A.N. My attempt at tackling Sothe's POV which turned out to be much more difficult than I expected, more trigger warnings at the bottom
The next morning, Sothe wakes alone.
His first instinct is to jump into action, to search every nook and cranny of Nevassa and make sure she hasn't disappeared into thin air yet again. Instead he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Then in a slow drawn out sigh, he exhales and opens his eyes once more.
The ritual doesn't bring back Micaiah. It never has. But at least it banishes away the boy he was that first time he awoke without her. Sothe tells himself he doesn't need old childish fears if he is to perform a man's job.
But the only work anyone seems to think he can get done is the soft and stupid kind. The Dawn Brigade had been designed so they could all operate independently, yet each day he finds another note in the common room demanding he do a mundane, time-consuming task that is simultaneously too important to put off. Gather rations. Polish and clean the stockpile of weapons. Often before he can finish, Edward returns and insists he's terrible at cooking and definitely needs help preparing dinner. Other times it's Leonardo who gripes about his progress and insists Sothe leave it him and get some rest. Whatever the excuse, it's obvious that the other expect him to be completely useless and incompetent.
Somehow though, he doesn't seem to ever really bump into Micaiah. She always leaves early and only comes home late. One time he manages to catch her dropping by to pick up some extra herbs, but what they shared could barely be called a conversation. While Sothe stared at her like he was seeing a ghost, she scurried around the room, somehow always focused on something far away from him. It was only when he coughed and waved a bundle that their gazes met. And oh he had seen those amber eyes so many times before, but that time they had seemed so tragic that all he wanted in the world in the moment was to find some way to make them light up again.
"Thank you," she murmured before leaving him behind once more.
By the time he finds himself with Nolan, counting what remained of the Dawn Brigade's ever dwindling funds, Sothe can't work up the proper effort to care about his prying questions.
"So..." He starts while scribbling some strange symbols in the ratty journal he calls a ledger. "You and Micaiah said you were family when you first joined, right?"
Sothe looks up and arches an eyebrow. Considering which sleeping mat he retired to on his first night home, there's no point acting like he hasn't been caught with his pants down. So instead of making excuses, Sothe returns to his organizing his share of the gold.
"Something like that." Sothe wants to unwind his scarf and show the evidence of Micaiah's less than familial tastes, but it is unlikely for the lovemark to still be there by now. He's gotten too good at cleaning up after her messes.
"I see," Nolan strokes his beard, studying him with slow suspicion. "Well, it's not my business to poke my nose into, but I can see why a boy your age would be drawn to her." The crease in his brow deepens. "That girl has a kind heart. Would be a shame for her to get hurt."
It's probably better to just let that be that, but Sothe still finds himself bristling at the comment.
"Seems you decided to stick in your entire head instead," He starts to take out his knife, to give his hands something to do besides be injured and obsolete, but slides it back in its sheath when he realizes how such an action might be received. He can do that later when he knows he wants to make direct threats.
"You didn't see how torn up she was while you were gone." Nolan employs (that) look of his, like a disappointed father. "All I'm saying is that losing both you and the Silver-Haired Maiden would be a devastating blow to the Dawn Brigade. Even the most callous commander would recognize that."
"I loved her long before she was the Silver-Haired Maiden." The words fall out before he can hold his tongue, before he can second-guess if he's even allowed to call what they have love. Even now that word feels both enormously large and infinitely small in comparison to the collection of sudden departures they call a relationship.
Nolan pinches his brow, face tight with a silent frustration. When he reaches across the table to still Sothe's hand with his own, he still has that same pitying look from before. However this time, a quiet helplessness has also wormed its way in there.
"I'm sorry if I said something wrong..." Nolan trails off, unable to look him in the eye. "I just don't want to stand by and watch the two of you suffer for no good reason."
It's tempting to lean into Nolan touch, ask if it was really true that Micaiah mourned him and all the little ways she might have broken herself, just for him. Instead he brushes past Nolan and retires to his sleeping mat.
He spends most of that night simply staring at the ceiling, too afraid to close his eyes, knowing he'll have to wake up without her again.
At dawn, Sothe rises with new purpose, before he can be dragged into another menial chore. He rips the bandage off his arm, pushing past the ache that follows each movement. Let it be the pound of flesh he offers up to the goddess. If one ritual isn't enough then maybe a sacrifice is necessary to bring her back.
He takes it slow at first, saving the climbing and acrobatics for when he can trust his body better. For now he focuses on keeping to the shadows and identifying where people hide their most precious possessions on themselves. He wants to make sure he can at least accomplish the basics when he sees her again.
