A.N. What started out as a simple spite fic to celebrate their wedding alt turned into something darker and more experimental. Fair warning, I have only finished Part 1 of Radiant Dawn so this is based of my limited experience, plot summaries I could find, and my desire for angst

Trigger warnings at the bottom of the fic if you want to check

Micaiah finds that fortune-telling and leadership are not all that different.

The old woman's lessons had been designed to afford her a comfortable level of anonymity: familiar enough to locals so they wouldn't scrutinize you, but distant enough that no one thought much of your absence. Be pleasant but not friendly. Social but private about your own personal matters. Walk with purpose, but keep to the shadows. Don't intentionally seek out gossip, but memorize every scrap of information that you come across. Learn to tell people what they want to hear but never contradict what they truly believe.

So when Nolan comes home late and finds her still sitting with her candle at the window, she already has her excuse drafted and ready for him.

"I'll put it out when I retire for the night." She yawns and hopes it is convincing. "It can't hurt to let it burn for just a few minutes right?"

Nolan furrows his brow and gives her that pitying look-the kind she usually receives when people mistake her for a naive teenager who has yet to learn the true pain and responsibility of adulthood. "Just don't stay up too late," He .

Micaiah watches him stumble off to bed, and wonders if this will be the night she'll be punished for her sins or not.

It's probably silly to think the Goddess is concerned about some little candle. But Micaiah also finds it easy to mistake her survival instincts for sacredness. The old woman taught her that she was lucky for every day of her life she managed to steal. Being Branded means you have an entire separate list of survival rules to follow, and leading a resistance against the Begnion probably breaks every one of them. After the old woman died, Sothe became Micaiah's little keeper, reminding her of all the risks and dangers she might be putting herself in.

Sothe

It isn't like he ever left her mind, but thinking of him still deepens the ache in her chest all the same. If he was here, if it was anyone else who had been left behind in a raid of their last hideout, he'd tell her not to spend her nights waiting for them. Lights attract more than just moths in Nevassa. Better to go ahead and mourn them rather than put everyone else in danger.

She still hasn't figured out a way to convince herself that he's actually alive. People like her get lucky once or twice, never thrice. She hasn't figured out how to reconcile what she wants to believe with what she truly thinks.

The closest she can get is wry irony. If anyone would make a good vengeful ghost, it's Sothe. She can't imagine him resting in peace while she's being so stupid as to continue caring about him.

Micaiah manages to entertain herself for a few hours just on that, by imagining all the sort of mundane hauntings a spectral Sothe would inflict. But by the time dawn breaks she's struggling to keep eyelids open, and her little flame still has no reward to show for its dutiful vigilance through the night.

She can't pin if it's faith or spite that decides to keep letting it burn.

In the end, it isn't her ardor or her antipathy that brings Sothe home two weeks later. While returning to the hideout after a long day's work, she discovers Sothe simply sitting at the table, trying to core an apple while his left arm lies in a sling.

She drops her jaw and her bag of gold. When she imagined his ghost, it was never like this.

"Micaiah..." He awkwardly puts down his apple and swallows. "...I'm home."

Before she can say anything, rediscover how words work again, Leonardo and Edward come upon the two. Their delight and excitement lit up the place, crowding out whatever horror Micaiah saw. But as the night wears on, and their reunion turns into a full-fledged Dawn Brigade celebration, she catches glimpses of what scared her so. It's not just the arm, it's the uncut hair, the stubble coating his chin, a new weariness in his golden eyes. While always quiet, he talks even less, refusing to elaborate on all that has happened in the last month. For as familiar as he has been all her life, she can't begin to read him now, and so she doesn't know what to say.

Eventually though Nolan reminds them all that they still have responsibilities to tackle early tomorrow, that Sothe must be exhausted from all that has happened. In return, Micaiah volunteers to take care of the mess because she hopes it will make her look selfless. Sothe doesn't say anything, but while the others turn in, he stays behind to help her straighten things up. And once the bottles are empty and the food is stored, the two of them are left with the weight of all that has changed.

