I re-read all of DarkenedSakura's Fire Emblem Elincia/Ike stuff, and I really wanted to do something—not Elincia and Ike-centric, but something. We'll know by the end who this is. c:
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Twilight bird song
or, the Bird call which could never fly
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(Happiness is a fairy tale: fairy tales don't exist.
Oh but how she wished.
She wished.)
. : - : .
Fornevers and evermores hold no meaning in a world tainted with disbeliefs and anxiety.
("I'll protect you."
"I don't need protection. Not anymore.")
Glazed over thoughts of the red swirling waters beyond the horizon he's seeking don't mean a thing anymore. There isn't anyone to listen.
Yet they cannot help but turn towards her and him as they run through the alleys of Nevassa and beyond—
I'll protect you
not anymore I don't need it anymore.
. : - : .
(It's a fragile thing, peace of mind. He didn't have it, nor did she.
They shared one broken mind.
Therefore, they made one person.)
. : - : .
'Good-bye' was the same as saying 'I'll see you later'.
'See you later' meant 'don't get yourself killed'.
'Stay alive' was like saying 'it's been nice knowing you'.
She knew all this. She knew it all too well; she had been alive too long not to learn it—
he didn't know it yet, so she had to teach him—
she sent him away—
he came back not long after, angry, betrayed—
You're so important to me. I don't need anyone but you. So let me stay by your side.
There was nothing she could say.
Why would she send him away again?
(face the world and grow stronger than you could ever be by staying by my side.)
. : - : .
(She loved him, she was certain of that.
She knew he loved her.
But it wasn't love.
It was only love.)
. : - : .
"The Silver-Haired Maiden has saved us once again!"
"Praise the Priestess of the Dawn!"
The cheers of ignorant citizens flooded through her ears, the taunting of the royals who didn't believe, and then once more, there was Pelleas, there was Edward, there was Leonardo, Nolan, Laura, Aran, Rafiel, so many. But there was only one person who mattered. Yet, he also mattered least.
(lemon and grass.)
"Micaiah, where are you going?"
"Oh. Nowhere, my lord Pelleas. Just… for some fresh air."
"I see."
Unspoken, but they both knew. The reason she left, went to get away. It wasn't only the crowds. It wasn't only the oppression of the people. It was him as well.
(silver daggers and harsh words.)
. : - : .
Although I know my place, I can't help but wonder if there's anything more than what they want of me.
Represent the people.
Free the people.
Remain the caged bird for the rest of your life.
. : - : .
(Sunset was the best time. They could sit on the roofs and wonder about things.
They could wonder about the people they were helping.
They could talk about things.
But it was so much more than just 'things'.
It was everything.
And yet nothing at the same time.)
. : - : .
"Micaiah."
"Sothe, what is it?"
"Are you alright?"
No. How could I be fine? I'm nothing more than the pretty figure head of this war. Of this country.
"Of course. I'm just tired, is all. Please don't worry, Sothe."
He was silent. She said nothing more, smiled, and carried on.
Fight for the people and trap yourself, pretty little bird. Wait for the hunter to come and shoot you down.
. : - : .
(Love was a simple thing. Give, expect nothing. Or take, and give nothing.
As it was, she didn't know love.
She knew existing in its simplest form.
It was all she had.)
. : - : .
Branded: (n) 1. One born of the illegal union between a laguz and a beorc.
Creations of sin, born of sinners.
Branded often have a unique mark on their bodies, which can be mistaken for Spirit Charmers.
Marked as an abomination.
Branded appear as more of a beorc than laguz, and therefore can hide amongst beorc societies.
Devils in a human guise.
Branded live longer than Beorcs, but have life spans shorter than those of the laguz.
Loveless for the decades they live.
They are shunned by both societies, due to the illegal union they are born of.
Doomed to lives of solitude.
. : - : .
I've known the word my whole life. I knew it even before I was given a name.
"Branded".
It's such an ugly word.
We aren't cows on a farm, for people to kill and spit at, whenever they please. We are as real as any other person on this earth.
We exist.
We feel.
We live.
We are not mindless, cold-hearted demons.
We are not abominations.