He manages to find Micaiah by noon. Across from the markets, she sits, surrounded by a modest yet faithful following that waits for her fortunes. Any other day he would rush in and try to drag her away. Even with her hood, it's dangerous to be out in such a public place. Instead he joins the masses and wait his for her guidance.
When it comes his turn, Micaiah manages for to hide the most obvious signs of recognition. However her hands ever so slightly tremble as she traces the lines of his palm. He feels like a sadist to savor such small detail, but savor it he does.
"I see pain and injury in your past," Her voice is formal and polite, but it is hard to ignore the hint of irony that lace such a finding. "You ran as fast as you could to escape its clutches, not realizing you might only be creating an even greater tear."
"I don't want you to tell me things I already know." Sothe interrupts. "I just want to know if you see anything about a girl in my future."
"A girl?" She tilts her head in faux curiosity. "You're going to have to be more specific than that. Are you talking about a lover?"
"Maybe. Some people also think she's my sister." That gets a rise out of Micaiah. She looks so bewildered he can't help but break into a grin. "She's been with me almost my entire life though, and I just want to to know if she's going to stay with me until the end."
Micaiah pursues her lips. "That's a distant future, you're asking me to peer into."
"Yeah but I figured you were the only fortuneteller in Nevassa who might be able to tell me."
A strained silence follows. Despite the others less than ten feet from them, to Sothe it feels like they're somewhere far away, alone together. Micaiah cradles his palm for a moment, as if she is unsure where else to touch but hesitant to let go of him just yet.
"I can't speak of forever, but I know that if you continue to adore your own suffering, then your own end will come sooner than you would like." She gives him one quick squeeze before waving over her next customer.
He can't give her up so easily though. He finds a nice concealed perching spot and spends the rest of the day watching her work. He sees how she handles each doting granny, every energetic kid, and the more than one admirers smitten with her. No matter the person, she treats them all with kindness and care. Even the one man whose touch lingers on her shoulder for far too long she still sends off his a smile.
When she's finally alone he drops down from his perch. "Were you ok with that?"
"Not really, no," She doesn't react at all to his sudden appearance.
"If he becomes a pain, I could always take care of him for you." The offer flows casually from his lips without second thought.
"For shame, Sothe, you can't solve every problem with a knife. If I knew you were going to grow up like this I would have never given them to you." There's such a wry sense of playfulness the scolding it almost falls right over into flirting.
"You're the one to jump to violence." He tsks in return. "He seems like the brute that would back down if he thought he was taking someone else's girl."
"What kind of scheme are you dreaming up? Me running off to you with tears is my eyes whining 'Big Brother, help me!'" She clasps her hands together in a saccharine parody of a plead. "That'd be way too embarrassing to even pretend."
It takes Sothe a while to process just what she said. "Please promise me you'll never do that again."
"Why, you don't like it, Big Brother?" She gives him a pure shit-eating grin. "If it has so much power then you're going to have to give me an incentive to stop, Big-"
"When did you last eat?" Sothe interrupts. "Will food be an acceptable bribe?"
"I am hungry," Micaiah taps at her chin a bit too deliberately for the mannerism to come off as natural. "I guess it will do for now."
As they explore the food stalls together, it is hard to keep in mind all the things he's wanted to say to her since their night together. The sights and smells are as entrancing as they were when he first encountered the market as a child. And as much Sothe knows he should be pinching what spare coin he can-he doesn't object when Micaiah picks herself out an expensive sugary confection. Watch her nibble at the delicacy nourishes a part of himself that has been starving most his life.
As the sun sets, the two of them find themselves gazing above the waterway. After his travels, it's hard to ignore that it's only a quainter, dirtier shadow of the ocean. But for some reason it feels like it belongs to the two of them anyway. It reminds Sothe of their early days together. They may not have been good, but what else are you supposed to do but cherish them at this point?
"He's one of us," Micaiah says without much prompting.
"Who?"
"That man you didn't like. Daein should focus on backing each other up in times like these, not getting into fights with one another."
Sothe rolls his eyes, "Just because he's Daein doesn't mean he's good."
Micaiah sighs before draping her body along the railing. "Maybe, but it's the Silver-Haired Maiden's job to see the goodness inside of every one of her countrymen."
Sothe joins her, hoping it will help alleviate some of his restless energy. "You always give that courtesy to the worst lowlifes, never yourself."
Her gaze never wavers from the horizon, but somehow it still feels as if she is glaring at him. "Are you here to apologize?"