Instead of talking like they probably should, Micaiah finds herself approaching him and placing her hands on his wounded arm. When she hasn't known quite how to make others happy, she has always been able to give away parts of herself and bargain for it.

"Don't." His voice is level yet sharp as he brushes off her touch. "It's not...I'm not..." He breathes and the words die on the tip of his tongue.

"Then at least let me take care of you another way-please." The crack in her voice surprises Sothe, his eyebrows shooting up in what would be a humorous fashion under any other circumstances. But for all her talks of nurturing, she feels too fragile to much more than stare at him and try her best not to cry. He is the one to guide her to her room.

"Tell me what you want to do to me." His voice tickles the curve of her throat, grounding her back in Daein. Since he won't let her use Sacrifice, she goes about tending to his wounds the old fashioned way. Dirty bandages could lead to infection, or at least she thinks. Whatever the case, it makes her feel better to wipe the dgrime from his skin and wrap his injuries in fresh gauze.

"Thank you," From the reverence he utters her name with, to the way he peeks out at her through his overgrown bangs, it feels like she has both been transported back to the past, and somehow stepped forward into a terrifying new future. There's only one memory she can tie to this churning in her chest: when the two of them finally reunited after the Mad King's war. It had been the first time she had to look up to meet him in the eye and the first time she realized he was becoming a man different from the boy she tried to survive with.

The realization fills her with dread. She's already had to twist and contort herself into new shapes for him before. She doesn't know how much farther she can bend.

"Let me shave you." This time the order catches her off guard, yet Sothe is quick to lie down and hand over one of his knives. Micaiah tries to forces her hands to stop trembling-breathes in and out-before biting her lip and straddling his waist. Bit by bit she tries to carve out someone she can recognize.

The action is surprisingly enrapturing, sending a slow and fizzling wave of heat throughout her entire body. Sothe is another stolen treasure of hers, someone deep down she knows she is not supposed to have. And while she understands he won't let her possess him forever, she still finds herself unable to remove the knife from his jawline.

"Are you mad at me?"

Micaiah opens her mouth to insist that isn't the case, but surprisingly she finds a prick of anger needling at her core. The realization causes a fit of giggles to bubble out from her.

"I am." It feels good to finally admit it. She's so used to having to press it down because no one else wants to see it.

"Then you can get it over with." He tilts his chin up, exposing his neck.

Micaiah blinks twice, confused but also hyper-aware of the flush enveloping her entire body. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't remember the promise we made?" Golden eyes bear into her. "We'd stay together as long as it didn't cause you any extra grief. And well..." As he pauses, his Adam's apple bobs up and down. "...I haven't held up my end of the bargain lately."

"And you think a slit throat will make me feel better?"

"Not really, but I know that sometimes it helps me," Something dark and humorous lives in the curve of his lip. "I'm a man of my word. I thought it decent to at least give you the offer."

So many thoughts fight and wrestle inside her head. She wants to tell him that no, she does not want to kill him after nearly worrying herself to death over his well-being, but a part of herself isn't ready to give up her ire. Because he is right, she didn't want to let him have a hold of heart. She tried escaping his adoration because she knew having it forcibly taken away would break her. And she is still upset that he somehow doesn't understand how this is making it worse.

So she grips the knife in her right hand and the scruff of his shirt in her left. Then she pulls his mouth to hers and kisses him with all her might.

She doesn't remove the knife from his jugular at any point though. Not even when she breaks away from him to catch her breath.

"You're not allowed to die," She whispers against his lips. "Even if it is for my sake. Not until I tell you too. I want more than just your throat."

She slips her tongue inside her mouth, grinding her hips against him at a frantic pace. Sothe leans upward to nip at her lip, but Micaiah moves just out of reach before he can catch her. He tries to give chase but hisses when he nicks himself on the knife.

"That's what you get for overextending yourself," She scolds. "I told you to let me take care of you." A splash of blood starts to stain his pale skin, and a hint of regret starts to tug at her heart. Figuring that was enough dangers for the day, she tosses the knife away and presses her lips against the wound, murmuring comforting words until it stops bleeding.

