A/N: Another Sothe/Micaiah piece, this one lots longer and focusing on the post-war time period. Their life together as a couple. Basically, just cute emotional family fluff. Hope it's not too corny! So I hope you enjoy, and as always, reviews are very loved :)

Words: 2949
Characters: Sothe, Micaiah
Time: After the events of Radiant Dawn
Genre: Romance/Drama

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

In a secluded corner of Daein Keep, a tiny room lay hidden amongst a traipsing maze of hallways. The space was a little dark and cobwebby; old couches gathered dust atop decaying carpets. But on the far side of the room, one wall was not the same cold stone that made up the majority of the castle. Instead, a long sheet of mirrored glass replaced almost the entire wall, allowing warm summer light to flow into the room. It was in front of this wall that Micaiah sat, curled in a dusty armchair, her hands over her round, smooth stomach. Silent storms filled her mind until the creak and scrape of the stone door.

"Sothe?" she asked without turning away from the window.

"It's me."

She recognized his voice at once, a small smile twitching on her face. She was even familiar with the sound of his pace and stride. Still staring determinedly through the window, Micaiah listened to his breathing, echoing in the stillness. Sothe sat at the foot of the armchair, leaning against her legs and raising to twine their fingers together. He was tall enough – or perhaps the chair was low enough – that his head was level with Micaiah's barely curved belly. Instinctively, Micaiah glanced down at him, feeling pleasantly warm at his touch. He smiled a little as he kissed each of her fingers, kissed her stomach, then pressed his hand there to feel the occasional kick and beat of their little child. "What do you think the baby will like?" Sothe asked contemplatively. "Weapons and magic? Studies or outdoors? Palace life, or - "

"Goddess only knows… and I've just noticed something. You always say 'the baby' rather than something simpler."

"I feel like 'the baby' is slightly more personable than 'it.'"

At that, Micaiah couldn't help but laugh a little, though she quickly returned to her pastime of gazing out of the wide window. Sothe apparently noticed, for he glanced from her to the wall, then rose to his feet, his hand falling to her silver hair. "Micaiah – is something wrong?"

"No… I just wonder sometimes," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Will our child be more like you, or like me? Will he, too, have a brand on his skin that sets him apart from all others? He'll – he'll suffer sometimes, Sothe. From the blood he inherited from me. It will be my fault."

A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She moved to brush it away impatiently, but Sothe caught her hand – the hand that bore her mark, no longer always hidden under a glove. Gently he wiped the tear away himself and kissed her cheek, tasting a trace of salt still left on her skin. "You shouldn't be afraid of such things," he said calmly. "Remember what you told the goddess? Those of mixed race are the future of our world. Our baby is the future, Micaiah. Our baby will be strong and proud, qualities learned from you. Don't ever doubt that for a second."

His words were so confident, so assured, so comforting. They were exactly what she wanted to believe. Micaiah let out a long sigh, ceding at last. "I'm being silly. I'm sorry, Sothe. I come here sometimes, just to think, but all too often I get lost in my own mind. It's foolish, really. I can't help but worry. Wonder if he will lead the same life I did."

"I've noticed something… You always say 'he.' The baby could be a girl, you know."

"I find it easier to pick 'he' than to say 'the baby' all the time. I don't know why, but he just feels like a boy."

Now it was Sothe's turn to smile a little, though the lightness soon faded from his expression. "Listen. Our baby will have a better life, Micaiah. Because you're here. You're turning the world into a better place just by living. The whole of Daein looks up to you, believes in you, and trusts you. Soon that will spread through Tellius, and laguz and beorc alike won't care about what kind of blood someone has. You make it all possible."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Sothe. I couldn't have done anything without you. Always by my side, to shield me from those who wished me harm. You're just as important to Daein's success as I am." Micaiah took his hand and spread it out wide, touching each of his fingertips tenderly in turn. The calluses there were coarse and tough, but yet, he was always so gentle. Except when it came to her safety – then Sothe became fierce, untouchable, driven. Pressing her palm flat against his – like she had done so many times before – Micaiah marveled at how tiny her hands seemed in comparison. Sothe shifted a little and twined their fingers together instead.

"We've come so far," Micaiah murmured. "I want us to grow old together, Sothe. I want you to see our baby grow. I'm scared."

For she knew, deep in her consciousness and heart, that this peace – this perfection, this life, this beauty – could not possibly last. By all appearances and purposes, Sothe was older than she was now. Years meant nothing when all of Daein saw one monarch aging as the other remained so young in comparison. Micaiah was well aware that not all of Daein was fully comfortable with her and Sothe as rulers or lovers, either. What if their child faced the same scathing, cynical world?

And if even if the rest of the world was unimportant… Sothe would still die far sooner than she or their child. How could she live in a world without him? How could she breathe without him breathing beside her? How could she feel, laugh, or love, knowing that he never would again? Her thoughts ran wild; so wild that she didn't even notice when more tears were streaking down her cheeks.

