Sea of Never Ending Dreams
I do not own Fire Emblem.
A/N: A short little piece about Fury. Contains implied Fury and Levin.
She hated nights like these, nights when the sky wept and thunder flashed brilliantly across the sky.
It was on nights like these that her subconscious dredged up repressed memories, where screams echoed in her dreams and the feel of battle pervaded her senses. When she shuddered awake, drenched in a cold sweat, she would look down only to find herself covered in blood, the blood of her sister, her friends, the soldiers she had killed in action.
She killed because she had to, because they were the enemy and they threatened her kingdom. That's why Levin fought, why her sister fought. That's also why her sister died...
In these, her weakest moments, the dead would come back to haunt her from the grave.
With every fell swoop of her lance, she made another wife a widow, another girl lonely, another child fatherless.
Usually, on these nights, she would turn to her right, where she knew she could roll into his warm embrace and he would rub soothing circles in her back and entangle his fingers into her hair, whispering calming words in her ears.
Perhaps, if she had killed more, she could have saved her sister. If only she had reached her side sooner, but... she might as well hope for more widows, more long-lost lovers, more fatherless children. She might as well hope for death.
On this night of all nights, when she woke up shivering, a red haze clouding her vision, she rolled towards the middle of the bed, seeking his warmth and comfort. However, she didn't bump into a warm body. She rolled into emptiness. Raising her head and blinking her weary eyes in confusion, she looked upon the rumpled sheets that had formerly housed her husband. All that could be heard was her frantic breathing and the rumble of thunder outside her window. Clutching the sheets to her chest, tears darkening the white fabric, she thought fervently to herself that he would be back in the morning, and cried herself to a restless sleep.
It was kill or be killed. She would never be able to wash the blood off of her hands, but she had no choice, right? Right?
He never did come back, leaving her to sleep alone in a bed meant for two. After that, she could find no respite from the nightmares that began to seep into her days. Her two children were her only means of keeping afloat in a sea of horrors that threatened to suffocate her.
She would be forever covered in the blood of those she couldn't protect. She couldn't protect her sister, or her friends, or the soldiers she had killed. 'Perhaps,' her mind would whisper, 'perhaps perhaps perhaps... he left because he couldn't stand the blood. It stains both of you. It will stain Sety and Phee too.'
When heavy clouds burdened the atmosphere and thunder crashed in the air, she would look outside and wish that the rain could wash her away from the waking nightmare that had become her life.