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Sunlit Moments (Octopath Traveler II, Agnea/Throné)
Title: Sunlit Moments
Fandom: Octopath Traveler II
Characters: Throné Anguis/Agnea Bristarni
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 1,464
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Fluff
Challenge: Fandom Gift Basket 2024
Summary: Agnea takes Throné out for a relaxing afternoon in the sun, but things go a little bit downhill...
Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomgiftbasket, for rubylily on AO3. This is a first attempt at Octopath fic, so hopefully it turned out okay!
Read on AO3.
Learning to relax is still a work in progress for Throné. For Agnea, however, it seems to be second nature. And today with the sun high in the sky and nary a cloud to be seen, Agnea is in prime form. She’s dragged Throné to a shady hillside just outside town, plopped her down under a tree, and promptly begun hunting for flowers to craft a flower crown.
“Are you certain you don’t want any help?” Throné calls down the hill, not usually one for picking flowers but willing to give it a go for Agnea’s sake. And having a task to focus on would soothe her mind better than watching Agnea do all the work. Not that watching Agnea is ever unpleasant. A little tiring, sometimes, with all that girl’s energy.
“I’m fine, Throné!” Agnea calls back, a pile of flowers already carefully cradled in her skirt as she holds the front of it like a basket. The sun illuminates her bare, slender legs, a little tanned from all the traveling they’ve been doing, as Agnea steps quickly through the long grass and berry bushes that dot the hillside.
“You just sit back ‘n’ let me take care of things!” Agnea continues, a bit of her country accent slipping through. Agnea always fusses about how she wants to sound like a proper city girl like Throné, but Throné can listen to Agnea talk for hours. It’s not something Throné ever thought she’d get used to, all that chatter, the unbridled optimism, but she’s glad for it.
Throné leans back against the tree she’s planted herself under, trying to do as Agnea has asked and just relax. It is a very pleasant day, and they have the time to stop and appreciate it. Tilting her head back, Throné closes her eyes and reminds herself there’s no danger lurking about, it’s all right if she relaxes her guard for a minute—
Her mental reassurances are interrupted by a yelp from down the hill, and Throné is on her feet in seconds, dagger in hand as she rushes toward the sound of Agnea in distress.
What she finds is not any sort of attacker, but Agnea in a ditch, flowers strewn about on the ground around her. Throné scans the area for any sign of danger anyway before determining it’s safe to sheath her weapon.
“What happened?” she asks, though she has a good idea already. She jumps down into the ditch with more grace than how Agnea had likely ended up there and starts checking her for injuries.
“I slipped,” Agnea confirms with a huff, looking mournfully at the flowers now littering the dirt.
“There aren’t any flowers down here,” Throné says, gently running her hand down Agnea’s arm and testing the flex of her wrist. Agnea doesn’t react, and Throné moves on to her other arm.
“I was trying to reach those.” Agnea points to a cluster of bushes up near the edge of the ditch, where the ground slopes sharply if one isn’t paying attention.
Throné barely gives them a glance, brushing aside Agnea’s skirt so she can check her knees for cuts. “Why?”
Knee check done, she applies a slight pressure to Agnea’s ankle and, when Agnea winces, draws her hands back at once. “You may have twisted your ankle.”
“I’ll be fine,” Agnea insists, already trying to get up. As soon as she puts weight on that ankle she wobbles.
Throné stands quickly, steadying her. “You need to be careful. Your dancing…”
The thought of Agnea not being able to dance, even only temporarily, makes something twist unpleasantly in her chest. With that in mind, Throné doesn’t hesitate to scoop Agnea up in her arms, one arm hooked under her knees while the other supports her back, and carry her out of the ditch.
“Throné!” Agnea exclaims in surprise, arms thrown around Throné’s neck. Throné can see Agnea’s cheeks flush pink out of the corner of her eye, and she smiles slightly despite the situation.
“Don’t complain. You brought this upon yourself,” she says, normally serious tone hiding her amusement at Agnea’s embarrassment.