I have saved your country.
Why will no one save me?
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"Micaiah, walk with me."
"Come and speak with me, Lady Micaiah."
"Please help us, Maiden."
Help us, don't leave us, hold us when we're scared, protect us when we're in danger.
(Micaiah we love you Micaiah we believe in you Micaiah our savoir Micaiah Micaiah Micaiah.)
. : - : .
The dusk over Daein Keep was beautiful. The mountains glistened with the melting snow, as the woman with silver hair and golden eyes reflected the dying light-golden color until it melted into the twilight. Micaiah, the Silver-Haired Maiden.
"The savior of Daein. The leader of the Dawn Brigade."
Did they not care that Nolan was, truly, the leader of the Dawn Brigade? Did they toss aside the facts they didn't want to hear, such as her being no more than a fortune teller? Such as her having odd hair color, odd eyes, odd abilities—somehow, because they did not know, this made her "special", not a "stain" upon the map of Tellius.
However, she thought differently. She was more than a stain. She was the ink which defaced and destroyed the parchment in the first place. If Daein found out, if anyone found out—the liberation, the military, the country, all of them—then her world would be gone. She would have to flee once more, hiding in the shadows, never more than an inch outside of her shadows. Never venture outside the alleys.
Never open your heart to another Sothe.
(Learn about the world and what it thinks, don't cling to me.
I can't teach you anything more than what you know.
I will bring you down.)
"Micaiah."
"Ah, Leonardo." She turned and smiled at the blonde archer, warm as she could. "Is something the matter?"
"Nothing's wrong, Micaiah, if that's what you're asking." He said quietly, leaning on the railing next to her. "Just tired of the royal court."
"I can… understand that." She said, hesitating just a little with her words, afraid someone besides Leonardo would hear. He looked at her, sharp and calculating sapphire through honey, and he understood.
"I suppose you would. There's so much pressure on you. Are you sure that you're alright?"
"I'm fine. Just… tired."
"You always give that excuse, Micaiah." His voice was as quiet as ever, but there wasn't concern—yet, it wasn't accusation either. "Sooner or later, that won't work anymore. And with the company you keep, I'm willing to bet that excuses will break sooner rather than later."
The so-called Priestess of Dawn looked at the beginnings of the night sky, breathing in the stars she hadn't seen for months. The old friends twinkled, but Micaiah didn't listen. She put her hands on the icy rock railing, smooth and cuttingly cold, but still did not say anything. Finally, the words simply fell like snow.
"You're… probably right, Leonardo. However, for now, I think it will hold." She smiled wanly at him, and knew he could tell she was older than she seemed. But then, he had always been able to tell, she knew. He was too smart.
There was another silence, this one more comfortably awkward. Leonardo trained his eyes upon the sky as if he were about to draw his arrow and shoot. Micaiah waited for nothing. Eventually the silence was broken as the freezing weather hit the boy. He stood once more, and touched her shoulder lightly, shyly, but with due respect.
"Good night, Micaiah."
"Good night, Leonardo."
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In the end, that's all communicating is. Lies and smiles. Keep up the façade. Don't let anyone break through.
Don't open your eyes and look into theirs. Keep them closed with your smile.
Don't fall in love.
Don't.
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("General, what do we do? The sub-humans are approaching!"
They're laguz. Please call them laguz.
"Hold your positions and prepare for battle. We must defend, or die."
"Yes, ma'am!"
O Goddess, what am I doing…)
Living was so hard. But dying was harder, despite what anyone said. It hurt.
Black was such an ugly color, anyway. Why would someone want to spend the rest of their lives looking at that? Color and light was so much better than nothing at all. Open your eyes, Nolan! Please open your eyes! Yet people die every day, every moment we take a breath. Every breath of ours is something stolen, something precious, which can be used by someone else. Don't die, O Goddess, no, Nolan, please. Laura! Laura, please, come quickly! Quickly! Trapped by your country and your duty, you can't do anything more than listen to desperate cries and sobs and join in with your bird call.
Nolan! Nolan, please, hold on! Don't go. Don't leave us yet.
But what's the use of a bird call unable to escape its cage?
