Sacrifice
By: Amber Michelle
Written for the 'choice' theme at the Fire Emblem Drabble Challenge on Livejournal.
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They came to Micaiah seeking comfort, asking simple questions. Does he love me? was common as rain, and easy to answer with only a glance. Will my wife deliver safely? She always said yes. It was what they wanted to hear, and there was always something she could do to insure the success of that prophecy - something desperate, dangerous, something Sothe hated, but Micaiah would do it to save even one innocent life.
She was conducting business in a tavern tucked away in the slums at the lowest tier of Nevassa, near the base of the mountain. It was popular with people like her, foreigners or peddlers of skills and items not officially approved by the military government. Books, mostly. Herbs, medicines. It was crowded in the afternoon, and she always made some money. A doctor she was acquainted with from her first stay in Nevassa offered treatments for free. His hands were old and wrinkled, stiff with pain, but he never turned a patient away if the case was suited to his skill.
They melted out of the crowd - two boys, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, one tall and blond, the other running his hand through scruffy brown hair. They approached the doctor, and Micaiah knew the moment he saw their faces what his answer would be - one he didn't want to give, but she felt his gut clench, saw the blond's fingers curl and knuckles whiten while they described something she couldn't hear. She was on her feet before the older man could refuse.
"I can help you," she said. "Whatever it is, I know how to take care of it."
That was a lie, but it was also the truth. Even death couldn't stand in her way if she was determined enough.
Sothe would have held her back, but he wasn't there. The boys hesitated, but they were desperate, and before the sun had set she was following them shadow to shadow, down the back alleys. Begnion swords flashed in their thoughts; an arrow, a wound to the kidney, an infection. They led her to an abandoned townhouse. A poleaxe leaned in the corner, a shorter hand axe lay on the table. She smelled the blood before she saw him, the sickly scent of rot, death. Her altruistic doctor couldn't have made a dent in this. She knelt at his bedside, asked his name. She felt the others crowd at her back.
Micaiah rested her hands over his heart. Don't ever do this without me, Sothe had said. If they turn on you--
She didn't care. This Nolan couldn't open his eyes, could barely breathe. The boys begged her without saying anything, patient, holding their breath. He was important to them, just as Sothe was important to her. Even if they turned on her, the sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.