnight, Hyperion."

Heath threw back the flap of the tent, only to find that Legault was already in the tent, lying on his side next to Heath's bedroll. Heath stared. "What. Are. You doing in here?"

"I'm going to sleep, silly."

Silly? Silly?! Since when did Legault use stupid words like "silly?!"

"You sleep in a different tent."

"Not tonight," Legault said, in an almost seductive manner. He was even looking nonchalantly at his nails, in some kind of "this is normal" show. Heath was not buying it.

"What did you tell Guy this time?"

"Nothing," Legault said innocently. In Legault's case, an innocent tone usually meant anything but.

"Bull. How much did you pay Wil, then?"

"Wil isn't bought," Legault said in an insulted tone, as though it was common knowledge. He was still casually studying his nails.

"Fine. Forget I even asked. I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Heath was not going to let that… that pervert ruin his night. He needed sleep now, damn it! Heath came over to his bedroll, and pointedly did not move it from Legault's. He slid into the bedroll and closed his eyes.

Ah… Bliss…

Until… He realized it was not bliss. He was still wearing all his clothing and armor; even his boots. He opened his eyes, fully expecting Legault to be leaning over him or something creepy like that. But Legault was still where he had been before Heath had closed his eyes, only he now had a book in his hand, and was now looking at Heath with an eyebrow raised and that stupid smirk of his.

"What?" Heath said viciously.

"You go to sleep in your armor?" Legault tilted his head slightly, eternally amused. Heath swallowed, hard. He… He looked… very sexy like that… No, no he didn't! What was wrong with him? All of a sudden all these thoughts were coming to him unbidden. It had to be lack of sleep. Yes, lack of sleep. Wait, Legault was saying something… "…You really are very paranoid, aren't you? But I doubt that Bern will be after you when you're surrounded by all these men... I must admire your dedication, though. As one paranoid man to another."

Heath stared at him for a long moment, then blinked, shaking his head. This was ridiculous. He wasn't afraid to undress in front of another man. It was common practice as a wyvern rider. He got out of the bedroll and began the tedious chore of removing all of his armor and his boots. When it was just him, Guy, and Wil, he'd normally strip down to his skivvies, even when it was a bit cold out, like it was tonight. It was just more comfortable. However… Heath glanced at Legault. He seemed just as amused as ever. Heath tore his gaze from Legault and thought about at least removing his shirt.

But he decided against it. He would just have to be a little stuffy. He pushed all the equipment and so on to the corner of the tent, then got back into the bedroll. Moving into a comfortable position on his back with his head propped up slightly by another blanket, Heath closed his eyes again.

At first, he felt a little odd, next to Legault. He even cracked open an eye once, having forgotten to blow out the lantern, but saw that Legault had already attended to it and they were now in pitch blackness. Turning his head, he let his eyes adjust, and he saw that Legault was now lying down on his back too, his hands behind his head. In the dark, he could see that Legault's eyes were open and gazing upwards, at the small hole Guy had made with his Killing Edge when he'd been freaking out and trying to hide from Matthew. It had once been a very long tear, but Wil had set to sewing it up, and now all that was left of it was a small hole from normal wear and tear.

Somehow, this was turning out more comfortable than he'd thought possible. He'd thought… Well he'd thought Legault would be creepier at night like this. Then again, Legault's thoughts were probably pretty creepy… Who knew what he was thinking as he looked up at that tear in the tent?

Heath closed his eyes, and finally fell into sleep.


Legault stared up at the hole in the old tent, reflecting on several events from the day. His mission really had gone well; he'd merely had to do some investigating into the terrain ahead of them, and a little reconnaissance. Legault preferred taking the spy jobs before Matthew had even heard of them… There was something strangely innocent about Matthew that Legault would rather leave untainted, and that was saying something, since most people could hardly call dear old Matthew "innocent."

But mostly he was reflecting on anything to do with Heath. Heath didn't seem to realize it, but Legault had him nicely tangled in his little web. Though, when he really thought about it, he realized that he was also entangled in a web… It seemed this little game of "love" was a dangerous one, in which one could easily become ensnared in one's own trap. Legault smiled at the irony. It was the whole hunter becoming hunted thing… Well, sort of. Rather, Legault wished it were so.

Legault sat up after a long moment of brooding, with a glance over at his sleeping beauty. Heath seemed sound asleep, his head lolled to the side, chin grazing his shoulder. He looked very young when he was asleep; more relaxed. It was… sweet, to see the normally defensive man let down his guard like that. Legault moved closer to Heath, wanting to be a part of everything that was Heath.

He rested his head gingerly on Heath's shoulder, so as not to wake him. Sliding a hand up Heath's chest, he felt the peaceful rise and fall of his breath, and he closed his own eyes. Legault was not one to sleep much. His sleep was very light… He definitely would not allow someone to get this close to him in his sleep unless he was tricking them into thinking his guard was let down, so that when they moved in too close, he could go in for the kill. But just this once, he wanted to pretend that he had the ability to let down his guard. And pretend that he was an innocent. Legault had a lot of blood on his hands; he'd done a lot of despicable things in his lifetime. He couldn't help but be drawn to those who had not; Matthew, Nino… Heath. Heath may have been responsible for the death of many, but he was destroyed by what he had done, it consumed him with guilt. It hadn't been his choice.

Legault was not such a man. He had killed many, and there was nobody but him responsible for his actions. He could have left the Black Fang at any moment, flee as he had done of late. He could have left sooner. But he hadn't. Some perverse part of him knew he was no good for anything else; killing and plundering was how he made a living, and he held no remorse for it.

If he were more like Heath… He would have died rather than do the things he had done. If the Black Fang threatened him, he would have stood his ground and died. Maybe what Heath had done in his past; flee from Bern's sentence of death, was not a good example of his actions, because Legault felt that if they had captured Heath, he would have faced his death, resigned to his fate, but at least proud.

Legault didn't really have pride; couldn't remember a time when he had. He was always selling himself off to the highest bidder. But Black Fang had gone too far, even for one such as Legault… Thinking back on it now, though… Legault could see that Eliwood was one hell of a man to allow a Black Fang into his band of merry men. An exceptional man.

Legault opened his eyes a crack, just a tiny crack, and looked at the man beneath him. He breathed him in, felt his chest rise, then fall rhythmically. Legault sighed, a barely audible sound. His somber mood was something he kept to himself, privately, in the darkest recesses of the night. He disliked being serious in front of others; it wasn't really in his nature. But at night, alone with his thoughts like this, with Heath beneath him… Legault could say to himself…

I'm in love with Heath…

And somehow, it made him feel melancholy.

Please review. I tend to lose interest in posting when I get no reviews. Oh, and this is planned to be a five-part story, first three parts written already.