It takes her a minute to find a less steep way out of the ditch, but once she does she’s able to carry Agnea back to where they’d been sitting before all this happened. Throné carefully sets Agnea down in the grass, making sure not to jostle her leg.
“Keep still,” Throné murmurs, hunting through her bag for first aid supplies. Finding a bandage she can use to wrap Agnea’s ankle, she turns back to her and begins to do just that.
For her part, Agnea listens, unmoving as she sits in the grass with her legs extended in front of her. Throné works in silence, hands gentle where she touches Agnea’s leg, until finally Agnea speaks up, saying,
“I should blame you for making me fall.”
Throné looks up from her task just enough to raise an eyebrow at Agnea. No matter what the younger girl says next, Throné knows she would never actually blame Throné for something that wasn’t her fault. She wouldn’t blame Throné for something that was her fault.
Agnea catches the look and huffs again. “Well, it was my own idea, sure. But I saw the raspberry bushes and I thought, ‘Throné would love some of those!’ So I tried to reach them without dropping the flowers, but…”
Throné doesn’t say anything, finishing her task with expert precision. She may not have Castti’s healing touch, but she’s patched up more than her fair share of wounds in her life. With Agnea’s ankle carefully and firmly wrapped, Throné sits back and looks at her.
“Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good,” she says, reaching out to brush her fingers over Agnea’s palm. Agnea doesn’t hesitate to close her hand around Throné’s, and the gesture gives Throné the courage to add, “But that’s one of the things I love about you.”
Agnea blushes even pinker than before, making a face like she wants to argue but is stopping herself. Throné smiles and reaches out with her free hand to neaten a few stray wisps of Agnea’s hair, mussed from the fall and being carried back up the hill. Whatever Agnea sees in Throné’s expression, it makes her relax without even a perfunctory protest.
“Now stay put,” Throné insists, leaning in to kiss Agnea on the forehead before getting up. She brushes off her skirt and heads back down the hill, resolutely on a mission.
She gathers the fallen flowers first, cradling them in the crook of her arm so that she has both hands free to pick raspberries from the bushes by the ditch. Once she has as many as she can safely carry, she returns to Agnea and settles back down beside her in the shade.
She deposits the flowers into Agnea’s lap and the berries in her own, taking a moment to pop one of the perfectly ripe fruits into her mouth and savor the flavor.
“Go on, make your crown,” she tells Agnea, nodding at the flowers.
“Don’t I get any raspberries?” Agnea asks, watching Throné eat another one of the berries.
“Ask nicely?” Throné teases, holding up another raspberry to offer to her, but Agnea is already leaning forward, bypassing the proffered berry entirely to kiss Throné instead. She licks the raspberry juice from Throné’s mouth, leaving Throné momentarily stunned.
Agnea draws back with her usual cheerful smile. “Nice enough?”
Throné doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t resist as Agnea takes the raspberry from her and pops it into her mouth, chewing happily.
The rest of the afternoon passes just like that as Agnea weaves her flower crown and Throné alternates between feeding her raspberries and eating them herself. When Agnea finishes the crown, all the yellows and pinks and whites woven together, one can hardly tell the flowers had taken a tumble. She beams and lifts the crown up, and Throné graciously bows her head so Agnea can put it on her.
“You make even a flower crown look so elegant, Throné!” Agnea says with obvious glee, admiring her handiwork. “Oh, but—” She licks her thumb and reaches up to rub away a smudge of raspberry juice from the corner of Throné’s mouth, laughing. “There ya go! Perfect.”
Throné catches Agnea’s hand before she can lower it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you, Agnea.”
The sun hasn’t quite yet begun to set, but it hangs right on the cusp of evening. Agnea shuffles closer to Throné and leans against her, head resting on her shoulder. Throné keeps hold of Agnea’s hand on her thigh, and the two of them wait to watch the sunset together.