Sothe grips tightens around the railing. "I never wanted to hurt you. Never will."
She finally turns to face him, smiling as sweetly as ever. "That's not enough."
It's cowardly, but he can't help but look away, focus on his left arm and the ache that still persists even now. It's hard not to revert back into a little boy when faced with her disapproval.
"Are you still mad at me?"
"I don't want to be, but I am." She exhales a sharp breath between the front of her teeth. "I know there is only so much I can demand from you, but lately all I know how to do is want and want for things I can't have." She takes his hand in hers, and suddenly he completely understands what she means when her lips curl around the word want.
"I remember when these hands were so small, so delicate. Before I know it they're going to be old and gnarled, but I feel they could be nothing more than dust and bone and I would still be holding onto them just as tightly."
He wants to find some words that will break through to her. He wants her to know that dying in her grasp might be the greatest pleasure she could give him. He wants, he wants, he wants.
"Last month, I felt like I was the one who had died." Micaiah confesses. "Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I had, if I had just gotten all that pain over with. But still, I want to be good and brave for Daein. I want all of this to have meant something!"
Her amber eyes look like they're melting again. When a tear splashes against their entwined fingers, he is surprised to find they're not made of molten gold. And maybe it's just another sign that he's still a foolish little brat who doesn't know a single thing, but he rather be scalded than still standing like this, mute and useless.
"I don't know if I can take you disappearing again, not if the Silver-Haired Maiden is to survive. And since you're too good to lie to me, then it is probably better if we just-" She sighs, as if she has run out of all the words she has left. Slowly, Micaiah releases his hands once more. "-stop pretending this is any good for us both."
She starts to move, ready to slip from his fingers again, but before she can completely escape, he grabs her wrist right before it is out of reach.
"I...I can't be your moral compass..." He turns to see if she is listening, but all he finds is her right arm twisted from his grasp and her cold, silent back. "But I can be your vice. I'll act out any desire, no matter how dark or twisted, if that is what you need to be good to the rest of the world." He wants to tell her that he's felt this way ever since he was seven and first took hold of her hand, that even then he knew he'd do anything to keep those soft amber eyes in his life.
The sunlight is fading faster and faster by the second. Dusk can only last so long before night overtakes it.
"We should get home..." Slowly, Micaiah's hand start to shift in his grasp, and soon she is holding him just as much as he is. To the outside world, they must seem like a pair of baby lovebirds, too infatuated to let go of each other. Yet tellingly those amber eyes never return to him at all.
When they make it back to the hideout, the others pile them in a mountain of questions. Micaiah escapes the brunt of the burden by feigning exhaustion, and so Sothe is left alone to carry it all. And despite their best efforts to drill into him the importance of rest and communication, Sothe still finds himself trying to memorize the sensation of her fingers against his palm.
Sleep is forced and painful. There's no position that will alleviate the pangs that shoot through his arm, and he can't get this evening's sunset out of his head. He spends half the night tossing and turning before finally giving up on sleep and wandering the hideout. There aren't too many nooks and crannies to get into, but something about simply sitting in the common room soothes his nerves. It's the most minor of taboos to break, but it's proof that he still holds the freedom to choose his own destiny.
Sothe finds himself peering out the window, studying the dense cityscape. A small voice inside of himself chimes in that there is nothing holding him back from exploring the rest of Nevassa if he wanted. He could walk out the door and take a ship and sail to lands beyond Tellius itself.
A knot tightens at the bottom of his throat, and as pathetic as it is, he finds himself yearning for Micaiah again. If she always intended to use and throw him away, then he can't help but wish she had at least left a more permanent mark behind. If he was going to be in pain either way, why couldn't she at least have hurt him in a way that would have told the world who he belonged to?
"Sothe?" Hearing his name out of her mouth feels like listening to ghost call your name. It might be hypocritical and cruel, but he can't bring himself to quite meet her gaze.
"Didn't know I wasn't the only one feeling restless." She moves to sit across from him. "Mind if I keep you company?"
"Do what you want." It comes out harsher than he wanted, but he doesn't take the time to correct his tone. Instead his gaze drifts towards the moon, bright and full in the sky. They sit in silence together for a while, bathed in her silver light.
At some point her hand reaches out to grab his once more, like an itch she keeps having to scratch. He gives a slight squeeze in return.
At some point she readjusts her ratty sleeping gown accidentally exposing a quick flash of her pale collarbone. Sothe swallows but does not look away.
It's only when she finally leans across the table and presses her lips gently against his, that he finally gives in.