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I am the general of this army. My name is Micaiah. I cannot give you my age. I cannot give you my birthplace, my parents, or my heritage. I cannot say where I was raised.
I don't know.
I cannot say.
I can't.
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(If there was any way to save me, would you do it?
If l could be redeemed, would you cleanse me?
Branded forever, it simply means we are cursed as long as people see up that way.
Love me and I shall be human once more.
Shun me and I am nothing more than what you make me.)
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"Micaiah! There you are, I've been looking for you!"
"Edward? What's going on, is there a problem?"
"No, no problem!" He grinned brightly, brandishing his sword exuberantly as he explained. "I just wanted to train with you, so I could get better at dodging magic."
She smiled lightly, keeping her voice at a soft level, teasing him. "You're actually thinking about the battles now, Edward? That's new."
His childish but maturing face went hard for just a second, his eyes sparking flints in her own as they went cold and stone-hard. Seriously, he responded, "After what happened to Nolan, I kind of… thought about what he always told us. I'm going to start trying to take it to heart. I'm not willing to die like that."
His conviction flooded into her, unbidden and unwanted. Micaiah didn't want to continue living.
No, that wasn't it.
What's the point in it if I'm only chained to the country I love, yet despise?
If I can never be free…?
But thinking like that wouldn't solve anything, Edward was right. She tightened her hand around the spine of her Shine tome, and nodded briskly to him.
"Where do you want to practice?"
Let me go, Daein. I can't be here forever. I need my sky.
I love the blue. I need that blue.
So let me go.
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Why in the world would I fall in love with someone like him?
Love is a complex thing. We only realize we have it when it's gone.
My love isn't gone.
My love was never there.
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"This is the only way. And Micaiah, I would prefer if it was you."
"Pelleas…"
Then the word was said, the flash of silver—he didn't cry out, he didn't make a sound.
(long live the king, long live the king)
Micaiah watched his body fall, tried to catch him, then Taureno's arm was there, and Pelleas slumped over his arm, eyes closed peacefully. He might as well have been asleep.
(peace to Daein, finally, at long last, long live the king)
She looked at the king for a long time, or what felt like a long time before she finally sniffed, closing her own eyes to try and block the tears. "Oh… oh, Pelleas… what have I done?"
(lead us to victory, your majesty, smile for us
bring us prosperity, give us hope,
long live the king.)
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They continued with the senseless fighting as a tribute to the insanity which had taken their king. Then, one battle came and the next until they all overlapped. There wasn't a sense of time in the battlefield anymore, and even though Micaiah was 'free', she still felt as 'trapped' as ever. Then Ashera woke, and they were gone. Silence reigned over the land, and she could hear everything for once. There—she could see them. The mercenaries she was supposed to be fighting. Hurrying over, Micaiah could plainly see who was in charge. She strode over to him fearlessly, or, what she hoped was fearlessly.
"Are these the only people we know of that are still…" She chose her words carefully, "Well, moving?"
He sized her up, obviously deciding this wasn't the time to be fighting.
"As far as we can tell." He replied.
They looked at each other for a long while.
"Micaiah, general of the Daein army." She held out a hand, more to be polite than show respect.
"Ike, leader of the Greil Mercenaries." He shook her hand only once, the same unreadable expression on his tanned face. Micaiah adopted a dry smile.
"I thought so. Sothe talks about you so much, I feel as though you might as well be someone I already know."
"Sothe?" Ike raised an eyebrow. "He's alright—ah. You must have been the special person he was looking for."
"Er…" That caught her off guard. "Well, I guess so."
"Good to know he found you. Now, we need to divide into groups to get to Begnion's capital."
The silver-haired woman found herself unable to speak as the man moved through all the different people, somehow commanding respect from even those who weren't of his army. She watched him quietly, trying to figure out what it was about this man that made people trust him. She couldn't find it.
So she looked away and pretended not to even have cared what his charm might have been, and instead went back to her friends to see if they were alright.
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I wanted to be saved. I didn't think I would care who saved me.
But I do. I do, I do, I do.
I don't want this man to save me. I don't want anyone but myself to save me.
I don't need anyone else. I never have.
I don't.