This, Throné thinks, is the kind of relaxation she could get used to.
Fandom: Octopath Traveler II
Characters: Throné Anguis/Agnea Bristarni
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 1,464
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Fluff
Challenge: Fandom Gift Basket 2024
Summary: Agnea takes Throné out for a relaxing afternoon in the sun, but things go a little bit downhill...
Notes: Written for
fandomgiftbasket, for rubylily on AO3. This is a first attempt at Octopath fic, so hopefully it turned out okay!Read on AO3.
Learning to relax is still a work in progress for Throné. For Agnea, however, it seems to be second nature. And today with the sun high in the sky and nary a cloud to be seen, Agnea is in prime form. She’s dragged Throné to a shady hillside just outside town, plopped her down under a tree, and promptly begun hunting for flowers to craft a flower crown.
“Are you certain you don’t want any help?” Throné calls down the hill, not usually one for picking flowers but willing to give it a go for Agnea’s sake. And having a task to focus on would soothe her mind better than watching Agnea do all the work. Not that watching Agnea is ever unpleasant. A little tiring, sometimes, with all that girl’s energy.
“I’m fine, Throné!” Agnea calls back, a pile of flowers already carefully cradled in her skirt as she holds the front of it like a basket. The sun illuminates her bare, slender legs, a little tanned from all the traveling they’ve been doing, as Agnea steps quickly through the long grass and berry bushes that dot the hillside.
“You just sit back ‘n’ let me take care of things!” Agnea continues, a bit of her country accent slipping through. Agnea always fusses about how she wants to sound like a proper city girl like Throné, but Throné can listen to Agnea talk for hours. It’s not something Throné ever thought she’d get used to, all that chatter, the unbridled optimism, but she’s glad for it.
Throné leans back against the tree she’s planted herself under, trying to do as Agnea has asked and just relax. It is a very pleasant day, and they have the time to stop and appreciate it. Tilting her head back, Throné closes her eyes and reminds herself there’s no danger lurking about, it’s all right if she relaxes her guard for a minute—
Her mental reassurances are interrupted by a yelp from down the hill, and Throné is on her feet in seconds, dagger in hand as she rushes toward the sound of Agnea in distress.
What she finds is not any sort of attacker, but Agnea in a ditch, flowers strewn about on the ground around her. Throné scans the area for any sign of danger anyway before determining it’s safe to sheath her weapon.
“What happened?” she asks, though she has a good idea already. She jumps down into the ditch with more grace than how Agnea had likely ended up there and starts checking her for injuries.
“I slipped,” Agnea confirms with a huff, looking mournfully at the flowers now littering the dirt.
“There aren’t any flowers down here,” Throné says, gently running her hand down Agnea’s arm and testing the flex of her wrist. Agnea doesn’t react, and Throné moves on to her other arm.
“I was trying to reach those.” Agnea points to a cluster of bushes up near the edge of the ditch, where the ground slopes sharply if one isn’t paying attention.
Throné barely gives them a glance, brushing aside Agnea’s skirt so she can check her knees for cuts. “Why?”
Knee check done, she applies a slight pressure to Agnea’s ankle and, when Agnea winces, draws her hands back at once. “You may have twisted your ankle.”
“I’ll be fine,” Agnea insists, already trying to get up. As soon as she puts weight on that ankle she wobbles.
Throné stands quickly, steadying her. “You need to be careful. Your dancing…”
The thought of Agnea not being able to dance, even only temporarily, makes something twist unpleasantly in her chest. With that in mind, Throné doesn’t hesitate to scoop Agnea up in her arms, one arm hooked under her knees while the other supports her back, and carry her out of the ditch.
“Throné!” Agnea exclaims in surprise, arms thrown around Throné’s neck. Throné can see Agnea’s cheeks flush pink out of the corner of her eye, and she smiles slightly despite the situation.
“Don’t complain. You brought this upon yourself,” she says, normally serious tone hiding her amusement at Agnea’s embarrassment.