"Micaiah," Sothe murmured intensely. He pulled her to her feet, kissed away all her tears again, and then kissed her lips, hard and unwavering. He slid his hands down her arms until he gripped her hands tightly, smoothly. "Don't be scared, Micaiah. We can't waste our time. I'll always be with you, no matter what, all right? You know that. So what if I go first? I'll still be with you. That'll never change. Time will fly by and we'll be together through all of it. You, me, our child, just as we are now. That's all that matters. Not the past, not the future. Just now."

Micaiah tried to breathe steadily and deeply, but her heart was distracting. It jumped to the confused rhythm of an unlearned song and pounded against her chest like a hawk's wings. Closing her eyes tightly, she forced it under control as Sothe's hands skimmed her cheeks, lips, and eyes. She could feel her dampened eyelashes heavy against her skin.

"Be strong," Sothe whispered, resting his forehead on hers. "Be strong for me, for our baby, for Daein. It doesn't matter, all right?"

Quickly Micaiah nodded. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "Again. I… don't like to imagine. But I do, sometimes, and it's hard."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. At the same time, they both turned their gaze back to the wide window, where the early rays of the sun were beginning to peek over the mountaintops that guarded Daein, far in the distance. The struggling beams cast both lights and shadows over the whole world all the way up to their windowsill. Every tree, stone, and grass seem to sway in the changing light, darkness stretching out towards the castle and bright shines glimmering on the distant sides. Instinctively, Micaiah smiled a little and rested her head wearily on Sothe's shoulder. She tried to murmur "thank you," but the words wouldn't come. She didn't need to speak. The silence and calm was enough, her hand in his was enough, his arms around her were enough.

For the moment, she had enough – and the moment was all that mattered.

When their child was born, Sothe did not leave Micaiah's beside for weeks - though that might partially have been because the baby was resting with Micaiah, too. The baby had been born too early – Sothe remembered the icy cold wave of fear that paralyzed him far more deeply than any terror he had experienced in a war when Micaiah woke up in the middle of the night, grabbed his arm, and spoke through gritted teeth. It took all of Sothe's strength and willpower to leave her and fetch the many healers; Micaiah couldn't move at all. And then, even when he returned, the healers took one look at the situation and told Sothe he had to stay out of the room. He didn't know why, he tried to argue, but it was hopeless. Sothe was left alone in the corridor, his back against the cold, hard wall, letting each scream and gasp of pain stab into his heart like a dagger. By the time it was morning, the yells had stopped. Yet still the healers would not allow him to see her.

"Tell me what's wrong," he demanded in a low growl. "Tell me why I can't see her!"

He was addressing a young female healer, one he didn't know, though she didn't remind him of Laura or Mist at all. This girl looked terrified at being so close to the king and famous war-hero who was snarling as if facing an enemy. The healer shook her head quickly, her eyes very wide, and rushed back into the room, fresh bandages spilling over her arms. Sothe caught a glimpse as she went through the door – a tiny, flashing moment as distant as a memory – of Micaiah's hands fisted at her chest around cold sheets, not clutching Sothe's hands like they should be –

Then the door slammed shut; he tried to open the it again, but the healer had locked it too swiftly. Sothe rubbed his face in his hands, paced along the corridor, glared at passing servants, allowed only Nolan to stand silently by his side for support. The older man's hand gripped Sothe's shoulder bracingly. Even Edward and Leonardo understood that they needed to wait before asking questions or hovering hopefully at the doorway.

And then, at last – after what Sothe could define as nothing short of torture – at long last, a ragged, older female healer emerged from the room. Sothe leapt to his feet, and she put a weary hand on his arm. "You may see her now," she said, very quietly. But as Sothe turned immediately to rush inside, she stopped him, her grip on his arm surprisingly strong. "Please, I must ask you. She is weak and tired. And the baby - the baby will be fine. But you must let the healers take care of him for now."

Him, Sothe thought vaguely. Him. Micaiah was right. We have a son.

"Please, my lord. Be calm."

Quickly Sothe nodded, and without a word he rushed into the room, to the bed, to Micaiah's side. Her face was as white as snow, as pale as her silver hair. Out of the corner of his eye Sothe could see a pile of blood-soaked rags that a healer suddenly rushed to clean up. Micaiah had been covered neatly in fresh, clean sheets. She was still awake, though Sothe had never seen her so exhausted, not even when she was fighting in the war as the inspiration of her people. No, now she looked so tired that Sothe wondered how she found the strength simply to breathe. Careful not to surprise her – her eyes were closed – Sothe touched her arm very gently. Her eyes fluttered open, though only barely. "Sothe?" she murmured. Her voice was raw and distant, but she coughed, and it came back a little, though still whispery. "A boy. We have a son. Look, Sothe."

