Rosebush
By ElwynWanderer
Summary: Amelia, Rose of the War, had a beginning. This is the tale of Amelia's roots: her mother, Melina.
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Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem. If I did…Well, it's probably best not to dwell on that.
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I was never a strong person. As a small girl I was always rather delicate, and the other children would make fun of me for being so skinny and pallid. I used to be ashamed of myself. I am a citizen of Grado, named for a hero who saved Magvel, yet I was so weak.
When I was older I tried my hand at several careers, but most did not work out. I am a fairly good cook, but I did not know anything outlandish enough to sell, and the only dishes I could prepare were simple, practical things that everyone in our small village knew how to make. Oh, what was the name of that village? Let me see…
No, I cannot recall it yet. Perhaps at our next meeting…? Anyway, one day some priests from Grado's capital passed through our village. Like most of my neighbors I came to gawk at them through the windows of the inn at which they were staying, or from doorways when they walked down the streets. Looking back on it, I am sure we were a great nuisance to them, but they had gentle and kind hearts, and they never complained.
Although I never had the courage to speak to them during their visit, before they left our village something amazing happened. The priests were loading their things into the wagon, I recall. Everyone was watching them, and a few of the braver villagers who had offered were assisting the priests in their task. Somehow, the gods saw fit to smile on me that day, and one of the priests' Heal staves clattered from the wagon to the road and from there it rolled until it bumped my foot.
I picked it up without thinking in my desire to help. Yet the instant my fingers curled around the staff I felt a…a surge of power deep within me. I cannot find words to describe what I felt. I simply knew it would change my life forever.
Then as I straightened with the staff in my hand I saw that one of the priests had come to retrieve it and now stood before me. He smiled at me and said hello. He was younger than most of the priests, although he was still older than I. And he had… I am afraid I cannot recall what he looked like.
I offered him the Heal staff, but he would not take it. Instead he said, "You must be the cleric in this town. What's your name?"
I told him, "My name is Melina, but I am not a cleric."
His brow wrinkled (Oh, how frustrating that I can recall such a detail without remembering what he looks like!), and he said something like, "But the Heal staff reacted to your touch. How could you not…" Then he seemed to understand what I could not. "I see, you weren't aware of your abilities. Such potential wasted," he said with a shake of his head. He pressed the staff to my chest. "Keep it," he told me. "You'll know how to use it instinctively. Besides, we already have plenty."
I was so shocked that all I could do was gape at him and stammer, "But I could not possibly pay for it!"
"It's a gift," the priest said kindly. "You can use it to heal injuries until it wears out."
And then with the parting words "Heal your people, Melina," the priests were gone.
My fame spread throughout the village quickly, and soon everyone knew that fragile, weak Melina now owned a Heal staff. Within a week my staff had been halfway used up, and I had to lock it away within the trunk in my bedroom and declare that I would only heal serious, life-threatening injuries. My fame rapidly dwindled away, but that was fine with me.
And then I… And then I met him. I cannot remember even his name, and he meant the world to me.
His lower leg had been crushed in a plough accident when he - my future husband - came to me for healing. I do not quite recall his face, but I remember that the damage was severe, and despite my efforts I could not fully restore his leg. Below the kneecap all that remained was a shriveled stump. He would never be able to do more than limp.
Yet he… I recall that he often returned to my house to court me, and in time we were married. We were very happy…but this happiness died along with my husband. Everyone said I was not to blame, but I had failed to restore his leg, and when the wild beast attacked him he died because he could not run…
…
I apologize. I have trouble talking about this. But where was I?…
Ah, yes…
Shortly after my husband's death I gave birth to a daughter. I nearly died in the process, but the midwives insisted that my daughter was never in any danger of death. She was strong…as her father had been.
Once I gave birth to Amelia - my daughter - I lived once again. She was a strong child with immense potential for greatness, and I loved her so very much. I nurtured her and comforted her when she was frightened, and I did everything I could to see her smile.
But then the bandits came. I believe it was partly because I was a healer. It attracted them, you see, so…
I am sorry. This is a difficult topic for me. If I could have a moment…
Thank you. I think I can discuss this now. The bandits destroyed much of the village and took many prisoners, including me. Amelia hid under the bed, thank the gods, and it probably saved her life. I was almost glad to go with those rogues if it meant she would be safe.
I endured horrible things at the hands of the bandits. I… I… Please do not make me relive those dark days. The only thing that kept me sane was the thought of my daughter, and after several years even thoughts of Amelia began to fade.
I hope she is well, wherever she is. I hope she has the torch and the speedwing I kept for her, and the money I saved. I hope she does not spend it all on michew berry pies. I hope she remembers to wear her coat when it gets cold. You know, Amelia always wanted… She wanted…
What was it? It was her dream.
Oh, if only I could remember!
That is all I know, Sir Duessel. I am sorry I cannot tell you my husband's name, or the name of the village, or the location of the bandits' lair. I have been trying - I have been trying every day in the year since you rescued me - but still I cannot recall everything. I do not want to relive what happened. Please do not make me. Please…
Please…