It takes her a minute to find a less steep way out of the ditch, but once she does she’s able to carry Agnea back to where they’d been sitting before all this happened. Throné carefully sets Agnea down in the grass, making sure not to jostle her leg.
“Keep still,” Throné murmurs, hunting through her bag for first aid supplies. Finding a bandage she can use to wrap Agnea’s ankle, she turns back to her and begins to do just that.
For her part, Agnea listens, unmoving as she sits in the grass with her legs extended in front of her. Throné works in silence, hands gentle where she touches Agnea’s leg, until finally Agnea speaks up, saying,
“I should blame you for making me fall.”
Throné looks up from her task just enough to raise an eyebrow at Agnea. No matter what the younger girl says next, Throné knows she would never actually blame Throné for something that wasn’t her fault. She wouldn’t blame Throné for something that was her fault.
Agnea catches the look and huffs again. “Well, it was my own idea, sure. But I saw the raspberry bushes and I thought, ‘Throné would love some of those!’ So I tried to reach them without dropping the flowers, but…”
Throné doesn’t say anything, finishing her task with expert precision. She may not have Castti’s healing touch, but she’s patched up more than her fair share of wounds in her life. With Agnea’s ankle carefully and firmly wrapped, Throné sits back and looks at her.
“Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good,” she says, reaching out to brush her fingers over Agnea’s palm. Agnea doesn’t hesitate to close her hand around Throné’s, and the gesture gives Throné the courage to add, “But that’s one of the things I love about you.”
Agnea blushes even pinker than before, making a face like she wants to argue but is stopping herself. Throné smiles and reaches out with her free hand to neaten a few stray wisps of Agnea’s hair, mussed from the fall and being carried back up the hill. Whatever Agnea sees in Throné’s expression, it makes her relax without even a perfunctory protest.
“Now stay put,” Throné insists, leaning in to kiss Agnea on the forehead before getting up. She brushes off her skirt and heads back down the hill, resolutely on a mission.
She gathers the fallen flowers first, cradling them in the crook of her arm so that she has both hands free to pick raspberries from the bushes by the ditch. Once she has as many as she can safely carry, she returns to Agnea and settles back down beside her in the shade.
She deposits the flowers into Agnea’s lap and the berries in her own, taking a moment to pop one of the perfectly ripe fruits into her mouth and savor the flavor.
“Go on, make your crown,” she tells Agnea, nodding at the flowers.
“Don’t I get any raspberries?” Agnea asks, watching Throné eat another one of the berries.
“Ask nicely?” Throné teases, holding up another raspberry to offer to her, but Agnea is already leaning forward, bypassing the proffered berry entirely to kiss Throné instead. She licks the raspberry juice from Throné’s mouth, leaving Throné momentarily stunned.
Agnea draws back with her usual cheerful smile. “Nice enough?”
Throné doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t resist as Agnea takes the raspberry from her and pops it into her mouth, chewing happily.
The rest of the afternoon passes just like that as Agnea weaves her flower crown and Throné alternates between feeding her raspberries and eating them herself. When Agnea finishes the crown, all the yellows and pinks and whites woven together, one can hardly tell the flowers had taken a tumble. She beams and lifts the crown up, and Throné graciously bows her head so Agnea can put it on her.
“You make even a flower crown look so elegant, Throné!” Agnea says with obvious glee, admiring her handiwork. “Oh, but—” She licks her thumb and reaches up to rub away a smudge of raspberry juice from the corner of Throné’s mouth, laughing. “There ya go! Perfect.”
Throné catches Agnea’s hand before she can lower it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you, Agnea.”
The sun hasn’t quite yet begun to set, but it hangs right on the cusp of evening. Agnea shuffles closer to Throné and leans against her, head resting on her shoulder. Throné keeps hold of Agnea’s hand on her thigh, and the two of them wait to watch the sunset together.
This, Throné thinks, is the kind of relaxation she could get used to.