His heart pounding terribly, Sothe followed her gaze. Amidst a circle of harried healers was a tiny, tiny cradle, full of what appeared to be only a bundle of blankets. But as he stepped closer – the healers glaring pointedly at him to stay back – he saw a tiny, red face. Smaller than his hand. So bright red, but even from this far, Sothe could see the fuzz of faint hairs on his head – silver like his mother's. The baby's eyes were closed, at first, and for all Sothe could tell, his son was not moving, not breathing. For moment, Sothe's heart went cold and frozen; he couldn't think. All he could do was watch, watch, make sure he at least once saw his son breathe –

Suddenly the baby's face pinched, and he let out a little cry. At once all the healers converged with magic in their fingers, warm cloths in their hands. Staring into the spaces between their shoulders, Sothe again caught only a glimpse. But this time, he saw his son's eyes. Just a sliver, a tiny glitter. They were dark, green-gold. Just like Sothe's own. He has my eyes.

From somewhere behind him, he heard Micaiah's voice, an incomprehensible mumble of fatigue. Quickly Sothe stole another glance at his son – his precious, precious son – then returned to Micaiah, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. He closed his eyes tight as he did so, knowing he could not cry; he had to be strong for her. "Micaiah," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Micaiah, you're… you're all right?"

"I'll be fine," she breathed. "Our son, Sothe. He's… he's…"

"He'll make it. He's strong."

"Sothe…"

"Shh," whispered Sothe. "Shh. Rest, Micaiah."

She didn't need to be told twice. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks again, and then she was asleep, sound asleep, almost at once. For the rest of the day Sothe didn't move from her bedside once. Nolan came in a few times, with food and drink, which Sothe only picked at, for he hoped Micaiah would be hungry when she woke. Eventually the healers settled the baby's cradle beside Micaiah and Sothe. One healer stayed in the room at all times, to attend to every weak cry, every tiny movement. Days went on where Micaiah rested, ate very little, spoke even less. Every time that she was awake for even a few seconds, she demanded to know how her baby was before she would even consider feeding herself. Sothe coaxed her into remembering to nourish herself. "You must stay healthy in order for him to be healthy too," he pleaded, a glass of fruit juice in his hand. He lifted it to Micaiah's lips. "Drink. You need it."

She obeyed. She was strengthening at last, Sothe realized, for she drank the whole glass and even smiled afterwards. Kissing her reddened lips, Sothe finally felt steadiness in her hands; her skin was cool again. Her smile was almost like before, her eyes shining. "Thank you," she sighed. Her eyes flickered to her baby. The little boy was squirming, or stretching; one tiny hand lifted above the cradle.

At the same time, both Sothe and Micaiah moved. They held out their hands, palms open, fingers relaxed, and their child's tiny palm bumped into each of their fingers in turn. His fingers were too small to wrap around Sothe's finger, but Micaiah's was smaller; the boy gripped his mother's hand tightly.

"Oh," said Micaiah softly, her eyes wide. Then his fingers – no bigger, no heavier than down – moved from Micaiah's hand to Sothe's, pressing-palm flat against Sothe's rough skin rather than curling into a fist. Incredible warmth blossomed inside Sothe's body from the touch, making him laugh, feeling lighter than he could ever remember.

"He'll be all right, Micaiah," Sothe said proudly. "You will, too. We'll raise him. He's going to be all right." And this time, he knew it was true; he truly believed it deep in his heart.

His heart – once locked for none but Micaiah – was now opened again, to only one other soul, the tiny boy bundled in warm linen, the boy with silver hair and golden-green eyes. His son, Micaiah's son. Their child.

Micaiah gave a little laugh, beaming. "I've never heard you so excited."

"I have reason to be," said Sothe smoothly. He kissed Micaiah on the cheek. "What do you want to name him?"

"I… thought of one name. Perhaps we could name him Yun."

"Yun?" repeated Sothe. After Yune, he realized immediately – but a name more fit for a boy. A strong name, a steady name. "Yun," he said again, tasting it on his tongue. "Perhaps we should worry, naming him after the goddess of chaos."

Micaiah only shook her head and beamed at little Yun, her whole face alight.

And so for weeks, Sothe barely left Micaiah's side. Once the healers allowed it, others came and visited; Nolan, Edward, and Leonardo were the first. The old Dawn Brigade, thought Sothe, for the child born at dawn. It seemed so long ago that they had all lived together and fought together, such young and innocent times.

Unbeknownst to all of the people in the room, a shooting star somehow rained across the sky in bright midday. It was glimmering and clear until it fell all the way beneath the crest of the mountains. The warm noon clouds wisped like long, soft hair across the sky, the sun beating like a heart, its rays enveloping the room, the newborn little boy, and the entire continent like a mother's proud, comforting embrace on a summer's day.