Sothe nuzzles his freshly shaved chin against her cheek. The pricks of fuzz remaining are uncomfortable, so she uses them as justification for biting the nick she had just previously soothed. The noise he makes is exciting, sending shivers down her spine. Suddenly she can understand the appeal of a vulnerable neck.

"Will you let me use Sacrifice now? How much longer are you going let yourself suffer needlessly?"

She leans forward and cups his face, but rather than discomfort, among his redden face and strained features, she finds that dark humor of his now a full on grin.

"Whoever said that I was suffering?"

The churning in her stomach returns. She does her best to stifle it down by kissing him again. It scares her a little, that she might be making things worse, but all those nights at the window left her so cold. All she needs right now is a warm body, she can sweat the details later.

Sothe however, is stubborn to provide more than just that. With his dominant hand out of commission, his movements are awkward and clumsy. Still he reaches up to cup her left breast, doing his best to massage her nipple through the fabric of her top.

After a particular sensitive twerk, Micaiah is forced to slow down, lest she overstimulate herself. She gets thinking. How long does she want to draw this out? Should she undress either of them, or would it just be a waste of their time? It shouldn't be that complicated, but in the heat of the moment, logistics like that feel akin to her weekly strategic meetings with the rest of the Dawn Brigade. And she is so, so tired of it all.

Sothe jerks his hips, and for the first time, she feels his length, hot and needy, even through the fabric of his pants. That decides that. After all patience has never been one of her virtues. While she occupies herself with pulling down her tights, Sothe fumbles with his waistband before pulling out his erection.

She all but impales herself on it, pushing past the pain and the pleasure. What she's searching for is beyond both of them. Below her, Sothe shudders and groans, but despite their conjoined bodies, he somehow feels further away then ever. Before she gets too used to the sensation, Micaiah pushes against his shoulders to leverage herself up and down-essentially treating his entire body like a tool.

Sothe's hand wanders her in return, searching for a place to rest. He strokes her hair, caresses the curves of her slight body, gropes her ass. And a part of her wants to stop and insist, "I don't want this," but that's obviously hypocritical to say when he's inside her. Instead, she feels like if she dares tries to speak, what she'll say instead is, "I need this." Sothe has an uncanny habit of pulling out the truth from her, no matter how delicately she tries to spin her words.

So she says nothing at all until the climax rips her voice from her throat.

Exhausted, she collapses against his chest. He's panting just as hard, so she waits to untangle herself from him just yet. A part of her wishes they could stay like this forever, so conjoined it's hard to pin where one ends and the other begins.

But then Sothe gives a different sort of groan, and Micaiah realizes she's leaning on his bandaged arm.

"Sorry," She slides off him as fast as possible and begins to wonder if she should apologize for everything else that occurred. However, she hasn't decided quite yet if she regrets her actions.

"Given the choice, I'd do it all again."

"What?"

"I'd stay behind to fight a hundred Bengion soldiers if it meant you could escape alive." He leans forward and cups her face. "You can do with me whatever you please, but I won't hurt you or let anyone else do so."

Micaiah could feel the prick of tears, stronger than ever as she returns the gesture. "Then one day you're going to break my heart. And once it's broken I'm not going to know how to be good anymore."

"People aren't simply one thing or another, like dolls crafted by a toy-maker. Its their actions that make them who they are." He kisses the palm of her hand. "You give, while I take. I think it's obvious who's the better of us two."

"You can flatter me as much as you want, but that doesn't change the fact that you're Beorc and I'm...this..." She gestures to her covered brand, "...and if anyone finds out then it doesn't matter what my actions are they're going to hate me."

"There are good men in this world. Men like General Ike who value a person's character above all else."

Something dark and spiteful, something she knows is entirely her own doing bubbles up inside of her.

"If you truly wanted to be like General Ike, then you'd hate me for the way I've treated you." The heretic inside herself wants to push him away, to stop fighting and make the Begnions job easy for them by turning herself in.

Sothe gives a tired sigh, "Then I guess we both got a lot more learning to do then."

TW: Possessive Behavior, Emotional Manipulation, Dubious Consent