"What was that about?" He's more breathless than he thought he'd be, but doesn't take the time to hide it.
"You told me to do what I want," Micaiah rolls her shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"You don't have to ask," Sothe breathes. "You never would."
"I'm asking because I want to." Her nails graze his knuckles. "It might not be the vice you expected, but indulgence is sinful enough isn't it?"
Similarly, when they finally make it back to her room, what they share barely resembles any sort of wicked debauchery. Instead Micaiah rests her head against his shoulder and idly strokes his stomach in a nondescript pattern. He tries his best to stay still for her, but whenever she circles his navel, he squirms and gasps.
"Forgot how ticklish you were," Micaiah laughs, and the vibrations send goosebumps down his spine. "It's cute. I've never seen anyone quite so sensitive."
"I'm sure I'm a perfectly normal amount ticklish." Sothe closes his eyes as he tries to keep his voice steady.
"People who are normal don't point out their own ordinariness."
"I fail to see how else I should act when a pretty girl is fondling me."
"Well, you should probably try and be a little more observant at least." He can tell she is going for one of knives, but that doesn't dull the thrill that races through his body when she presses the blade against his throat. "Do you really want a confession, do you really want vice?"
He tries to open his mouth to speak, but before he can find the words she digs the edge in just enough to sting.
"I never said I cared about what you had to say. That's what makes me so despicable. I get so tired of having to earn people's love. I'm only good because that's the only way people like me survive." Something between a giggle and a sob forces itself past her lips. "I know you've never thought of yourself as being good with words, but you can be a real charmer you know? You claim that nothing can shake your feelings to me, and it makes me want to test them to see if you're telling the truth. Sometimes I want to cut off your limbs one by one, just to see if you could still love me then. Then I'd never have to worry about losing you again and you could never have to put yourself in harm's way. You'd just be mine."
Micaiah's hand shake. The greater the tremors grow, the more likely it is she'll finally get her dream. But before she can cut it free for herself, she instead drops it in his lap.
"You're still young," She sits up, pulling her knees against her chest, and leaving him with nothing but that cold back of hers. "You don't know what you really want."
Sothe picks up the knife and passes it back and forth between his hands. He thinks.
Despite his best efforts, he still can't help but cry out when he drives the knife into his left hand.
He's never seen that kind of fear on Micaiah before when she turns and witnesses what he's done. It pushes the pain into something new, something spilling over into a strange sort of pleasure. It gives him the courage to continue his work. Inch by inch, he carves.
"What in the world are you doing?!" She grabs the knife from his hand, accidentally cutting deeper into his skin. Sothe hisses, and Micaiah fumbles and drops the blade altogether before going very still.
"...did I get it right?" His own words share her similar shakiness, but he tries to hold his hand as steady as he can so he can display his makeshift brand. "If you're worst crime is wanting other's attention then I am no different from you."
"You're such a foolish boy!" Micaiah explodes back into motion, grasping his wounds tightly against his chest. "That's not how this works, that's not how anything works!"
"I'm sorry, didn't you want to be the one to do it?" He swallows as the cool, familiar sensation of Sacrifice washes over him. No matter how many times she casts it on him, he can never get used to the feeling of his body healing itself.
When Micaiah finishes, they're both breathing hard, unable to look away from each other. Tentatively he flexes his hand experimentally, then reaches up to trace the flush painting her face.
"Did you like that?"
"I don't want to." Micaiah sighs and leans into his touch. "If you continue to give pieces of yourself to me, one day I might get careless and break you."
"Better broken than alone." As he tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, he notices that the ache that's plagued him for the last few weeks is gone. "You didn't have to go so far as to heal the fracture itself."
"Well if you try and snap it again just to spite me, I'll just patch it up again!" Her nails dig into his chest.
"I don't regret this either though." Sothe can't help but let a small smile slide its way on his face. "Maybe I'm the evil one for adoring suffering, but if it grants you anything, then I believe it was worth it."
Micaiah studies his face, looking as if she is searching for the better person she pictures him to be. When all she can find is the man he's become, she closes her eyes and presses her forehead against his.
"We really might destroy each other then."
"Maybe," He admits.
"Still won't lie for me though." Micaiah gives a bitter laugh. "That's one virtue you still have over me." Slowly she opens his eyes again. "Then can you stay with me tonight? Grant me one last sin?"
Sothe circles his arms around her waist. "I said I'm always yours didn't I?"
For a moment, they find solace in the one sacrifice they can share.
TW: Codependency, Incest Mention, Self-Mutilation