Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem, or anything from Fire Emblem.
As always, our arrival is greeted with desperation and sorrow. The villagers shove and push to get as close to the wagon as they can. The wheels are still ruddy from the blood of the man who didn't wait for it to stop, three villages back.
Natasha climbs down into the mud, and the people back away slightly, as if she is a goddess, too pure for them to tarnish. She smiles solemnly, and offers words of encouragement.
"Form an orderly line! Those with young children in front, the elderly to the back." I shout to the crowd. Natasha's smile dims for only a moment.
I'm not always sure if they can hear me. When we first left the capital, it would take several tries to make myself heard. Now the villagers grudgingly sort themselves out after a few moments, usually.
Natasha starts handing out canteens of water, as I push the barrel of grain forward. It's only one of three remaining, and won't be enough for even half of this village. I used to think that a cup of wheat was not enough for one man. Now I ask that an entire family be grateful for that much.
A boy in his teens screams that he needs more water for his younger sister. I pull the youth aside to remind him how lucky he is to have any, before Natasha has to hear more of his anger.
I try to sound kind, even though I don't see the point of it. Lyon would know why it's better to smile as I kill them, but I doubt I ever will.
Natasha is still smiling weakly when the barrel is emptied. The villagers without food and water still stand in line, as if our supplies will replenish themselves in a few moments. I watch them scuffle back and forth, waiting for them to disperse. They never have before, but maybe this time will be different. Natasha speaks to each of them, talking about how Latona will see them through their trials. I suspect even she doesn't truly believe it anymore.
I've tried to speak to them, but it only works for her. Probably they can tell that I haven't a drop of faith or hope in me.
I try to help heal the injured, but I know little of medicine, and am unaccustomed to using staves. Often it is unwise for me to try; sometimes the orbs shatter if my concentration slips, and we have too few for me to waste them. I begin to long for the simplicity of anima magic, the only type that does not demand a particular state of mind.
Natasha shows me how to set a broken arm. Broken limbs are simple, she tells me. I wonder what she would consider to be complicated.
A young boy was burned terribly when his house collapsed. His father tells me that he is eight years old. Natasha tells me that he cannot be saved. He asks to speak with her anyway, and she cannot refuse. I feel lucky to be a target for his father's grief. How can she bear to tell a child that he will never see his next birthday, then talk with him of faith and hope, as if they would ever matter again?
I have asked to take up these burdens for her, but she knows as well as I that the people will only be comforted by her. Spiritual advice from a student of darkness is worth less than a Carcinese promise. She claims that words cost her nothing, but I see the grief behind her smile increase with every one.
Bandits have been spotted near the village, so I ask a local boy in relatively good health to help us search for them. Rumors told of a group of six, but there were only two. The others had most likely starved to death, but I ask a few youths to keep watch. The boy didn't come near me again, claiming that I would curse him.
Natasha bids farewell to all of them the next day. One couple begs us to take their two children with us to safety, and soon every other parent does the same. Natasha tells them that their children will be happier and safer in their care, instead of traveling through the wild with strangers. I'm not sure why it comforts them so much to hear that, when the truth is just that we cannot feed their children either.
"Please, Sister, tell us your name." one woman pleads, clutching Natasha's pale hand in her grimy ones.
"I'm Natasha. My... friend's name is Knoll." she answers quietly.
"Thank you, Sister Natasha. Grado is blessed to have you." the woman's husband adds solemnly. Others begin adding their own words of gratitude, even after they had cursed her for rationing the supplies.
Natasha's smile grows, as if their thanks were the only thing she would need to live on. I help her back into the wagon, and she wishes them good fortune as it shudders into motion. Somehow, she manages to smile and wave until we are out of sight.
Then she falls back against the wall, the Heal staff she carries everywhere slipping from trembling hands into her lap.
Everywhere we stop, hope is what the people truly seem to need from us. The hope that it brings them to see Natasha smile on, as if a pretty face and kind words could feed their family. As if a blessing was someone to help in hard times, instead of those hard times never happening. As if happiness could live on after the bodies all rot away.
I tell her to leave just a bit sooner next time, give a little less of herself away, before she has nothing left to give them.
Natasha always tells me not to fear for her, that hope and encouragement are the only supplies that never run out. I know it is a false comfort, like all the others. I see her weep for every one of them she speaks to. She knows the names of all them. They tell her all the hopes and dreams they had before the quake. I don't need any magic to know that she will never erase them from her memory. She does not know how to do anything less than to take up all of their burdens.
Perhaps I am the lucky one, in that I lost hope years ago. That must be why the priests warned us to never try to glimpse the future. That was Lyon's mistake. He thought that knowing what was to come would bring hope, when knowledge can only ever destroy it.
If Lyon were here, I might know what to do. How to bring hope to the people in Natasha's place. I feel that there must be something I can do, so they won't detest me even as I do what I can for them. Natasha can't go on carrying all their sorrow for them. It will destroy her. If only I could be the one destroyed instead. I have nothing left to lose except her. But she has everything to lose. She has hope that someday, life will go on.
But I cannot save her. I am unworthy, so I will live on, while she will give every scrap of her energy to revive a dead country. Just like Lyon, she is too kind to survive.