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(The color of liars and jealous thieves is, supposedly, green. The color of good, of justice is supposed to be blue.
Blue and green have their places.
They're incorrect.
But if they have their place, then where is silver? Where do I fit?
An angel, some say. A demon, claim others.
I don't know who to believe. I'll go with, instead, "human".
Completely, and irrevocably, human and nothing more.)
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In a twisted way, this made sense.
Gasping, Micaiah looked up through narrowed eyes to see the sun in the silence of the moon. They continued to run, trying to reach Begnion as fast as possible—
(but it was so much more than that)
—She was running in an attempt to be closer, sooner.
Why is it that the one I tried to hate would be the one to save me?
The clinking of armor and weapons filled her ears, closing her eyes to the blinding mirror of snow. Her breath fogged her eyes, and Sothe caught her arm to stop her from stumbling—she gave him nothing more than a breathless smile, and continued on. The fate of the world depended on them getting to the capital of Begnion, she knew that. Yet, she also knew she was running for a much more selfish reason. Yune knew it as well.
(You love him.
No, no, I don't, I can't, I can't.)
Love is too complicated. Why would I have ever thought it was simple? It's so much harder than anyone could understand.
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I'm not in love. And even if I was, how would I know?
Birds are intelligent—to a point.
We know how to survive.
We know not how to love.
And that is the sad truth.
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"Micaiah. Is everyone alright?"
(concern flickering like a candle, ready to die.)
"Yes, everyone's fine here. How is your company?"
(businesslike smile resting delicately, ready to jump)
"There haven't been any causalities. We've been lucky so far."
(relief like the tides of Crimea's oceans, ready to freeze at any moment)
"Good. Shall we prepare to enter, since King Tibarn is already here?"
(longing to be held, to be talked to, growing like a weed, unable to be plucked)
"Yeah. The sooner the better."
(indifference to her feelings like the tundra, unforgiving and harsh.)
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Sing, pretty little bird, fly for us. Entertain us for as long as we need, keep us happy, make us smile.
Stay with us.
Fight for us.
Smile for us.
Love for us.
We will never let you go. We will love you forever. We will always need you.
Stay with us, lovely bird. We will never set you free.
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Sothe was her best friend. She could tell him anything. She loved him. But she didn't love him. And she hoped he realized that. She knew he didn't yet, but she hoped. He didn't question her actions anymore than he would have had she been choosing what to eat. He simply watched her fingers jump skillfully as she wrote out a report quickly, reminding herself of something before once again becoming Yune's vessel, so that the goddess might talk to the soldiers and give them hope. Micaiah watched the words pour from her fingertips like blackened blood, but paid no heed to the morbid thought. She continued until finished, then rose from her chair and walked out calmly towards where the other leaders were.
(blue eyes and a hardened heart)
She looked at the man walking beside her, silent as he usually was and then back at the other.
(cold steel and rough compassion)
Wondering was wishing, and there wasn't any time for wishes in war. But she couldn't help but wonder what this new distance between her and Sothe was. She was the same. He was the same.
A bridge had to be built. Micaiah was willing to reach out, once more, but he hadn't shown anything was wrong. What should she think? What was this distance?
(nothing more than a passing thought, fleeting and inconsistent: he comes and goes)
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Yune was respected. Micaiah, herself, was loved. She began to realize that perhaps respect was better.
("Teach me how to be respected."
"They respect you already."
"That's not respect. That's love."
"Then take it. Accept it. Your heart is too kind to command respect, at any rate.")
She wanted the same charisma that the blue-haired general had. They loved him, yet he took their respect and wrestled it, owning it. She was either too cold or too kind. Pick a happy medium. How?
Keep the tempo, move your feet at this exact rate, never a second faster. Don't move out of line.
Keep the beat for us. Sing for us.
We love you. But we don't.
We don't.
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If love is to be so confusing, why would we seek it? The world we know now, is dyed in dried rose petals, covered with watercolor paints. It is solid enough, although it crinkles when we even glide.
The sky is so vast. Yet, it is cold. It looks down and although it might wish to help, there are simply some things it cannot do.
Lies are simple. War is simple.
Honesty is something more difficult than birth. More difficult than living.
To let down this façade would be death.
Or, so she thought.
Call her naïve, but she always thought the only way to live was to hide.
(So bring her out of the shadows and into your light,
keep her by your side and keep her safe)
The only way to live was to survive.
Don't hold onto bonds. Don't love too much. Don't hold too tight.
The day will come when they will die.
Good-bye, good-bye.
(for parting is such sweet sorrow)
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(It's times like these when they used to lie on the shingles of a building in Nevassa, watching the clouds go by.
Micaiah would wonder what her life would hold when these simple pleasures were gone. What would happen when she lost the friends she loved so dearly. She knew it was a mistake to love so fiercely, to protect so vehemently, but she couldn't help it. They had opened their arms to her, and she must do the same.
Love was simple and complex. It was different than any other emotion.
The sky understood this.
It could regard her with those thoughts for a long time, then nod almost imperceptibly.
Micaiah would smile widely during these moments of precious communication. The sky really understood. It was aloof and distracted, but there.
Oh how she loved that color.
If only she could fly into it.
The blue the color of the one she was supposed to hate; his eyes his hair his voice his aura.)
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"Micaiah."
She turned, quickly; he didn't talk to her unless there was something urgent. Ignoring the smack in the face her hair gave her, she was alert, watching him with wide eyes.
"Commander Ike, what is it?"
He was silent, regarding her tensed body, then spoke again. "I think Laura was looking for you."
Micaiah's face fell, visibly. What had she been waiting for? The attack? Some kind of affection?
No, these were impossible things, that she knew. Yet, she hoped beyond hope that somehow, someway—
—but at the same time, she had no hope, she didn't care.
clinging to fairy tales never helped anyone.
"Thank you. I'll head over there now."
He nodded, watching her leave. She took two steps past him when his voice embraced her again.
"Try and relax. Being so tense all the time won't help anything."
Then he was gone, walking through the rows of tents, towards some goal she couldn't see. She watch him leave, and then shook her head, continuing to where she had last seen Laura.
fornever and evermore is just a myth.
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The fight with Ashera was finished now. She lay, fallen, and dissolved into nothing, looking at the two of them not with anger, but something almost like pity. As if they didn't understand how lost they would be without her. Yune came them, nothing more than an outline in blue fire, and Micaiah slumped against the pillar, exhausted. Yune touched the ground lightly, and Ike went forward to speak to her.
Yune listened to his words, and suddenly became the bird again as Ike reached out his gauntlet covered arm. The goddess was the bird Micaiah could remember so well once more, then she flew to the hole on the ceiling and was gone.
Micaiah watched her leave, wondering, waiting, watching.
(The sky was so blue, the same blue haunting her all the time.
Yune was free.)
She looked down at her hands, and once more at the sky, pushing herself off the rocks shakily. Ike caught her arm, helping her steady herself. Micaiah smiled and took back her arm.
Polite.
Kind.
Soft.
The qualities the people wanted.
Shy, caring, loving, warm, quiet, beautiful, welcoming, strong.
Yet she wasn't any of this. Rubbing her arm, she looked for the last time to the ceiling as sound began to return, and everyone around her began to leave the room. Micaiah tilted back her head, trying to see if Yune would come back, but she knew Yune was gone. Was this a lesson?
Yune was free, only to die once more to save us.
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Micaiah became the queen of Daein.
She become lonely and cold.
She became trapped in a smaller cage than before.
She sometimes would look at the sky as she sat on her throne, and wonder about the man who saved her. She would wonder about Yune, about the war, about if he might remember her wherever he was. She would wonder why she cared, and would convince herself until the next day that she didn't.
She didn't care about him.
She didn't.
. : - : .
Open sky, but couldn't fly.
So, sadly…
What am I?
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Okay then… I know, it's not my most amazing piece of writing, but I've grown very fond of this. I don't even like Micaiah that much, but this has really changed my mind. It's hard to be her. D:
So, this might not be the only one. I might do more like this, not only about Micaiah.
Micaiah/Ike, anyone? LOL.
Reviews would be much loved and appreciated.
labu.
twisted